Friday, June 11, 2010

A Snob, yes. An Adult, debatable.

I am twenty-three years old. I live on my own. I pay my own bills. I shop for my own groceries. I cook my own food. I can stay up past 10 on a weeknight (though to be honest, this is personally a challenge as I’m usually in bed by 9:30). By conventional standards, I am an adult. I’ll let you in on a secret though- I am most certainly not.

And to prove it…here is the latest reason I can not yet consider myself to be grown up:

My boss called my mom.

A few weeks ago I was out with my team toasting a coworker who was leaving the firm. My boss declined the invite, but was aware I was attending said event. Lunch wore on for several hours…and copious amounts of socializing was occurring amongst my coworkers. Being the new kid, I was enjoying finally getting a chance to get to know the team outside of the workplace, and while I likely should’ve been more concerned with the time, I was not. That was until my coworkers phone rang- her boss had been contacted by my boss regarding my whereabouts. It struck me as odd that no one had phoned me directly but I dismissed the thought and called my boss at his office to ensure him I was on my way back. Four hours after I’d left. My wisest decision- probably not.

I returned to find that he’d left an hour or so earlier, but had called and emailed me several times regarding a document that needed to be sent to St. Louis. I quickly took care of the task and spent the remaining 45 minutes of the work day in shame and apprehension for going AWOL on my boss. Still, I wondered why he hadn’t just called my cell phone first, I would’ve left immediately and handled the issue in a far more timely manner.

Well, I got my answer the next day when I met with him to discuss my progress on a few projects. After our standard conversation he paused for a noticeably long period of time before stating that he wished to ‘wrap up some loose ends regarding yesterday’. Matter of factly, he explained it was fine that I was out with the team but he would prefer if I were easily accessible and maintained contact with him should I be gone for any extended period of time. I assured him I would do this, and suggested I have his cell phone number in my phone for just such an occasion. I followed up that suggestion reminding him that I had provided him my cell phone number when I started here six months ago, to which he responded with another long pause- an air of awkwardness immediately pervaded the office air. “I called the number you gave me-it was your mother."

I was mortified. I pictured my boss placing the call, quizzically saying ‘Amy?’ as my mother answers, only to have her say ‘Oh no! This is her mom!’. The embarrassment I felt harkened back to my middle school days when the phone call from the cute boy was intercepted by the madre…only this time it’ not my seat at the cool kids table in the cafeteria in jeopardy, its my reputation with my boss.

In my defense, our numbers differ only slightly. Nonetheless…my boss called my mom. I am absolutely still recovering from the embarrassment and awkwardness of the entire episode…and working hard to make up for it.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Snobs Can Be Ghetto Too

It’s hard to pass judgment on other folks when one’s own life is in a shamble-ish state itself, similar to the statement that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones- people whose lives are crumbling around them should certainly refrain from casting judgment anywhere besides upon themselves. Thus, the second installment of a series that examines the downward spiral of my life.

In today’s edition we’ll examine how now only am I stuck in a rut, but other elements of my life are in such a state that the word ‘ghetto’ is the only adjective that can adequately describe them.

Let’s start with my car- a perfectly good little, red Corolla. In years past she’s served me just fine, with little maintenance required save your routine oil change. However, of late, it seems every time I turn the key something new is wrong. I am 97% sure this is payback from the fact that the front headlight burnt out in December and it took me till April to replace it, but that’s beside the point. After fixing the previously referenced headlight and springing for an oil change, I followed up with a trip to the service station for the emissions and state inspections. Low and behold, my car failed…a fact that I took seriously enough to shed tears in front of the mechanic who delivered the news. Adding insult to injury, the cost to repair the problem preventing passage (alliteration!) was $400. This is not a sum of money that I have hanging around, and if I did I surely would have found something more fun to spend it on than brake pads. Anyways, with a little help I finagle a deal and replace the offending pads, allowing my car to pass inspection and clear the way for it to become a registered vehicle in the Commonwealth of Virginia.

I thought this would be the end of my car related expenses and efforts for at least a week, however I was incorrect. A few days later, upon starting up my car, the check engine light lit up. This did not please me. Not only did I lack the patience for this nonsense, I certainly did not have any money to remedy the situation. Thus I continued to drive it at my leisure, ignoring the angry orange engine shaped light glowing on the dash. Now this may not be the smartest thing I’ve done, as experts (to include my roommates, my brother, my parents, and coworkers) all warned against doing just that, however I bravely took my chances and am sure glad I did as last night when I got into my car after a brief excursion to JoAnn Fabrics (I live dangerously.), the light had turned off. I take this to mean my car has fixed the problem itself, and while others have warned that this is not in fact the case, I stand by my assumption.

Next on the list is my Blackberry. Earlier this week when I was making good on my regular gym session promise, my roommate noticed that the track ball had popped out of its tiny compartment. I was unaware of just how this happened but did my best to pop it back into place and continue on my merry way. Fast forward to the same time the next day- the little round circle that holds the ball securely in place has permanently detached itself from my phone and is no where to be found. I am left, instead, with just the trackball and the little cradle it’s attached to to hold it loosely in place. And by loosely in place I mean not hold it in place at all. Thus my phone currently sits in a Ziploc bag, ensuring that should the ball dislodge itself (it will), it cannot venture further than the confines of the plastic bag. All day I have been conducting furious BBM conversations and Facebook stalking through the protective covering of the plastic.

Genius? Debatable. Ghetto? Definitely.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

In a rut.

Allow me to preface this post with an apology: Sorry I’ve been MIA…I’m in a bit of a rut. One that has unfortunately consumed me enough to impact my creative process and prevent any posts…therefore, in a combative effort against said rut- I’m posting about it.

For the past few months neither myself nor my life have ‘sparkled’. I understand that sparkle is a term few use in describing their lives, as it conjures up images of disco balls and drag queens…and for some of us, a period of time during middle school when we would wear copious amounts as eye shadow, but it’s rather appropriate when describing the lackluster feeling I’ve been embodying for the better part of two months.

I can’t precisely pinpoint when I went off course, but at some point I diverted from the path and have landed squarely in the aforementioned rut. My rut has manifested itself mainly in my appearance, as I am fairly certain that 58 of the last 63 days have been bad hair days. This is serious for me- my hair has always been a source of pride…be it during the days of yore when it hung long and luxuriously, or in more recent times when I accidently wound up with somewhat of a butch haircut, it still looked great. Probably better than yours in fact. However, now that its somewhere in between…its hideous. No matter what styling product or tool I use on it, I wind up looking dreadful. As a temporary solution, I’ve adopted the ‘lesbian ponytail’ for work. This involves pulling it back into a stub of a ponytail at the nape of my neck and spending the rest of the day praying it will grow out.

Speaking of growing out- my eyebrows are excelling in this area. As a child who once suffered from the terrible affliction known as a unibrow, the chance of a reoccurrence is all too real of a fear. On top of this (literally, in some cases), the breakout that’s spanning my forehead is really compounding the issue and driving me further into despair. If a giant sunhat and oversize sunglasses were appropriate office attire, you can bet I’d be sporting them from 9 to 5 daily.

Instead what I am sporting is whatever I can find on my bedroom floor in the morning. Yep, floor. Its my newest storage solution as my recent move has me living in a place I absolutely adore, but the offers me very little with regard to storage space. Up until 5 am this Saturday morning I had narrowly avoided employing floor to store my clothing- instead relying on a freestanding clothes rack to hang all of my dresses, skirts and other work staples. Twice before it had collapsed (once onto the rack of handbags on the back of my door, once on top of me), however Saturday morning saw its ultimate demise. Since then its been resting in pieces on the floor alongside the clothing it once housed. Each ensemble I select from my new organizational arrangement has lead me to believe that I not only need a new closet, but potentially a new wardrobe to fill it with.

Alas, a new wardrobe is certainly out of reach, but I will be treating myself to something I hope will be a kickstart to get myself out of this rut…heres to regular gym and tanning sessions to commence ASAP.

Friday, March 12, 2010

True Life: I'm a Burnout

So I’ve decided to take an indefinite hiatus from my plunge into the world of online dating. No, not because I’ve met someone…though I have met people, just not exactly anyone who I really hit it off with. Instead it’s a combination of not having found any chemistry with any of my dates, and that Match is INCREDIBLY time consuming and tedious. Corresponding with a bevy of online dates, weeding out the undesirables (read: jorts, hair gel, 42 year old creeps who live in the suburbs, the guy who called me Porkchop, etc.) is exhausting. And those that I did want to get to know better had me glued to my computer, perfecting every single email to come off as smart, witty, and charming. However, despite how well our e-flirtation would go- it would ultimately dissipate once we came face to face. This is not to say that my days are over, as I can’t rule out the possibility that I may reappear on the online dating scene someday down the road. But until then, I’ll always have the memories…

Take Dave for example…at 6’4 he definitely hit my height requirement. Having earned his degree in some engineering field of sorts, he was now pursuing a masters in the same thing. Fancy. First impression of his photo was – WOW. He’s cute. As my first date, I was both giddy and apprehensive, but after exchanging some of the best emails to date (yes- I rate on those levels when it comes to Match), I was psyched. We opted for margaritas at my favorite Mexican place, to take place on a Friday evening post-work. Sounds good right? Then he gets out of the car- and by car I mean Volvo hatchback. I’m slightly confused by his choice of vehicle. But I push these thoughts aside and stride toward him to introduce myself. Upon closer inspection, my concern begins to grow, as his ensemble paints him in a far more metrosexual light than I’d envisioned throughout our emails. He had on a white zip-up…which looked nice despite my preference for half-zips, but definitely bordered on seasonally inappropriate slash urban hipster. Again, I pushed these judgments aside. However as he turned his back to get back into his car, I noticed the telltale Rock and Republic R’s on either pocket of his jeans. This gentleman was sporting better jeans than me. I was quite unsure what to think- was I impressed? Disturbed? Puzzled? Perhaps a mix of all three. With his gator skin loafer pressed to the pedal, we sped off in the jaunty little Volvo as that first sentiment dissipated and I was definitely left wondering where the evening would lead.

In the span of our 1 mile trek to the restaurant, Dave made roughly 7 racist/sexist/bigoted jokes. Now, I’m not a bleeding heart or really even a nice person…but this astounded me. Um sir, WE JUST MET. This clearly wasn’t an issue for him…as he continued to put down everyone (myself included) but himself. This guy was way into himself- he purchased the hatchback himself- bought the condo he was currently residing in, refurbished the kitchen. He literally dominated the conversation…my eyes bugged out wondering how I could get a word in edgewise. And when I finally took a stab at contributing to the conversation, I was sorry I had. Thus, I downed my margaritas, and enjoyed my fajitas. Then the check came. He instructed we split it- and while I was prepared to pay my way, I did not take kindly to the way this subject was broached. Once our respective cards were run and the receipts returned to the table, I shared my absolutely love for the mints included within. Big mistake. Evidently these mints were subpar…just like every other interest of mine I’d shared that evening. Hesitantly I followed him back to the hatchback, and prepared for the car ride home. I reached into my bag to check my phone (probably rude, but whatever) to find numerous concerned texts from a friend…including one inquiring as to if I were dead in a ditch. I shared the message with Dave…who came up with what he clearly thought was a clever response:

“Tell her you’re smoking a cigarette after your third orgasm.”

I nearly vomited…and not from the mix of margaritas and Mexican sloshing in my stomach. This guy was a skeeze. Thank god this comment came from him right as we pulled up to the ambiguous corner near my apartment where I met him. I got out of the car, so confused by this person I’d just spent the past two hours with. I was both majorly creeped out, and somehow hoping he’d call me? The latter of these sentiments definitely arose from the fact that I absolutely did not want to be a failure.

The next day I sent him a polite text thanking him for everything (and considering I paid for my dinner, everything really only consists of the awkward hatchback ride, the one-sided conversation and the crass humor), and headed out for some wine at a friends.

As girls do, my friends eagerly plied me for details on the date- I explained my reservations…how he seemed like a jerk, was definitely full of himself, and had questionable taste in music. Then I shared one final detail- his username. My friends eyes lit up- he had asked her out at 2 am that morning…roughly 5 hours after our date had finished, and probably about an hour after returning from McFadden’s with his broskis. This somehow made me feel so much better- we determined this guy was a serial Match-er, and a complete dbag, for lack of a better term.

And that was the last of Dave…may he and his hatchback be eternally happy.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Gymservations: Vol. II

I’ve recently switched gyms, and though the ambiance of the new locale falls far beneath that of my previous arrangement, I’m going to have to say that this one offers a neat little perk not offered at the WSC up the street. And it’s name is Kyle. Cute Trainer Kyle (CTK) to be precise. Now to be fair, I am pretty certain I am known to him as Severely Uncoordinated Chick (SUC?). But that is both A) beside the point and B) detrimental to my fantasies.

Upon first meeting CTK, I was alarmed by the amount of chemistry that sparked between us. Especially in comparison to the last four fellows I had so closely encountered (yes- men, updates to follow). I’m pretty sure I went home that night and reported precisely that to my roommate.

Cute Trainer Kyle gives me something to look forward to…twice a week. Which is exactly two more things than I had to look forward to prior to signing on with him. After work I mosey over to the Bally’s location caddy corner to my office building, I wander down the steps into the dark basement…where black walls meet black rubber floors, and windows and natural light are no where to be found- but amidst the otherwise dungeon-esque surroundings is the ray of light that is Cute Trainer Kyle. Now by conventional standards, CTK is not so much hott (if he were, we’d call him HTK…), nor is he what I’d typically describe as my type. However…in the glare of the fluorescent bulbs down in the Bally Total Basement…he’s enchanting. It doesn’t hurt that he’s funny…and more or less guaranteed to have a bangin’ bod either. Unfortunately his presence makes me more than a little nervous…which doesn’t help the fact that I clearly lack the coordination necessary to look graceful out there on the floor. Regardless, CTK does not appear to hold this against me. 

Though I’m only three sessions in, I’m fairly certain CTK and I will end up being at least best friends by the end of our six weeks together. If I re-up for another three or four, we’re pretty much guaranteed to take our relationship to the next level, right? Impressive sales tactic Bally…

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Love Thy Neighbor? Ha, thats for the birds...

I reside in a charming little neighborhood in NW, bustling with young professionals, new families…aaaand old people. My complex itself may as well be a retirement community, but I can’t complain- the silver set make excellent neighbors. They’re neat, they’re quiet, and save falling and throwing their hip out once in a while, there is very little drama associated with them. Since moving in in October of 2008, I’ve avoided all neighborly conflicts…a welcome change from some of the nut-jobs who lived next door, upstairs, one building over during my collegiate years.

However, my good neighbor streak came to an end just as the last round of snow began to melt. Allow me to introduce you to Bird Lady. Though Bird Lady does not live in my building, she does park next to me in our designated spots. Being that I’ve fully embraced the public transport system here in the area, my little car remains parked for the majority of the time, where it rests beneath the shade of a large tree. The aforementioned tree provides plenty of problems; in the fall- my vehicle is awash in freshly fallen leaves. In warmer months, it becomes the landing pad for bird droppings.

Now I first met Bird Lady while shoveling out my car from this February’s blizzards. While I struggled to remove tons of snow from beside, on top of, around my vehicle…Bird Lady was calmly brooming two inches of white powder from her car’s roof onto the snowy ground beside her car. Two inches, you say? Yes- because she’d already flung the other 46 into the area between our cars and watched as I broke a sweat (something I do not enjoy doing outside the confines of the gym) hauling it away. The other side of Bird Lady’s car was completely plowed/shoveled/scraped down to the asphalt, courtesy of the Georgetown North HOA, as she has the good fortune of parking next to a building entry. On a related note, I have bad fortune of parking next to Bird Lady. As my roommate and I worked furiously to free our cars, Bird Lady retreated to her building and emerged with a bag of bird seed. She immediately dumped the contents of the bag onto a snow drift between our cars and instructed us not to shovel any snow onto the seed. I should’ve spited her blatant lack of snow removal respect, and dumped a huge shovel full on the bird seed, however I suppressed this urge and left the seed unburied- a decision I now regret.

Now, upon my first interaction with Bird Lady, I sensed something was a little off....though she just seemed like a harmless old bat. However, my tune has changed. After successfully freeing my car from its snowy den, I was proud to behold the gleaming reddish paint sparkling against the heaps of white we’d shoveled away- a beauty that has faded with the melting snow. You see, after the birds partook in what I can only assume was a literal feeding frenzy, indulging in the roughly 3 lbs of bird seed left for them- they understandably needed a place to rest. And what better place than the large tree directly above my little car? I think you see the problem…the landing pad thing- yeah, this is like that times about a hundred.

And as for Bird Lady, this is war.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Confessions of a Snowed in Snob

A half day of work on Friday, plus a sublimely snowy Saturday and Sunday, immediately followed by four days of less than blissful blizzarding and here I am...probably 15 pounds heavier and severely lacking in both the motivation and human interaction aspects of my life. I've spent these past days indulging in various food stuffs I would not otherwise have kept in the house, ie; chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, sour candy, Smart Food related news I am also indulging in elastic waste pants more than usual. Despite falling off the wagon in terms of eating well and working out (hey...shoveling counts, right?), this time off has allowed me to keep up with some of my other resolutions- particularly the cooking and baking, which may be contributing to the sweat pant trend I'm rocking. Recent creations- Pepper Jack Mac & Cheese...and last night I whipped up some homemade oatmeal cookies. Yum. 

But let's be honest- none of that is really what you all came to read about. Unfortunately blizzards don't really provide much fodder for judging...though my own antics during it certainly did. For example, after venturing out on Saturday night with my snowbound companions for far too many libations at our local watering hole, we wandered down Wisconsin to meet up with the bro & co for Sunday brunch. I perused my phone for hints as to how I spent the hours between nine and three the evening before. And here is what a discovered...I googled 'where the f is cornell'. 

Ummm, what? In what context did I need this information and why was I so demanding of the search engine? I am severely disappointed in myself. And can only forgive this behavior because it was a snow day and things like this are excusable, right? Probably which case I'm looking forward to rejoining the real world tomorrow, where I can redeem myself. Just one problem-sweatpants are CERTAINLY not acceptable office attire...

Friday, January 29, 2010

Colder Than My Heart...

Welp, it’s officially miserably cold here in the city again. The past few days have managed to be just warm enough to offer a hint that Spring is just around the corner- and by just I mean a couple of long, grueling, frigid months away. Yesterday as I indulged in a manicure and brow wax downtown, I was pleasantly surprised to find I hardly needed my wool coat, and instead could manage fairly well in my jumper/blazer combo (don’t judge, it was cute- and revolved entirely around the previous days $25 lunch hour find). However, I found myself experiencing a bit of hesitation when it came to forgoing the coat- after all it was January 28- the dead of DC winter, and I did not want to push my luck.

Evidently many other women around town had no issue doing so, and for that reason I am holding them directly responsible for the fact that it is miserably cold today and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. I am saddling the blame on two ladies in particular, both of which I had the pleasure of passing en route to my beautification sesh.

Guilty Party #1: The Hippie Chick
Dear lord- whoever let this lady off her commune, please come back and claim her. I had the joy of walking behind the Hippie Chick, providing myself a safe distance in which to assess the absurd ensemble she was sporting. The first item I took offense to (and of which I am certain angered the Gods just as much- thus causing them to unleash tundra like conditions upon the Metro area) was her tiered peasant skirt. This bothered me not just because it is entirely inappropriate office wear, but also because it was WHITE. STARK WHITE. A stark white, tiered peasant skirt? Perhaps frolicking in a field somewhere in June…but strolling the streets of DC in January? No. Seasonally, age, and locationally inappropriate ma’m. To top it off (literally), this lady’s locks mimicked the tiers of the skirt, though in the case of her hair, the divisions amongst tiers was not bright white satin ribbon. Instead, each layer was distinguished by a different color of hair-dye. The bottom was a reddish brown, above that more of an ash, the third (and most perplexing) was a grayish color, before ending in a shock of blonde at her roots. I can only imagine that this hair style further angered the aforementioned Gods, and this lady is not only responsible for the chilly temps but also the impending snow. Way to go.

Guilty Party #2: The Mystic Maiden
Alright, so back in ninth grade I was the proud owner of a pair of black Steve Madden slides. They were basically like an inch and half high platform with a stretchy black band over the top and open toes, of which I made good use displaying my hot pink toe nails and their accompanying floral design. They were cool, and by extension I like to think that I was too. However, like many a trend, this one fell out of favor before the end of sophomore year and I retired the look. Unfortunately, my new friend the Mystic Maiden kept them around long enough to break them out yesterday and sport them along with a pair of black leggings. A look that exposed just enough of her ankle to display the obvious remnants of a poor quality Mystic Tan (someone clearly did not watch the instructional video…). There was so much wrong with this picture that I had to pause to take it all in…and to type a note in my Blackberry reminding me of this sighting. Open toed SANDALS in JANUARY. Why was this even a consideration when she was getting dressed this morning?! My assumption is that she was blinded by the fact that her skin was the unnatural color of Cheet-o’s, thus preventing her from seeing the major faux pas she was committing, nonetheless, I am appalled and absolutely not excusing this behavior. Hopefully she wore those same slides today, and the cold of the air will reach her toes and shock her into realizing her circa summer 2001 shoe choice brought this upon the rest of the city.

Let this be a lesson…

Thursday, January 21, 2010

A Snob's Eye View: Online Dating

So I’m admitting something I never thought I would…I, the Snob, am on Here’s the thing, if there are two things I hate in the world it’s crowds and strangers. combines both of these in a convenient and sadly addicting forum. The site is, essentially, a virtual crowd of strangers. However for the past week and a half I’ve forced myself to confront my fears and embark on a great social experiment.

Unfortunately in real life, despite how charming and witty I happen to find myself, no potential suitors have managed to find me- period. I am chronically single. Some have suggested it’s the exact premise of the blog that I am forever a party of one…that if I could just refrain from passing judgments long enough to let my guard down, maybe I’d find myself with a date for Friday night. I’m trying to keep this idea in mind as I sift through the masses on Match, telling myself its okay if he’s under 6’0, didn’t go to a top school, or instantly take my breath away with a stunning photo lineup on the profile…however there are some things I just can’t compromise on. For example:

-Earrings: listen, its not 2001 and I am not a high school sophomore. You are also white. This look does not flatter you. Please remove and resubmit yourself.

-Necklaces (see hemp, chain, cross): as stated above, this trend is no longer current nor was it ever attractive, I do not care if you are Italian or Granola-y…no neck wear besides a smart-looking tie or a scarf on a cold winter day is acceptable.

-Spelling mistakes: my tagline plainly states “Poor syntax is a turn off,” however what’s worse is blatant spelling errors. Unsure of the difference between There, Their and They’re? Confused between Then and Than? There is no future for us.

So I pretty much know what I’m not looking for…but with that in mind, I haven’t exactly stumbled upon what I am looking for. Until I figure that out though, I think I’ll just have fun weeding out the undesirables…

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

From Sorority Snob to Corporate Critic

Two years out of college and the sting of the real world has yet to wear off. I bet this is how a recovering addict must feel- life went from a euphoric free-for-all, staying out all night, waking up at 4 in the afternoon on a strangers sofa, living off of diet soda and cheap beer…to a rigorous and mundane routine with regular activities to include paying bills, picking up the dry cleaning and pining for the past. Don’t get me wrong- I am still very much enjoying my life, it’s just that right now I’m essentially in limbo, caught between the carefree days of college and the true responsibility of adult life. And until I fully transition into a grown up, I intend to straddle both sides of this spectrum and borrow the best each has to offer (to report: I have yet to find a way to effectively integrate frat parties and financial planning...not even going to tackle beer bongs and brokers).

It is with this in mind that I’ve decided the world could benefit from this same approach. In particular, I’m thinking the adoption of the activities observed during sorority pre-recruitment spirit week could greatly assist those in the professional marketplace. Just what exactly is this week? Well, it’s roughly five to seven days devoted to self-improvement- specifically targeting physical aspects, with effective communication drills and group bonding peppered in the mix. Miserable? At the time- yes. Superficial? Oh, absolutely. But looking back, at the end of the week, we were poised, polished, and as close to perfection as personally possible. And to be honest…a lot of folks in the working world could greatly benefit from a little beauty boot camp. The amount of shoulder pads I encounter daily astounds me; skirts that are better suited for school marms seem to be a cursory trend in the District; for many of these folks, dowdy would be a compliment.

Sure, by some accounts, my sorority affiliation meant I ‘paid for my friends’, but in the corporate world, where I’m with these folks 40+ hours a week and collecting a salary based on the work I do whilst interacting with them…it could be argued that I’m essentially being paid to have them as friends. And, as a friend (and a sister?), I sort of feel compelled to inform them that they shouldn’t be wearing that, or that their unibrow is growing in, or that the sneakers + socks + pantyhose combination is will surely get ya called to standards.

Thursday, January 7, 2010


Its a few days into the New Year…so I figured it’s probably time to make good on my biggest resolution this time around: WRITE MORE. So, here goes.

For me 2009 was hardly a benchmark year, and for that reason it was with little trepidation that I bid it farewell. Admittedly nothing tragic occurred to mar my opinion of the year- rather, it was the culmination of countless small misfortunes, bad days, and missed opportunities that left me eager to see 2009 out.

Coming off of 365 days of blah, I am devoted (at least at this point) to making my own luck in 2010, and if that fails, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the fates will work in my favor this year. So, what am I doing to make my own luck? At the very least I am going to focus on doing the things that make me happy…in 2010 I plan to do more of the following:

2. Cooking & baking
3. Reading good books
4. Crafting/sewing/creating/designing
5. Exploring the city

Meanwhile, I’ll be incorporating some of the more traditional New Year’s resolutions to meet my goal of making a happier me.

6. Eating better
7. Getting back to my workout schedule
8. Managing and maintaining my finances

In addition...there's just one more resolution that I'm both eager and uneasy to put into effect, to start...

9. Trying new things and going outside of my comfort zone

So there we have it- on record. Maybe this will help me with the follow through?

New Direction...Same Old Snob

So I've been fairly terrible at maintaining this blog...for a variety of reasons. I kept seeking out perfect inspirations, things worthy of my judgement and someone else's (yours?) readership. Clearly I did not find a whole lot of it. A while back I did find something inspiring...but not in the way I was expecting. Instead it came in the form of a blog update from a best friend whos online musings, all of which are infused with her classic style and effortless grace, continue to motivate me to do something equally as creative and enteratining with my own blog. At the same time, one of my resolutions this year is to write more, so I figure I already have a forum...why not fill it with my words? Nevermind if each entry isn't a narrowly tailored rant against my boss (update: FREE AT LAST!), or a biting criticism of some fashion faux pas whitnessed on my morning commute. Instead, this new brand of Snobservations will be the organic judgments that arise from my encounters, insights, goals and experiences...and I'm thrilled.

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