Everyone knows lunchtime is supposed to be sacred. It’s the hour out of the day that you don’t need to field dumb questions from customers, cringe at a student’s nasal whine, or feel guilty about all that procrastinating you do on The Frisky. (Don’t feel guilty, we appreciate it.) It’s a time when you can text your boo, or bring up TMZ on your phone to find out what stupid thing a Kardashian sister has done now. And the ideal lunch is not at your crap-strewn desk or in a cramped break room, but chilling peacefully at a bench or picnic table, outdoors on a sunny day.
But you know what can cast a dark shadow — a storm cloud, even — over your ideal lunch? Spending 20 minutes waiting in line behind some asshole at the salad place … especially if you’re hangry. After the jump, the seven people you do not want to be stuck behind: Keep reading »
Happy National Friendship Day! Let’s make it all about Oprah for a moment, shall we? Oprah says in reference to Gayle (and I’m paraphrasing here), “Nothing’s better than a good friend,” and with the notable exception of a perfectly done French fry, I wholeheartedly agree. There’s really nothing better. If you’re living without, I recommend you fix the situation pronto.
That said, I have no intention of instructing you on how to go about that here; I’m out of practice myself, having slipped into a motley crew of lunatics my freshman year of college and having held on tightly to those lunatics for the better part of 15 years. At this stage, new friends come along only once in a long while. And all I can say in terms of how I find them, is that, well, I don’t really. They find me is how it feels: I’m at a social gathering complaining about my facial hair, when suddenly there’s some new gal beside me who’s like, “My issue has always been my hairy lower back.” So you get to talking and fast-forward five years and she’s the one you call crying about the fact that you’re crying about those Jayonce breakup rumors. So again, I’m not here to tell you how to find her; I’m here to tell you how to assess a new lady friend. How to tell if she’s The One. Or, more specifically a Keeper. Keep reading »
When I was 13, I didn’t have the option of purchasing my Units separates on Ebay or getting the new Red Hot Chili Peppers cassette tape on iTunes or finding a way to live stream the latest NC-17 film on my laptop. If I wanted a lava lamp or a new glamour shot or an Orange Julius, I had to convince one of my parents (or one of my friends’ parents) to drop me off at the damn mall for the day. It was an event which required strategic planning and ingenuity. And one that I was concerned that young people today might miss out on. Keep reading »
Stage 1: Skepticism. You sit down at what’s supposedly the best deep dish pizza restaurant in all of Chicago and think to yourself, There’s no way I’ll like this better than New York pizza. I like my crust thin. I like to be able to fold my slice in half and eat it while I text and Instagram and walk the dog. What the hell does Chicago know about pizza that New York doesn’t? And then you sit and wait until your pizza arrives. It takes a good 30 minutes, and you don’t care how friendly the waiter is (FINE, the people in Chicago are nicer), no pizza is worth waiting more than half an hour for. You have other things to do. Like, try Italian beef. What are they doing back there, making the crust a quarter of a millimeter at a time?
Stage 2: Playing it cool. The pizzas arrive, piping hot and smelling better than bacon on New Year’s morning and you have an automatic salivary response. Your stomach churls and lurches, but your face shows none of it. Smell isn’t everything. You are going to reserve your enthusiasm for the first bite.
Stage 3: Loss of decorum. Despite your resolve not to like this bastard form of pizza, you’ve bitten down on a slice of pillowy, saucy, crunchy deep dish cheese with pepperoni, and you’re experiencing a mini-blackout. All of your pleasure centers are responding at once. You are floating through cloud crusts, sailing through a pepperoni sea. You are lulled to sleep on a bed of sauce and tucked into a blanket of mozzarella. And no pain or harm can come to you. Now or ever again. The world is not such a bad place after all as long as deep dish pizza stays in your mouth forever. You don’t care if it’s all over your face. You don’t care if you’ve brought the plate up to your face and you are licking it. You are alone with the pizza. Just you and the pizza for eternity. Keep reading »
I’ve never had a wedding. I’ve never planned a wedding. I’ve never even helped plan a wedding. But, as a 30-something, I’ve been attending weddings regularly for the last decade and I think it’s time for me tell about-to-tie-the-knot couples the truth: the things your guests care about (open bar! music!) and the details you’re stressing over (favors! the selected reading at your ceremony!) are completely different. If you were considering making your guests pay for drinks, may I recommend that you skip the embossed matchbooks and focus on what’s important here: ENDLESS CHAMPAGNE. Not that the wedding is for the guests, but just in case you were wondering, here are some things your guests will/won’t remember about your big day: Keep reading »