Career Girl

An Open Letter To The Multitasking Women Of NYC

1:20pm

 
Dear Multitaski,

while I do admire the many balls you have in the air at any given time, and will admit that getting ahead in the modern world means cramming as much as possible into any given moment, there is a limit to your constant need to combine activities. Please stop taking every suggestion you read in Cosmo! For example; if you are say, in line at the bank and wearing (let's just say) khaki pants, squeezing in an extra workout courtesy of single-cheek butt clinches will not go unnoticed. In fact, 90% of the line will find it quite distracting, if not downright alarming. Is all that twitching the result of an improperly executed Kegel? The first sign of a seizure? Or a straightforward attempt to tone the tush? Regardless, the banking public of Manhattan has enough on their collective minds without having to play proctologist to every skinny white woman in midtown.

Sincerely,

CG.

You, Sir, Are No Baryshnikov

11:45am

Ali and I went out to see a show in Williamsburg last weekend. Recently I've been semi-hibernating out of sheer nerves. The possibility of running into Chase completely freaks me out. But I knew it would be a cold day in hell before he'd darken an outer borough. Which brings me to today's rage filled, one-sided correspondence with a certain demographic.

An Open Letter to the Ironically Dressed Men of Williamsburg:

Dear ironically dressed men of Williamsburg,

Newsflash: less than 1% of the population understands, or gives a fuck about the elaborate back-story required to explain your "look." While there are plenty of pretty girls with great style in Willi (though listen close my Brooklyn sisters - not everyone has the um… caboose-texture required to pull off hoochie shorts), you boys look like complete and total douches.

Like many problems, it all begins with hair… When did it become cool to for a guy with a full head of hair to try and emulate the look of a comb-over?* Trust me, there is no Melania waiting in the wings for you buddy, so let the dream die today. (Btw any girl who finds herself drawn to these dudes should head straight to puppet therapy where she can better express her conflicted feelings about Papa)

I can barely keep my hands from shaking in fury as I write about the Willi-boy pants du jour. Now I love the Ramones as much as the next gal and consider them to be true style icons. But this cigarette-jean thing has gone too far. Here's a tip boys; when wandering around in something resembling ballet tights, do not cram cigarettes, cash and keys into the pockets (and if you must, for the love of God, at least not the front ones!). Don't force me to imagine the baggy grippies or worse, the pubic deformities that could be causing those icky lumps. Here's another tip, if your ass is concave; don't accentuate it with what looks like a denim wetsuit.

I'm considering boycotting New York guys completely until this tragic trend has run its course. 

Sincerely,

CG.

*in case you have no idea what I'm talking about I promise to be extra vigilant about snapping one of these idiots with my camera phone.

An Open Letter To The Backpack Wearers Of NYC

9:15am


Dear backpack wearers of New York City,

Everybody hates you. No, for real, we took a vote. We hate you when you board a crowded train and hog enough space for two people.  Did you know that when you turned to study the subway map (where's the Empire State building?) you brained an old lady, and nearly knocked a baby free of it’s Bjorn in one destructive swipe of your behemoth hell-bag? No? Didn't think so. I mean, it's not like the whole train wasn't forced to listen to everything playing on your iPod, thanks to your cheap-ass, leaky headphones (but really? Are you REALLY still listening to that same fucking Eminem record?). The hideous iPod/backpack combo creates an impenetrable idiot -bubble - that will one day be burst by violence. Violence I tell you!

We hate you when you walk into a bodega. When you stop in the aisle, store traffic screeches to a halt, unable to squeeze around you. When you spin around suddenly, like a lost toddler at the mall, your pack flings an entire display of power bars skyward and triggers an avalanche of Fuji apples. No, it's not your imagination. Wherever you go people really are flipping you off!

But I have lots of stuff to carry!
Fuck off. This isn't a camping trip.
But I'm an NYU student!
Shhhh! Keep that to yourself. That's two strikes if you want to get technical.
But my chiropractor…
Screw you.  Throw your back out carrying your shit in a regular bag, just like the rest of us, mama's boy!
But I'm 11 years old!
Really?  Wow! You’re so tall for your age. I guess it's true what they say about hormones in the milk. Okay, you get a pass for like another year and a half.  But at 13, you should start piling your schoolbooks in the bottom section of your baby’s stroller like all your friends.

Sincerely,

CG.

What Attitude Problem?

1:45pm

Someone is cooking broccoli in the kitchen. You can smell it on the entire floor. Note to coworkers,

Dear Coworkers,

The office kitchen is a place where you throw away the 10 pounds of packaging that surrounds the build-your-own salad you ordered and nothing more. Control yourself. Just because there’s a full refrigerator, a microwave and a burner in there, does not give you a right to use them. The office kitchen is no place for your stink vegetables.

 

Sincerely,

CG.

 

Yes, it just so happens that I am still on my soup diet, why do you ask?

THANKS FOR THE ADD

10:25 AM,

Claire had a breakfast meeting today that stretched on forever, so I’ve been on My Space. There is this guy that Allie wants to set me up with so I was cyber snooping. Which brings me to today’s Open Letter To Guys.

Dear Guys,

Everybody knows that if you have 2,500 friends on My Space, roughly 2,425 of them are internet hookers. Having this many My Space friends only illustrates that you have no standards and are completely unscrupulous. It also speaks to a deep insecurity. Because on some level, even you get how ridiculous this is. But you choked when you saw that your pal (let’s just call him Bro-Dog) had 1,000 more friends than you, and started accepting everyone and her horny little sister. Annoying as this may be, it’s a forgivable offense. What’s not forgivable? Having even a single obvious cyber whore in your top 8. For God sakes, if you can’t rustle up 8 friends - no matter how dorky, or inappropriately old - you are simply beyond hope. You’ve been out-populared by the Trekkies and Dungeon Masters of the world!

Sincerely,

CG

So back to my point: I was My Spacing-out, when I came across perfect Caroline’s profile… and Holy Mother of God, I discovered the chink in perfect Caroline’s armor. Perfect Caroline appears to be a sloppy drunk! Now I don’t mean fancy stemware, (not a single martini glass in the 15+ shots) we are talking domestic brews all the way. Caroline was smashed in every single picture. She looked like she had a bad case of Bell’s Palsy. The whole thing was you-know-what hair away from being a Girls Gone Wild video. These weren’t out with the girlfriends for cocktails in a cute dress pics. These were – remember that night you peed your pants and puked in my purse shots. Maybe the more perfect you are, the more you have to completely lose your shit in order to relax. Kind of like the same principle that the straight-laced guy from HR who you never see dating, always turns out to be total sex-house perv. Anyway, I have a renewed interest in Caroline. I guess she just became human to me.

Don’t Speak. No Really, Don’t Speak.

7:30pm

Leaving at a reasonable hour for once. I’ve got Pilates, disco nap, then meeting Ali at 11:30 to go to a thing at Beatrice Restaurant.

10:45am

I officially just woke up. I have no idea how I got dressed, got on the train, got to work (How did I make it past security?), parked at my desk and have been (apparently) working for almost two hours. Ali and I had such a debaucherous time last night I cannot even tell you. I made out with some dude from some band – Ali assures me he was adorable but quite dim (that I can live with as long as he never calls). Ali was, as always, with Jule who is completely out of his helmet. I honestly can’t understand a word he says, so I have no idea how the hell they maintain a relationship. I sometimes wonder if he’s faking. He’s Jamaican and I’ve met plenty of other guys from there who do not require subtitles…

Sample exchange:

Ali “Jule, doesn’t CG look amazing tonight?”

Jule: “Dees girl – Fixup!

Me: “Thanks, I guess.”

Have you ever had a guy say, “ You know I NEVER do this, right?” When it’s clearly a blatant lie? Popular examples include, “I never cry,” “I never wet the bed,” or, “I never make out with girls who’s names I don’t know, especially girls who roll their eyes every time I talk.”

Note to men: (for all you millions of men reading this – as if any man will ever read this) the first sign that you ALWAYS do something (can’t get it up) is that you profess to never do it. I’m just saying you could stand some new material is all.

No Really, You’re Talented

 

8:35am

An open letter to subway passengers who sing or rap to themselves as they walk to the train, wait on the train platform or (worst of all) ride the train, transforming the car itself into an aquarium of no-talent that I would rather not swim in thank you very much: 

Dear You,

You sound retarded. Even if you have a decent voice – this only elevates you to “guy with a decent voice, for whom there is simply not enough attention in the world.” It’s very rarely singing anyway it’s almost always rapping. Or I should say reciting. And no, I do not think this is a black/white thing although I will racistly say that white guys sound and look about 100 times more pathetic than black guys when they do this. Do not write me angry letters. You know I’m right.

Ps: why is it that I pretty much never see women doing this??

Yours,

CG.

11:00am

Ugh is it possible to already be crashing? Claire already sent me out for snacks three times. The first one was rejected because it was a fruit plate that included mango which she personally finds “creepy” the second one (Tasty D) was a hit and she asked why I hadn’t purchased two kinds to give her options. Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a Goddamn blizzard out there and I almost had a To Build A Fire experience while browsing for something that fit the criteria of “fat free, low carb, meeting food – but, you know - fun!” Oh and also because when you scrutinize my expense report, you say things like “I don’t remember eating that.”