| Go Big Green: Back to the Future |
| There are a few things that people don't tell you when you graduate from college: a) Entering the workforce is beyond terrifying.* b) Your consumption of wine will seemingly skyrocket to where the term college graduate could easily be the equivalent to that of a run-of-the-mill wino. c) It is almost imperative that you attend your 10-year high school reunion. (Please note that this is especially important if certain class enthusiasts tried to organize a 5 year reunion that may or may not involved go-karting, but which certainly and utterly failed. Of course now, THE PRESSURE IS ON, right?*) And so I suit up. And by suiting up I mean get mentally ready to see people I haven't seen in more than 3,650 days. Do you KNOW how weird this is? I suppose anyone who has experienced any type of reunion can relate BUT a) I had a MUSHROOM CUT. b) I was COLORGUARD CAPTAIN. c) I was on YEARBOOK STAFF. d) Obviously, A-C make me completely uncool. It's clear that there's a LOT that I'm up against. Shit I brought against myself. Ahhh, but I have more depth of personality, right? Like when I used to drive a Ford Tempo that smelled like Black and Milds*, with a driver's side window that was permanently stuck about 4 inches down (which, when it rained, was AWESOME), and an engine that was on its last, feeble legs.* It wasn't pretty, but gosh darn it it gave me loads of personality. But I digress. . . So . . . 70 pounds down, unmarried, childless, sexy ass chocolatey boyfriend I set out specifically to kill 'em. And let me tell you, no amount of alcohol can ease the awkwardness of seeing people who knew you at your most . . .green. A few observations: a) An MBA does not a success story make. b) Somehow those with children and married seemed the least fulfilled. While the singleton clan seemed the happiest.* c) Most Likely to Succeed does in fact mean Ph.D. in Biophysics. d) The quiet people ALWAYS turn out the coolest.* Myself, included. e) Even people's whose bodies didn't increase in mass, experienced fat faces. I'm not sure if anyone else has ever experienced this, but dude. A mighty percentage of my class has coke bloat face.* It was like before showing up people lathered on a thick layer of time. f) Filipino people LOVE breakdancing. LOVE LOVE LOVE it. g) Anyone who says that they "do a little modeling" but still rocks cornrows in 2008, probably doesn't "do a little modeling." And the most important observation, I believe, is spending a few minutes of conversation (or drunken bathroom heart-to-hearts) with people you never talked to in high school and realizing that your dumb ass missed out. John and Melody, I'm talking to you. I'm skipping the 20 year reunion because, my friends, I won. Footnotes: - I ran away to Australia for 6 months to avoid exactly this. Only to return to LA to sell office supplies door-to-door for exactly 5 days.** - Of fucking course it is. - Oh dear Jesus, I used to date a loser that encouraged me to smoke these hobo cigars. For shame, Miss Hershey, for SHAME. - I mean, at stoplights people were staring. Then frowning. Then staring some more at the sounds that my poor little Toaster was making. - I don't know about you, but to me happiness = drunk cripwalking. - Or the craziest/most psychopathic. You'll have to tread lightly with this one as its a potentially deadly toss-up. - And I totally mean coke bloat face in the nicest way. Footnote footnotes: - Where I sold exactly 1 ream of paper. Office supply peddling doesn't seem to be one of my strong points. |
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Back to the Future
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Oxymoronic Shopping
Okay, I am the FIRST person to go ape shit if someone says the word "same difference."
Why?
Because it is annoying and because it SIMPLY DOESN'T EXIST. Each term cancels itself completely out, creating a gaping hole at the beginning, middle, or end of a sentence. And, the word is usually employed to make a certain point or win an argument, ultimately rendering its user a complete dumbass. *
Because I am so passionately against this word and all it stands for* . . . Please y'all, never use this word again.
I have to give you my personal stance on oxymorons and how much I hate them so we can all enjoy the irony that is Miss Hershey McJones. You see, dear readers, the ultimate hater of all things oxymoronic (particularly the term 'same difference') is . . .
An oxymoron. I am a SHOPPER who does not want to be sold.
Let me paint you a picture:
I'm in the mall with my good friend, Asal, shopping for the dress that will perfectly swaddle my newly, svelte figure as I am the maid of honor in her upcoming wedding. Clearly, a dress like this should be classy, but sexy, beautiful and stunning but not in any way direct attention away from the breathtaking bride and HER DRESS*.
With high standards and a clear directive (and not to mention a size 6 body and size 12/14 boobs, which sounds totally cool but I can assure you is decidedly NOT), clearly I am on a Level 5 Alarm Shopping Trip. I am here to shop, but people try to SELL me shit all the time while gallavanting from mall to mall.
Kiosks trolls, mostly of African-American and Middle Eastern descent, trying to sell me hair extensions and cellular phones and hand lotion.
Anorexic sales girls trying to upsell shoes and telling me about the latest discounts and sales.
Cash register matrons fervently pitching the store credit card hawking a measly 10% discount which will surely do more damage to my Sallie Mae-slashed credit rating than it's fucking worth.
Pockmarked, angst-ridden teenagers in severly ill-fitting skinny jeans trying to get me to sample Auntie Anne's pretzels. (Double fucking ew because those toothpicks look RECYCLED)
Gay dressing room attendants "checking in to see if I'm okay with the size." Their voices through the dressing room partitions and curtains grate my very soul.
I HATE YOU ALL.
Which is no wonder I ended up buying my dress from ebay.
Footnotes:
- Or a fucking third grader.
- Namely abject stupidity and the lack of a solid vocabulary, an ailment that I am blessed not to suffer from as my vocabulary is extensive.**
- Seriously, I've seen the shit and it's a PROCESS getting into it. She deserves any and all eyes in the room to be solely on her due to the amount of labor we'll both expend just getting it ON.
Footnote footnotes:
- Owing mainly to my father's need to impress his friends with his "super kid's" private education and the ability to memorize a shitload of flashcards.
Why?
Because it is annoying and because it SIMPLY DOESN'T EXIST. Each term cancels itself completely out, creating a gaping hole at the beginning, middle, or end of a sentence. And, the word is usually employed to make a certain point or win an argument, ultimately rendering its user a complete dumbass. *
Because I am so passionately against this word and all it stands for* . . . Please y'all, never use this word again.
I have to give you my personal stance on oxymorons and how much I hate them so we can all enjoy the irony that is Miss Hershey McJones. You see, dear readers, the ultimate hater of all things oxymoronic (particularly the term 'same difference') is . . .
An oxymoron. I am a SHOPPER who does not want to be sold.
Let me paint you a picture:
I'm in the mall with my good friend, Asal, shopping for the dress that will perfectly swaddle my newly, svelte figure as I am the maid of honor in her upcoming wedding. Clearly, a dress like this should be classy, but sexy, beautiful and stunning but not in any way direct attention away from the breathtaking bride and HER DRESS*.
With high standards and a clear directive (and not to mention a size 6 body and size 12/14 boobs, which sounds totally cool but I can assure you is decidedly NOT), clearly I am on a Level 5 Alarm Shopping Trip. I am here to shop, but people try to SELL me shit all the time while gallavanting from mall to mall.
Kiosks trolls, mostly of African-American and Middle Eastern descent, trying to sell me hair extensions and cellular phones and hand lotion.
Anorexic sales girls trying to upsell shoes and telling me about the latest discounts and sales.
Cash register matrons fervently pitching the store credit card hawking a measly 10% discount which will surely do more damage to my Sallie Mae-slashed credit rating than it's fucking worth.
Pockmarked, angst-ridden teenagers in severly ill-fitting skinny jeans trying to get me to sample Auntie Anne's pretzels. (Double fucking ew because those toothpicks look RECYCLED)
Gay dressing room attendants "checking in to see if I'm okay with the size." Their voices through the dressing room partitions and curtains grate my very soul.
I HATE YOU ALL.
Which is no wonder I ended up buying my dress from ebay.
Footnotes:
- Or a fucking third grader.
- Namely abject stupidity and the lack of a solid vocabulary, an ailment that I am blessed not to suffer from as my vocabulary is extensive.**
- Seriously, I've seen the shit and it's a PROCESS getting into it. She deserves any and all eyes in the room to be solely on her due to the amount of labor we'll both expend just getting it ON.
Footnote footnotes:
- Owing mainly to my father's need to impress his friends with his "super kid's" private education and the ability to memorize a shitload of flashcards.
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