I spend my days at work thinking about July 4th.

I don't feel comfortable writing in this journal anymore. If you want the name of my new one (with a kickass chocolate scheme inspired by Trevor's skin tone), you must IM me at 'goomibarchen.' Calling my cell phone is really creepy, so totally do it ( Read more... )

My daily lunch arrangements are satisfying, especially when they involve people quoting James Carville telling a wretched joke about the supposed Bush mandate on Meet the Press:

The only politician in America who has a mandate of any sort is Jim McGreevy.My favorite part of people making bad puns at mealtime is when they entirely miss the point of ( Read more... )

Class registration is a bitch because I have to take a lot of stupid courses I hate ( Read more... )

There's a Ben Sherman sample sale this week and I don't have the money to go buck-wild. This just makes the rest of my week that much sadder.

Boxed wine causes you to wake up with stuff like "I Love Prada" written on your arm and pictures of cats drawn on your lower back.
Whenever I go to one of the large New York museums, I feel bad for paying some ridiculously low price to get in. I felt particularly bad the other day going to the Natural History Museum with April because not only did ( Read more... )

When it's rainy and disgusting in New York, I imagine birds looking down on the street will see only a sea of black. Except for a small number of funky red umbrellas or green umbrellas heralding last year's opening of the Soho Bloomindale's, everyone carries those crappy black numbers that opportunistic street salesmen hawk for two dollars ( Read more... )

I'm not feeling terribly inspired and I'm going to Tim's comedy thing in half an hour, but I feel like I should write something just to let people know that I'm still alive. The result is that this entry is likely to bore you--to tears.

Thursday: I partook in lunch with April at Suzie's. She had chicken and string beans and I had a tofu dish and ( Read more... )

Although I anticipate and understand the necessity of a mourning period where the overarching mood of mainstream American media will be the same mood that permeates songs written by 16-year olds, I hope it ends soon ( Read more... )

oh man my head hurts so much.