Pessimism is a problem. Just not your problem?

We all know her. She tells you the exact amount of calories in the food your eating, while you are eating it. When it rains, she updates her facebook about how miserable she is. When it's nice out, you get to hear about how unbearable the heat is. She'll criticize every decision you make and disagrees with absolutely everything you have to say. She's the human equivalent to rain on your wedding day, and a death row pardon, two minutes too late. She's Debbie Downer, and she's a major burden to us all.

Often, she masquerades as a a perfect person, and chooses the one thing in her life that is superior to everyone ( her morals, home, wealth, body etc.) and preaches about it constantly. She's a walking, talking contradiction and may even reprimand you in the most hypocritical way possible. There's the time she told you not to take that nice vacation you want, calling it "irresponsible in this economy", and then bitching about her credit card debt, after telling you all about her fabulous trip to the Caribbean.

Or the time she pointed out, ever so nonchalantly, that your boyfriend/husband/guy you just met must have done something wrong for sending you flowers, when hers just left her for his ex last month. She's very vocal about how lame the crowd is at the bar or restaurant you picked for your birthday/girls night out/happy hour, just because she didn't pick the location, and she wants to go home and is tired/has a headache/starts to cry uncontrollably before you even arrive.

Often, her presence in our life is not negotiable. We don't choose to spend time with someone who gets pleasure out of our misery or aims to knock us off our pedestal. The best we can do, is see past the negativity and refuse to let it permeate our lives. In my experience, people who do this are the first to complain and the last to make any effort to improve a situation. Everyone knows the reason for their misery, except themselves of course, and no amount of pointing it out to them will change their demeanor. So next time Debbie tries to inform you that your morning venti, skinny, no foam, extra hot latte causes cancer, or that your nightly glass of pinot clearly signifies an alcohol problem, remind her that pessimism is a mental illness and drink 2.

"Chick" Peas & other minutiae

It's one of those days when you could barely get yourself out of bed and muster enough energy to look half decent and make it to work. By the time you arrive, your hair is some variation of "tousled" and those rubber rain boots you thought were adorable now make you look like a toddler in her mom's work clothes, a very wet toddler in work clothes. Trains were all running off schedule (god forbid water touch their gears), the homeless were out in full force, dripping their garbage bag ponchos all over you on the subway, and that "Free Pastry Day" morsel from Starbucks had to be forfeited in hopes of making it to to work on time.

Normally such a day starts off horrendous, slowly turns into bad, and ends slightly better than fair. Until you walk into your favorite lunch spot and witness the following dialogue:

Girl: I'd like to try that soup (pointing obnoxiously)

Employee: Which? The chick pea moroccan lentil?

Girl: Yes, but I'm a vegeterian.

Employee: ?

Girl: It has "CHICK" peas in it.

Employee: ???? Yes, it's still vegeterian.

I don't know which is more disturbing, the fact that this person thought that "chick" peas came from actual chicks(!?!) or the fact that she didn't realize that the term "pea" usually signifies a type of vegetable. Onward I go, order my Clam Chowder and I'm on my merry way.

Until I realize that this is NOT the dumbest thing I've heard this week. Unfortunately for me, someone I know (someone with a very important title) instructed a group of individuals yesterday that "San Antonio is a STATE", and then went on to request that those individuals should really try to wipe the "SOUR PUSSIES" off their faces during Monday meetings. Awkward, yes. Uncomfortable? Absolutely. Surprising? Sadly, no.

After all, when you say something so dumbfounding that it makes employees contort their faces into something that vaguely resembles a sneeze to avoid laughter, you really can't complain about their "sour pussies". And that, my friends, is another blog post in itself.

-KJ

I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war...

“I’m gonna buy a gun and start a war; if you can tell me something worth fighting for”- Coldplay

I never knew what this lyric meant until recently. I always felt there was a purpose to my life and career, that I was on a track to greatness, somewhere I deserved to go for all my hard work in school and on my career path. Lately, with the fall of the economy and the collapse of every market imaginable, I’m starting to question whether my generation will ever get the chance we deserve, the chance to make a difference, when the companies we work for don’t let us and the rest of the world doesn’ t care. We are the first to lose our jobs, since we are neither cheap to employ (when recent grads can “do our jobs” or be trained to for less) or experienced enough to keep (since we have a mere 5 years of experience, compared to the 15-20+ years of our elders). Loyalty doesn’t exist anymore, and we will no longer have the luxury that our parents had of 20 and 30 + years at one company. Employees are now seen as disposable and devalued at every step of the way. We work 10 hour days, we skip lunch, we stare at a screen that makes our eyes blur with lighting above us that rivals a surgeons operating table. We don’t complain, we adapt, we refocus and we succeed. Until we are forced to change course, and sometimes wonder why we tried so hard in the first place. We are tired of ending up at square one. We are told to stick to one career, yet expected to be multi faceted. We are in sales, yet afraid to mention that our true passion lies in writing on interviews, for fear of seeming indecisive or unstable. We are hired for one purpose and spun off into seventeen others. Five of my closet friends have lost their jobs since last year, all in different industries, all intelligent, all responsible, all a tremendous asset to a company. And all disposed of like extra fat on a steak. What future does this country hold when it treats its future so much worse than its past. What should we be fighting for? We have the ambition, we are some of the most adaptable human beings that have ever lived. We can pitch a client, write a proposal, and calculate an algorithm all while shoving a $14 salad down our throat, drowning out an easy listening station, answering a coworker’s question, updating our Facebook and Twitter, returning 3 emails and checking our debit card balance, simultaneously. We are overloaded, underpaid and lack security on all fronts. We deserve more.

-KJ

F- You Harry and F-You Sally-You’ve ruined us all

Ask any woman to name one of the quintessential feel good movies of the 80’s, and there is a 90% probability that her answer will be “When Harry Met Sally.” Let’s be honest-the cult classic touches the heart and offers hordes of woman the greatest thing of all-hope. But, let’s also explore the fact that this small piece of cinema has single-handedly doomed countless women and the poor schmucks who don’t (and will never) realize that these women are their perfect Sallys. Thus making hope perhaps the most dangerous entity of all.

I admit I tear up every time that I watch the climactic scene (no, not the one where Sally/Pre-surgery Meg fakes the orgasm) where Harry finally declares his undying love for Sally. There is something so spot on about the dialogue that makes every woman feel that they ARE a “Sally.” Without a doubt, the things that Harry declares he loves about Sally are all things that we know our “Harry” loves about us! I get cold when it’s warm out, I have a hard time choosing a sandwich, I can crinkle my nose adorably (okay, it might not be quite as cute as when Meg Ryan does it), I KNOW that you want to talk to me before you go to sleep-you even called me last night!

And that is why when Harry Met Sally has ruined so many women. Countless women fell under its prey and got wrapped up in the message that the Harrys in their lives will eventually see that they are the only woman for them. It allows us to believe that, though they won’t openly admit it, they will eventually realize that we are the woman they want to spend the rest of their lives with (and of course, they want the rest of their lives to start as soon as possible). We all have a Harry in our life-that one guy that is always there for you, who you never think twice about calling, the one with whom there are never awkward silences, and the one who you listen to talk about the girls they are seeing, screwing, and/or pursuing and pretend that you don’t feel like you’ve just been punched in the chest. We sit there and listen and give them advice because we know that they just have to get it out of their system and go through the bad eggs for them to realize that their soul mate has been in front of them all along. We know that when they ask about the guys we are dating in an oddly protective and jealous manner, they are asking because they secretly want to rip out their throats and declare that we are theirs. Actually, let’s rewind-perhaps the worst scene in the movie is Harry’s infamous monologue where he explains that men and women can never be friends because the sex part will always get in the way. This crucial scene makes us believe that these men/friends can’t be with us without a sexual agenda- thereby screwing women even more. If we can have this amazing emotional connection wrapped up with the physical connection that *Harry feels for us, then we have the recipe for a lasting and beautiful relationship! We are meant to be together and it’s only a matter of time. Yes, we know it’s only a movie- but we secretly carry that shred of hope somewhere inside.
And that hope is what screws us. Because now that we have explored how and why we feel that “more than friends” is an inevitable reality, let’s look at the ugly truth behind it all. We are their friends, they never even thought that we could feel that way about them because it so far from how they feel about us, they can certainly be friends with us and not want to take it to a physical level, and we ARE their consolation prizes until they find the one who brings them the level of emotional and physical attractiveness that they want.

So here’s your silver lining. On New Year’s, your Harry probably won’t rush up and declare that you are the one he is meant to be with, but someone else’s Harry might. Because that’s the truth behind it all-that friend, who is too stupid to know what he’s missing, will find another girl who is not you and she will flirt back and maybe even have a long and happy future with him. But, maybe my Harry will find you and your Harry will find another, and her Harry will find me, and so on. So drink your champagne and don’t fret or lost sleep over the friend that will never be anything more than just that.

KZ

Dre Might Side with Rapunzel, but she Probably had Lice...

Dear EJ, and any other self-proclaimed ‘strong, independent woman’ seeking luck in love,

I am certainly crossing into Dre’s territory by responding, but every metaphoric tunnel deserves its glimmer of hope, don’t you think? Will my response get you laid? Unlock the door to romance? Probably not. But it’s another perspective, and as love is undoubtedly the oldest survivor of any human race, I will obey proper ‘etiquette’ and give her the respect she deserves.

Strength, success and intelligence. I agree with Dre that these elements are not necessarily intimidating—they are scarier than that. They level the playing field, and challenge the very core of masculinity on which human relations was founded. Man—the hunter, the provider. It is HIStory, after all. And in the ages of human existence, it was not until recently that woman obtained her voice and broke the barrier of gender roles that drove men to hang up their loin cloths (except for modified European versions of course) to accept a working version of ‘equality.”

But somewhere in the midst of shaking up the gender caste system, these (we) “independent romantics” burned our bras, donned our ‘powersuits,’ yet never stopped looking over our shoulder for our man on the stallion. Problem is, some other ‘strong, intelligent’ but jaded woman already kicked his horse in the balls, removed his reigns, told him his sword wasn’t hard enough and turned him into a knight in shining Armani. Somewhere, in the midst of it all, the rise of feminism fucked with Love.

So here is your light as promised, delivered with utter honesty as I am speaking as much for my own heart as I am for yours. One day I hope that man embarking on a new relationship will see that a woman who “Wants” to be with him is more rewarding than a woman who “Needs” to be with him. “Need” fills a void, is a necessity, and cannot be compromised. “Want” involves desire, emotion and free choice. I need a job, but I want a career. I need to drink water, but I want a glass of champagne. I “need” to find a mate and procreate, but I “want” to find my equal who will love me as much as I will love him.

And eventually, if Mr. Nuevo-Masculine and you, Miss Independent, give each other a chance, something amazing will happen. Without planning it, without the ‘damsel in distress moment,” you will suddenly realize you DO need him, just as much as he needs you. Why? Because need and want suddenly become synonymous with love, and love doesn’t give a shit about your gender, the shirt he wears, the expensive dinners he takes you on, or who saved who first.

So after much ado, and after cutting my Rapunzel-esque locks to a non “let down-able” length, I have yet to give up hope that there is someone out there willing to believe in true love versus “need fulfillment.” So EJ, Hang in there- I might have a bad case of tunnelvision, but I do believe that the light is worth the wait.

Points on proper winter dressing

Ok people, as cold as it may be outside, we have to hold ourselves to some standards people. This "nose warmer" I found on Etsy today while shopping for a scarf caught my attention. While violence is not normally acceptable, I think we can make an exception since this looks very much like a target. Quite possibly the wearer of this contraption is looking for a blow to the nose to clear up their sinuses. Honestly it looks like she took her thong and stuck it on her head, my lord, this world is going to hell. What happened to self respect and dignity, you can't go walking around with underwear on your head. "Hey, are you wearing a thong on your head?", "No, it's a nose warmer!" no matter what you tell anyone, they are gonna think your daft ass is wearing underwear on your head. I'm coming to a lose for words here, this is quite possibly the stupidest thing I have seen all year, and trust me I see a lot of stupid things. I want to recommend the manufacturer of this fine piece of apparel thinks twice about their career in fashion, I don't think it's gonna quite work out the way you were expecting. I still can't believe they got actual people to pose with a thong on their face and a bunch of them at that. It even comes with a manual, I would gather it's a big illustration of someone's bottom and the nosewarmer with a big red X through it next to a picture of someone's face and the nosewarmer with a big green check mark. Maybe I should go get high and look at this again, actually no, this is horrible. The older guy is particularly creepy, it looks like he's wearing a little girls underwear on his face, I think I saw him on Dateline. Someone call the damn cops!

-Dre

"When the last tree is cut..."

Money. The root of all evil or the key to a stress free existence? Who cares and why am I digging this deep on my first post to a blog dedicated to miscellany? Truth is, a recent bout of unemployment (yes, due to the recession) has me pondering life, liberty and the pursuit of (you guessed it) happiness. I am one of many, recently plopped into the street on a blustery day, gripping a bamboo plant and a fistful of Italian paperclips, pondering whether to frantically log into my Linked In account and renew old relationships, or stop to consider that there may be more to life than ACT notes and arduous conversation over chopped salad and unremarkable pizza.

Four years ago, I was a bright college graduate, headed for an exceptional future and looking for a way to rent the quaint yellow house (on some of the most coveted land Long Island has to offer) that was utterly perfect for EB and I to start our grown up lives. A job selling classified ads for techie trade mags was not glamorous, nor relevant to my degree (journalism), but it was a beginning, MY beginning, and I loved every moment of it. Little did I know that slowly my love of learning and thirst for living life to the fullest would slowly dissipate with each and every "cold call" and "Pot Luck" lunch. Gradually, a thriving collegiate environment is replaced with the dull hum of fluorescent lighting, late night cram sessions over nachos and beer turn into weekly sales meetings designed to inflate one persons ego and diminish eight or ten others. Three high profile magazine companies later, the pot luck transformed into sushi and a stunning view of Central Park. Just as Cinderella's carriage turned back into a pumpkin, this glammed up world was nothing more than a thinly veiled playground of insecurity and power, a deadly combination. Suddenly, a budding career evaporates in a cloud of BXM2 dust. But a new chance for integrity resurfaces, and the hope of finding fulfilling work returns with a vengeance.

In a world where we are overdue for a Yellowstone "Super volcanic Eruption" by 600,000 + years, where economic and natural disasters abound, and the end of the Mayan calendar (and supposedly the world) looms close on the horizon, is money itself enough of a reason to give up one's essence? I'm no longer drinking the Kool Aid.

As the Bhutanese say:

When the last tree is cut,
When the last river is emptied,
When the last fish is caught,
Only then will man realize that he can not eat money.

Discuss.

- KJ

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Listen Up!

An attempted list from top to bottom.  Enjoy:

Jack Pierson "Roses"

The Best Chocolate Mousse in New York

2 Packs a Day

My addiction to an old classic that looks like crap, tastes like magic

My mom and I would sneak out for midnight hot dogs at this Chicago staple

A Dirty Jersey tribute that makes every "Getting Ready" playlist 

Go to this spot, drink an Elixir #5 cocktail, get laid

My favorite website for a little French fashion flair

Love this movie; Karaoke-perfect theme song is an added, catchy bonus

Obsessed with this SNL skit