Bidness as Usual

Well hello all meow mix friends and lovers. I know I have been utterly remiss in my posts as of late but as you can imagine I've been a bit busy. As they say New York is the city that never sleeps and this little kitten hasn't been snoozin' too much either.

What I have been doing sounds less than productive but in actuality, everything has been quite time consuming. After leaving my internship, I hit the proverbial streets of the interweb looking for a job. A big kid job. A paying job. But alas...nothing has really turned up yet. So...in lieu of working the old 9-5, I've been attempting to improve myself by reading, running and here we are: writing. A day in the life of this cat usually consists of getting up, applying for a job or three, going to the gym (taking the M train no less), returning home and waiting until the kids who do have jobs get off work to go to happy hour. Yes. This is my life of leisure. I am a lady who lunches evidently.



Clearly trained in the art of reception.



But how!? How am I living such a life of leisure? Isn't New York supposed to be ridiculously expensive? Well...let me tell you a little something about the food and bev business. I've been working at Reunion Bar for about three months now and it's been going swimmingly. Currently, I work two days a week and am able to pay my rent with an adequate amount to spare. Granted, I really am due for some new clothes considering my ensemble today consists of a vest of my mother's and a skirt sent from my host mom from France two years ago...need I mention I am also wearing a pair of my mom's shoes...but I digress. I live relatively comfortably for a person who works two days a week and I am only seeing the beauty in that right now. Why at this moment? Because, I am currently temping, sitting in a cubicle, where my job today is to "answer phones and make sure to order a pizza by 10:30 a.m". Yes. Mom. Dad. Aren't you so pleased y'all sent me to college? I can, with all that schoolin', dial numbers, ask for 1/2 pepperoni, 1/2 cheese and believe it or not, that's math. Fractions, is what I believe they call them.


So I've got a mildly amusing tale from this weekend of the food and bev "bidness" for y'all, whether you're back home in my Much Missed Muggy South or here in Not so Nice on the Nose New York.


"Sorry Tom, I'm Going to Be About Ten Minutes Late"

As of the past two months, I've been trying to get my extra grande caboose (tooshy, tukus, bottom) into shape. Like I said, with all this extra time on my hands, I've been able to set some goals for myself and get my ass in gear (literally). SIDE NOTE: This also happened last summer. I was unemployed (except for an internship) for most of the summer. During that time, I went to the gym almost daily and my "ba-dunk-a-dunk" looked pretty good if I do say so myself. And I do say so. Myself. Anyways, since working at Reunion, our beloved bouncer and bonified muscle man, Jerry, offered to train me for an insanely reduced price. I guess the boss men at work didn't like all the maraschino cherries I'd been munching on and could stand for a little toning up, if you will. So I've been hitting the gym with Jerry and results are indeed taking place! Every Friday, I go to the gym at 2, work out with Jerry, shower, and head off to serve the beloved frozen mojitos and Dodo dogs of Reunion bar looking freshly toned and showered; however, this past Friday I was not so lucky.



Oh that's just Jerry. Yeah, my abs look like his.

Let it be known that at Reunion bar, we aspire to look perfectly beach bum slovenly. I attempt to bring my "style" if you can call it that into our little hot spot. On this fateful Friday, I meticulously planned my PERFECT ensemble and headed to the gym. Once on the subway, I gasped at the realization that I'd forgotten my underwear. Now as many of you gals, and I'm sure many of my hipster friendly guys, knows, going commando is as common these days as well...not going commando. I'd say it's about 50/50 (whoa watch out, fractions again my friends). But on this particular day, I decided to wear a pair of short shorts. I'm talking, Nair commercial song worthy short shorts and not only were they short, they were breezy. REALLY BREEZY. So this was not a day to have forgotten my unmentionables.

At the gym, I sweat and grunted and powered through an awesomely intense session but once showered and cleaned, I knew, there was nothing  I could do. This kid was going to have to go sans pants. As well all know, I have an affection for the phrase "pants optional" but I usually mean my overpants not my underpants, so the irony in this situation does not go unchecked. I had to be at work at four o'clock and at three thirty pm eastern standard time, I had to text my boss and tell him "sorry Tom, I'm going to be about ten minutes late, I forgot my underwear. Whoops!" He was of course understanding. There's a definitely familial aspect to working in a restaurant. You get to know people pretty quickly and I would never think twice about telling my 40-something year old boss that indeed I'd forgotten my knickers. I mean for all the reasons to be late to work, I feel as though that's a fairly legitimate reason to be late...



ewww Aeropostale.



But in truth, I was pretty embarassed that this happened; however, what follows is far worse. The bar is near Times Square, a place I rarely go. A place dreaded by all those who actually live in New York. A place where I had to venture in order to buy a pair of panties. I had no clue where to go. I thought I'd see an H&M or something to that effect but alas I did not. I saw three Sephoras (which usually would bring me delight) but no panty dispensory until...I came upon...a teenage wonderland. A junior's playground. Aeropostale. I've never actually set foot in an Aeropostale until this fateful Friday. I don't think we had them in Atlanta when I was in my pre-teen to mid-teen stage and their surely wasn't one in Charleston. Charleston somehow has TWO sunglass huts, yet no Anthropologie or H&M. I'm just sayin' Chucktown: get your retail act in order. Whoa tangent, clearly some unresolved issues. Anyways, I was running late as it was and I figured like an Abercrombie & Fitch or an American Eagle has some undergarments so I ventured in. Oh the horror. So bad. Aggressive tweens pushing through the aisles followed by their oversized parents hailing from South Dakota or some other equally unremarkable state. I pushed my way to the second floor, purchased my pretty cute polka dot boy shorts and got the hell out of there, but not without a little loss of dignity...