Winning the Break Up: The Art of War

The only thing better than falling in love with somebody is breaking up with them. The first few weeks after the break up are filled with sabotage, manipulation, tantrums, and alcohol- it’s like all of my favorite things wrapped up into one.

My biggest strength is probably my ability to make a really great sad playlist, that and my ability to say “That’s cute!” in a really bitchy way, also I curated my purse collection really well.  I currently have two playlists devoted breakups. One is called “Breakup: Betrayal/Dying Alone.”  It’s a collections of tunes that make you want to drink wine while sobbing or Facebook stalking him or maybe drowning yourself in a lake.  The second is called “Breakups: Independent Woman/A Whole New World”; that playlist is more catered to looking at yourself in the mirror while mentally playing out the conversation you’re going to have when you run into your ex after losing weight and possibly winning some awards.  (Adele is really living the dream when it comes to this encounter.) You need to be listening to the second playlist.

Facebook is the post-break up battlefield. It’s important to put statuses that will make your ex jealous like “Having so much fun at the beach!” or “It’s true what they say about going black!”  Just don’t put ambiguous song lyrics because that will make you seem desperate and poor.

You are going to have the urge to change your hair, resist it. One time after a break up I got a pink streak put in my hair.  It was tacky and an obvious cry for help and sometimes I still wake up in cold sweats when I dream about it. My one friend’s boyfriend cheated on her with a sorority girl that carried a Vera Wang bag and had an ankle tattoo. It was so vulgar that my friend kept her hair in cornrows for a month.  Break ups are a time when you need to look your best, not work out trust issues on your hair. If you run into your ex and you have a mullet, guess who’s winning that break up? Not you.

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Tiny Dancer

I recently had a life changing moment where I realized I need to become a ballerina. Or, really what I realized is that I already am a ballerina, I just don’t do ballet.  Most people went through this phase when they were six. But when I was six I wanted to be a baby doll and since I’ve pretty much already done that (big eyelashes, motionless, fake, etc.)  so I guess I’m finally ready to go through my ballerina phase.

Now I know that you are getting ready to suggest that I take an adult ballet class so I’m just going to stop you right there. No.  Everyone in adult learning classes is a freak and smells like hot-dog water. They are the exact opposite of ballerinas.  And I can almost guarantee you that the aura of the room that the class is taught in would not be conducive to the art of ballet, so lets just move on.

They say dress for the job you want, not the job you have. So I decided that going shopping for things that said “edgy ballerina” would be the most important part of my career change. It was super convenient because I was already on my way to the mall when I realized my calling was dance. I bought a Chanel chiffon colored nail polish (PS- the woman at the make up counter tried to sell me a glittery lip-gloss. It was so vulgar), light pink Missoni dress, and huge red cape for a statement piece.

I was so wiped out from shopping that I decided to lie in my room of mirrors and channel great dancers instead of practicing. I woke up ten hours later to my cleaning lady taking my pulse. I overdose on Xanax once and suddenly she’s a nurse. Anyway, it wasn’t until she brought my new clothes into my room the next day I even remembered my fling with ballet.  My mind was too focused on how to buy some Adderall from my high school neighbor so I’ll eat less than my sister in law at dinner. I’ll always look back on my dance career fondly, but sometime you have to put your dreams aside for more important things- like tricking people into thinking you have an eating disorder to get attention.


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Sweat Off the Brow: My trip to the Salon
I can tell so much about someone by seeing how well they maintain their eyebrows. It’s like reading their diary.  For instance, if you have a thin high arch you probably rent a beach house at the Jersey Shore every summer. Or if you have shaven off your eye brow and instead decided to pencil a pretend eyebrow on, then you have a boyfriend named Ronnie, own a coach bag, and have one point dyed your hair jet black. I personally sport SBDLBB – (for noobs, that’s a subtle but defined light brown brow), this would let you know that I am at the epitome of class and elegance and the person who does my nails at the salon is white.
Today I went to get my eyebrows done. If I had known I was in for such an emotional roller coaster I would have taken twice as much Ativan.  The salon is a place that is supposed to be relaxing, where I can sit back, relax, boss people around, and sneak whiskey into the complimentary coffee- a place where I can just be myself. I really needed that today after I ran into someone attractive that I know as I was leaving CVS. I didn’t even have time to explain that I never shop there. It was mortifying and traumatic and I probably would have killed myself right then and there if I hadn’t remembered I had a salon appointment in a few hours. 
Before I continue my story, its important that you know I’ve been burn once before by a salon.  I don’t want to make a big deal about it but I went in for blonde highlights and they gave me orange highlights. I’m pretty sure I would have mentioned if I wanted to look like an orangutan, but they took it upon themselves to tarnish my beautiful hair with ginger undertones and completely sabotaged me.  I absolutely lost in the salon. I wont go into details for legal reasons but lets just say its best for both parties if I don’t go back.
After that whole fiasco I thought I would never find a salon that was a match for me again in my life, and then when I was least expecting it I did.  It was magical and expensive and perfect.
So you can imagine my shock today when I showed up for my appointment and they told me Jacque, the person who normally styles my brows, wasn’t there and I would be seeing someone named Kelly.  First of all, switching stylist on me at the last second is so rude you mind as well have just spit in my face. It made me feel like a nobody, like I was a person who wears fleece. Secondly, the new woman smelled like Axe body spray, which was both perplexing and frightening.
I walked to the chair and sat down before I realized what was happening. This salon was out to get me, just like the last one. They wanted to ruin my eyebrows, probably because they were jealous of how many retweets I get; I can’t be sure.  As I ran out of the salon screaming, I felt sad that this was happening to me again. What if I was destined to become the Jennifer Anniston of salons?  I was so worked up that I accidently stole a puppy on my walk home.
So I’ve basically been recuperating from that whole ordeal for the last six hours.  I keep thinking about the time that I put LSD in my friend’s water bottle as a joke. She looked so confused and afraid, but there was also a glimmer of excitement in her eye. That’s how I feel right now because when ever God closes a door he opens a window- and this time the window he opened was actually a huge bottle of vodka that I had in my kitchen and its making me feel excited about all of my friends who have gained weight.

Sweat Off the Brow: My trip to the Salon


I can tell so much about someone by seeing how well they maintain their eyebrows. It’s like reading their diary.  For instance, if you have a thin high arch you probably rent a beach house at the Jersey Shore every summer. Or if you have shaven off your eye brow and instead decided to pencil a pretend eyebrow on, then you have a boyfriend named Ronnie, own a coach bag, and have one point dyed your hair jet black. I personally sport SBDLBB – (for noobs, that’s a subtle but defined light brown brow), this would let you know that I am at the epitome of class and elegance and the person who does my nails at the salon is white.

Today I went to get my eyebrows done. If I had known I was in for such an emotional roller coaster I would have taken twice as much Ativan.  The salon is a place that is supposed to be relaxing, where I can sit back, relax, boss people around, and sneak whiskey into the complimentary coffee- a place where I can just be myself. I really needed that today after I ran into someone attractive that I know as I was leaving CVS. I didn’t even have time to explain that I never shop there. It was mortifying and traumatic and I probably would have killed myself right then and there if I hadn’t remembered I had a salon appointment in a few hours. 

Before I continue my story, its important that you know I’ve been burn once before by a salon.  I don’t want to make a big deal about it but I went in for blonde highlights and they gave me orange highlights. I’m pretty sure I would have mentioned if I wanted to look like an orangutan, but they took it upon themselves to tarnish my beautiful hair with ginger undertones and completely sabotaged me.  I absolutely lost in the salon. I wont go into details for legal reasons but lets just say its best for both parties if I don’t go back.

After that whole fiasco I thought I would never find a salon that was a match for me again in my life, and then when I was least expecting it I did.  It was magical and expensive and perfect.

So you can imagine my shock today when I showed up for my appointment and they told me Jacque, the person who normally styles my brows, wasn’t there and I would be seeing someone named Kelly.  First of all, switching stylist on me at the last second is so rude you mind as well have just spit in my face. It made me feel like a nobody, like I was a person who wears fleece. Secondly, the new woman smelled like Axe body spray, which was both perplexing and frightening.

I walked to the chair and sat down before I realized what was happening. This salon was out to get me, just like the last one. They wanted to ruin my eyebrows, probably because they were jealous of how many retweets I get; I can’t be sure.  As I ran out of the salon screaming, I felt sad that this was happening to me again. What if I was destined to become the Jennifer Anniston of salons?  I was so worked up that I accidently stole a puppy on my walk home.

So I’ve basically been recuperating from that whole ordeal for the last six hours.  I keep thinking about the time that I put LSD in my friend’s water bottle as a joke. She looked so confused and afraid, but there was also a glimmer of excitement in her eye. That’s how I feel right now because when ever God closes a door he opens a window- and this time the window he opened was actually a huge bottle of vodka that I had in my kitchen and its making me feel excited about all of my friends who have gained weight.

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I have the Stomach Flu!!

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I have the stomach flu. I know, I know, I’m really lucky. Not only do I barely have the urge to eat, anything I do eat comes right up. It’s a like a dream come true. I predict that if I really play my cards right I can keep this bug for at least four more days!

Not to mention being sick is super great. I just lay around and watch Sex in the City; it’s like being stoned but with more online shopping involved.  The best part is no one can nag me like they do when I’m just lounging in midday Ambien coma-“Sweetheart, you have to get off the couch.” “It’s 5:00 you need to leave bed.” “You’re spilling wine all over your bed sheets” aka “I’m super jealous of your life and your new dress. Give me advice on how to improve my life.”

The flu has also given the opportunity to test drive pale skin.  And guess what, I love it. I look like a Disney princess on heroin. I already knew that I wasn’t going to tan this summer because 1) I’m starting to think that laying out is really plebian.  2) I think it will add to my Kardashian protest.  But now its pretty much been settled, I will never tan again in my life. Ever. That’s a promise. In fact, I would like to get vampire pale- but don’t you dare think that I mean vampire in a twilight way, because I obviously don’t.  Last time I checked, I don’t shop lift from Claire’s, wear halter-tops or experiment with bulimia, so obviously I do not like Twilight.

Basically I’m having the time of my life.  


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You’re Ruining Spring for Me

This nice weather is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my life (besides Lana Del Ray.) When it first gets warm everyone dresses so tacky. I literally saw a person in capris the other day. I would tell you what her boyfriend was wearing but I don’t think I’m emotionally ready to revisit that yet. Also, everyone keeps pressuring me to go outside and do something because it’s so nice out. It’s like they don’t even care about my nap schedule.

It’s both spring break for colleges and march madness this week, which is great if you love stepping over undergrad’s vomit on the sidewalk and going to bars filled underage boys named Luke and Keith.  But I obviously do not, so I’ve been using this week to stay indoors and atrophy my calf muscles so they can fit into my new boots. Even when I was an undergrad I hated spring break.  I don’t know where people even hear about these poor people beaches that college kids visit (Acapulco) but I’m glad they exist because having people celebrate spring break in the city you live in is literally hell.

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I also don’t like March Madness because A) I don’t like when boys pay attention anything besides me. B) I keep reading Facebook statuses about “sweet sixteens” and thinking my friends are pervs. C) I don’t like watching other people succeed so it’s really hard on me when teams win.  I don’t really understand March Madness but from what I gather from the name it should be over really soon and we can all just get back to me again.

So basically I can’t even look outside my window because everyone is dressed tacky or talking about sports or doing something gross like drinking a Coors Light or using an android.  On the plus side, I’ve thought of some really good ways to sabotage my friends with all my extra free time.

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What I’m getting from this

Full Blog at www.sharkshirt.wordpress.com


What you’re wearing:

Flare Jeans

What you’re telling me:

“I have not bought new clothes since the Spice Girls’ last cd.”

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What you’re wearing:

White running shoes for everyday activates

What you’re telling me:

“I love being a virgin”

***********************************************************************************

What you’re wearing:

Abercrombie and Fitch

What you’re telling me:

"I’m either gay or from Europe”

 ***************************************************************************************

What you’re wearing:

Save Darfur Shirt

What you’re telling me:

“I’ve googled this issue once. Lets ride our bikes back to my house and listen to modest mouse while I tell you jokes I heard on the daily show.”

 ******************************************************************************************

What you’re wearing:

Striped Button Down, ripped jeans, blazer

What you’re telling me:

“I dressed myself off the mannequin at Target”

 *************************************************************************************

What you’re wearing:

Bandeau Top

What you’re telling me:

“I have great abs and could ruin your life.”

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What you’re wearing:

A shirt about how much you love drinking

What you’re telling me:

“I’m terrible to drink with.”

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What you’re wearing:

Sweatpants

What you’re telling me:

“I give up”

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Saint Patricks Day! (don’t make me drink beer or wear green)

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On the surface it might seem like I would like Saint Patrick’s days since I find it calming when groups of people are dressed in the same color palette and I enjoy days that work to erase the stigma of day drinking.  I don’t really remember last SPD because the green pill I took in an effort to be festive made me a little hazy when I mixed it with a series of vodka shots but I heard I had a really good time. And I think that’s true because I have vague memories of getting lots of attention.

But the ugly truth is I hate Saint Patrick’s Days. And don’t try to make this an anti-Irish thing because it isn’t.  Colin Ferral is from an Irelandish place and I’ve written him a love letter once a year since my 16th birthday.   Also, I’ve thought about dying my hair red for the past two weeks, which is extremely Celtic. (Although, I don’t like river dancing but that’s because I took much acid before I saw “Lord of the Dance” and tried to get on stage with them to stop their legs.)

The main thing that I don’t like about Saint Patrick’s Day is having to wear green. I have green eyes and they don’t like to feel in competition with my ensembles. I try to honor that whenever I can, but on SPD people pinch me on my arm for not wearing green. A) I hate when strangers/people/friends/family touch me. B) If I so much as sense that the person felt arm fat when they pinched, I basically want to throw myself in front of a bus.  C) It’s pretty much a hate crime. If you have the right coloring to pull of green, then more power to you but I’m guess you don’t so lets just drop it.

Second, I don’t like when people pressure me to drink beer. If I wanted to be with people who bullied me into chugging beer I would have joined a sorority and as you can tell my lack of Victoria Secret Sweatpants and Hunter’s rain boots, I obviously did not join a sorority.  I don’t understand why I can’t just drink my gin and tonic in peace without some boy in a backwards hat trying to force me to drink a warm can of dyed green calories.  I don’t force them to change from their flip-flops to a more masculine shoe, so they shouldn’t try to change me.

I also don’t really like when people show emotion in public. On Saint Patrick’s everyone is cheering and singing and hugging; the whole thing is just so off putting. I’ve always been much more into showing up right before the party ends and looking bored in the corner. When people show their emotions to each other it makes me feel really embarrassed for them and also a tad anxious.

So basically tomorrow is my personal hell. I can’t even go into the gay-brhood to escape the tackiness like I do for 4th of July.  I’m basically just going to keep to myself tomorrow. I’m going to go out, get drunk, try to convince people that Kelly is abusing diet pills, maybe expose everyone’s secrets or start I text war.  Hopefully, I’ll end the night with a peaceful cab ride home from a driver who is fun poor and not scary poor.

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Sleepy Sleeper

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If there is one thing I love more than bottles of vodka with great packaging (there isn’t) it’s sleeping in till 4pm.  I’m trying to grow my bangs out so I need about twice as much sleep as the average newborn. But now the time has come to wake up before noon because sleeping in late should be taken as seriously as any other signs you need to pull your life together- like eating fast food in your car or having a Gmail account or buying something on eBay from a buyer with poor reviews just to feel a rush.  So I’m waking up at 11.  Basically, I’m saying, “Yes” to life.

The first day of waking up at 11am wasn’t easy. I bit my gardener and also cried while shopping at Trader Joes. The day felt so long without naps and I wanted to quit so many times. But I reminded myself that if I can go ten years without eating bread than I can definitely do this. I did and it was worth it. I passed out at 10:30 at night with the lights on and woke up confused, surrounded by stolen jewelry, having had the best night sleep of my life.

It’s worth noting that I woke up at 6am, which would be great if I was a fucking mailman. But since I’m using this time to practice the Buddhist art of ‘not doing’ it was basically a disaster.  I spent the next few hours in bed, thinking of ways to get back at people which was super relaxing.  Then I had eggs for breakfast and that made me feel super middle class.  Overall, today has been a mixed bag but then again so is life.

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Betrayed

Full Blog at http://sharkshirt.wordpress.com/2012/03/13/betrayed/

I don’t try to hide the fact the my dermatologist is the most important person in my life.  If yours isn’t then you need to find a new one. I’m pretty sure Dr. Mish is high on drugs half the time and I still let her give me shots in my face. That’s the kind of trust you need. (On a side note, I view her intoxication as plus because I feel it gives her the courage to try more extreme dermatological procedures.)

So you can imagine how happy I was when I found my dad was going in for a tune up tomorrow. Wrong.  If he thinks he can come home-wreck my skin care then he clearly knows nothing about me or my undying loyalty to things/people that make me prettier/thinner.  Also, it kind of goes with out saying that perfect skin is my thing and I don’t know why he’s trying to take that from me.

I’m pretty much left with two options.

1) Sabotage. Sabotage is typically my go to plan in any situation. It’s really important to maintain the power dynamic in your relationships- and if that means ruining someone’s diet or med school apps then so be it.  If they care at all about the friendship they’ll thank you later, trust me. I could call in a bomb threat to the derm office tomorrow. “Sorry Dad, guess you can’t go anymore!”

2) Acceptance. This is obviously the more annoying options but my Mat Pilates teacher told me that I’m harboring a lot of anger in my shoulders and if I let that go I could maybe drop a dress size.  Translation: Maybe I could schedule a chemical peel for tomorrow. Going through facial transitions together is a great way to bond. 

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Sub Text

FROM WWW.SHARKSHIRT.WORDPRESS.COM

What I’m getting from this: Phone Edition- Subtext messaging

Image

What you’re doing:

Texting me twice in a row

What you’re saying:

“Desperate! Desperate! I am desperate!”

What you’re doing:

Setting your background image to a photo of you and your boyfriend/girlfriend kissing

What you’re saying:

“We are going to break up in four months.”

 What you’re doing:

Taking instagram photos

What you’re saying:

“I do not have an once of creativity in my body.”

What you’re doing:

Playing music from your phone without headphones

What you’re saying:

“I own a bus pass.”

What you’re doing:

Telling Siri to call you a ‘Rock God’

What you’re saying:

“I’m the hugest loser in the world.”

(Source: howtobeawhitegirl.com)

JOB HUNT!! sharkshirt.wordpress.com

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Job Hunt!

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Those who know me know that I’m always trying to stretch my limits and try new things.  My latest adventure- employment.

First I complied a dream board that I felt expressed the different jobs I could imagine myself doing- actress, chocolatier, executive creator director, fashion designer, drug mule, spy, mad man, etc.. Then I fasted for three days and envisioned these jobs coming true.

After that I talked to my friend about my new phase and she suggested that I send out a resume. I’m not sure what a resume is but I assume its something poor people use to get jobs.  I decided to send some companies small bottles of my signature scent “Fly Bitch”, which I think might be close to a resume. I’ll have to add perfume inventor to my dream board.

Obviously, my next step was buying new clothes that screamed “chic, hard working, but not in brunette way.” But when I got to the Nordstrom my aura was drawn to bathing suits- last time I ignored my aura I end up with side bangs and I wasn’t willing to take that risk again.  So I decided to rain check business attire.

That ended up being the right choice because now something new has piqued my interest – befriending/becoming Esperanza Spalding.

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