I was in line at Whole Foods today when I did something I hadn't done in a long time - something I used to do nearly every time I was at the grocery store. I picked up a physical copy of Los Angeles Magazine and tossed it in with my hummus, crunchy hippie bread and sliced mangoes. I just saw my secret best friend and life idol Mindy Kaling on the cover and decided at least one article of the many needed to be read.
Since the "dawn" of new media, I've always kept with the old ways. I still read physical books, would watch TV news programs when I had cable and always enjoyed a lighthearted beach read with Cosmopolitan or Glamour. When I graduated from undergrad in 2004, Facebook hadn't yet been opened to my school (the University of Texas) for more than perhaps a month, and the new "trends" talked about in my advertising classes were that of movie theater advertisements and even commercial text messages. Even these ideas were somewhat offensive to me - was nothing sacred? Would I be sold something at every turn in a few years? It's actually worse than what I imagined.
While I'm not bombarded by branded toilet paper or receiving unsolicited text messages from car companies, the new way of getting information really and truly is driving me crazy. I was worried about advertisements, but I had no idea what I was going to be dealing with was the unfortunate access to all humanity - including the racist, idiotic, uneducated and infuriating masses to which I had never been exposed.
I used to enjoy reading the news online. It would be one of the first things I did when I arrived at work or on a break during law school, to catch me up on current events and get a general glance at what was happening in the world in case someone decided to pull out some political trivia at lunch and I didn't want to look like a giant moron.
Now I hate it. I haven't gone to the homepage of an online news site in months, likely because everything is already splashed across Facebook for the world to see. I don't get to pick and choose articles by title; I cannot avoid the pictures and headlines that follow the cute video of my friend's new puppy. The worst part isn't even the article, it's the COMMENTS.
I moved to LA to be around like-minded people. So far, it's been working out well with regard to actual physical humans in my proximity. Sadly, however, the bigoted, intolerant embarrassments of humanity I sought to escape by hiding out in a liberal haven have been able to follow me - through the glorious world of the internet.
A typical "morning" (in quotes because during phases of unemployment, the time I wake up is rarely in the actual morning) for me starts with checking my email (jobs) and checking Facebook (friends who live as far away as Abu Dhabi and Singapore). Unfortunately, after a mere twenty minutes of browsing, I'm already stark raving mad by the time I get up to brush my teeth. In between the vacation photos and life updates, I sometimes stop to read articles that look interesting. This is a giant, GIANT mistake.
No matter what news site it comes from or what the topic is, inevitably the comments section will make me hate humanity. Since they're hidden behind the protective wall of the internet, the racists, homophobes, gun nuts, right-wing crazies, Jesus freaks and general trolls start spouting off inane bullshit that is not only horrifying but generally has the spelling and sentence structure of a seven-year-old's book report. I try so hard to avoid the comments, but it's like a train wreck that sucks me in. By the time I put my phone down and actually step out of bed, I'm infuriated and pretty much hate the world.
Yes, I may have an anger management problem. Yes, I probably shouldn't worry about what other idiots are posting on the internet. Does that help me stop? Nope, sure doesn't - because it's THERE. I generally leave most comments sections grateful for LA County gun laws because I'm milliseconds away from buying an assault rifle and killing most of the people I just saw post inane shit on the internet.
So when I sat on my couch this evening and picked up my shiny new LA Magazine with lovely Miss Mindy on the cover, I was in for a surprise. One of the first articles I read was about the airBNB and rental crisis in LA, with the article mentioning differing viewpoints. I felt myself getting anxious and didn't understand why. When I finished the article and turned the page, I felt an odd sense of relief. I just read an article about a somewhat controversial subject and I didn't have to hear ANYONE ELSE'S OPINION. It was a magnificent feeling. The next page wasn't filled with angry, unsolicited comments that strayed so far off-topic that you forgot what the article was about, it was, in fact, a lovely fashion spread of clothing and accessories that each individually cost more than my rent. But in comparison to the feeling I got whenever I finished an online article and even just glanced at the comments section, I will happily indulge the editors' obscenely priced idea of fashion - especially because it's also not followed by a diatribe from readers about body image and the lack of plus-sized models.
Everyone's entitled to an opinion, I just strongly prefer not to hear it.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Monday, August 10, 2015
MY SPARK OF MADNESS
A year ago I was sitting in a windowless room with four other people staring at a computer in a bored daze when one of my coworkers announced "Robin Williams is dead."
I refused to believe it so immediately I began my own internet search for news articles, which had just begun popping up without having a complete story to report. I read all of them. Things became more clear, the press started getting more information, and I had to suddenly come to grips with the fact that my lifelong idol had taken his own life.
About an hour later, it was reasonable to believe someone was leaving for lunch, so I silently picked up my things and left. I drove home from Century City over the hills back to Sherman Oaks, and as I began the descent with the view of the Valley in front of me, something came on the radio that just made me lose it. I don't remember what it was. I got home and just cried.
I ended up emailing my boss and saying I had family issues which was why I left, because who's going to actually believe someone needs to go home when they find out a celebrity has died? I couldn't cry in public, and I took the next day off too.
My love for Robin Williams can be summed up in the post I wrote once I put myself together enough to form complete sentences (When You Lose Your Hero). I could rewrite the same thing over and over, or I could show how my life has changed because of that day.
Last year, I had graduated from USC with a master's in PR, expecting to get a job in marketing or communications. I had been unemployed for over two months while applying to (literally) over 100 jobs in multiple locations on the West Coast. I was lonely, miserable, completely broke, and finally ended up taking a temp legal job that had started the week before this happened solely to make ends meet.
I began questioning what I really wanted to do with my life. I had wanted to be on Saturday Night Live ever since I was way too young to be watching it, and my only creative outlet was this blog. I'd been so miserable for the past few months that I couldn't even find anything funny to write about. I knew something needed to change. I considered going to Korea to teach English, which was my way of running to a fantasy world I saw in Kdramas and where I didn't have the same problems I had at home. I'd move there and become someone else. Or I could stay here and become the real me.
By Christmas, I had decided to start taking improv classes at Second City, a place I'd heard about since my youth which was basically the "breeding ground" for all of SNL's most beloved - Aykroyd, Belushi, Gilda Radner, Martin Short, Chris Farley, Mike Meyers, Tina Fey - the list is as long as this post. It'd always been something I wanted to try, but I never really thought of actually doing it until last year.
Now, eight months later I just finished my first class in the Second City Conservatory, a program that you have to audition to get into, and am so much happier than I was. Not only have I found something I love to do, but I found a place I can be myself - every last weird face, noise, curse word or unicorn reference I have in me. And I've found there are people like me in the same way. We're like the Island of Misfit Toys, and we're all perfect for one another. My mom calls it "group therapy" because I'm always so happy on the days I go to improv class.
I also just took the California bar exam, but not for the reason one might think. I didn't "re-find my passion for the law," I just realized that my passion (improv) requires money and the best way to make it was doing something I was already experienced in and qualified to do. So instead of a $40k marketing job, I need a decent-paying legal job that can fund my interests, unless (or until) my interests can fund themselves.
Last December I got a frighteningly gigantic tattoo that I had wanted ever since Robin died. A quote I'd seen in many of the tributes to him - "You're only given a little spark of madness. You musn't lose it." I was given that madness, and I hadn't used it in years. He had sparked it in me as a child, and I knew I had to step up to the plate and turn my life into what I had always wanted for myself. Even though I had figured out I wanted the tattoo shortly after he died, I knew I couldn't get it before I was ready or I'd cry through the whole thing. One night in December as I drove home, I just stopped in to the tattoo shop I'd researched, alone, and had it done. A couple of the artists talked about him when they walked by and saw what I was getting. The big, burly guy getting something added to his body of art (literally) even wanted to see it. The whole place kinda changed tone for a second as I looked at the finished product. It appeared that Robin Williams really did touch everyone in some way.
Sometimes it takes a tragedy for you to realize what's important. A job is a job, and it's there to make money - if you love it, great, you're lucky - but if you don't, you can still do what you want to do and find a job that can provide the resources to continue to follow your dream. I couldn't let what Robin had made me dream of doing just fall away in the background while I tried to look for meaning in a "real job." I realigned my priorities and, despite still being broke, I'm happier than I have been in years. I belong to something. I'm finally being me.
RIP to my hero.
I refused to believe it so immediately I began my own internet search for news articles, which had just begun popping up without having a complete story to report. I read all of them. Things became more clear, the press started getting more information, and I had to suddenly come to grips with the fact that my lifelong idol had taken his own life.
About an hour later, it was reasonable to believe someone was leaving for lunch, so I silently picked up my things and left. I drove home from Century City over the hills back to Sherman Oaks, and as I began the descent with the view of the Valley in front of me, something came on the radio that just made me lose it. I don't remember what it was. I got home and just cried.
I ended up emailing my boss and saying I had family issues which was why I left, because who's going to actually believe someone needs to go home when they find out a celebrity has died? I couldn't cry in public, and I took the next day off too.
My love for Robin Williams can be summed up in the post I wrote once I put myself together enough to form complete sentences (When You Lose Your Hero). I could rewrite the same thing over and over, or I could show how my life has changed because of that day.
Last year, I had graduated from USC with a master's in PR, expecting to get a job in marketing or communications. I had been unemployed for over two months while applying to (literally) over 100 jobs in multiple locations on the West Coast. I was lonely, miserable, completely broke, and finally ended up taking a temp legal job that had started the week before this happened solely to make ends meet.
I began questioning what I really wanted to do with my life. I had wanted to be on Saturday Night Live ever since I was way too young to be watching it, and my only creative outlet was this blog. I'd been so miserable for the past few months that I couldn't even find anything funny to write about. I knew something needed to change. I considered going to Korea to teach English, which was my way of running to a fantasy world I saw in Kdramas and where I didn't have the same problems I had at home. I'd move there and become someone else. Or I could stay here and become the real me.
By Christmas, I had decided to start taking improv classes at Second City, a place I'd heard about since my youth which was basically the "breeding ground" for all of SNL's most beloved - Aykroyd, Belushi, Gilda Radner, Martin Short, Chris Farley, Mike Meyers, Tina Fey - the list is as long as this post. It'd always been something I wanted to try, but I never really thought of actually doing it until last year.
Now, eight months later I just finished my first class in the Second City Conservatory, a program that you have to audition to get into, and am so much happier than I was. Not only have I found something I love to do, but I found a place I can be myself - every last weird face, noise, curse word or unicorn reference I have in me. And I've found there are people like me in the same way. We're like the Island of Misfit Toys, and we're all perfect for one another. My mom calls it "group therapy" because I'm always so happy on the days I go to improv class.
I also just took the California bar exam, but not for the reason one might think. I didn't "re-find my passion for the law," I just realized that my passion (improv) requires money and the best way to make it was doing something I was already experienced in and qualified to do. So instead of a $40k marketing job, I need a decent-paying legal job that can fund my interests, unless (or until) my interests can fund themselves.
Last December I got a frighteningly gigantic tattoo that I had wanted ever since Robin died. A quote I'd seen in many of the tributes to him - "You're only given a little spark of madness. You musn't lose it." I was given that madness, and I hadn't used it in years. He had sparked it in me as a child, and I knew I had to step up to the plate and turn my life into what I had always wanted for myself. Even though I had figured out I wanted the tattoo shortly after he died, I knew I couldn't get it before I was ready or I'd cry through the whole thing. One night in December as I drove home, I just stopped in to the tattoo shop I'd researched, alone, and had it done. A couple of the artists talked about him when they walked by and saw what I was getting. The big, burly guy getting something added to his body of art (literally) even wanted to see it. The whole place kinda changed tone for a second as I looked at the finished product. It appeared that Robin Williams really did touch everyone in some way.
Sometimes it takes a tragedy for you to realize what's important. A job is a job, and it's there to make money - if you love it, great, you're lucky - but if you don't, you can still do what you want to do and find a job that can provide the resources to continue to follow your dream. I couldn't let what Robin had made me dream of doing just fall away in the background while I tried to look for meaning in a "real job." I realigned my priorities and, despite still being broke, I'm happier than I have been in years. I belong to something. I'm finally being me.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
HELLO, I'M A 33-YEAR-OLD WOMAN-CHILD
It occurs to me on various occasions that I'm an adult. When my parents were my age, they already had been married for five years, owned a home, and made the decision to stop having fun and start having kids. Most of my friends have "real jobs" and "disposable income" and have "paid a lot on their student loans." I sit on the floor of a studio apartment eating popsicles and watching XFiles reruns. I am not a successful adult.
Really the only people that consider me an adult are members of the government (dude, 18? 21? No WAY those people are adults), children, criminal defendants, theme parks (I do NOT need to pay that much more for a ticket, thank you) and baseball parks that refuse to give me the "kid's" promotion because I'm "over 15."
I enjoy studying for the bar exam because it's like school and not work. I have had real work, for like two and a half years, and it was weird.
I considered myself an actress playing a part. Every morning I would wake up and put on my lawyer costume (a suit and heels), drive to the courthouse, pretend I was a mature professional, interact with other adults awkwardly and eventually get to go back home and put on yoga pants and an ancient sorority tshirt while watching Family Guy.
When I was a prosecutor, I never let the real me come out. The real me is not "appropriate for a courtroom" or really any place that doesn't serve alcohol. I blame the fact that I haven't gotten a "real job" (after trying to not be a lawyer) because people can see I'm putting on an act in the interview. I really want to talk about cat videos and say "fuck" a lot, but I have to pretend that I'm "able to control myself" and "won't embarrass the company." Instead of the real me, they get nervous, formulaic me so I won't scare the everloving shit out of them and thus am relegated to the pile of other nervous, boring people.
When I'm unemployed, other than trying actively to remedy that situation, I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm seriously like a child, but I live 1500 miles away from my parents, all alone, and have managed to keep both myself and my cats alive (and two plants!).
Seriously, how do I do it?
I have called my parents to ask how to bake a potato. MORE THAN ONCE, BECAUSE I FORGOT. It's not like a cake, potatoes don't come with a little sticker that tells me how long to bake it, it's not MY fault.
I've left my debit card in ATMs not once, but TWICE. One of those times was yesterday, and I had to wait until today for them to get it out of the safe for me. Because of that, I did not have ONE DOLLAR to see a required show at Second City. I WALKED AROUND MY COMPLEX FOR 15 MINUTES LOOKING FOR PEOPLE'S DROPPED COINS. I AM NOT SHITTING YOU. When that failed, I took a nap, because I'm an adult.
I do my laundry about once a month because I wait until I have no pants left. Then for the next week, I draw my outfits from the pile of clean laundry on the floor of my apartment because I HATE putting it away because I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH DRAWERS.
Sometimes I open my fridge and all I have is an egg, some water, maybe some hummus and various condiments. The grocery store is likely still open, but because I hate interacting with people and going to places where I have to push around a large cart down small aisles and generally get anxious, I go to In N Out. I'm actually angry that there aren't more types of food that have drive thru windows. CHIPOTLE I'M LOOKING AT YOU.
I may or may not use Hello Kitty stickers to mark the times I use the gym on my calendar. I may or may not have a LOT of unused Hello Kitty stickers.
If it was feasible and not painfully expensive and unhealthy, I would either microwave or eat out for every meal.
No matter how long I have to do it, I can never wake up before 10am without snoozing my alarm 4 times. Except for the bar exam, but a) I had adrenaline working for me and b) I didn't have to wear real pants.
I made my bed today for the first time in months, only to get under the covers and take a nap ten minutes later.
I bought a coloring book (IT SAYS IT'S FOR ADULTS, OKAY?) and markers at Barnes and Noble and now I color while I watch crime shows on Netflix.
I only want a job so I can make enough money to take vacations from said job.
I have to text my friends to ask them what kind of accessories I should wear with a certain outfit because I was not given that part of a female's brain. I know something is important or formal if I'm not allowed to wear flip flops. I only learned how to dry my hair and brush it at the same time four years ago. I own and wear a shirt that features a cat eating noodles with chopsticks. CATS DON'T EVEN HAVE FINGERS.
Yet somehow, some way I'm not 1) dead, 2) in jail, 3) on probation, 4) living in my parents' basement, 5) 19.
I feel like I should finish this by asking how to "be an adult" but honestly, I can fake it when I need to and being a grown up looks SUPER lame. And by that I mean being a workaholic who has no time to enjoy herself and too many responsibilities (children) so that life just becomes the same thing, day in and day out. But I also don't want to be a 23-year-old and expected to use terms like "on fleek" or "bae" and not be taken seriously as a person by anyone. I guess it's nice to have an on/off switch - I just prefer my adult switch to be off.
Really the only people that consider me an adult are members of the government (dude, 18? 21? No WAY those people are adults), children, criminal defendants, theme parks (I do NOT need to pay that much more for a ticket, thank you) and baseball parks that refuse to give me the "kid's" promotion because I'm "over 15."
I enjoy studying for the bar exam because it's like school and not work. I have had real work, for like two and a half years, and it was weird.
I considered myself an actress playing a part. Every morning I would wake up and put on my lawyer costume (a suit and heels), drive to the courthouse, pretend I was a mature professional, interact with other adults awkwardly and eventually get to go back home and put on yoga pants and an ancient sorority tshirt while watching Family Guy.
When I was a prosecutor, I never let the real me come out. The real me is not "appropriate for a courtroom" or really any place that doesn't serve alcohol. I blame the fact that I haven't gotten a "real job" (after trying to not be a lawyer) because people can see I'm putting on an act in the interview. I really want to talk about cat videos and say "fuck" a lot, but I have to pretend that I'm "able to control myself" and "won't embarrass the company." Instead of the real me, they get nervous, formulaic me so I won't scare the everloving shit out of them and thus am relegated to the pile of other nervous, boring people.
When I'm unemployed, other than trying actively to remedy that situation, I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm seriously like a child, but I live 1500 miles away from my parents, all alone, and have managed to keep both myself and my cats alive (and two plants!).
Seriously, how do I do it?
I have called my parents to ask how to bake a potato. MORE THAN ONCE, BECAUSE I FORGOT. It's not like a cake, potatoes don't come with a little sticker that tells me how long to bake it, it's not MY fault.
I've left my debit card in ATMs not once, but TWICE. One of those times was yesterday, and I had to wait until today for them to get it out of the safe for me. Because of that, I did not have ONE DOLLAR to see a required show at Second City. I WALKED AROUND MY COMPLEX FOR 15 MINUTES LOOKING FOR PEOPLE'S DROPPED COINS. I AM NOT SHITTING YOU. When that failed, I took a nap, because I'm an adult.
I do my laundry about once a month because I wait until I have no pants left. Then for the next week, I draw my outfits from the pile of clean laundry on the floor of my apartment because I HATE putting it away because I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH DRAWERS.
Sometimes I open my fridge and all I have is an egg, some water, maybe some hummus and various condiments. The grocery store is likely still open, but because I hate interacting with people and going to places where I have to push around a large cart down small aisles and generally get anxious, I go to In N Out. I'm actually angry that there aren't more types of food that have drive thru windows. CHIPOTLE I'M LOOKING AT YOU.
I may or may not use Hello Kitty stickers to mark the times I use the gym on my calendar. I may or may not have a LOT of unused Hello Kitty stickers.
If it was feasible and not painfully expensive and unhealthy, I would either microwave or eat out for every meal.
No matter how long I have to do it, I can never wake up before 10am without snoozing my alarm 4 times. Except for the bar exam, but a) I had adrenaline working for me and b) I didn't have to wear real pants.
I made my bed today for the first time in months, only to get under the covers and take a nap ten minutes later.
I bought a coloring book (IT SAYS IT'S FOR ADULTS, OKAY?) and markers at Barnes and Noble and now I color while I watch crime shows on Netflix.
I only want a job so I can make enough money to take vacations from said job.
I have to text my friends to ask them what kind of accessories I should wear with a certain outfit because I was not given that part of a female's brain. I know something is important or formal if I'm not allowed to wear flip flops. I only learned how to dry my hair and brush it at the same time four years ago. I own and wear a shirt that features a cat eating noodles with chopsticks. CATS DON'T EVEN HAVE FINGERS.
Yet somehow, some way I'm not 1) dead, 2) in jail, 3) on probation, 4) living in my parents' basement, 5) 19.
I feel like I should finish this by asking how to "be an adult" but honestly, I can fake it when I need to and being a grown up looks SUPER lame. And by that I mean being a workaholic who has no time to enjoy herself and too many responsibilities (children) so that life just becomes the same thing, day in and day out. But I also don't want to be a 23-year-old and expected to use terms like "on fleek" or "bae" and not be taken seriously as a person by anyone. I guess it's nice to have an on/off switch - I just prefer my adult switch to be off.
Monday, July 13, 2015
EATING HEALTHY SUCKS BECAUSE...
It's not the food. Healthy food can be (and in the case of my meal plan, IS) good.
It's not feeling hungry all the time. I got over that in about two days, and honestly I'm perfectly satisfied with the amount of food I'm eating now.
It's not that I'm craving cookies. Ok, I WAS craving cookies, and I may or may not have eaten a couple (TWO but it was TWO DIFFERENT DAYS. ONE COOKIE EACH), but that craving has finally subsided as well.
It's not that I can't have fun at parties. I had a lovely time at a party on Friday, and I didn't stuff myself with food as I usually do when I drink booze (with diet Coke). People who know me know I don't even like booze that much so it's a great excuse NOT to drink.
It's because I. FUCKING. HATE. COOKING.
Before I started this diet/exercise plan, I didn't care for cooking. I found it a mere annoyance, but also realized sometimes it could be fun. I don't put baking in the same category as cooking - I used to love to bake and not particularly care to cook. Now I have an active (and growing) hatred of cooking. Why?
1. I have to cook EVERY DAY. The way the meal plan is structured, I always seem to be preparing something, whether it be multiple servings of lunch that I'll take to work or a dinner I'm going to eat right away. Even though I get 2-4 portions out of each cooking batch, IT SEEMS LIKE I AM NEVER NOT COOKING. JUST ONCE I'd like to heat something up in the goddamned microwave and sit on my couch and be eating within 2 minutes.
2. If I have to chop another fucking onion I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus. Every goddamned meal takes onions, AND I LIKE THEM but SWEET JESUS half my day is spent chopping them. Or bell peppers. Or bok choy. OR EVEN FRUIT. I'm developing carpal tunnel in my cutting hand. There's a reason I pay more for the pre-chopped broccoli and cauliflower - I just wish there was a pre-cut option for every goddamned fruit, vegetable, animal, meat substitute, or whatever else I have to eat. I will pay top dollar for you to come over and fucking cut all my produce for me.
3. IT'S TOO HOT. Maybe it's just me, but having the stove and the rice cooker and the crock pot and a curling iron and a mechanical cow and a flame thrower all on at once makes me sweat like a dirty old man. I have my AC on and it's 70 outside because my apartment has taken on the ambient temperature of whatever the fuck is on my stove.
When my meal plan says something like "Snack: apple and cashews" I get so fucking excited because there's no prep involved. I've never been excited about a goddamned apple before. Bake chicken? Fuck no, that shit's going in the crock pot, where I can leave it and go do something. That and I've never baked a piece of meat that didn't turn out too dry, undercooked or shitty in some other way.
Here's a list of things I like better than cooking:
studying civil procedure
cleaning the litter box
driving on the 405
going to the dentist
cleaning my apartment
waking up to go to work
not being able to eat cookies
looking for parking in West Hollywood
sitting next to a hobo on the train
having a hangnail
doing laundry
However, cooking still tops:
anything to do with needles
being around children
the existence of Justin Bieber
Country music
90% of the drivers in LA county
people with ironic handlebar moustaches
Arkansas
It's not feeling hungry all the time. I got over that in about two days, and honestly I'm perfectly satisfied with the amount of food I'm eating now.
It's not that I'm craving cookies. Ok, I WAS craving cookies, and I may or may not have eaten a couple (TWO but it was TWO DIFFERENT DAYS. ONE COOKIE EACH), but that craving has finally subsided as well.
It's not that I can't have fun at parties. I had a lovely time at a party on Friday, and I didn't stuff myself with food as I usually do when I drink booze (with diet Coke). People who know me know I don't even like booze that much so it's a great excuse NOT to drink.
It's because I. FUCKING. HATE. COOKING.
Before I started this diet/exercise plan, I didn't care for cooking. I found it a mere annoyance, but also realized sometimes it could be fun. I don't put baking in the same category as cooking - I used to love to bake and not particularly care to cook. Now I have an active (and growing) hatred of cooking. Why?
1. I have to cook EVERY DAY. The way the meal plan is structured, I always seem to be preparing something, whether it be multiple servings of lunch that I'll take to work or a dinner I'm going to eat right away. Even though I get 2-4 portions out of each cooking batch, IT SEEMS LIKE I AM NEVER NOT COOKING. JUST ONCE I'd like to heat something up in the goddamned microwave and sit on my couch and be eating within 2 minutes.
2. If I have to chop another fucking onion I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus. Every goddamned meal takes onions, AND I LIKE THEM but SWEET JESUS half my day is spent chopping them. Or bell peppers. Or bok choy. OR EVEN FRUIT. I'm developing carpal tunnel in my cutting hand. There's a reason I pay more for the pre-chopped broccoli and cauliflower - I just wish there was a pre-cut option for every goddamned fruit, vegetable, animal, meat substitute, or whatever else I have to eat. I will pay top dollar for you to come over and fucking cut all my produce for me.
3. IT'S TOO HOT. Maybe it's just me, but having the stove and the rice cooker and the crock pot and a curling iron and a mechanical cow and a flame thrower all on at once makes me sweat like a dirty old man. I have my AC on and it's 70 outside because my apartment has taken on the ambient temperature of whatever the fuck is on my stove.
When my meal plan says something like "Snack: apple and cashews" I get so fucking excited because there's no prep involved. I've never been excited about a goddamned apple before. Bake chicken? Fuck no, that shit's going in the crock pot, where I can leave it and go do something. That and I've never baked a piece of meat that didn't turn out too dry, undercooked or shitty in some other way.
Here's a list of things I like better than cooking:
studying civil procedure
cleaning the litter box
driving on the 405
going to the dentist
cleaning my apartment
waking up to go to work
not being able to eat cookies
looking for parking in West Hollywood
sitting next to a hobo on the train
having a hangnail
doing laundry
However, cooking still tops:
anything to do with needles
being around children
the existence of Justin Bieber
Country music
90% of the drivers in LA county
people with ironic handlebar moustaches
Arkansas
Monday, July 6, 2015
GETTING OFF MY LAZY ASS, WEEK 1
During my recent bout with the black plague, I finally decided I needed to go to a doctor when I got winded and lightheaded walking back to my car from work and had a full-on coughing fit. Before he forced me to take electronic bong hits of Albuterol and some steroid to fix my ailing lungs, he did what all doctors do - he weighed me. For the last, oh, year, I've been avoiding weighing myself or seeing my weight at the doctor, and doing a pretty damn good job of it. I figure if my clothes still fit and I'm happy with how I look, I don't need a number on a scale to make me feel bad.
Well, my clothes are fitting too tightly and I don't like how I look right now, so I suppose it was time for me to actually (accidentally) look at the scale. And boy, was I large and in charge. I was 10lbs heavier than normal and had reached a number I swore I never would, and at that moment I decided I needed some serious motivation to actually eat better and work out. Such motivation for me comes in the form of either a) lost income or b) shame. I chose both.
My lovely friend Manda (who has a blog, This Fit Blonde) moved to Singapore like a jerkface, but luckily she's still accessible via FitOrbit, an online training and diet site. When it comes to accountability, I'm vaguely scared of her, EVEN FROM 20 HOURS AWAY, so this was perfect. I plunked down $60 for a month of her telling me exactly what to eat and how to work out, and creepily monitoring me from another continent in the process.
I started on July 1, nice and easy to remember. It's been almost a full week. Here's my current outlook:
Day 1 - I get a grocery list emailed to me so I can get the foods I'm supposed to be eating in the next week. I spent like 20 minutes in the produce department. Seriously. I started to worry that the employees thought I was stealing things, because I just kept picking up more and more produce like some sort of zookeeper. Some of the things were normal, like strawberries and cucumbers and broccoli, and then there were the not-so-normal. Ginger root? No thanks, I've got powdered ginger in my spice rack at home. That's going to do whether you like it or not.
When I get home I realize that I have to take this food to work, since Starbucks and the fast food Indian place aren't on my meal plan. So I have to start cooking.
If you know me at all, you know I hate cooking. I'm not bad at it; in fact, I'm pretty good at it, but I despise taking the time to do all the little nuances of making a meal. To me, "cooking" is putting things in the crock pot and turning it on. Having to make different things in different pots is just more than I can fucking handle.
At one point I had a rice cooker, a sautee pan and something else all going at the same time. I kept telling myself "you're cooking for 3 days, you get to heat and microwave this for the rest of the week!" but it wasn't necessarily making it better. You know what's the easiest thing to make? FRUIT SALAD. You know what's the most annoying thing to do? CHOPPING A FUCKTON OF FRUIT. Ugh.
The meal plan even tried to make me cook every day. Oh hell no, meal plan, I'm eating the same thing for 3 days and then I'll make the new thing, like hell I'm cooking every night. And my laziness got the better of me a few times - steamed broccoli? That takes too long. I'm just eating it raw.
Exercise - I may have mentioned I just recovered from the black plague, which took quite a toll on my already weak-ass lungs. I have an inhaler now, which would normally be for exercise but instead is for any slight exertion that causes me to cough uncontrollably. Not great for someone who is looking to get in shape.
The first workout was spin class, which I thought was a little heavy for someone who had just nearly died and also hadn't worked out in a hot second, but I went for it. I made it through 30 minutes before my coughing began to cause people to look concerned, so I left in shame and hit the inhaler.
I'm still (5 days later) coughing when I walk up too many stairs or walk too quickly, so I'm not sure how the cardio portion of this is going to go - but I can do weights just fine. Hope that works.
THE COOKIE - Despite being very good and sticking to the diet nearly verbatim (with exceptions for the 4th of July), I have been hit with an unshakeable craving for a chocolate chip cookie. At all times. I would shank a man to get a cookie. I think about them in my sleep. I think about them at work. I think about them when I eat my fruit - my deliciously inadequate fruit that no matter how hard it tries, cannot become chocolate.
The food they have me slaving over is actually quite good, and after the first day of nearly dying of hunger I do now feel satisfied after most meals, so I can't complain that I'm eating only raw oats and a single stalk of celery, but DEAR GOD, THE COOKIE. It's like heroin. It follows me wherever I go. Pictures of cupcakes are becoming like pornography, and Pinterest is nearly out of the question right now. Before the diet I would crave an Indian buffet or pad thai, but never desserts. But sweet merciful mother of god, cookies are all I can think of.
Thankfully, no cookies have been in my grab area (criminal law joke) since I started, but all it takes is me asking a Starbucks employee very nicely to remove one from behind the protective glass from whence it sits.
Do I have the willpower??
Well, my clothes are fitting too tightly and I don't like how I look right now, so I suppose it was time for me to actually (accidentally) look at the scale. And boy, was I large and in charge. I was 10lbs heavier than normal and had reached a number I swore I never would, and at that moment I decided I needed some serious motivation to actually eat better and work out. Such motivation for me comes in the form of either a) lost income or b) shame. I chose both.
My lovely friend Manda (who has a blog, This Fit Blonde) moved to Singapore like a jerkface, but luckily she's still accessible via FitOrbit, an online training and diet site. When it comes to accountability, I'm vaguely scared of her, EVEN FROM 20 HOURS AWAY, so this was perfect. I plunked down $60 for a month of her telling me exactly what to eat and how to work out, and creepily monitoring me from another continent in the process.
I started on July 1, nice and easy to remember. It's been almost a full week. Here's my current outlook:
Day 1 - I get a grocery list emailed to me so I can get the foods I'm supposed to be eating in the next week. I spent like 20 minutes in the produce department. Seriously. I started to worry that the employees thought I was stealing things, because I just kept picking up more and more produce like some sort of zookeeper. Some of the things were normal, like strawberries and cucumbers and broccoli, and then there were the not-so-normal. Ginger root? No thanks, I've got powdered ginger in my spice rack at home. That's going to do whether you like it or not.
When I get home I realize that I have to take this food to work, since Starbucks and the fast food Indian place aren't on my meal plan. So I have to start cooking.
If you know me at all, you know I hate cooking. I'm not bad at it; in fact, I'm pretty good at it, but I despise taking the time to do all the little nuances of making a meal. To me, "cooking" is putting things in the crock pot and turning it on. Having to make different things in different pots is just more than I can fucking handle.
At one point I had a rice cooker, a sautee pan and something else all going at the same time. I kept telling myself "you're cooking for 3 days, you get to heat and microwave this for the rest of the week!" but it wasn't necessarily making it better. You know what's the easiest thing to make? FRUIT SALAD. You know what's the most annoying thing to do? CHOPPING A FUCKTON OF FRUIT. Ugh.
The meal plan even tried to make me cook every day. Oh hell no, meal plan, I'm eating the same thing for 3 days and then I'll make the new thing, like hell I'm cooking every night. And my laziness got the better of me a few times - steamed broccoli? That takes too long. I'm just eating it raw.
Exercise - I may have mentioned I just recovered from the black plague, which took quite a toll on my already weak-ass lungs. I have an inhaler now, which would normally be for exercise but instead is for any slight exertion that causes me to cough uncontrollably. Not great for someone who is looking to get in shape.
The first workout was spin class, which I thought was a little heavy for someone who had just nearly died and also hadn't worked out in a hot second, but I went for it. I made it through 30 minutes before my coughing began to cause people to look concerned, so I left in shame and hit the inhaler.
I'm still (5 days later) coughing when I walk up too many stairs or walk too quickly, so I'm not sure how the cardio portion of this is going to go - but I can do weights just fine. Hope that works.
THE COOKIE - Despite being very good and sticking to the diet nearly verbatim (with exceptions for the 4th of July), I have been hit with an unshakeable craving for a chocolate chip cookie. At all times. I would shank a man to get a cookie. I think about them in my sleep. I think about them at work. I think about them when I eat my fruit - my deliciously inadequate fruit that no matter how hard it tries, cannot become chocolate.
The food they have me slaving over is actually quite good, and after the first day of nearly dying of hunger I do now feel satisfied after most meals, so I can't complain that I'm eating only raw oats and a single stalk of celery, but DEAR GOD, THE COOKIE. It's like heroin. It follows me wherever I go. Pictures of cupcakes are becoming like pornography, and Pinterest is nearly out of the question right now. Before the diet I would crave an Indian buffet or pad thai, but never desserts. But sweet merciful mother of god, cookies are all I can think of.
Thankfully, no cookies have been in my grab area (criminal law joke) since I started, but all it takes is me asking a Starbucks employee very nicely to remove one from behind the protective glass from whence it sits.
Do I have the willpower??
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
I have lived many places, with many different kinds of drivers - all of them bad, but in different ways. Specifically Dallas and LA, likely because they're both ginormous cities that revolve around highways and poor public transit. People in Dallas are aggressive and stupid - the kind of driving that leaves a 40 car pile-up in its wake and the driver has no idea because they're so oblivious. People in LA fall into two different categories: assholes and pussies.
First let me comment on why I'm qualified to dissect and judge other people's driving habits: I'm a fucking fantastic driver. In the 17 years (holy god, I've officially been driving longer than I HAVEN'T been driving, I'm so old) I've had a license, I've pretty much driven everything except an 18-wheeler.
Most people learn to drive on their mom's Camry that's semi-old and kinda cushy, with easy steering, brakes and not a lot of extra thinking required. I, however, learned to drive in a really large and horrifically unsafe steel box, otherwise known as this beautiful creature:
Yes, this was my first car. A beautiful seafoam green 1966 Ford Mustang. The amenities it came with were 1) being awesome, 2) factory AC (rare and wonderful for that time) and 3) doors. It had no power steering or brakes, no airbags (which nearly sent my mom to the nuthouse) and at first, a very slow, weak engine with 170,000 miles on it.
As a 100lb 16-year-old, I got quite a workout driving this thing. To turn, I had to make approximately 60 complete rotations of the steering wheel, and to brake I had to anticipate things that might happen five minutes in advance while using all of my weight and both feet to bring the car to a screeching halt. Needless to say, I had to be on my game.
Fast forward two years and I leave my beloved behind to go to school in LA with a new Beetle. Being one of the only freshmen with a car, I quickly became the dorm taxi. Basically when you land in LA and you've been driving for a year and a half, you're thrown into some crazy shit. Six-lane freeways? Yep. Crazy assholes driving 80mph? Yep. So my survival instincts kicked in and within weeks I was a pro at driving like a west coast asshole, which became pretty funny when I moved back to Austin and scared people by changing lanes into a spot barely a car length long.
So at this point I've driven a car that I practically had to pedal and also driven in the craziest traffic city in the US. Let's up our game a bit here by getting a stick shift. Yep, that's right, my next car was a manual (upon request, no less) Mercury Cougar that I had for seven years until random parts started falling off and I had to get something more "practical."
In recent months, I've also had some interesting driving experiences, which include driving a 12-passenger van on a one-lane road through the hills of Napa Valley, and doing it so well that I became the REQUESTED DRIVER. Yes, that's right, people trusted my driving skills. They even suggested I be a bus driver, which actually flattered me.
So you pretty much can't outdo me in knowing how to drive unless you're one of the boys I hung out with in college who had fast cars and taught me how to do such things as "apex a turn."
Alright, so here are my driving tips:
1) MOVE BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY
Seriously, going under the speed limit? Not acceptable. I have shit to do and places to be, so get the fuck out of my way. If you don't know where you're going, TOO BAD, find a place to pull over but most definitely do not slow down to a crawl as you try to read the addresses on buildings while I desperately attempt to change lanes while people speed by. Get out of the fast lane on the highway. Just go ahead and don't even get on the highway if you can't fucking use it right. And here's another tip - the speed limit is the flow of traffic, and if the flow of traffic is going 70, SPEED THE FUCK UP. Can't handle it? Take a bus.
2) TURN SIGNALS
USE. THEM. I'm not kidding. You will NEVER get over in front of me without signaling, I will make SURE. One person at a time I'm slowly teaching the world to signal by NOT REWARDING BAD BEHAVIOR. Going to turn right? Well you're gonna get honked at like a mofo unless you have your signal on because it looks like you're about to just slow down and stop in the middle of the road.
3) SKIPPING THE LINE
Pretending you don't see that arrow that tells you the lane merges into one? Nope, not gonna happen. If I have to tie my bumper to the car in front of me by god you will not get in. Getting over at the last second? Nope. My friends that I've never met and I are making a beautiful unbreakable chain of cars that you will not penetrate because you DIDN'T WAIT YOUR TURN. I love the camaraderie of joining together with strangers to screw over an asshole. It just warms my little heart.
4) RAIN
I'm going to say this once and only once: IF YOU HAVE NEVER LIVED IN A PLACE WHERE IT RAINED/SNOWED/HAD WEATHER AT LEAST ONCE A MONTH, JUST DON'T EVEN TRY TO DRIVE. I had to learn how to drive in the snow on my first day of work when I moved to Kansas City. Guess what? I made it. You assholes keep sliding off the road or going 2 mph or running into shit because water falls from the sky. You don't deserve the privilege of driving. Go home and let the big kids drive on rainy days. You're a danger to yourself and others.
5) WRONG TURNS
Guess what? Sometimes we miss our exits on the highway. It happens. There's an easy solution that doesn't involve killing 7 people and stopping traffic for hours - TAKE THE NEXT EXIT AND TURN AROUND. Wait, WHAT? Yes, I said it's ok to take the NEXT EXIT. If you're in the far left lane and have five lanes to cross to get to your exit in ten feet, YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. 1) you should have been paying attention, so it's your own damn fault and 2) it's not like that 20-mile stretch in Louisiana on the 10 where you literally cannot exit because you're 20 feet above a swamp and are likely to get eaten by a gator - there's another exit in ONE MILE. Jesus people, COMMON SENSE. And I know half of you use GPS - SIRI WILL REROUTE YOU. I PROMISE.
So pretty much everyone on the road falls into one of these categories, which means that everyone needs to go practice in a parking lot until you can fucking handle yourself and your giant torpedo of death. Now let me drive JUST ONCE without having to curse you out.
First let me comment on why I'm qualified to dissect and judge other people's driving habits: I'm a fucking fantastic driver. In the 17 years (holy god, I've officially been driving longer than I HAVEN'T been driving, I'm so old) I've had a license, I've pretty much driven everything except an 18-wheeler.
Most people learn to drive on their mom's Camry that's semi-old and kinda cushy, with easy steering, brakes and not a lot of extra thinking required. I, however, learned to drive in a really large and horrifically unsafe steel box, otherwise known as this beautiful creature:
Yes, this was my first car. A beautiful seafoam green 1966 Ford Mustang. The amenities it came with were 1) being awesome, 2) factory AC (rare and wonderful for that time) and 3) doors. It had no power steering or brakes, no airbags (which nearly sent my mom to the nuthouse) and at first, a very slow, weak engine with 170,000 miles on it.
As a 100lb 16-year-old, I got quite a workout driving this thing. To turn, I had to make approximately 60 complete rotations of the steering wheel, and to brake I had to anticipate things that might happen five minutes in advance while using all of my weight and both feet to bring the car to a screeching halt. Needless to say, I had to be on my game.
Fast forward two years and I leave my beloved behind to go to school in LA with a new Beetle. Being one of the only freshmen with a car, I quickly became the dorm taxi. Basically when you land in LA and you've been driving for a year and a half, you're thrown into some crazy shit. Six-lane freeways? Yep. Crazy assholes driving 80mph? Yep. So my survival instincts kicked in and within weeks I was a pro at driving like a west coast asshole, which became pretty funny when I moved back to Austin and scared people by changing lanes into a spot barely a car length long.
So at this point I've driven a car that I practically had to pedal and also driven in the craziest traffic city in the US. Let's up our game a bit here by getting a stick shift. Yep, that's right, my next car was a manual (upon request, no less) Mercury Cougar that I had for seven years until random parts started falling off and I had to get something more "practical."
In recent months, I've also had some interesting driving experiences, which include driving a 12-passenger van on a one-lane road through the hills of Napa Valley, and doing it so well that I became the REQUESTED DRIVER. Yes, that's right, people trusted my driving skills. They even suggested I be a bus driver, which actually flattered me.
So you pretty much can't outdo me in knowing how to drive unless you're one of the boys I hung out with in college who had fast cars and taught me how to do such things as "apex a turn."
Alright, so here are my driving tips:
1) MOVE BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY
Seriously, going under the speed limit? Not acceptable. I have shit to do and places to be, so get the fuck out of my way. If you don't know where you're going, TOO BAD, find a place to pull over but most definitely do not slow down to a crawl as you try to read the addresses on buildings while I desperately attempt to change lanes while people speed by. Get out of the fast lane on the highway. Just go ahead and don't even get on the highway if you can't fucking use it right. And here's another tip - the speed limit is the flow of traffic, and if the flow of traffic is going 70, SPEED THE FUCK UP. Can't handle it? Take a bus.
2) TURN SIGNALS
USE. THEM. I'm not kidding. You will NEVER get over in front of me without signaling, I will make SURE. One person at a time I'm slowly teaching the world to signal by NOT REWARDING BAD BEHAVIOR. Going to turn right? Well you're gonna get honked at like a mofo unless you have your signal on because it looks like you're about to just slow down and stop in the middle of the road.
3) SKIPPING THE LINE
Pretending you don't see that arrow that tells you the lane merges into one? Nope, not gonna happen. If I have to tie my bumper to the car in front of me by god you will not get in. Getting over at the last second? Nope. My friends that I've never met and I are making a beautiful unbreakable chain of cars that you will not penetrate because you DIDN'T WAIT YOUR TURN. I love the camaraderie of joining together with strangers to screw over an asshole. It just warms my little heart.
4) RAIN
I'm going to say this once and only once: IF YOU HAVE NEVER LIVED IN A PLACE WHERE IT RAINED/SNOWED/HAD WEATHER AT LEAST ONCE A MONTH, JUST DON'T EVEN TRY TO DRIVE. I had to learn how to drive in the snow on my first day of work when I moved to Kansas City. Guess what? I made it. You assholes keep sliding off the road or going 2 mph or running into shit because water falls from the sky. You don't deserve the privilege of driving. Go home and let the big kids drive on rainy days. You're a danger to yourself and others.
5) WRONG TURNS
Guess what? Sometimes we miss our exits on the highway. It happens. There's an easy solution that doesn't involve killing 7 people and stopping traffic for hours - TAKE THE NEXT EXIT AND TURN AROUND. Wait, WHAT? Yes, I said it's ok to take the NEXT EXIT. If you're in the far left lane and have five lanes to cross to get to your exit in ten feet, YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. 1) you should have been paying attention, so it's your own damn fault and 2) it's not like that 20-mile stretch in Louisiana on the 10 where you literally cannot exit because you're 20 feet above a swamp and are likely to get eaten by a gator - there's another exit in ONE MILE. Jesus people, COMMON SENSE. And I know half of you use GPS - SIRI WILL REROUTE YOU. I PROMISE.
So pretty much everyone on the road falls into one of these categories, which means that everyone needs to go practice in a parking lot until you can fucking handle yourself and your giant torpedo of death. Now let me drive JUST ONCE without having to curse you out.
Monday, June 8, 2015
LEARN SOME GODDAMNED GRAMMAR - RIGHT HERE IN THIS POST
I seriously cannot fucking take it anymore. I'm friends with some very educated people on Facebook and in real life, and even though they can speak three languages and build robots, THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH GRAMMAR. You know, that language you were RAISED SPEAKING?? I see the same damn mistakes all the time, and I honestly want to know why I was the ONLY ONE listening in class that day, because some of you fuckers were IN CLASS WITH ME.
Here are the most common offenses - once you're done reading this your life will be changed forever because you'll magically know how to speak.
1. POSTING PHOTOS. "Mom and I at the beach"
NO NO NO NO. I know that whatever grade we were in when we learned to say "and I" made it seem like it's ALWAYS "and I," but NEWSFLASH: IT'S NOT. In fact, the MAJORITY of the time it's not. Sometimes "and me" is correct. I know, it hurts to say that, BUT IT'S TRUE.
CORRECT ANSWER: "Mom and ME at the beach." How did I come to that conclusion? Easy. What would it be if you were at the beach alone? "Me at the beach." What about your mom alone? "Mom at the beach." It would never be "I at the beach," so why is it suddenly "Mom and I at the beach?" You're making this too hard.
Always ask yourself: What if I was a lonely loser (which you will be if you keep up that goddamned grammar)? What if it was JUST ME in this picture? Keyword: ME
Other wrong photo titles: "John and I with a celebrity" "My sister and I at Christmas" Or perhaps you're posting something that you share ownership of - I see this one a lot too: "Brad and I's new dog!"
NO. Stop. Think. SEPARATE. "Brad's new dog." "My new dog." "BRAD'S AND MY NEW DOG." IT IS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD, ASSHATS.
2. APOSTROPHE ABUSE. "Skirt's for $10!"
When I say "dog's," what do you think of? If you think of MANY DOGS, please go hit yourself in the face with a metal pan. You should think, "the dog's WHAT? What belongs to the dog?" because that, my friends, is what apostrophes are for. Not "that's what apostrophe's are for," you stupid fucks.
Pretend we're in a war and our ammunition is made out of apostrophes. Now RATION THAT SHIT and think "WHOA, hold up now, do I REALLY need to use a valuable apostrophe in this situation?" The answer is almost always NO.
But Grammar Goddess, WHEN DO I get to use apostrophes??
I'm glad you asked. Does something in the sentence BELONG TO ANYONE mentioned in the sentence? Does your mom have tomatoes? Then they are "your mom's tomatoes." Does anything belong TO THE TOMATOES? NO, because tomatoes are inanimate objects, you jackass. Therefore, your mom gets an apostrophe and the tomatoes do NOT.
RIGHT: "My aunt's house" WRONG: "All of my aunt's will be there"
RIGHT: ****I'm looking at YOU, Chipotle on Figueroa and Jefferson**** "Choose your greens!" WRONG: "Choose your green's!"
Also, on a side note, when engraving gifts for a wedding, REMEMBER THE APOSTROPHE RULE. Jim and Jane are "The Smiths," not "The Smith's." Jim and Jane live in "The Smiths' House," NOT "The Smith's House." The latter implies that they're already living separately, do you really want to do that to a marriage before it's begun?!?!
3. LESS AND FEWER "15 items or less!"
There is one beautiful store that has a "15 items or FEWER" sign and I can't remember off the top of my head, but I wanted to write the management a beautiful thank you card for FINALLY getting it right. This one is trickier, so here is a correct usage of BOTH:
"There is LESS coffee in my cup than there was an hour ago."
"There are FEWER cookies than there were an hour ago."
Here's the trick: CAN YOU COUNT IT? In the first one, can you count coffee? Not CUPS of coffee, but just COFFEE? Would you say "there are three coffees in my cup?" Nope. You cannot count coffee itself. If you CANNOT COUNT IT, the proper word is LESS. Less sugar. Less pink. Less painful.
Can you count cookies? YES YOU CAN. Would you say "I have three cookies?" YES YOU WOULD. If you CAN COUNT IT, it's FEWER. Fewer cats. Fewer clowns. Fewer items.
DO YOU GET IT NOW? There cannot be "two less" - it's "two fewer." There cannot be "a little bit fewer" - it's "a little bit less."
Now go, use this new education to brighten the world, teach your kids the right way to speak and write, and for god's sake always use it around me at least.
Here are the most common offenses - once you're done reading this your life will be changed forever because you'll magically know how to speak.
1. POSTING PHOTOS. "Mom and I at the beach"
NO NO NO NO. I know that whatever grade we were in when we learned to say "and I" made it seem like it's ALWAYS "and I," but NEWSFLASH: IT'S NOT. In fact, the MAJORITY of the time it's not. Sometimes "and me" is correct. I know, it hurts to say that, BUT IT'S TRUE.
CORRECT ANSWER: "Mom and ME at the beach." How did I come to that conclusion? Easy. What would it be if you were at the beach alone? "Me at the beach." What about your mom alone? "Mom at the beach." It would never be "I at the beach," so why is it suddenly "Mom and I at the beach?" You're making this too hard.
Always ask yourself: What if I was a lonely loser (which you will be if you keep up that goddamned grammar)? What if it was JUST ME in this picture? Keyword: ME
Other wrong photo titles: "John and I with a celebrity" "My sister and I at Christmas" Or perhaps you're posting something that you share ownership of - I see this one a lot too: "Brad and I's new dog!"
NO. Stop. Think. SEPARATE. "Brad's new dog." "My new dog." "BRAD'S AND MY NEW DOG." IT IS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD, ASSHATS.
2. APOSTROPHE ABUSE. "Skirt's for $10!"
When I say "dog's," what do you think of? If you think of MANY DOGS, please go hit yourself in the face with a metal pan. You should think, "the dog's WHAT? What belongs to the dog?" because that, my friends, is what apostrophes are for. Not "that's what apostrophe's are for," you stupid fucks.
Pretend we're in a war and our ammunition is made out of apostrophes. Now RATION THAT SHIT and think "WHOA, hold up now, do I REALLY need to use a valuable apostrophe in this situation?" The answer is almost always NO.
But Grammar Goddess, WHEN DO I get to use apostrophes??
I'm glad you asked. Does something in the sentence BELONG TO ANYONE mentioned in the sentence? Does your mom have tomatoes? Then they are "your mom's tomatoes." Does anything belong TO THE TOMATOES? NO, because tomatoes are inanimate objects, you jackass. Therefore, your mom gets an apostrophe and the tomatoes do NOT.
RIGHT: "My aunt's house" WRONG: "All of my aunt's will be there"
RIGHT: ****I'm looking at YOU, Chipotle on Figueroa and Jefferson**** "Choose your greens!" WRONG: "Choose your green's!"
Also, on a side note, when engraving gifts for a wedding, REMEMBER THE APOSTROPHE RULE. Jim and Jane are "The Smiths," not "The Smith's." Jim and Jane live in "The Smiths' House," NOT "The Smith's House." The latter implies that they're already living separately, do you really want to do that to a marriage before it's begun?!?!
3. LESS AND FEWER "15 items or less!"
There is one beautiful store that has a "15 items or FEWER" sign and I can't remember off the top of my head, but I wanted to write the management a beautiful thank you card for FINALLY getting it right. This one is trickier, so here is a correct usage of BOTH:
"There is LESS coffee in my cup than there was an hour ago."
"There are FEWER cookies than there were an hour ago."
Here's the trick: CAN YOU COUNT IT? In the first one, can you count coffee? Not CUPS of coffee, but just COFFEE? Would you say "there are three coffees in my cup?" Nope. You cannot count coffee itself. If you CANNOT COUNT IT, the proper word is LESS. Less sugar. Less pink. Less painful.
Can you count cookies? YES YOU CAN. Would you say "I have three cookies?" YES YOU WOULD. If you CAN COUNT IT, it's FEWER. Fewer cats. Fewer clowns. Fewer items.
DO YOU GET IT NOW? There cannot be "two less" - it's "two fewer." There cannot be "a little bit fewer" - it's "a little bit less."
Now go, use this new education to brighten the world, teach your kids the right way to speak and write, and for god's sake always use it around me at least.
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