I Can't Stand Regina Spektor

Hey!



My lack of posts over the past three weeks was purely to elicit flattering inquires from you all as to why I haven't written anything, and not for lack of material...or laziness. Just the opposite actually. Since my previous entry, I have experienced the entire range of human emotion. And by entire, I mean that I've been largely frustrated, pissed, stressed, overworked, and wistful (friends moving away, shakeups at work, ex visiting from London, contemplating law school/career change, etc) but intermittently inspired and entertained (some entertaining and random happenings, meeting random creative people/entrepreneurs, a Boston mini-break, etc.)


The human body is just amazing. I never thought I could work 16+ hours a day (8am - past midnight), five days a week, for over two weeks, without collapsing...but what do you know, I am still alive. Around 11PM every night, I start contemplating law school or being one of those perfume-spritzer girls at department stores who just have to stand there and smile.


So what do I do when I get out of the office at 9PM last night? Catch up on sleep? No, I went out, of course! At my friend's birthday dinner at Butter, three friends of friends of the birthday boy drop by. No one knew why the hell they sat down, but I made small talk to diffuse the awkwardness.


Party crasher girl 1: Talking to someone in Polish about perogies and her love for Polish Kitchen.
(I'm really amused that she's talking about the first two things that come to my mind when someone mentions Poland. Well, other than Belvedere I guess.)


Party crasher girl 2: Tells me she dabbles in music, film, writing, fashion styling for photo shoots, and hangs out at Freeman's Alley. When I ask for details (these dabblers fascinate me), she can't name a single source where I can see her work (or should I say "work"). When I ask her what kind of music she/her band plays, she tells me,


"...like hip hop funk pop electronic, retro, ya know?"


No, I do not know. Nor did I know what she meant when she said,


"I've known him (points to the guy she came with) for years. We randomly met one night at Freeman's Alley. But sometimes you know someone and sometimes you KNOW someone, you know? I like to really know people."


Verbatim, I swear. And no, I don't know or care.


But wait, it gets better. She proceeds to ask for an extra dirty martini (I'm rolling my eyes!!! ha ha hahahaha) and pull up a chair for dinner, and helps herself to my napkin (ew, but I will give her the benefit of the doubt and assume it was a mistake)!!


Party crasher Guy: Actually went to my high school freshman year, until he transferred after moving to the 'burbs.
He tells me he's into web design, but doesn't have a card and cannot name a single site he's created. Uh, make any sense to you? Can anyone say poseur?


All this (and several warm jelly donuts, almost as good as the ones at Stanton Social) gave me indigestion, and I was in bed early - that's 1am by my standards.


Only in New York, yup.



That's all I've got at 5am!

Men Require Patience!

sidebar:
Sorry for the lack of posts! I know you all turn to me for shallow, mindless entertainment to help you get through the day at your unfulfilling jobs. Oh wait, that's just those of you who work in finance...ha ha ha

Anyway, I haven't been bothered to write anything lately as I've been busy with a lot of things - getting back on track with a few personal and professional goals, but balancing it with some amazing times with friends. Cue Toca's Miracle =)

The past three weeks have been an insane mash-up of mid-Saturday afternoon parties at Bagatelle, sweating it out at PS1 Warm Up, late night backgammon games at the lounge above downtown Cipriani (closed until Sept 2, tear), goodbye dinners, renting a ridiculous Zipcar to go Philly just for the Coldplay concert (and a cheesesteak!), happy/hookah hours, great reunions with old friends, breaking lampshades at Bijoux (it's too dark, I couldn't even take a picture with my BB!), rooftop cocktails, underground mixers, noodles (Momofuku, Ippudo, Soba-ya, Matsugen have been covered thus far!) picnics and naps in Central Park, surprises, disappointments, dalliances, run-ins...and much, much more! Now, I'm just craving some time at the beach with a book and one of those coolers with the cup holders on top!!

My dream is to fly...

Coldplay concert in Philly

Chris Martin is not just another punk from UCL!

The promotional (and cheap) Prius zipcar we rented.

You can't see me, but I'm behind the monkey...we got a few looks.

Perfect night

Perfect skyline from The Frying Pan

Isabelle, my friend who came to visit from DC

She's still recovering from that weekend b/c I'm an excellent hostess! =)

PS1 in Queens

(little known fact: AMAZING street meat truck by the entrance)

The crowd at PS1 for Au Revoir Simone 

(or was this from LCD Soundsystem?)

I love Central Park Sundays

A random Tuesday night luau-themed party! 

Laughing at "Bowery Lounge"

Rooftop

(You'd be that happy too if you were ON VACATION in NY 

and LIVED in the Bahamas!)

Snow & sparklers!!

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A few weeks ago, I was digging through an old box of junk and came across a photo of my parents and me - I'm an only child, as if it weren't obvious - taken in Montreal in 1989. I was four at the time, my dad had just finished his Ph.D. and started teaching, my mom was still doing her residency in neurology. They were new to the city, and probably had no money and few friends - just a lot of hope for the future and especially for me. Since I pretty much look the same as I did at that age, and this blog is anonymous, I'll just have to describe the photo to you. It's a candid shot of them in a park, probably near McGill University.  It was probably at some time in the fall since the foliage in the background is a wash of yellow, orange, and red. I had just broken my left arm, which is in a sling and pitiful pink cast. He and my mom are totally ignoring me (typical!!) and laughing about something - and not just laughing, but laughing-from-the-gut-until-you-cry-laughing.

I stole the photo from a family album because it's my favorite picture of my parents. Theirs is the most enviable relationship I know, not just because it's withstood difficult times, including a near-divorce when I was in fourth grade, but because they're never boring and always have fun together. They wake up everyday with a different attitude than most people I know - everyday, even bad days, are fun with them and they never go to bed upset at each other.  They are each other's best friend; whenever I swear one of them to secrecy about something, the other finds out within an hour.  The photo struck a cord with me because lately I have been so frustrated with dating in this city! I really just want to be single, but of course, my life is situational irony at its best (or worst?). When it rains, it pours.  Everytime I meet a nice guy (yes, they exist in NYC!), I lose interest in about two seconds because I find him...boring.  And there is nothing worse to me than being boring.  Guess I just like the crazy/cocky/workaholic/alcoholic/model-aholic/player guys, and they sure do like me! Sigh...

But earlier this week,  I got an email from I couple I met at Bagatelle that dispelled any cynicism my hopelessly romantic self may have developed recently.  Bagatelle is a restaurant in Meatpacking, managed by the same people behind Kiss & Fly, the club next door.  It is the only restaurant I've been to repeatedly where I have no interest in the menu. The chef is last in command there - after the DJ, the bartenders, the (mostly) cute waiters, and the energy on Saturday afternoons.  Where else are people dancing on tables and chairs, banquettes and the bar, at 3pm?! Rain or shine! Where else are bottles of champagne delivered by a waiter in a Superman cape carried by six guys with sparklers?!

This Saturday, I was at Bagatelle, in the restroom line, when I met a really sweet woman, Viviana. She was probably in her late 50s/early 60s, not exactly the general demographic at these parties. Screaming over the music, she told me that she and her husband were in town for the weekend visiting their four kids who all lived in the city.  When I got back to my table, I noticed she and her family were next to us - their kids had convinced them to stay  after their actual (civilized) brunch, but they felt slightly out of place.  It's akin to dragging parents to a club, except replace the strobe with broad daylight, and the vodka with magnum bottles of rose!

Bagatelle "brunch"

(a speaker caught had on fire, and no one stopped dancing or noticed it was removed)

Bagatelle champagne delivery!

Of course, I'm all about everyone having a good time, and somehow convinced Viviana and Andres, her husband, to dance on chairs while I took videos of their family.  Turns out, they have been married for over 30 years, and were the liveliest, funniest, most interesting, successful, and chic-est couple over 60 I've ever met.  (When I grow up...)

I got this email from them on Monday:

Dear CM:

We had a great time at Bagatelle on Saturday and were very glad to meet you.  You are a very lively and lovely woman.  You will find love when and where it is least expected.  Men require patience my dear! I will upload the pictures from Bagatelle and send them to you soon.

I hope we can do it again sometime soon.

Stay in touch,

Andres & Viviana 

To get to the point, uhhh...I'm not sure if this story had a point.  If it does, I guess it would be that I just like hearing stories about great, fun relationships like my parents or Andres & Viviana have, even if it's far removed from my life! Also, men require patience!

One last pic for Bruce, who suggested more male-friendly content: Enlighten me as to whether or not these are the same...and why anyone would want two of the same?!

160 Characters or Less

Just a few recent texts/bbm messages from my endlessly entertaining friends.

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Hey! Slight change of plan...I'm off to Cuba to learn salsa. Our dinner will have to wait another week I'm afraid.

-a friend from London who was originally going to be in NY this weekend
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Anyway, I was thinking Sunday night might not be the best time for us all to do dinner since Chris and I will probably just be having massive amounts of sex all night long.

-good reason to change dinner plans
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Can I get you PIN?

(ok this wasn't a text, but this guy asked for my BB pin instead of my number. Cultural milestone?)
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You're the kind of girl I'd try to talk to at a bar, but who'd turn around and ignore me.

-My boss, 10 minutes after we first met. He's cool, just extremely awkward.
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June 12, around 9pm:
Julie (Juuulie, French): Where are you?
Me: Going home, need to finish packing tmrw!
Julie: Boo! Smoking pot and cigar in backyard. Come!

June 11, around 9pm:
Me: I'm here...you're not coming?
Julie: Still in back yard. Guitar just brought out. Trying to get pot delivery. Bad news overall.
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Cain: A Retrospective

I love my friends, really. Even when they tell me everything I write here sucks and/or is so boring they can’t get past three sentences. Or think it’s stupid I put up random photos, like Daphne Guinness in Alexander McQueen. When I was in middle school, while other girls plastered their walls with boy band posters (ok, I had a Take That poster), I had a wall devoted to Alexander McQueen. But mostly, HELLO, I work full time. In finance, where my creative writing skills put to the test daily by creating Powerpoint pitches that people never read (but do recycle – we are a green company!) Putting up a photo is kind of a cop-out to writing.

Take That (Back for Good video)

Doesn't Gary Barlow (2nd from left) look like Mr. Mazzoni (my high school Calculus teacher)?

Anyway, I haven’t gone out much recently…ok, I haven’t gone out much during the past two weeks. Let's take a moment of silence to regret not going to the Paper Mag party at Santos last Tuesday. The aftermath of moving and this past weekend's hyperactivity is overwhelming. But last night I put on my favorite dancing shoes (Sigerson Morrison peeptoe wedges…in a dusty rose color…sigh, beautiful) since Steve Aoki was DJing in NY for one night. At, of all places, Cain. I have a love/hate relationship with Cain and other Chelsea clubs.

Ooh, sponsored by Hypnotiq...I thought people were just tacky

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TANGENT ALERT
My introduction to the mess that is Marquee/Bungalow/Pink/Guesthouse/Home/Cain (and now Mansion and Suzie Wong's) was two summers ago, when I was a new and wide-eyed resident of NYC. I remember a friend of mine advised me that the best places to go in NYC were Double Seven, which I guess never reopened, and Cain, which he said was “the Rumor of New York.” Rumor is a club in Boston where some of my friends frequented a lot in college (*cough* spent the majority of their college career *cough*). I’m not sure if that meant a lot of our mutual friends went to Cain, or it was full of European/South American/Middle Eastern/other international kids with drinking problems and an affinity for sparklers – it was both actually.

One random night, a girlfriend of mine and I were out, and in the unfathomable days before I had internet access on my phone, I was at a loss as to where either Double Seven or Cain were. I think we just kind of knew there were clubs in Chelsea and just wandered around. My phone was dead and I couldn’t call anyone, but we found our way to the 27th St strip. Rachelle only liked to dance to hip hop, so we quickly exited Guesthouse (and Pink as well?), frightened by the identically suited bankers inside, and by the old French doorman in the purple/blue/80s tracksuit – anyone else remember him?

We explored further down the street until we stumbled upon an oasis in clubland: Cain. The music was good, the people were hot, and the place just had a good energy. Mostly I liked that it was small and not crowded. I also ran into a few kids I knew, and a good time was had by all. But like many clubs, Cain has since suffered an undeniable slide into trash-dom (aka Phase 2). I won’t comment on the people who you’ll find there (that’s not my style), but let’s just say it’s not as full of eye-candy it used to be. The upside is that if you’re with a lot of friends (read: guys), it’s pretty easy to talk your way in sans hassle or bottles.
TANGENT FINISHED
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Anyway, back to last night. The last time I went to Cain was also when Steve was DJing, in late May.

Why are these parties (Wednesday nights at Cain) called Bunny Chow? Is that someone’s name? Huh? The music and crowd were awesome that night, but unfortunately I had dallied away my time at 1OAK and Tenjune, and didn’t get to Cain until 2am, nearly my weeknight-if-going-out-bedtime.

So last night, I decided to arrive early, midnight-ish. My friend Gemma (she of the Noodle Review – a post soon) told me that the night before she had a dream (nightmare) that we were at a club, but it was so empty we were helping the staff polish glasses. Funnily enough, that was pretty much the scene at Cain when I got there. It was so empty the photographer was taking still life shots of glasses and ice buckets. How sad. I attribute it to the rain and not me being lame for getting there so early. Luckily my friends soon arrived and we all had a good time. It’s not where you are, but who you’re with, right? =) I think Aoki came on around 1:30am (not 12:30, as promised), the music was good, the energy was great, but the crowd was just terrible. Too many people, and too many trashy people. I especially loved the crazy drunk girl who tried to have a heart to heart with everyone at our table, one at a time.

So, to get to the point, Bunny Chow Wednesdays are fun if you 1) go with a group of friends (that's my fun factor anywhere) 2) get there after 1:30, and 3) when a DJ you like is spinning.

Btw, I felt pretty bad for him. His father, Rocky Aoki, passed away recently. Clubs must be either a good distraction for him or the worst possible place to be when you are grieving.

Tonight…Matsugen. I might even write about the noodles...

The Cooler Carrie

Carrie Donovan

photo by Jesse Frohman

There's actually a Wikipedia entry on "Meaning of Life"

Part II of my champagne induced jaw break story is coming up...

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Last week I received this email from my good friend Claire:

I was talking to Gemma.. and I've come to the conclusion that I want to be you for a day.. no stress, I can get away w/ anything by smiling, people won't blame me for most of my actions "cause, it’s CM"...want to be stress free in my own little world!! hahaha.. ahhhhhhhhh!! I've reached my limit today.. and could easily kill someone from sprint through the phone!

Ha! So I apparently live in la la land, and my life is all butterflies and red velvet cupcakes…I wish! Actually, my sunny disposition belies my serious concern that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING WITH MY LIFE. OMG, I’m almost 24. I know this is all pathetically cliché for people my age, but I can’t help but think - Shouldn’t I have accomplished more, traveled more, seen more, learned more, done more by now?!

Lately, I have been a little disturbed by how hedonistic my and my friends’ lives are. Don’t get me wrong, I love (love love love) New York, and I’m proud that despite a hectic work schedule, I’m always doing something new, fun, or interesting. But it seems that recently, my biggest concerns everyday are so self-involved and trivial – Should I go to the gym or get drinks with so-and-so? Should I go to this concert or to that party? Where should the girls & I go for dinner? When will this horrific haircut grow out?

Unlike a normal person who would be grateful to be free of problems, I actually feel guilty about it. Like maybe because I’m happy and healthy, have great friends and family, I should be doing more with my life. While I was moving, I came across a few books I read a while ago that collectively made me feel like an utterly worthless waste of space. The list includes Giving, Leaving Microsoft to Change the World, Banker to the Poor, and The End of Poverty (Jeffrey Sachs' new book Common Wealth is pretty good if you're an econ geek...guilty!). Avoid reading these if you find yourself wondering how your career makes any difference in the grand scheme of human existence, because it probably doesn’t.

Anyway, I guess I have just been lost the past few months. The intellectual challenge and sense of accomplishment I used to get from my job has been eroded by stress after my boss left my team in March and my new, inexperienced boss stepped in. I’m all about working hard, but not when I don’t feel my efforts make any difference and aren’t appreciated. Outside of work, I have not been motivated to follow through with many things I’ve started, which is really disappointing because I have never been a quitter. Learning Spanish didn’t happen, taking the CFA didn’t happen, even running on a regular basis has been spotty.

So I decided last night that now is the time to make some changes! I’m joining a new team at work in two weeks, and from what I know about them now, it’s going to be great, personally and professionally. I also made a list of other things I want to accomplish in the short and long term. Overall, I like who I am now and I’m anxiously excited to see who I become.

So basically this was a pep talk to myself. Awesome.

P.S. Hi dad, it's kind of creepy you're reading this! =)

Beauty and the Beast

Daphne Guinness/Alexander McQueen/Michael Roberts

Vanity Fair August 2008

I stared at this for about five minutes straight, love it.

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The aforementioned flamingo mirror/bar in my living room. I know, wow.

Somebody orders pancakes, I only sip the sizzurp - Part I

Yesterday I received this text from my mom:

When can you come home for plastic surgery? Tell me asap so I can schedule. Love you Mom!

Actually she texted me that four times – texting is the new way to nag, apparently. For the past two years, she’s been bugging me about fixing a large, but completely non-visible scar under my chin that resulted from an accident three years ago.

I just need to preface this story with this: I am not a lush, as my friends can all attest. Yea, I go out (a bit) more than average, but I keep it under control and respect my health.

Back to my story. It all began when I was interning in Atlanta during the summer of 2005. I had landed the internship I really, really wanted (beat out 20+ guys during last round interviews...yeaaa), and the job came with perks like free housing at am amazing corporate apartment complex with two pools and four tennis courts. I also had my car with me (summer tally: 1 accident, 3 speeding tickets, and multiple would-be tickets I talked my way out of) and a pretty good fake ID that I had already tested out in Boston, where I went to college. My mom actually found it once and complimented me on the high quality of the forgery. She’s a funny one.

It was a pretty idyllic summer…my team at work was great, the interns and Atlanta were so much fun (real world Austin), and I was being paid starting salary. It was kind of like summer camp, minus the arts and crafts. My fake ID held up to doubtful bouncers, black lights, and even scanners…until the stupid bald little doorman at eleven50, a popular club at the time, went on a power trip and TORE UP MY ID right in front of me. One of the other interns, Brad, was in a similar fix. Although I think when his ID was taken up at some bar, a bouncer threatened to have him arrested.

Brad probably had a drinking problem, although I never knew for sure. After quitting the lacrosse team at school because he didn’t get along with a new coach, Brad found himself with a lot more free time. Sometimes, when he was bored, he liked to down a few Bombay Sapphire & tonics and go shopping…but only at Lacoste. After each of these sprees, he’d wake up in head-to-toe Lacoste tennis gear, including matching terry cloth head- and wristbands, a substantial credit card receipt, and no recollection of what had happened.

Needless to say, Brad was my and everyone else’s favorite intern. Drinking problem aside, Brad was charismatic, intelligent, handsome, and funny as hell. He’s in law school now, and a fine lawyer he will make one day.

Shortly after my ID confiscation, all the interns were going out one night. There was a half-hearted offer to do something that the little 20 year olds could join in on, but I half-heartedly insisted that everyone should go out and have a good ol’ 21+ time. So Brad and I, left to our own devices at home, decided that underage or not, we’d hit the town in style and celebrate 1) Brad’s decision to not take the job offer at the end of the summer and 2) my decision to study abroad in the fall.

We decided we’d go to a trendy restaurant/lounge that was open late and wouldn’t card if we were disgustingly well dressed. He put on his best seersucker suit – this kid took preppy to another level – shirt open one button too many, Tod’s loafers, and mirrored aviators. He was probably the only person who looked natural wearing aviators indoors, at night. Brad accessorized with a cigar that he carried, but never smoked. I was wearing a knee length peach-colored skirt – six tiered layers of the beautiful sheer silk, a sheer navy and white-striped camisole, and the most beautiful satin heels. Sigh. While waiting for a cab to come pick us up, we enjoyed a (few) gin & tonic(s).

The cab took forever to arrive because there was a thunderstorm that night, so by the time we got to the restaurant, and were seated, Brad was hammered and I was not far behind. Being both finance majors, we analyzed the menu and decided that ordering more cocktails was not economical. A bottle of Taittinger would be a much better choice! A short while later, our friend Seth joined us for a bit before we all left the restaurant together. Brad and I were as happy as could be at that point.

Seth was our designated driver on our way home, and I sat in the passenger-side seat. When we pulled up to my apartment, it was still raining and thundering, and I opened the door to make a run for it. Somehow, my right heel got tangled in the seat belt, I fell, and my hands slipped on all the water on the street when I tried to catch myself. Basically, my chin bore the entire impact of the fall, and broke in three places, and I blacked out. When I gained consciousness again, I was spitting out chipped teeth, blood, and rainwater. Seth and Brad were freaking out, running around me like chickens with their heads cut off, not knowing what to do. They called 911 and a few minutes later, 2 FIRE TRUCKS, 2 police cars, and an ambulance showed up. Yes, fire trucks, sirens blaring. It was all very dramatic.

To be continued…

I Don't Smell Bad

Will add pictures later...

Moving is probably one of the few things everyone in NY can agree sucks – including movers. My previous moving mishaps have included 1) attempting to drive a UHaul the same day that 150,000+ college students were graduating (in Boston) 2) SLEEPING in a UHaul truck overnight – don’t even ask, and 3) having to have my friends pack my stuff for me to put into storage, while I ran to the airport after missing two flights home.

This time, I actually thought I was pretty on top of things. While my friends were at the beach/at PS1/in the Hamptons/picnicking in Central Park/at the Made in Italy party/at Bagatelle “brunch” (a future post)/etc etc, I was at home like a good little girl, packing away. Yet somehow, I STILL ended up in a frantic state when my movers (surprisingly) showed up on time, and I had to resort to the throwing-shit-into-boxes approach. Thanks CK for the last minute help, and thanks girls for helping me unpack and clean!

Anyway, my new place is sweet, although the two guys who already live there have a unique sense of décor. The first words that come to my mind are “frat house basement” – but that’s why they really need a girl like me to live there. Baby steps, though – I’m painting next weekend, and then I’ll deal with the flamingo mirror/bar (seriously).

So last night, after unpacking/organizing/cleaning for two hours, I completely gave up and went to Stanton Social. I really like the place, and not just because the kitchen closes really late (3am Thursdays to Saturdays, 2am on other nights) – I like a lot of things on the menu, which consists of only small plates meant for sharing (wasn’t there something in Times about entrees being passé). Ambiance is nice too, although the acoustics are terrible – the walls are all stone/concrete, so noise just bounces off them making it really, really noisy. Anyway, avoid the ‘special’ Monday night menu...it’s…well, it’s just bad. Someone decided to pick the worst things on the menu and put them together. Sweet & sour chicken & cashew spring rolls (ehh), braised short rib soft tacos (ok), grill apple & brie quesadilla (yuck), crostini w/a spectacularly gross crème fraiche concoction, goat cheese croquettes (not on the regular menu, it was ok). and wok charred edamame (soooo good). Just order off the main menu – i.e. the kobe beef sliders, my favorite! Oh, and the warm donuts, which are served with a warm dark chocolate sauce. For some reason, the staff REALLY wants the tables turned over quickly on Mondays. Don’t get distracted talking to your friends because the waiters/waitresses have no problem removing your plate whether you’re finished eating or not!

I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed this before, but there was this AWFUL smell in the main downstairs room last night. I couldn’t put my finger on it until today and then I realized – hemp necklace, the kind that was popular in elementary/middle school. Anyway, at first I thought this smell was coming from the guy sitting to my right. When he got up for a smoke, and the smell was still there, I figured it must be coming from the guy sitting to my left. Then he got up to make a phone call. Since everyone else was sitting either down the table from me, or across (far), I thought – oh shit, maybe it’s me!! But I don’t smell (except of Serge Lutens A La Nuit - best jasmine perfume ever), plus I just showered and was wearing a dress I took out of a dry cleaning bag. For a good half hour, I was very disturbed that it might have been me causing the stench. It wasn't until we left that I realized the entire restaurant smells like a wet hemp necklace.

I dropped by Butter with Bridgette for a little bit since she's going to be out of town for the three weeks. Yes, Mondays at Butter are still very fun - good music, good crowd, and not too crowded while I was there...although, as always, I left "early" so I could GO THE GYM THIS MORNING. Yeaaa!!

This was only 665 words. Brevity is the soul of wit, as Hamlet/Mr. Georgandis used to say.

BTW, I used College Educated Movers . Yea, I’m totally elitist…no, actually, I saw their ad on Craigslist – their sales pitch was something along the lines of “Wouldn’t your rather support aspiring writers/filmmakers/starving artists than some 15 year old punk who’s going to break all your stuff?” Yea, I totally would! I had imagined two skinny hipsters who wouldn’t be able to carry much, and would take excessively long smoking breaks. But they were great! Punctual, efficient, and professional. And they charge a flat rate, so I didn’t really care when they took excessively long smoking breaks.

Ok, 779 words.

"Left is right and right is wrong"

Some random guy asked me if I was making a political statement with my shoeslaces.

"No sir, it ain't that deep."