Coolest Costume EVER

I’m not really one for putting thought into getting ready. It’s a rare occasion when I wake up in time to put make up on for work, let alone fuss with hair or pick an outfit out in advance.

Halloween, however, is something I’ve been thinking about for months… literally. I think I first announced my plan back in May. (Yes, you can call me a loser.) But it all paid off — I had to cleverist costume around!

Just look:

I want a girl with a mind like a diamond
I want a girl who knows what's best


I want a girl with shoes that cut
And eyes that burn like cigarettes

I want a girl with the right allocations
Who's fast and thorough
And sharp as a tack
She's playing with her jewelry
She's putting up her hair
She's touring the facility
And picking up slack…

I want a girl who gets up early
I want a girl who stays up late (story of my life…)
I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity


Who uses a machette to cut through red tape


With fingernails that shine like justice
And a voice that is dark like tinted glass
She is fast and thorough
And sharp as a tack
She's touring the facility
And picking up slack…

I want a girl with a smooth liquidation
I want a girl with good dividends
And at Citibank we will meet accidentally
We'll start to talk when she borrows my pen

She wants a car with a cupholder arm rest
She wants a car that will get her there


She's changing her name from Kitty to Karen


She's trading her MG for a white Chrysler La Baron…


I want a girl with a short skirt and a lonnnnggggggggg jacket


…but then again, who doesn’t?

mwahaha

Weekend #2

Last weekend was a synch. If only things could always be so easy…

This weekend, there were perks… a surprise phone call (thanks!), shopping for Porsche rental-cars (something to look forward to in L.A.), and homemade cookies left by a group of rather handsome Columbia grads who discovered my love for Dartmouth (Ivy League snots…). But there were pitfalls, too.

First, a “military man” who was drunk beyond belief claimed to live in the building, but swore he lost his key. I kind of smiled and waved him off… apparently his “girlfriend” was sleeping and he was there to visit. Then he started flirting with me. I continued to ignore him, so he started talking about how he wants to see his “fiancée.” (Interesting how his story kept changing.) Then he started adamantly hitting on me. Finally, he said he was going to go to bed with his “wife” as soon as he said goodnight to me, and he made to come behind the desk… That’s when I kicked him out. Don’t mess.

THEN — there was the booty call. A man came in claiming his friend left the door open for him to come visit. Sure. Either way, I can’t just let some stranger in off the street… even if it is for a pre-arranged sex visit. The visitor is calling and calling and calling the man in his room, but there’s no answer. It was just so pathetic, I had to cave… so I offered to walk him up to the room and if it was in fact open, then he could wake the resident up, who could then verify that it was ok for the guest to stay. And that’s what we did. Except, as the guest entered the room, I heard the resident say, “Oh, boy, I’m glad to see you. I’ve been dying to get off…” Yuck?

There were other lock outs, but I’m too tired to bother with recounting them now. (Did I mention I didn’t get to sleep more than two hours on Saturday?) I also didn’t mention the random couple who demanded to be let in one of the premium rooms, the calls I had to make, and the conversation I was supposed to have with the multi-millionaire who owns the building. It wasn’t fun. And it’s late. And it forbids me from doing what I love doing most — partying with friends.

Yet, every night as I sit at the desk, engaged in a test of will to stay awake, bundled up by the space heater in an effort to stay remotely warm, glued to my computer ( baby!), I have to laugh… A piece of me really enjoys this.

I’m not ok.


Hah — time to sleep (FINALLY)!

Who says newspapers can’t be fun?

As far as I’m concerned, Stephanie Rosenbloom of the New York Times has the right wit for writing this Halloween season…


For copyright issues, I've included only the first paragraph & last line... but I highly recommend reading more!

October 19, 2006
Good Girls Go Bad, for a Day
By STEPHANIE ROSENBLOOM
IN her thigh-highs and ruby miniskirt, Little Red Riding Hood does not appear to be en route to her grandmother’s house. And Goldilocks, in a snug bodice and platform heels, gives the impression she has been sleeping in everyone’s bed. There is a witch wearing little more than a Laker Girl uniform, a fairy who appears to shop at Victoria’s Secret and a cowgirl with a skirt the size of a tea towel.
. . .
“We’re not just risking our dignity here,” she said. “We’re risking frostbite.”

Déjà vu… aux États Unis

You'll never guess what I'm doing right now. Remember when I was working at the Hotel Sube in St. Tropez? I figured (with encouragement from my grandmother) that being a night receptionist was a good idea. God knows why I thought that held true in Boston.

And yet, here I am. To combat my ever-increasing debt (not helped by my new plans to travel to France in February), I've found myself another job. Thus, I'm employed as the "evening concierge" at a high-end condo high-rise building for the young & hip (& rich — each unit goes for about $1.5mil). It's not rocket science... make sure no one's breaking in, call cabs when needed, get residents mail when requested, deliver newspapers, that sort of thing... but it is tiring (not helped by the hours: Friday & Saturday from 11pm to 7am). Plus, I’ve already entered into a battle of wills with a mosquito.

Except here, the residents all speak English — though a few are native Frenchies, giving me an opportunity to practice un pea de français. Everyone has a dog. (Maybe I’ll bring Tequila in?) And there’s a pro-soccer player who is so gorgeous I may jump the counter one day... even if his wife — whom he loves dearly — is right there. (I am, of course, kidding when I say this...mostly.)

Anyways, I'm sure I'll have a whole lot of stories to share as I continue. Keep checking.

::sigh::

I can't believe I'm home.

Someone figure out how to get me back there? Please?

You know, I have been dying to get back to school...