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…

A Snob's Eye View: Online Dating

So I’m admitting something I never thought I would…I, the Snob, am on Match.com. Here’s the thing, if there are two things I hate in the world it’s crowds and strangers. Match.com 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…

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.

Gym-servations

I do my best to squeeze a workout in before heading to the office...even hiring on a personal trainer to assist me in my quest to be hott (fyi- almost a year in, and still no where near said goal). On the laziest days, I exert myself only as much as it takes to plug my headphones in and watch The Today Show whilst meandering along the treadmill belt. On more rigorous days, I employ a range of both cardio and resistance training. And though I am pretty sure I don't know how to do the latter part of this coupling correctly, there are plenty of people sweating alongside me (ew.) that are even more clueless...or just plain weird. In the past ten months I've observed these folks and their bizarre gym behavior, making mental notes of their absurdity, creating little nicknames for them and generally wondering what precisely is going through their minds. Allow me to introduce you the cast of characters I share my mornings with:

"Blue": unfortunately Blue isn't quite a regular, however it's a rare treat when this silver fox strides into the gym. No, its not a handsome physique or dazzling smile that catches my eye, rather its the fact that he's roughly eighty-two and his choice of gym attire is a maroon wrestling singlet. Perhaps he's a pro in the retirement home wrestling circuit, or is yearning for his glory days when he won states in 1802, however I still find his workout getup to be entirely inappropriate for his age, and for public consumption.

"Walter and the Future Mrs. Mitty": For those of you unfamiliar with the tale of Walter Mitty, its a lovely story about a husband and his ridiculously overbearing and somewhat controlling wife. This same relationship is expertly displayed each morning by a doughy-looking gentleman (Walter) and his pint-sized, super-fit fiance, aka The Future Mrs. Mitty (FMM). Clip board in hand, she leads him through a barrage of stretching, cardio and weights, all of which he completes with an utter lack of enthusiasm or skill. Hence, no change in the aforementioned doughy physique. During the routine, FMM is either working out alongside Walter, completing each task with absolute intensity or standing next to him, barking orders and making attempts to correct his form as he half-heartedly struggles through whatever task she's assigned. I'm pretty sure this dynamic is not limited strictly to the gym floor, and instead I'm fairly confident FMM wears the pants in all aspects of the relationship.

These is just a smattering of the gems I have the privilege of working out with...more to come.