“…The Opposite of Love is not Hate, it is Indifference…”
“…got to admit it’s getting better, it’s getting better, All The Time.”
Life is not fair, and the modern woman quickly learns that she must crusade against this unfortunate status quo. She focuses her attack on equal pay, eradicating prejudice and too often, hones in on increased sexual freedom. For some reason, the general consensus seems to be that to earn the same respect and salaries as our male counterparts, we have to act like them. We’re becoming a society of avoidance; love ‘em and leave ‘em, or more aptly, fuck ‘em and forget ‘em, is the new motto. When did one-night stands become okay? Recall the charming, pithy words of Lil’ Kim: “If the guy have three girls then he’s the man. He can either give us some head, sex her off. If a girl do the same, then “she’s a whore.” This is changing, however, and we must be careful not to view it as a social victory for women. mary anne, retail, eastside
Sweet Tooth!
Have My Cake… And Eat It! This particular phrase is pertinent to dating, or rather promiscuous dating. Dating two guys at once can be perilous, sure; but not if you know what you’re doing. I’m currently dating two men (about to tack on a third, but that’s beside the point). They live in different boroughs, which means they live in completely different worlds, if not opposing universes. I like both of these men, equally, but for quite contradictory reasons. They are total opposites, nothing alike. And what can I say? Dating is sort of like fashion: we women like to have options. So until it blows up in my face, don’t bother me, I’m eating cake. sue, pr, chelsea
Warning. Don’t push my buttons!!!!!!!
I’m sorry, but unless you have some tragic disability, when you’re going to the second, third, even the fourth floor, you have no business taking the elevator. You know as well as I do that everyone needs to move, move, move and needs everything fast, fast, fast. I hear you sigh with frustration when the barista is having an off day and the espresso machine is not acting up to par. Now, I understand that the world revolves around you, but you’re unnecessarily making everyone else’s elevator ride that much longer. Listen, if I can climb five flights of stairs in spike heels to my apartment—even when I still need to change and I’m already running late —you’re more than capable of climbing three. Especially when you’re wearing fucking jogging shoes for Christ’s sake. I don’t know, maybe you actually have a desire for a ballooning ass. Maybe you’re excited for diabetes and an early death. Frankly, I don’t care. But when your inane laziness breaks the simplest of elevator etiquette rules or just the basics of human decency and I see your finger reach out to press the floor 2 button, I might just bite it right off. rachel, designer, flatiron
“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”
I’m beginning to feel rather suffocated by the apathy around me, especially in the eyes of my fellow L train riders on our collective morning commute… I am slowly dying as a result of their appallingly low reserves of enthusiasm. Or passion. About anything. Or so it would seem. Perhaps I should stick to my own dealings with apathy. On the other side of my affected disinterest is usually fear of some sort or another. Before I became engaged in politics, the apathy that blocked my way was only a misguided fear of my own ability to jump in the game, so-to-speak. As for the subway and its rampant social apathy (so unfortunately “fashionable” these days), I have found that underneath my own vacant shoegaze stare is a desire to look around curiously, not to mention tap my feet (not to mention my hands, if that day’s bag is looking particularly drum-like) to the tune of whatever song I’m listening to. ash, hospitality, jersey city
“…sweet, sweet, the memories you gave to me…”
Nothing beats New York City summers: Levi’s cut offs. Tank tops. Hot asphalt. Baseball caps. Dirty feet in flip-flops. BBQs. Rooftop sunsets. Sweaty sex. Kickball in Prospect Park. Vodka lemonades sipped coolly on the terrace. Margaritas to-go. Watching Do The Right Thing 987 times just to get in the spirit of things. Pool parties. Block parties. Free concerts. Old movies in Bryant Park. The Hamptons. Mister Softee. Weekend camping trips Upstate. Coney Island: funnel cake, the Cyclone, and Nathan’s hot dogs. So please. For the love of our city, for the love of our summer, and for the enjoyment of all: if you can’t stand the heat, get out the effing kitchen! I don’t want to hear you gripe about “oppressive heat,” “outrageous A/C bills,” or “disgusting humidity.” Just leave. No one’s gonna miss you. peter, writer, westside
“…I never really mind bad service in a restaurant. It makes me feel better about not leaving a tip…” Bill Bryson
Tolerating poor and slow service at a restaurant, a burnt coffee at Starbucks, or an idiot on the subway who has somewhere more important to be than you, are all going to be neverending occurrences unless someone decides to speak up and be heard. Americans have become scared to utter the simplest complaint and are too concerned with the opinion they may bestow upon themselves if using their words. We no longer expect much in return from what most of our hard earned dollars go into. The quality of our clothing, the taste of our food, and the lifestyle we live are all a reflection of something we as individuals settle on. When will someone stand up and argue the fact that a change needs to be made in the expectations that we set upon standards in society? The 85-year-old woman at Starbucks is not going to waste her time chiming in about a luke- warm cup of tea, and the mother of three cares more about feeding her children than the rude service she received from her waitress. It is us, the younger people of America that should take a stand for what we deserve and should expect. We have fallen into a trap of settling for anything less than the best and if we don’t want a future of settling for the bare minimum then another day should not be wasted on the bare minimum on the receiving end. Stop biting your tongue and speak up! ken, admin, uws
“…I ordered up some suzette, I said could you please make that crepe…” Bob Dylan
There is nothing worse for America and America’s image than a drive-thru. Nothing. The fact that people are still ignorant enough to eat fast food is tragic enough, but then that they’re too lazy to get out of their gas-guzzlers and stretch their legs for five minutes so they can chow down on a double mega burger with fries and a milkshake? There’s nothing worse for you than to have someone lean out a window and hand you an inhumanely slaughtered cow, slammed between two pieces of over-processed bread, slathered with high fructose corn syrup (and likely spit,) and then to have someone take your money for this monstrosity, while you sit in your safe haven of a planet-destroying vehicle and whine that they forgot extra ketchup.
luz, maintainance, staten island
Another Close Encounter – SNL
Maybe we just live on some redneck planet in the backwater part of the galaxy and we should just go on playing the banjo …alone.
abby, chef, bronx
“… It’s called a pig-out for a reason… ”
What’s up with all these BBQ places sprouting up everywhere? You know, the ones where you can just point at a picture of a pig and get a huge hunk of whatever part you feel like eating, usually slopped onto some wax paper on a tray along with some cornbread, grits and an egregious amount of BBQ sauce. Sure, everyone likes BBQ, but this trend is a little much—what’s up with certain foods becoming “trendy” anyway? We have completely missed the point of food, something to nourish us rather than entertain. And keeping in mind that most Americans are obese anyway, should we really be eating double-doses of pig’s ass? bill, janitor, uws
Are You Deaf, Blind or just STUPID
A friendly bit of PA for all those people who seem not to understand how hours of operation work: THEY’RE NOT SUGGESTIONS. This place opens at 8am on Sunday. EIGHT. I don’t care, Mr. Member, if you unfailingly stand in front of these doors at 7:30am every week. I’m here early so that I can set up the gym to receive its members; not so that you can come in for an extra half an hour that we don’t owe you, because WE’RE NOT OPEN. Do you come in anyway? Oh, yes, you’re practically on my heels, sighing heavily like I’ve inconvenienced you by letting you in before the gym is actually open. We go through this routine every Sunday. You don’t get to play beleaguered paying member should I show up at 7:45 instead of 7:30. I’M STILL NOT LATE AND WE’RE STILL NOT OPEN. And you CERTAINLY don’t get to stand over me whining about unacceptability should I manage to get in before you and lock the doors behind me so people can’t waltz in when they feel like it. We open at 8, fuckers, and consider yourself lucky that I open the doors five minutes before. eloise, writer, uws
Love Will Keep Us Together
My boyfriend and I have been together for about a year. Throughout one of those first deep conversations that lasted ‘til 3am (come on, you know the one where you are headstrong on showing off your highly-opinionated eloquently-spoken ultra-liberal P.O.V.), the subject of pornography came up. I started my personal tyrant: I think sexual freedom should be defended, I embrace the entire range of human sexuality, I identify with sex-positive feminists, blah blah blah. Basically, I dig it. Some of it. Not the hardcore unseen Six White Chicks, One Black Dick kind (yes, that’s a real porno; my roommate was a Sexuality major), but maybe something more soft and low-key, e.g. sensual erotica on film. I thought by delivering this openly, it was giving him a platform to say, “Yeah, I’m into it, too,” as most men are. By no means did I want him to get on his knees and confess he couldn’t go a day without it, but I wanted to open the gates of communication on sexuality. His response? “Not that into it, really.” So, imagine my surprise when a few days ago, I’m on his computer (NOT snooping!), checking out the History folder (still not snooping, only looking for a site I was on the day before), and dozens… I mean, DOZENS of porn sites come up. And not just general websites that find themselves onto your computer via e-mail, or virus, we’re talking specific pictures. Specific videos. Clearly, these have been visited before, many times, they should’ve been featured in the Favorites folder. What the hell, man? I gave you a clear opportunity to let your porn-lovin’ side out of the bag, and you bailed. We could’ve gotten into it together! Had a Girl-on-Girl flick night! Instead, your sneaky behind-my-back tactics to hide your sexual indulgence has turned my normal insecurities into war wounds. I’m jealous of the ladies in your porn stash only because you hid them from me, not because they’re there in the first place. Share the wealth! briony, accountant, tribeca
Should Be A Law Against It
I know being a teacher is supposed to be a career that saves your place in heaven; but I want to cash in my chips now. Parents PLEASE try instilling some sense of human qualities before you trek off to work. Don’t go to happy hour, refrain from date night and spend some time with your damn kids! You do remember you have one, right? Believe it or not, school is where children grow and learn—YOU are their foundation. And we know what happens when we don’t build a solid foundation, don’t we folks? We crumble, we fall. Aren’t you a little curious what your child does all day long? Or what his/her teacher even looks like? Do you even know my name? Well, you should. I understand the economy sucks. I understand more days at work, more hours during the day. Heck, I coach after school. My day runs about twelve hours on average. But that’s ok, because I am single. SINGLE. That means one. One to take care of. You, my dear are a “plus one,” start acting like it. Remember you are going to need someone to take care of you one day when you are old and weary. Maybe think about that when what’s his face at the office asks you to that nice lil bbq joint in Chelsea. Shit, if you want I’ll raise your kid – KIDDING! That’s YOUR job. Now get off your goddamn phone.
wendy, teacher, queens