It's Time!

Well hello friends, so sorry to have neglected you for these past couple of days, but I'll be damned if these employers of mine don't expect me to do work at the most inconvenient times. I spent all of yesterday train riding between New York and Delaware only to stand (in heels) for 5 hours watching other people sell things and salivating over the appetizers I was not allowed to eat. What's in Delaware you ask? Not much, honey, you didn't miss a thing. Tomorrow will be a round-trip flying experience to Chicago, during which I am certain to contract some sort of deep vein thrombosis from too many hours aloft! Alas, the plight of the working woman - swollen feet and unparalleled boredom....wish I'd know what I was getting into before I gave up my waitressing shifts.

Anyway, on my way home last night (WAY past my bedtime) I saw the first happy signs of the season! The giant star suspended above Fifth Avenue and the twinkling of lighted bows hanging from the street lamps. You know I was against holiday cheer prior to Thanksgiving, but now that's it's time I couldn't be happier. Now don't forget about the big tree lighting ceremony at Rockefeller Center this evening. Folks from home are always asking if I go see it and are so incredibly disappointed to hear that I watch it on television just like everyone else, but do you seriously think I'm gonna go stand out in the cold for 4 hours hoping to catch a glimpse of evergreen from the far edge of the plaza. I did attempt it one year, only to find that I could see neither the tree nor the announcers nor the performing artists. Wouldn't it be a shame to miss hearing The Backstreet Boys sing "Joy To The World" in bad R&B style?

Hence, I shall be viewing the tree lighting from the comfort of my couch and suggest you, Manhannanite or not, do the same with a glass of spiked cider...ooops, I meant SPICED cider, but just as well;-)

Black Friday

Well I hope ya'll had a lovely Thanksgiving. (I would have written before now, but I was buried under a mountain of leftovers and I was afraid that if I left for even a minute, Sweetpotato might get into my stuffing and then I'd have to stab him in the eye.) Since I didn't get to check in on you, I do hope Friday found you watching movies in your PJ's, not throwing elbows in a department store. They call it Black Friday, meaning the sales go into the black. But it should really be called Rednecks Knock Each Other Down in Wal-Mart for a Cheap Television Friday. I just don't understand these folks who would rather stand outside a shopping mall at 5 in the morning ON THEIR DAY OFF, than lie on their couch eating cold pumpkin pie. I mean I love a good bargain as much as the next person, but two-for-one tube socks do not warrant an early morning stampede.

Now look at these crazy people here. They are actually knocking old folks down in their rush to grab a new X-box for Junior, who will certainly perish if he doesn't get his thumbs on the latest and greatest violence-enhancing game box. I mean if you're gonna fight a crowd of over-caffinated bargain hunters for an electronic device, you'd be best be getting a computer. That way, even if you look like an ass this year, you can spend next Black Friday ordering your gifts from the comfort of your living room, instead of sprawled on the concrete floor of the clearance aisle, playing tug-of-war with a toothless opponent over a fleece pullover. Ya'll lose your minds over a plasma t.v. if you want to, but my Christmas shopping is just a click away!;-)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Well Happy Thanksgiving everyone! You know, Thanksgiving is the most magical of all food holidays, filled with savory stuffing and crusted carbohydrates, the likes of which cannot in good conscience be consumed any other day of the year without subsequent vomiting. Yes, Thanksgiving is the treasured family holiday filled with distant relatives and awkward in-laws, which those of us with large broods look forward to with the trepidation that only years of family humiliation can bring. Fortunately, I have found a way to remain relatively sane, whatever that means....alcohol, my friends, was invented for the "family holiday." Here is my beverage plan of attack, or survival rather:
1)I start with my morning coffee with cream, Bailey's Irish Cream that is.

2)As soon as I am fully caffeinated I naturally begin on the Mimosas, which if consumed steadily over ice, are sure to produce the desired haze effect for the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon.

3)With the beginning of the meal I switch to a nice red wine (it doesn't matter much what type, as at this point it's more for buzz continuity than for taste)
** Also acceptable here is the mixed drink, I have found bourbon and vodka to be the most effective liquors for family friendliness. If you are mainly a holiday drinker and have not corrupted your liver to the point of border-line cirrhosis, you might want to stay away from the hard stuff, but that's a judgment call.

4)After the meal, I return to a snifter of Bailey's or depending on how many secrets have been revealed I might just have an Irish coffee with Bailey's and whiskey.

Now, be sure to include alcohol at all possibly intervals within the food itself. We've got Kaluha in the cheesecake and champagne in the turkey (however, I do not recommend this if there is any chance you will not have enough champagne for all the mimosas...rookie mistake).

Between the tryptophan putting you to sleep and the booze giving you the warm-and-friendlys, you might just escape with your sanity, though probably not your dignity as referenced in my October 16th blog 'A Word of Caution.' Be mindful of the fact that try as you might, you cannot actually get rid of your family, so whatever stupid acts you commit in front of them will live in infamy.

So, Happy Thanksgiving everyone and Bottoms Up!!!

Boredom Thy Name is Queenan

Alright, so I could not possibly be any more bored than I am at this moment. I have been locked inside my dull eggshell-colored office for the past 2 weeks without a soul to speak to besides the turtle, who would really rather hide beneath the cabinets than have anything to do with me. Turtles may look cute, but they make rather unaffectionate pets. And don't think that I'm so bored simply because I have nothing to do. On the contrary, there are stacks of papers to be filed, bills to be paid, shelves to be organized, almost too much excitement for one girl to handle! As you can well imagine, silence is an auditory affect with which I have little experience, having spent the majority of my life exercising my jaw muscle to whomever was within earshot, voluntarily or otherwise. Hence, my days in the solitary confines of my poorly-guarded, atrociously-carpeted, cheaply-furnished penitentiary have me on the brink of complete insanity.

And I'm not the only one. Who do you think must bear the tidal wave of talking every evening after my escape? Poor Sweetpotato. Here is a man who chats his cellphone battery into the charger at least twice a day being spoken into submission for a solid hour while I recount the mundane details of my routine, complete with lunch menu and gym schedule. To think, I could once enthrall him with novel experiences, and now I watch him zone out through yet another harrowing adventure with the copy machine.

I can only hope that some day soon, someone will take pity on me and send me a cure for this chronic boredom. Please submit all suggestions not office related to queenan@dearqueenan.com You may be my only hope for sanity and Sweetpotato's only hope for escape!

Keep in touch...

So last night I had dinner with my friend Fashion Slave. For those of you who don't know her, she is the greatest quality-control-production-person a fashion designer has ever employed (and I'm not just saying that because she sometimes lets me borrow her clothes). Anyway, we were to meet at this restaurant on the West side and somehow, in an act of unprecedented stupidity, I let my cellphone battery die. So there I am, walking the streets of Manhattan, without the slightest idea where I'm going, and I have no way to call her. So, I did what I had to do in the time of such a crisis....I used a pay phone, no judgments please. I can still feel the germs leaping on to me as I picked up the receiver, not really expecting it to work. I mean truthfully, when was the last time you used a pay phone? I kind of thought those steel monoliths were just left as a tribute to simpler times, before the need to be constantly "connected" rendered them obsolete.

Remember when you could leave your house, run your errands and return home to check your machine without being overridden with anxiety about missing a call? Remember when computers were used to type term papers and email was checked with the same frequency as the smoke detector? Remember when there were such things as "time off" and "vacations," and being unavailable was actually a reasonable state of being. The real mystery here is why in the hell we pretend we need all of this connectivity. Most of us don't even answer the damn thing, we just use it to screen folks out. And why would you want to pay hundreds of dollars to have a device that essentially never lets you leave the office? Guess what, if I don't want to talk to you during work hours, I sure as hell don't want to talk to you on the weekend.

Now I'm not trying to scorn technology, and rest assured my cell phone is right beside me, but wouldn't it be nice if you could still leave your house and be by yourself, instead plagued by some passive-aggressive need to know who's calling you so you can not answer?

And I would like to stand behind my beliefs and I would say I'm leaving my cell at home on my next outing, but since I'm pretty sure I have some sort of ear fungus from last night's pay phone encounter, I guess I'll keep recharging.

Now with pictures!

Ah-ha! I have finally figured out how to add photos to my blog (ya'll may think I'm slow, but really you know I can't be bothered) However today I wanted to illustrate my point from yesterday's blog about how zippin' doesn't necessarily promise fittin'. It is with great remorse that I have allowed this picture of Star Jones Reynolds to disgrace my site. I can only hope that you'll forgive me in the name of bringing fashion consciousness to the misguided masses.

A few things to note:

1) Gathering only looks good on stick people with 0% body fat

2)Royal purple velvet died in the early 80's - fire any stylist who tells you otherwise

3)When having weight-loss surgery (I do not for one second believe she did this through diet alone) it is advisable to incorporate toning exercises, so as not to look like your head is bobbling atop your saggy neck and apple-shaped body.

Now that we have learned our lesson, I will never again allow Star Jones Reynolds to be mentioned on my site again. For better or for worse (there will be much worse), this is my solemn vow.

Stretching the Seam

So I'm watching T.V last night, nothing exciting as it was a Monday, but just as I'm beginning to digest my dinner, what comes on but another Kirstie Alley commercial for Jenny Craig. And she's screeching in that annoying way of hers about how she's lost fifty pounds, while sausaged into the most atrocious dress I've ever seen, and I become a bit nauseous at the sight of over-stretched denim and cellulite. Now Kirstie, we all know you have lost some weight and we are just so proud of you (bless your heart), but honey you are still a size 14 so you need to stop trying to squeeze yourself into a 10. It's not pretty and it does little for your ad campaign. Yes, folks, you too can look too big for your clothes after only 5 months of starving yourself!

Speaking of wardrobe malfunction, did you see Star Jones at the Emmy's? I mean I know this was a while back, but the image of her in stretchy purple velvet is burned into my retinas. She was like a great gathered Barney, the inane self-serving edition. Aren't her fifteen minutes up yet? Guess she's hanging on to her celebrity with the same grip she hangs on to her dinner plate. My God, I wish she'd let go!

It really makes no sense to me for someone to spend so much energy on being thin and then throw their bulges out there for the world to see. You lost a few pounds, congratulations, doesn't mean you're ready to pose for Maxim, so keep your clothes on! Nothing wrong with a nice black pants suit because unless you are Angelina, camouflage is still the way to go.

My final thought on the subject of too small attire: just because it zips doesn't mean it fits. (You heard it here folks, words to live by.)

Hold off the holidays

Enough is enough. I like Christmas just as much as the next guy, but the length of the holiday season is getting a little out of hand. I mean the local pharmacy barely lets you come down from your Halloween sugar-high before loading up the shelves with candy canes. Saturday night, November 12, I watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas on TBS. Now, I luuurrve the Grinch (cartoon version only) but seriously, November 12th? I am just not ready for this yet. I mean, I've barely begun scraping together my gift money, I've only had to wear a scarf once this season, and I haven't baked a single cookie. It can't be the holidays yet, I'm just not ready!

As a rule, I don't believe in decorating before Thanksgiving, it ruins the fun if you see ornaments and tinsel too often, plus you'll have a very dry tree on your hands by mid-December. I'm still trying to wrap my wallet around winter boots and wool coats and now you're asking me to start shopping for other people? Truly this is out of control. I don't want to see a single holly wreath or lighted tree until December 1st. Are we supposed to forget about Thanksgiving, the greatest food holiday ever invented? Here I am planning my baking schedule around pumpkin and suddenly the Peppermint Mocha has appeared at Starbucks. I can't take it, no wonder children are so wretched by Christmas morning. It's bad enough Christmas comes only once a year, but now they're taunted with Santa images before they go trick-or-treating...talk about confusing.

And I know it won't do any good, that department store windows are already dressed and carols are already sprinkling throughout regular radio programming, but nevertheless I want to plead with the media, the retailers and the Christmas enthusiasts....please, for the love of all things sacred and secular...one holiday at a time!

Friday Night Plans

Ah Friday, the final day of the grueling work week. Well, grueling if you actually do anything at work, for me it's less grueling and more the-most-excruciatingly-tedious-wasting-of-my-life...but you get the point. Anyway, Friday, for all its obvious merit, does produce a high level of anxiety in many worker bees, when they finally come up for air from underneath their mountain of paperwork to discover that they haven't made any weekend plans, and may find themselves snuggling with Ben and Jerry on their futon, while the rest of the world is doing something infinitely cooler than they have ever been a part of (okay, maybe I'm projecting a bit here, but still).

Fortunately, ya'll have Queenan to guide you to a Friday night event certain to leave you feeling very trendy-underground New York. Now ya'll know I usually don't promote other folks on my blog, it's hard for me to write about something other than myself at times, but today I shall make an exception to bring you a performance by the greatest undiscovered pop singer in the tri-county area... Risa (so cool, in fact, she only has one name). She will be performing at 8pm at the Lion's Den 214 Sullivan Street (yes I know this is below 42nd Street and so ya'll know she must be good if I'm going to haul my cookies all the way downtown, but the Village does add something to the "cool" factor...let's hope it rubs off - plus there's alcohol so you'll hardly even notice the trip home)

Now I wouldn't be telling you to make the trek if she were just some mediocre, guitar-strumming, coffee-house talent. I think by now I've established my abhorrence of wannabes, so please understand that I hold her in the highest esteem and am sure you will too. So now you know your options: gain 5 lbs of ice cream and take-out or participate in the discovery of a rising star...it's your choice, but remember - this is the season of the skinny jean not the Chubby Hubby

Enough with the Election

Okay, so you know how I told you the campaigning politicians were driving me crazy with their incessant hand-shaking in front of the subway, blocking traffic, spreading germs, etc? Okay, so then election day comes and there are even more people, now they're just asking if you voted. No, I didn't. I mean how could I possibly choose between the short brunette germ-spreader and the tall blond one? Please, you know I can't be bothered (besides the fact that I'm still pretending I'm not a New Yorker and am therefore unaffected by their ridiculous politics). So, now it's 2 days after the final count, concession speeches have been made, victory parties have been thrown, even the news coverage has moved back to the poor dead girl in Aruba, and yet, the city council people remain. Now they're thanking us for our votes. Listen buddy, you know that even if I had voted, I would not have voted for you because you annoyed the hell out of me every morning for the past six weeks, and here you are, still annoying the hell out of me. You don't even need us to like you anymore so please go away! I would like for once to make it from my apartment to my office building without being pushed, squished, cut off, waved at or spoken to. I realize that may require moving or working from home. Unfortunately, Sweetpotato forbids my presence in our apartment between 9am and 6pm (supposedly he's working during those hours, but he knows a suspicious amount about Regis and Kelly). Moving is not an option because what would I possibly write about if I didn't have New Yorkers to make me disgruntled. Alas, I can only hope the newly elected officials get over their concern for the community and back to helping themselves....I shouldn't be waiting long.

Hairendous

Can we Please speak for just a minute about one of the worst fashion atrocities of modern times...the hair piece. Now I'm not talking about the toupe, I believe the ridiculousness of head rugs has been well documented by all major media outlets. What I am most concerned with today, is the nappy curly-ques bobbypinned to the ponytails of half my fellow subway riders every morning. You pretend as if your straight, mousy-brown hair turns in to blond ringlets at the back of your head if you want to, but honey everyone knows that your curls come off with your banana clip. Now unless you are Jessica Simpson and can pay $10,000 to have real hair perfectly infused into your head, do not attempt to go from a bob cut to Rapunzel overnight. Those of us barely scraping up rent will just have to let our hair grow out the natural way. I mean take some hair vitamins or something, but for the love of God, do not try to clip hair to your head and pass it off as your own. You do not look cute, you do not look sexy, you look like trailer trash on prom night and you need to TAKE IT OFF!!! At the very least, can you please select a shade of Barbie hair even remotely close to that of your own? And not the color your hair used to be, the color it is right now.

Bottom Line: if you're having a bad hair day, phony follicles are not the answer; a baseball cap works every time.

Monday, Monday

Ah Monday, the most despised day of the working-class week. It goes without saying that I had to force myself out of bed this morning and stumble groggy-eyed to the train. I never feel alone though, surrounded by 200 other barely cognisant folks, eyelids half open, clinging to their coffee like a lifeline. And so I stand on the train as it clunks along toward the center of Manhattan, ever so slowly approaching the dreaded office buildings. It's actually rather bizarre how the trains creep along in the morning and whiz home after 5pm, guess conductors have a hard time getting started too.

Monday, yes the day of the week where I make all sorts of promises I fully intend to keep (for at least a day or so). I vow to go to the gym every day, which I will absolutely intend to do until about 6 o'clock when I'm too exhausted to mount a treadmill. I vow to eat small, low-calorie meals, which lasts until lunch time if my boss is buying; you know I never turn down a free meal - skinny jeans or no skinny jeans. I vow to be productive in the workplace, which as you see, lasted until I logged on to the Internet. Yes, Monday morning commutes, like the last guy you dated, are so full of promises that will never be kept. But really, who cares as long as it's a fun ride...in either case I suppose;-)

Fabulous Revenge

Did ya'll read about that crazy woman who glued her ex-boyfriend's thingy to his abdomen? http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/11/04/genitals.suit.ap/index.html

Now, ladies there is really no cause for such behavior. Since Lorena Bobbit's famous knife work, it seems like genital mutilation is the punishment of choice for cheating husbands and abusive boyfriends. I despise adultery and brutality as much as the next person, but a man being an asshole does not give you carte blanche to act like a lunatic yourself. My god, if that were the case, we'd all be maniacs by the time we could walk. I'm sure that Miss Crazy Glue felt avenged and empowered by her little antic, but was 20 minutes of pleasure worth the 6 months of probation, the court appearances, the humiliation? Sure, a tube of super glue costs 99 cents, but 6 years of lawyers fees, well now that's another matter. And all you're doing is putting more emphasis on the source of his idiocy...why bother with that silly-looking thing anyway? If you must cut something off, why not a hand...then you affect both his daily life and his sex life.

At one time or another, I'm sure every woman in the world has contemplated inflicting bodily harm on the Y-chromosome who done her wrong. Hell, I have to stop myself from strangling Sweetpotato with every sock I find lying about the livingroom...and the kitchen...and anywhere other than the hamper, but I don't because really, I just can't be bothered. I mean, on top the actual energy it takes to attack someone, you then have trials and jail time and you know I really can't be bothered with an orange jumpsuit.

These revenge acts are just the type of low self-esteem behaviors that prove we've let the Y's win. Honey, if you were really that tough, you'd put on the tallest heels you can walk in, the tightest dress you can breathe in, make-up that borders precariously close to trashy and take yourself out on the town. Being fabulous is the best revenge...take it from me, I've made it my life's work;-)

Photo Frenzy

Did I ever tell you about Sweetpotato and his fascination with photography? Well, for Christmas I bought him a digital camera, a deed for which I was showered with adulation and sincere gratitude, and while I would love to take credit for this extraordinary gift giving, the absolute truth is that it was a very selfish act. You see, I buy the camera, he is amused for hours upon end, and I look like a hero -end of story. I mean you've never seen fascination like this; he is totally obsessed with the zoom, the contrast, even the shutter-speed. I always thought cameras were a point-and-click operation, but what do I know? The digital revolution was supposed to simplify our lives; instead, we have nineteen options of how to take a photo that I can't figure out how to get off the camera!! All the effects in the world and I can only view them on a 2x2 inch screen.
But whatever, it makes him happy and it keeps him occupied so I can focus on important matters, like who will be the first to smile on the O.C. Now, the best thing about this camera is that it comes with a seemingly endless supply of attachments, so basically I have gifts covered for every birthday and Christmas for the next five years; at which time this technology will become obsolete and I can start all over again with the newest image-capturing device.

So I thought I was buying myself a little peace and quiet, only to discover that I have actually created a monster! Last night found me watching the sun set from the 70th floor of Rockefeller Center, a spectacular view I must say. But could we gaze at the skyline wrapped in an awe-struck embrace? (okay, seen one too many old movies) No, we had to run around the entire perimeter snapping pictures of the Empire State Building from every angle. I mean, they sell postcards of it that you can buy at indoor shops that are considerably less windy. So I'm freezing my bunnies off - not to worry still plenty left - while Sweetpotato's having the time of his life with a zoom button! What is the thing about men and electronics, I mean is that the one circuit in the Y chromosome that didn't short?

Ladies, all I'm saying is be careful what you wish for. With this one small toy I have turned my local Irish boyfriend into a Japanese tourist with an endless supply of film. Thank goodness he gets yours truly in a few frames, gives me something to look at besides all those silly landscapes;-)

A Royal Visit

Did ya'll read in the Post yesterday about the ridiculous entourage that Charles and Camilla are shlepping across the pond for her first state visit as a legitimized member of the Royal Family? Speaking as someone whose true hair color is a long forgotten shade of nothing, I can appreciate the need to have one's root camouflaged at all times, but seriously, to bring your colorist with you for a two week vacation, give me a break. Now someone to style your hair for fancy galas, I can definitely get behind, but if it's still going to look like a blond football helmet with feathery bangs, ol' Camilla might well have left that guy at home. And six outfits a day? Now that's just plain silly, no one over here has time to change clothes that often, though I suppose when you're the theoretical leader of an obsolete monarchy you probably have a bit more time on your hands. At least this explains why everything's so freakin' expensive over there...they have to support an increasing number of "royals" and their 40 plus attendants! It's almost as if she was going into battle against America's high society, flanked with a battalion armed with curling irons and make-up brushes. You're a British figurehead for Christ's sake...nobody expects you to look that good. I'm sure the citizens of the United Kingdom are only too happy to donate their commuter fare so that the Prince's mistress can meet Sarah Jessica Parker looking...as well as can be expected.

And you know how I hate to say anything ugly, and I'm sure she's a very nice person, bless her heart, but if she even thinks about wearing another one of those headdresses made out of plumage, that just may be the final nail in her fashion coffin. All I'm saying is, there are more important things to think about than how you'll look in front of a cocktail party of television personalities (I say from the safe place of having never been invited to one), and the leaders of the free world might do a bit better to remember the crises we're dealing with. Being an unfortunate-looking second wife should not be one of them.