Mixed signals. The worst of the worst is mixed signals. Girls, you know what I’m talking about: when every little thing between you and him seems like a rather big thing? And then it’s actually not? Like when he texts you ‘Let’s hang out tonight’ and you frantically rush home after work, squeezing your ass into the tightest pair of pants you have with that really uncomfortable g-string, wildly hoping he’ll see them later, only to have him show up with his three buddies and completely ignore you. Or when you put that extra effort in showing up to work looking great, and he breezes by you without even saying hi. We freak the fuck out and think of absurd questions: Why didn’t he notice my eyebrows were plucked today? Who is he texting instead of me? Is this skirt too frumpy? Did I have lipstick on my snaggletooth?! We go on the defensive, practicing our stank eye as best we can, avoiding him at all costs. And then one day it’s different – he smiles that really cute smile, talks to us for over five minutes on his lunch break, and we think he’s into us all over again. It’s a never ending cycle which we never break free from.
Lisa, PR, SoHo
Kale smoothies. Chia seeds. Flaxmeal. Gluten-free. If I’m subjected to anymore of this health craze, I’m going to go fucking insane. People, why is it that this year is the year of health issues? Y’all had no problem with eating Doritos and donuts five years ago. To the people who are ‘allergic’: I have photo evidence of your ass at Taco Bell back in the day. I have had it up to here with people telling me they can’t have this, can’t eat that, because they’re ‘allergic.’ I understand that maybe one out of every five people who say they are allergic or cannot digest shit like gluten are actually allergic, but to the hordes of people who have this health ‘plague,’ you guys need to chill. I want to rip out your faces at restaurants when you take twenty minutes to order because you need to ask the manager if the house salad has fucking gluten in it. I’m all for people being healthy, but you can be healthy without being ‘allergic.’ You can be healthy without going to Trader Joe’s every week to spend absurd amounts of money on ‘certified organic’ foods. And for christ’s sake, stop shoving your health shit down my throat.
Kourtney, Waitress, Rose Hill
Can we all just teach each other how to ride the MTA? All of my life, I have watched people from around the globe become mystified with the idea of public transportation. Yes, chonga from Miami, the MetroCard dispenser is a touch screen. No, elephant from Idaho, you cannot use the disabled entrance to exit the station because you can’t fit through the turnstile: it sets off the fucking alarm. You should be embarrassed, absurd muscles from Jersey, when you swipe the MetroCard over twenty times and it still says ‘insufficient funds.’ It’s not like you’re not used to the pole, bleached-out hooker from LA, so hold onto it when the train starts and you won’t awkwardly stumble. You wouldn’t have lost your hat, cowboy from Texas, if you just stood ‘clear for the closing doors.’ If I could only write a damn handbook, maybe some of you wouldn’t be looking like fools.
Andrea, Retail, Hacienda Heights
I am fairly certain that we, as a nation, are not experiencing much of a shortage when it comes to textiles or fabrics. With this in mind, I am forced to wonder just why in the hell you have chosen to purchase and wear gym attire that is four sizes too small for you? Now, I have tried to make excuses for you in the past, but my good nature and forgiveness can only extend so far. The last thing I need, while laying on a bench and pitching heavy weights above my throat, is to become distracted, for even a moment, by your inappropriate spandex to skin ratios. These types of distractions are a slippery slope, and before long I am laughing with weights suspended over my head like the Sword of Damocles, because, in my mind, I have likened the sight of you exploding out of your workout apparel to the way a marshmallow expands in a microwave oven. The gym is where one goes in order to FIT those clothes, not just a forum in which to wear them. So, the next time you see fit to pour yourself into your favorite overworked, tortured, pair of spandex shorts, take a look in the mirror and realized that you spilled some.
Cathy, Student, UES
There are two types of people in this world: Those who have frizzy hair and those who don’t. I was the only one out of my group of friends blessed with extremely pouffy hair. Lately, I blame my nonexistent love life on the fact that when we go out, all men are always attracted to my friends with sleek and straight hair. This is a gene, guys. I can’t help that my hair has a little volume to it, and hate to break it to you, but I’m not going to spend 12 hours making it perfectly straight for you. And how dare you think that we should spend 12 hours turning it into something it’s not. Perhaps if you at least have a conversation with me you may, god forbid, look past it.
Jane, Fashion, Cobble Hill
I don’t care about your children. I’m sorry. I figured since they didn’t spring from my loins you would have understood my detachment, but I don’t think you’ve quite received the message. My service job sucks and it certainly doesn’t get any sunnier when your kids are running up and down the restaurant causing all sorts of mayhem. I’m sorry, but rolling your eyes and shrugging isn’t good enough. “Kids will be kids!” you seem to laugh. “Aren’t they darling?” Short answer: no. It’s a fucking liberty to try out your parenting skills on the rest of us! Or maybe you’re just a lazy biatch.So here it is, how about you teach your kids to sit in a chair, quiet themselves, and quit asserting their adorableness to everyone. It’s not the kid’s fault (yet), it’s yours.
Todd, Host, Red Hook