I have a bone to pick with a certain gentleman that takes the 7:49 train from Glenbrook to Grand Central. This man, who will now be referred to as Obnoxious Pusher, or OP for short, makes it a point to make my morning commute the most anxiety ridden 45 minutes of my day. I, being recently diagnosed as OCD by my dermatologist (that’s another blog entry) make it a point to leave my house every morning at precisely 7:30 even though it takes me no longer than 6 minutes to actually walk to the train. So there I am, patiently waiting at the train station, when each morning OP comes. He obviously doesn’t have the same penchant for punctuality that I do because he strolls up on that platform with just minutes to spare.
As crazy as I am about being early for the train, I am just as crazy about standing at the same place on the platform so that I always get in on the second car. Now OP also enjoys the second car and makes it a point to shove me each morning so that he can get a seat even though I have been there LONG before he has. And wouldn’t you know that OP finds a seat while I stand uncomfortably in the vestibule for 45 minutes. It’s a real mind boggler to me that a grown man will literally push people down to get a seat even though others clearly should have first dibs.
Just when I though this problem was regulated for the morning only, who was nipping at my heels as I quickly walked down Glenbrook Road to go home last Tuesday? None other than OP himself - and if I thought he was obnoxious in the morning, I underestimated his desire to get home in a jiffy after a long day in the office. His nighttime name is EOP (Extra Obnoxious Pusher). There he was again, running me right off the road as I carefully attempted to light the treacherous path by the light of my Ipod. So I say to you OP (should our exchanges ever be more than me giving you the maloik), "Were you raised by a pack of wolves? Have you no manners or sense? The biggest mistake you ever made was passing me on that walk home because I now know where you live and if your little condo gets egged, you’ll know it was me, punk."
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Confessions of a True Shopaholic
My name is Nina and I am an addict. I honestly cannot help myself. I like to treat myself to pretty new things all the time and in the process I have made many friends. Like for instance the lady from the Neimans shoe department who calls me on a regular basis to tell me when they have a Manolo trunk sale or the gentleman at the eyeglass counter at Saks, who shares his love of slim cut Italian suits with me. These people love me and I feel that the universe has brought them into my life for a very specific reason. They are my enablers. I can tell you the moment I became an addict, and friends, it goes way back.
When I was just a girl in old East Haven,CT, there wasn’t much in the way of luxury goods. I believe I bought my stretch pants and acid washed jeans at TJ Maxx or a great little store, which I believe is now closed, called Cherry & Webb. However, in the height of New Kids on the Block mania, one store opened up that sold NKOTB memorabilia. My mom tells the story of my Nonnie taking me and my Donny loving sister (I was more of a Joey girl myself) to the store to buy us a little treat to whet our New Kids appetite. It should have been a sign to everyone involved that when my big sissy chose pencils, I chose a $45 dollar gold sequined hat that, lets be honest, only Joey McIntyre could pull off in his heyday. I will say that as I got older, I chose products more wisely. I almost always chose pieces, that in my mind, would stand the test of time. Although there was a good 4 or 5 years when I wore baggy jeans, a chain wallet, and cut off all my hair. I refer to this time as my dark period and will likely not revisit it in my own fashion history.
Cut to November 19, 2008 – another dark day in my life, when I logged on to Wachovia.com and noticed a breathtaking amount in my checking account. $6.22 - the number that I am now sure represents the day that I will die. How did I get to this place? Why do I convince myself that opening store charge cards is a good idea? And why do I, a 23 year old gal, who in all honesty is quite fiscally irresponsible, feel like I can’t leave the store unless I buy that last pair of Louboutins? Sometimes I feel like I am wasting people’s time if I don’t buy something. And so starts the trouble. I wish I was like a certain girl that I know that spends her pennies at the CVS buying lotions, body washes, and hair products. I, on the other hand, prefer the big ticket items and I have little, if any buyer’s remorse. That is until I see that online bill statement every month and have to stay in on a Friday night because I can’t afford a proper cocktail.
So what’s another year or five living at home with my mother and dog? What’s another 502 rides on the Metro North? (That’s right fools – I can do math. 365 days a year, minus 104 for weekends, and my pitiful 2 weeks vacation. That’s 251 bumpy round trips.) The thought of giving up my Saks card is the equivalent of asking Amy Winehouse to put down the crack pipe – it’s just far too much. So Amy, I just want to say, from one addict to the other, I feel your pain and I know what you are going through. It’s not easy sister, but there might be hope for gals like me and you. Although I have put in a bet that you won’t see 2009. So I take that whole part about there being hope for you, smoke it up girl, I think I see a new Gucci bag in my future.
When I was just a girl in old East Haven,CT, there wasn’t much in the way of luxury goods. I believe I bought my stretch pants and acid washed jeans at TJ Maxx or a great little store, which I believe is now closed, called Cherry & Webb. However, in the height of New Kids on the Block mania, one store opened up that sold NKOTB memorabilia. My mom tells the story of my Nonnie taking me and my Donny loving sister (I was more of a Joey girl myself) to the store to buy us a little treat to whet our New Kids appetite. It should have been a sign to everyone involved that when my big sissy chose pencils, I chose a $45 dollar gold sequined hat that, lets be honest, only Joey McIntyre could pull off in his heyday. I will say that as I got older, I chose products more wisely. I almost always chose pieces, that in my mind, would stand the test of time. Although there was a good 4 or 5 years when I wore baggy jeans, a chain wallet, and cut off all my hair. I refer to this time as my dark period and will likely not revisit it in my own fashion history.
Cut to November 19, 2008 – another dark day in my life, when I logged on to Wachovia.com and noticed a breathtaking amount in my checking account. $6.22 - the number that I am now sure represents the day that I will die. How did I get to this place? Why do I convince myself that opening store charge cards is a good idea? And why do I, a 23 year old gal, who in all honesty is quite fiscally irresponsible, feel like I can’t leave the store unless I buy that last pair of Louboutins? Sometimes I feel like I am wasting people’s time if I don’t buy something. And so starts the trouble. I wish I was like a certain girl that I know that spends her pennies at the CVS buying lotions, body washes, and hair products. I, on the other hand, prefer the big ticket items and I have little, if any buyer’s remorse. That is until I see that online bill statement every month and have to stay in on a Friday night because I can’t afford a proper cocktail.
So what’s another year or five living at home with my mother and dog? What’s another 502 rides on the Metro North? (That’s right fools – I can do math. 365 days a year, minus 104 for weekends, and my pitiful 2 weeks vacation. That’s 251 bumpy round trips.) The thought of giving up my Saks card is the equivalent of asking Amy Winehouse to put down the crack pipe – it’s just far too much. So Amy, I just want to say, from one addict to the other, I feel your pain and I know what you are going through. It’s not easy sister, but there might be hope for gals like me and you. Although I have put in a bet that you won’t see 2009. So I take that whole part about there being hope for you, smoke it up girl, I think I see a new Gucci bag in my future.
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