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Monday , September 14, 2009
Some Things I Hate (ABOUT HAVING PINK-EYE), By Laura "Pink Eye" Jane Faulds
On Saturday morning, I woke up, and had pink eye. Characteristically, I decided to ignore "dealing with my pink-eye" in favor of 1) trying to "will my pink-eye away", and 2) Twittering hilariously about my pink-eye. "If you thought Old Laura Jane was sexy, wait 'til you see new, improved "Eye Infection Laura Jane"!!!!", I Twittered. HAHAHA.
On Sunday morning, I woke up, and still had pink-eye. Sunday's "dealing with my pink-eye" strategy was: continuing not to deal with my pink-eye. On Sunday, I rubbed my eyes a lot, which didn't help; in fact, I can safely say it "made it worse." The low point of Sunday was when I was eating Thai green curry for dinner and then got green curry sauce on my hands and then rubbed my pink eye with my curry hands. Pink + Green= OUCH!
This morning, I woke up, and realized that, if I did not "deal with my pink-eye" today, I would probably go blind by tomorrow. In intense physical/eye pain, I walked to Rexall's, where I asked the pharmacist, "Do I have pink-eye?" The pharmacist laughed at me. "Yes," said the pharmacist, "Stop touching your eyes."
Really, there's nothing I don't hate about pink-eye. There's no "upside" to having pink-eye. Let's just call this sob story "The Ballad of Laura Jane and Pink-Eye". By Laura "I Fucking Hate My Fucking Pink Fucking Eye" Jane Fucking "Pink-Eye" Jane Fau"Pink Eye"lds.
1. THERE IS NO SUN: At the beginning of the summer, I set out to correct my slouch. "STRUT DON'T SLUMP," I incanted, thrusting back my shoulders to "Autumn Almanyac" by the Kinks. Thought I: "By the time "Autumn Almanyac" is a seasonally-appropriate tune, I will have Perfect Posture!" It is now mid-September, and, believe it or not: I DID IT, GUYS!!! Today, I can clear seventeen straight city blocks with zero fear of dropping the imaginary copy of Ulysses (first-edition; hardcover) I perma-store upon my head.
Until Pink Eye hit. Now, the sun is my enemy. She hurts me like no other. One of the worst worsts of all Pink Eye is that it has forced me to fall back upon my hunchbackery of yesteryear. Pink-Eyed Laura has no choice but to look at the ground, stare at my shoes. Even the sidewalk aggravates my pink-eye: those little glimmers of light in the asphalt are like daggers that penetrate my irises and make me cry more. I can't even listen to headphones; I get too confused. Pink eye is a highly disorienting ailment.
Tags: albinos, babe busboys, bars, bullshit, death, Friends, getting laid, hell, I HATE PINK EYE, kill me, Laura Jane's Pink Eye, misery, pink, pink eye, pink-eye, Some Things I Hate, The Ballad of Laura Jane and Pink Eye
Tuesday , July 28, 2009
Some Things I Hate (& Love!), by Liz: Vol. 1
I HATE: When anyone claims any non-crack-cocaine substance is "like crack." It's particularly egregious when some stupid yuppie asshole at the Groundwork on Rose in Venice shouts loud enough for the entire cafe to hear: "GOD, THIS TEA IS LIKE CRACK!" And you're like, "No, it's not like crack. It's fucking iced green tea in a plastic to-go cup." Boy: yuppies sure do suck at hyperbole.
I LOVE: Everything else about Groundwork, especially the Groundwork in Hollywood. They always play really great music from 1972 to 1993, the coffee's divine, and all the people who work there are so goddamn nice and chill. Well done, employees of the Hollywood Groundwork. May all your wildest dreams come true!
I ALSO LOVE: Remembering that time I took part in this weird focus group comprised of me, a dozen super-sweet and super-square middle-aged Midwesterners, and some wacky ex-New Yorker who automatically claimed me as her Focus Group BFF on account of the fact that we two were biggest weirdos there by a country mile. At some point one of the super-sweet/super-square Midwesterners was raving about how a certain Starbucks drink was "like crack," and we all chuckled knowingly. And then once the laughter died down the wacky ex-New Yorker piped up, "But seriously, have you ever smoked crack? I have. I've smoked crack," and all the Midwesterners smiled nervously. "Way to help us fit in, Focus Group BFF," I sighed to myself.
OH, AND I LOVE: Drinking kombucha while eating a gigantic peach after surfing really early on a weekday morning. Kombucha always makes me feel so good; IT'S LIKE CRACK. But seriously: I'm 99 percent certain kombucha must have some kind of mind-altering substance in it - maybe it's got a really high concentration of l-theanine or something.
I HATE: How a bottle of kombucha costs $4.49 at Windward Farms. That is so much money! Why does all kombucha cost so much money? EVERYBODY START DRINKING KOMBUCHA SO WE CAN DRIVE THOSE PRICES DOWN.
I LOVE: How for the price of a bottle and a half of kombucha, I can head down to the gas station and go see the man under the rainbow umbrella for a big-ass plastic baggie full of pineapple, mango, jicama, coconut, cucumber, papaya, watermelon, and cantaloupe, all shaken with chili powder and salt and lime juice. HEAVEN, especially when the weather's hotter than two cats fighting in a wool sock.
I HATE: How the tenant overturn in my apartment complex over the past few years has resulted in my being almost entirely surrounded by the most wretched assembly of ill-mannered hipsters I've ever encountered in my life. Like, I'll be walking down the driveway and run into one of them and cutely but unobtrusively chirp, "Hey! How's it going?" and the response will be a five-second pause followed by a mumbled "okay" or even just a shruggy nod. It's all I can do not to let out a very Liz Lemon-esque groan and shout, "Ugggh, what is WRONG with you???" The best I can come up with is they find me offensive because (a) a lot of the time I'm on way to the gym and thus dressed sorta like Sporty Spice, and/or (b) due to my joyful allegiance to 100.3 The Sound, Dave Matthews Band probably/unfortunately blasts from my apartment at least four times per week. So sad that people can be so narrow-minded. Don't they know I'm the Samantha Fox of Fashion Bloggers?
I LOVE: Outfoxing "The Man" by pouring a little pink wine into my Big Gulp cup before heading out for a stroll around the neighborhood on a hotter-than-a-ginger-mill-in-Hades midsummer's night. Last Saturday I skipped across the street to 7-Eleven, bought my Big Gulp of Diet Coke, queued up in front of a plaid-miniskirted girl who spoke the words "boner juice" very loudly, and when I got to the counter they were selling Beatles Monopoly. "The spirit of Laura Jane Faulds is with us tonight," I intoned to the counter man as I paid for my magic drink. "I feel it within the very marrow of my bones," he noddingly replied.
PLUS I LOVE: Wearing my sunglasses at night. Not like Corey Hart, though: What I do is push my glasses up over my forehead onto the crown of my noggin and they become like a stupid fun hair accessory, a way to pretend you're at the beach even though you're standing around some dumb bar, maybe. My sunglasses are way shoddily made and the frames are white and they're so hot and party. So the best eight bucks I've spent this summer.
AND I LOVE, MAYBE MOST OF ALL: My recent decision to give myself permission to blatantly gawk when passing superlatively foxy dudes on the street. Permission was granted sometime last week as I crossed paths with some total mega-babe out in front of Cafe Tropical - he had this Danny-Zuko-Minus-John-Travolta thing going on; he was hotter than a firecracker lit at both ends. I did a double take and then let my jaw hit the pavement, sort of, and it was really satisfying and the dude seemed pretty amused. I wouldn't encourage going around gaping at the more approachably attractive guys/gals, as those kinda scenes generally call for a bit more subtlety. But if you find someone preternaturally hot, go on and ogle the hell out of them. It's their birthright, and your birthright too!
Tags: 7-Eleven, bad manners, cheap sunglasses, cocaine, coffee, dudes, fruit, getting to know us better, Groundwork, hipsters, kombucha, Laura Jane Faulds, Liz Lemon, pink wine, radio, Samantha Fox, Sporty Spice, summer, Venice Beach, yuppies
Saturday , July 18, 2009
Some Things I Hate (& Love!), by Laura Jane: Vol. 3
You should never say anything negative without saying something positive to balance it out. This is the most neutral piece of writing you will ever read.
I HATE: "Grabby for change" store employees. I like to pay for everything in as close to exact change as possible. Sometimes picking three pennies out of my changepurse may take me a little bit longer than paying for a 73 cent apple with a $20 bill, but it saves these impatient jerks time in the long run. Stop holding your palm out in front of me and sighing exasperatedly!
I LOVE: Punishing such assholes by taking an extra-long time to procure correct change. If they roll their eyes, it's time to get the bottom of my tote bag involved. SUCKAS!!!
I HATE: How I am on the exact same "Going to Sam's convenience store at one-o-clock in the morning" schedule as this one swollen-faced alcoholic, who both terrifies and depresses me. He is extremely loyal to the yellow flavour of generic-brand Listerine. Sometimes, he starts swigging it in the store. Often, he starts swigging it before he has paid for it. Pleads the convenience store employee: "Wait!" But the man does not obey.
I LOVE: When people so kindly let you cut in front of them in line because you have 4 items and they have 1000.
I HATE: Any sentence beginning with the words, "Sorry to be a bitch, but..."- I highly doubt these people are sorry for real. If they were that sorry, they wouldn't be being a bitch, it seems, to me. They are being a bitch because they work at a shit job and hate their boring Beatlesless lives and are taking out their aggressions on poor you. This is all perfectly fine. I just think they should own it.
I LOVE: Those utterly perfect moments when I am walking down the street listening to the exact song I should be listening to while drinking a Big Gulp, and I see some Normie Bitch sitting on the side of one of those gravelly cement flowerpots that litter the beautiful streets of my fair city talking on her dumb bitch cell phone to her dumb bitch boyfriend, and I imagine myself throwing my Big Gulp at her head, and I laugh out loud, and then she glares at me with narrowed Normie Bitch eyes, and I reflect upon how happy I am to be Laura Jane Faulds, and not a Normie Bitch.
I HATE: That I have never followed through on actually, literally throwing a Big Gulp at one of these Normie Bitches' heads. Why am I such a goddamned weenie? Grow a pair, Laura Jane Faulds. DO IT!
I LOVE: The possibility that maybe, one day, if all goes according to plan, I will finally carry out my lifelong dream of throwing a Big Gulp at a Normie Bitch's head. Perhaps tequila is the answer. Furthermore, if I for some reason pussy out and can't bring myself to physically injure a stranger in the name of my own petty self-satisfaction, I'm sure at some point down the road one of my friends will take pity on me and let me throw a Big Gulp at his/her head in a 7-11 parking lot. We'll laugh hard, and each get new Facebook userpics out of the deal.
I HATE: I'm generally a person who is down for a little lewdness- just to break up the dirge of the days, you know how it is- but only if it is in an adorable way. Nastiness is simply nasty, and I hate it. In Some Things I Hate, Vol. 2, I mentioned that I live really close to a frou-frou, lame-looking spa named Lily of the Valley. Back in May, I hated how they had a sign out front advertising Brazilian bikini waxes that read "Tame the Chia Pet." May-era Laura did not know how lucky she was. Here is Lily of the Valley's way disgusting-er new sign:
Filthy, offensive, stupid, and unfunny. I hate it.
I LOVE: Elizabeth Barker's recent writing of the sentence, "If I were stuck at Cabo Cantina with Braden, I'd spend the entire time slyly turning to whoever was at the next table, rolling my eyes and making that jerking-off gesture with my right hand as my left hand maintained a death-grip on my margarita glass," has inspired me to make that jerking-off gesture a lot more in my life, especially at Cabo Cantina. "Lewd, but adorable!" say strangers. Love that.
I HATE: You know, it would be so nice if just one time, I could buy cigarettes or alcohol without being IDed. Furthermore, it would be really rad if, nine out of ten times I'm IDed, the person IDing me wouldn't say "Wow! You're 24? You look so young!" and then I wouldn't have to shrug and say, "Yep! I guess I'll appreciate it when I'm 40!" That's my stock answer. I am very bored of saying it. I don't want to have to say that anymore.
I LOVE: At least toddlers don't think I'm a dude anymore.
I HATE: How stupid gringo John Lennon mispronounces "Seine" in "The Ballad of John and Yoko." I hate every time anybody misuses or mispronounces French words at all, actuellement. I especially hate when Americans mispronounce "foyer." That is the worst one of all.
I LOVE: Every other single thing about the Beatles. When people pronounce French words correctly. The footage from the time the Beatles went to France in 1964, and all the gay boys loved Ringo.
+ Continue reading "Some Things I Hate (& Love!), by Laura Jane: Vol. 3"
Tags: adorable lewdness, apples, Big Gulps, black eyes, dudes, Dufferin Mall, Elizabeth Barker, Fieldguided, jerkfaces, Lily of the Valley is gross, negativity, neutrality, people, positivity, Spinal Tap, store employees, The Beatles, throwing Big Gulps at Normie Bitches heads, Twitter
Thursday , April 30, 2009
Some Things I Hate, by Laura Jane: Vol. 2
Boy! Have I ever come a long way since my last Some Things I Hate post! Life sucked that day; I remember living it. I have never been in a shittier fucking mood in my entire life, literally (maybe). Five spectacular months and four glorious days later, my life doesn't suck at all! Actually, I can't even think of ONE aspect of my life that even remotely sucks. The world itself, however, sucks as much as it ever did. I am just so motherflippin' confident within myself that I don't care, but not in a "being in denial" way.
I care the exact perfect amount I should care that the world is often sucky, its inhabitants pesky, its logic flawed, its Normie population imbecilic, its regulatory measures absurd, its media crass, the lack of apostrophes in all the "it"s I just wrote striking me as being incorrect, even though I know they're not. I care the exact perfect amount about all this crap that I am motivated to write my long-awaited follow-up to the smashing success that was the first installment of...
+ First and foremost: ELISABETH HASSELBECK. What a fucking worthless fucking moron Elisabeth Hasselbeck is. She is stupid, prissy, boring, nasally-voiced, stupid, annoying, a bad mother (maybe), in no way likable, and stupid. Also, Idon't understand why people don't make a bigger deal out of how the only reason she is famous at all is because she was a fucking contestant on fucking Survivor! I remember her on Survivor. Her hair fell out and she complained a lot. She sucked then; she sucks now. I hate Elisabeth Hasselbeck.
+ There is a hip, expensive-looking salon near my house called Lily of the Valley. Naming your salon "Lily of the Valley" is pretty lame in itself, but it gets worse, bros- right now, outside their establishment is an advertisement for Brazilian bikini waxes reading "TAME THE CHIA PET," and then somebody drew a little picture of a Chia pet underneath. That is so gross and inappropriate. I mean, come the fuck on! Tame the Chia pet? Tame the Chia pet? TAME THE CHIA PET?!? Who would ever look at that ad and think "Oh! Yeah! Rad! That's so funny and cool! I'm going to go book myself an appointment to TAME MY CHIA PET." Pukey Pukerson.
+ It costs a whopping $2.75 to ride the subway or streetcar in Toronto. That's exorbitant, in my opinion.
+ How the fruit salad they sell at Starbucks is called "Rio Citrus Salad," even though it is quite obviously the same normal fruit salad you can buy anywhere in the world. There is absolutely nothing "Rio" about it, and the only citrus involved is a couple slices of shitty, poor-quality orange. This does not merit the word "citrus" being in the name of the product. Sorry, Starbucks. Lame.
+ The other day, there was a man on my subway picking individual niblets of corn off a corn on the cob and I felt like, shouldn't he realize how fucking weird that is and, like, not do it?
+ The way I feel about myself when I accidentally blow smoke into a child's face.
+ The way I feel about myself when I accidentally blow smoke into a baby's stroller.
+ When people get bitchy on a crowded subway and tell you to move but it is jam-packed as a sardine tin and you just don't have anywhere to move to and why can't they see that?
+ I can no longer patronize the Bloor Street Queen Video outpost because, a month or so ago, I rented Season Four of The Hills and kept it out for an extra two weeks-ish, so I have intensely steep late fines. There's a sort of hot dude who works at the Bloor Street Queen Video, and I really don't feel like hearing him say, "Uh, you owe $25 for The Hills Season Four," even though I don't normally care about this type of thing. Mostly I'm just cheap, and stupid, and don't want to pay my lame, expensive Hills late fee. Fuck you, Speidi, I blame y'all. And Brody Jenner. It's all Brody Jenner's fault. Everything.
+ I don't like my convenience store man. I get a weird vibe from him. I don't think he's a good person.
+ The way pigeons do that creepy thing where they puff their chests out, and coo.
+ A few months ago, I was walking down the street smoking a cigarette and I dropped my cigarette and it fell to the ground and so I picked it up and kept smoking it and thought, "Weird how I just dropped my cigarette for no reason; that's never happened to me before. I bet it will keep happening to me now!"- like how when you run into someone once that you haven't run into in a while, you start seeing them everywhere. Anyway, it did. All I ever do is drop my cigarette, and then pick it up off the dirty, germy ground and continue on smoking like the mucky piece of scrap I am.
+ When I drop a cigarette on the ground and pick it up and continue on smoking it and some blonde-highlighted Normie Chick in a business suit who is probably on her way to the stupid gym looks at me like I am a mucky piece of scrap, and I'm just like "Come the fuck on, Normie Ice Queen! Don't you realize how expensive cigarettes are these days!?!?!" But she does not. Or, if she does, she doesn't care, because she's too busy thinking about how Susan Boyle is an inspiration. Fuck that.
+ FUCK SUSAN BOYLE. The only thing more fucking tedious than talking about the fucking Swine Flu "Pandemic" is talking about Susan Boyle. Wow! Oh my God! She's unattractive and a good singer? That is just too wild. I always thought only good-looking people could sing! What a revelation. Fuck. I'd rather talk about Snoopy.
+ Continue reading "Some Things I Hate, by Laura Jane: Vol. 2"
Tags: alcoholism, corn on the cob, diet coke, FUCK SUSAN BOYLE, I hate cocaine, Laura, Laura Jane Faulds, lighters, smoking, smoking sucks, Snoopy, Some Things I Hate, Speidi, Starbuxxx Star-SUXXX, text messaging troubles
Tuesday , November 25, 2008
Some Things I Hate, by Laura Jane: Vol. 1
I've had some pretty shitty things happen to me in my time, but never have I known extreme crappiness to be so amazingly consistent as it has been the past week-and-a-half (and counting!). There is no real need for me to delve especially deep into the myriad mishaps and mind-numbing misfortune I have recently experienced; after all, this is a fashion blog, not a freakin' pity party.
I will say this, however: if you ever plan on crossing the border from Canada into the United States, take heed of how, if you have a seven-year-old pack of breath mints in your knapsack, it is entirely plausible that they will have deteriorated into white powder over the course of the past seven years, which, if residing in close proximity to your super-hot vintage cigarette case, will proceed to creep its assy little way into said cigarette case. I would also highly recommend that, when a beefy, red-faced border patrol cop asks you what the white powder is, you don't totally lose your shit, start sobbing hysterically, and scream "NOT COCAINE!"-
They won't believe you. And they won't let you into their country.
Anyway, I'm trying to channel my pain into productivity, and the result is this my brand-spankin' new nogoodforme.com column devoted entirely to negativity:
+ When you are walking through a subway station or something, and you subtly litter a balled-up receipt or cigarette garbage or something on purpose because you're sick of having crap clogging up your purse, and then some "good Samaritan" picks it up, taps you on the shoulder, presents it to you, and says, "Here! You dropped this!" and then puts the pathetic piece of garbage into your palm, and you're like, "Oh. Thank you so much. I probably would committed suicide if I'd realized I'd lost my precious CHOCOLATE BAR WRAPPER FROM THREE DAYS AGO!"
+ When somebody owes you money and you have to keep nagging them to pay you back all the time, and then they have the audacity to get annoyed at you, and you're like, "WHAT THE HELL? I'M IN THE RIGHT, ASSHOLE!"
+ When you tell somebody you're vegan/vegetarian, and they bombard you with some bullshit monologue about how humans are meant to eat meat and you are actually a really unhealthy idiot for not, as if you give the tiniest little bit of a shit at all whatsoever.
+ I don't know why this is such a common reaction to my having John Lennon and Sir Paul McCartney's names tattooed on my arms, but people love asking me if I have "Harrison" and "Starr" tattooed on my ass. It is so goddamned unfunny, and if you make that joke to me, I will automatically hate you. So watch out.
+ When you log into your gmail and you have, like, thirteen new e-mails, and you get all stoked for a second, and then you realize that eleven of them are from Amazon.com reminding you to buy a book about sustainability, and the other two are from your parents.
+ All the long-haired, emaciated, Cheap Mondays-wearing "rocker dudes" who assume that I want to date them. I DON'T. Actually, I am going to make this point more inclusive: I hate every dude who assumes that I want to date him. Why would you assume that? I DON'T WANT TO DATE YOU. YOU'RE A LOSER AND I HATE YOU.
+ Whoever it is at my work that dumps his or her half-full Starbucks mocha latte cups and/or Booster Juice into the recycling bin designated for CANS ONLY. It is really unfair to the people who have to pick your nasty, lukewarm, overpriced beverages out of the bin every night. I hate you, whoever you are.
+ Being tired. Why does it have to happen? I wish it just, like, wouldn't.
+ When I am at work and a customer comes into my store and I say, "Hi! How are you doing today?" and they say "I'M JUST BROWSING" really bitchily, when all I am doing is saying hello, because I am a sweetheart and I want them to have a more pleasant retail experience.
+ I hate when people try to "out-Beatles" me, and/or tell me that "Hey Jude" is too obvious of a favorite Beatles song for me to have.
+ God, I just fucking hate SO MUCH what smug little douchebags people look like walking down the street with their stupid fucking snowflake-print winter-themed Starbucks cups. I wish I could throw their dumb lattes into their faces. They're so fucking prissy. Fuck.
+ People who make an obsessively huge deal out of how they don't watch television, and try to imply that you're SOOOOOOO stupid for watching, like, Six Feet Under and Antiques Roadshow, and thinking Chandler Bing is cool.
+ When you're exhausted and hungover and sitting in an Internet Cafe trying to distract yourself from how much you hate fucking EVERYTHING, and then some motherfucker comes and plops his shit down next to you and starts eating nine Chicken McNuggets and they smell so aggressively LIKE CHICKEN MCNUGGETS and you wanted to keep being on the Internet and writing your intensely satisfying blog post but instead, you are driven out of the Internet Cafe because if you sit there for one more second, you are actually going to vomit all over the computer screen, and you have had enough of that exact brand of crappiness ruining your life this past week-and-a-half.