Well it's that time of year again. The time when I am figuring out how much I'm spending on my Coachella weekend as I make my final preparations. The time when I am buying tickets to bridal showers and bachelorette parties for multiple brides-to-be. The time when I spend around $500 on tickets to return to my dear Alma mater where I'll be spending a weekend attempting to recreate college aka drink a lot of beer. The time when I realize I'm just digging my hole into Debtsville deeper and deeper. But it can't always be this way... right? Like someday I'll look back on my freakouts over spending money I don't have and just laugh... right? DEAR GOD THAT BETTER BE RIGHT.
On a related note - now accepting any and all suggestions for how to not spend any money in the next three days. Also accepting money for sexual favors! JUST KIDDING! BUT ALMOST NOT!
Also - you can tag this post WHITE PEOPLE PROBLEMS because I have NO business complaining. None. First of all, I do this to myself. Secondly, this is ridiculous. Thirdly, I am going to Coachella and to Middlebury - like I am spending money on FUN THINGS I WANT TO DO. So like, I'm an asshole.
Showing posts with label complaints. Show all posts
Showing posts with label complaints. Show all posts
Monday, April 11, 2011
Thursday, October 28, 2010
White Girl Problems: Static aka It's Really Fucking Dry Out
Static is really annoying. Like super duper annoying. I hate humidity but sometimes staticity is just so much worse. Is staticty a word? It feels like it is. I mean, it sounds science-y enough, right? Fuck it, for the sake of this rambling inner monologue it's a word.
So like, let me tell you about some of this bullshit with static.
LA is a dry city. I know, I know, we're on the coast and do have some super humid days, especially where I live in Santa Monica. And like, my roommates and I always bitch and moan about how wet it is and how our clothes and towels never seem to dry properly and oh man my room that we jokingly call a boat sometimes really does feel like a boat because it's got this like, moist (ew, ew, ew, I hate that word but I can't think of any other way to describe it) feel all the time.
Otherwise, for the most part this town is seriously dry.
Right now I am wearing this silk shirt and I'm having some serious cling issues. And my hair is all dry and nasty and stringy and it sort of looks like I maybe got my finger stuck in an electric socket earlier this morning. And don't even get me started on my skin and what this dry climate is doing with that. Let me just tell you this: not cool. I can tell it's going to be one of those days where I am hyper aware of staticity and cling location (for example I just looked down and my shirt's clinging all weird and I've got an inappropriate amount of boobage happening which is also just not okay for the workplace) and I'm just going to be annoyed all day long. UGH MY LIFE IS SO HARD.
Okay.
False.
My life is not hard, like, AT ALL. But static is just really annoying and it's really fucking dry out and I'm over it and think I could probably use a few days in a miserable humid place like Florida to remind me how much I love dryness. You know?
So like, let me tell you about some of this bullshit with static.
LA is a dry city. I know, I know, we're on the coast and do have some super humid days, especially where I live in Santa Monica. And like, my roommates and I always bitch and moan about how wet it is and how our clothes and towels never seem to dry properly and oh man my room that we jokingly call a boat sometimes really does feel like a boat because it's got this like, moist (ew, ew, ew, I hate that word but I can't think of any other way to describe it) feel all the time.
Otherwise, for the most part this town is seriously dry.
Right now I am wearing this silk shirt and I'm having some serious cling issues. And my hair is all dry and nasty and stringy and it sort of looks like I maybe got my finger stuck in an electric socket earlier this morning. And don't even get me started on my skin and what this dry climate is doing with that. Let me just tell you this: not cool. I can tell it's going to be one of those days where I am hyper aware of staticity and cling location (for example I just looked down and my shirt's clinging all weird and I've got an inappropriate amount of boobage happening which is also just not okay for the workplace) and I'm just going to be annoyed all day long. UGH MY LIFE IS SO HARD.
Okay.
False.
My life is not hard, like, AT ALL. But static is just really annoying and it's really fucking dry out and I'm over it and think I could probably use a few days in a miserable humid place like Florida to remind me how much I love dryness. You know?
Monday, November 09, 2009
In which I take Mad Men down a notch or two
Hi. My name is Annie. Some people call me Stamos. I am not related to John Stamos, but sometimes I wish I was (if only for the hair). I love television. I work in television. I watch a lot of television. I do not watch Mad Men. I am sick of hearing about Mad Men. I am really, really happy that the season finale of Mad Men was last night. Why? Maybe now everyone will shut up about it. And hopefully my Google reader will no longer be comprised by an overwhelming amount of Mad Men-related articles. Maybe all the other TV critics I admire and read will stop talking about Mad Men. Maybe my dad will stop raving about it and how it makes him think of when he was younger and how it's really just amazing what a world advertising used to be (this coming from the man who ran an advertising agency with a custom-colored basketball court and regular Elvis-impersonation contests) and maybe, just maybe, everyone who's as much as a TV junkie as I am will turn their attention to other deserving shows.
And yes, I've watched Mad Men. A few times. The costumes are beautiful and that Jon Hamm sure is good looking, and yeah there's social commentary and good writing and beautiful art direction/set design, but you know what? It's boring. There I said it. I'll say it again: it's boring. That's why I don't like Mad Men. It's a total bore. And I think it's incredibly over-hyped.
Now perhaps you are reading this and now think much less of me and my supposed "high brow TV tastes." That's just fine. You are entitled to your opinion, as I am to mine. And mine is that Mad Men is overrated and I'm sick of no one saying that so I am saying it. That is all.
An important endtnote: to my dear friends who work in TV at Lionsgate, just think of this post as less of a rant and more of free publicity! Yay! Woo! Go Mad Men!
And yes, I've watched Mad Men. A few times. The costumes are beautiful and that Jon Hamm sure is good looking, and yeah there's social commentary and good writing and beautiful art direction/set design, but you know what? It's boring. There I said it. I'll say it again: it's boring. That's why I don't like Mad Men. It's a total bore. And I think it's incredibly over-hyped.
Now perhaps you are reading this and now think much less of me and my supposed "high brow TV tastes." That's just fine. You are entitled to your opinion, as I am to mine. And mine is that Mad Men is overrated and I'm sick of no one saying that so I am saying it. That is all.
An important endtnote: to my dear friends who work in TV at Lionsgate, just think of this post as less of a rant and more of free publicity! Yay! Woo! Go Mad Men!
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
An Open Letter to Whoever Handles the Architecture of the Parking Lot at Trader Joes
Dear Trader Joes,
We get it. You're awesome. You're the king of the grocery stores, what with your perfectly marinated tender beef steaks, precisely cut fresh mango slices, and the most delicious Gorgonzola crackers I've ever found. However, your wide plethora of delicious treats and insanely good prices do not mean that you can just do whatever the fuck you want with your parking lot.
See, I went to the new Trader Joes that recently opened up on Olympic Blvd (right near Ralph's, which is definitely a big F YOU to that store) thrilled to maybe hit the market monolith during an off-hour, or perhaps discover this brand-spanking-new store would have heavenly parking. But NO. Just like the TJs on Pico, the one on Santa Monica Blvd in West Hollywood, and every goddamn Trader Joes I have EVER been to--the parking lot was a complete clusterfuck, regardless of the completely worthless - let's call him this because no other name seems to apply - "traffic director" who could not care less about the actually efficiency of parking.
Yes, sure I am a little riled up. But this is because the whole parking lot experience, getting in and out, took so long that it really just prolonged my trip home and the point of all this grocery shopping in the first place: MY DINNER.
So next time, whoever you are, crazy person who has zero understanding of utilizing space, try a little harder on the Trader Joe's parking lot, please. I don't care how good that sample of Garlic Naan they're handing out happens to be.
Regards,
Stamos
We get it. You're awesome. You're the king of the grocery stores, what with your perfectly marinated tender beef steaks, precisely cut fresh mango slices, and the most delicious Gorgonzola crackers I've ever found. However, your wide plethora of delicious treats and insanely good prices do not mean that you can just do whatever the fuck you want with your parking lot.
See, I went to the new Trader Joes that recently opened up on Olympic Blvd (right near Ralph's, which is definitely a big F YOU to that store) thrilled to maybe hit the market monolith during an off-hour, or perhaps discover this brand-spanking-new store would have heavenly parking. But NO. Just like the TJs on Pico, the one on Santa Monica Blvd in West Hollywood, and every goddamn Trader Joes I have EVER been to--the parking lot was a complete clusterfuck, regardless of the completely worthless - let's call him this because no other name seems to apply - "traffic director" who could not care less about the actually efficiency of parking.
Yes, sure I am a little riled up. But this is because the whole parking lot experience, getting in and out, took so long that it really just prolonged my trip home and the point of all this grocery shopping in the first place: MY DINNER.
So next time, whoever you are, crazy person who has zero understanding of utilizing space, try a little harder on the Trader Joe's parking lot, please. I don't care how good that sample of Garlic Naan they're handing out happens to be.
Regards,
Stamos
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
knocked on my ass
Yeah so after that brief interlude of creative flow I realize that blogging ceased entirely. That's because I got sick. Really sick. I realize I get sick a lot. Probably more than the average. I am not entirely sure why that is, but I've decided I need to actually do something about that because I am 25 now and should be taking daily multi-vitamins and taking better care of myself. Especially when I had the flu and then that turned into a cold and then that turned into pink eye (and did I mention I may have a tooth ache as well?)... Man, I complain a lot.
Excuses, excuses, but that's why I've been MIA for a while. My body hates me and I was destroyed by a virus. I'm slowly on the mend. I am also slowly falling asleep at my desk right now...
Excuses, excuses, but that's why I've been MIA for a while. My body hates me and I was destroyed by a virus. I'm slowly on the mend. I am also slowly falling asleep at my desk right now...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Holy Hotcakes
Uggggggghhhhh.
Just wanted to say that. That's how I feel right now. AKA pretty shitastic. There's some sort of illness going around my apartment and when one of us gets sick, I guess it's only inevitable before the other three do.
As usual, I plan on going full court press against this cold, but I can't deny there's a part of me that would love to get sick and spend a day in bed. Just one.
I wonder if I did a search of this blog how many times I would find posts in which I complained about feeling sick. Yes, blogs are an ideal venue for public bitching.
Good news is that I found my wallet. It was underneath a sofa cushion (actually DiTonto found it). The bad news is that this means there is only one person responsible for the low balance on my ATM card: me.
Just wanted to say that. That's how I feel right now. AKA pretty shitastic. There's some sort of illness going around my apartment and when one of us gets sick, I guess it's only inevitable before the other three do.
As usual, I plan on going full court press against this cold, but I can't deny there's a part of me that would love to get sick and spend a day in bed. Just one.
I wonder if I did a search of this blog how many times I would find posts in which I complained about feeling sick. Yes, blogs are an ideal venue for public bitching.
Good news is that I found my wallet. It was underneath a sofa cushion (actually DiTonto found it). The bad news is that this means there is only one person responsible for the low balance on my ATM card: me.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
What is this "taxes" thing everyone speaks of?
So apparently today is TAX DAY. Or maybe tomorrow is. All I know is I don't like it. And I've obviously left things to the last minute... and I'm obviously confused and overwhelmed by so many numbers, charts, graphs, and letters and combinations of numbers, charts, graphs, and letters on so many stapled pages. And something that requires me to purchase stamps? No thank you.
PAUSE PLEASE! I just remembered I haven't watered Horace in a week! (Man, Horace is thirsty).
Anyhoo, this tax business is just no fun. Especially for poor, pathetic Hollywood assistants such as myself. Actually, I think for most Hollywood assistants it is fun because they find shady accountants to get them $1000+ refunded, whereas I somehow manage to owe money when I take the honorable route. Go figure.
2ND PAUSE PLEASE! I just ate an Oreo which reminded me that they might be one of my most favorite cookie treats. If I were one of those people who could just eat whatever and never get fat then I would eat 4-6 Oreos a day.
If I were a skilled singer/songwriter I might write a little diddy that more eloquently expressed my poorly-articulated feelings on taxes, but alas, I am not. I am a marginally decent poet however. In high school I was selected to participate in this poetry workshop which culminated in the chance to read a master opus for willing audience members. My poem was a detailed account of all the times I have vomited on airplanes (hmm, I am now having writing deja vu, which means I've written about this before... which means I need to work on memory retention). Sometimes for shits and giggles and because I am a little bit of a loser I will go into my old writings and read all the poems I've written over the years. This often results in hilarity, followed by sadness, then embarrassment, then strangely: inspiration.
Speaking of inspiration, I feel inspired during this lunch hour to actually address this TAXES issue. Translation: I am going to call my Dad and complain, then ask where I am supposed to sign, then contemplate how many stamps a somewhat oversized envelope might require. Maybe then I'll write a poem.
PAUSE PLEASE! I just remembered I haven't watered Horace in a week! (Man, Horace is thirsty).
Anyhoo, this tax business is just no fun. Especially for poor, pathetic Hollywood assistants such as myself. Actually, I think for most Hollywood assistants it is fun because they find shady accountants to get them $1000+ refunded, whereas I somehow manage to owe money when I take the honorable route. Go figure.
2ND PAUSE PLEASE! I just ate an Oreo which reminded me that they might be one of my most favorite cookie treats. If I were one of those people who could just eat whatever and never get fat then I would eat 4-6 Oreos a day.
If I were a skilled singer/songwriter I might write a little diddy that more eloquently expressed my poorly-articulated feelings on taxes, but alas, I am not. I am a marginally decent poet however. In high school I was selected to participate in this poetry workshop which culminated in the chance to read a master opus for willing audience members. My poem was a detailed account of all the times I have vomited on airplanes (hmm, I am now having writing deja vu, which means I've written about this before... which means I need to work on memory retention). Sometimes for shits and giggles and because I am a little bit of a loser I will go into my old writings and read all the poems I've written over the years. This often results in hilarity, followed by sadness, then embarrassment, then strangely: inspiration.
Speaking of inspiration, I feel inspired during this lunch hour to actually address this TAXES issue. Translation: I am going to call my Dad and complain, then ask where I am supposed to sign, then contemplate how many stamps a somewhat oversized envelope might require. Maybe then I'll write a poem.
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