Archive for April, 2012

Corp Bits: Rainmakers

Posted: April 30, 2012 in Everything
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A1: what time is it over there

A1: 8?

A2: 8

A1: grinding maliciously and mercilessly huh

A2: nah, well sorta

A2: i left at 6 to go to the gym

A2: and now i’m making up for it

A1: if i get rich i’m going to create a school

A1: where the only degree is rainmaking

A1: and freshmen have to stand on roofs with sprinklers and literally make it rain

A1: while upperclassman can throw bills

A2: you are silly

A1: dirk nowitzki and spike lee would both be professors

A1: and demonstrate the rainmaking technique

Louis Vuitton x Spring ’12

Posted: April 25, 2012 in Fashion
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via I AM A VERY FAMOUS MODEL


via Thought Catalog

In order to bag a Princess/live happily ever after/be a hero, princes have to be: ripped, two weeks away from coming into their inheritance, live in a castle, and have a face like looking directly at an orgasm.
God, I love Disney so much. In my spare time, I have been known to create entire dances to various Disney songs, and have not yet met princess fan art I won’t stare at for a decent 15 minutes while thinking, “Damn, I wish I could draw.” But it hasn’t all been smooth sailing; I’ve had to put up with a fair amount of deception — we all have. And here, the most significant lies told to me by my childhood guiding light:

1. If You’re Pretty Enough, You Can Communicate With Animals

From Pocahontas to Snow White to Giselle, pretty much any girl with a button nose and a decent wardrobe can just pick squirrels off a tree and get it to help her run her errands. I remember, at one point, going out into the woods behind my house when I was about 8 or so and trying to get the birds to come to me by sing-whistling at them. For a while, I was convinced that it didn’t work because I wasn’t a molten-hot princess in a super pretty dress. We were taught to believe that there was a certain class of women whose appeal and charm extended past princes to actually bring all manner of fauna to their side at their will. It was something of a disappointment when you started watching The Discovery Channel and realized that the people who actually spend their time figuring out the communication techniques of deep-sea squid were named Kevin and had more hair on their back than their head, and the squid didn’t dance around the research boat helping them clean the crew cabin.

2. Incredibly Rich, Hot, Popular Guys Are Husband Material

As much as Disney Princesses give girls a pretty tough standard to live up to in terms of beauty, wardrobe, and general behavior — the guys have it pretty bad, too. In order to bag a Princess/live happily ever after/be a hero, they have to be: ripped, two weeks away from coming into their inheritance, live in a castle, and have a face like looking directly at an orgasm. They have to be pretty perfect. And the thing is, guys that are beautiful, come from rich families, athletic, and charming do exist — look at Armie Hammer. The thing is, though, they are almost universally assholes. Remind me of that guy from high school who lived in that Victorian manor on the good side of town, and was captain of the lacrosse team, and had eyes like pools of sapphires, and a chest like Rambo — and he was super sweet and awesome and sacrificed everything to be with you? Oh, right, no. That guy’s diet was probably 40 percent jungle juice, and he only liked talking about the BMW that his dad leased for him. Not husband material, by any stretch of the imagination.

5. Disobeying Your Parents Can Only Yield Fabulous Results

I remember when Ariel was like, “Betcha on land, they understand, that they don’t reprimand their daughters,” and six-year-old me was like “Hoo child, if only. If only,” and then we smoked a cigarette together and commiserated about getting grounded. But in all seriousness, Disney films have been chock full of zesty young women breaking free from their overbearing parents and running off into the sunset to…get married several weeks later. And though my goal wasn’t necessarily to walk down the street past my bedtime and go get engaged to the neighbor boy, it certainly planted this idea in my head that if Belle can ditch her father and get a castle library out of it, I could at least probably stretch my TV-watching privileges past 7:30. Little did we know, though, that running away dramatically from your parents and doing the exact opposite of what they have decreed for you usually ends in crucial childhood privileges being taken away, including the right to watch the very movies we were getting our bad habits from. We should have left the rebellion to the Princesses, who had all those talking animals to help them in their exploits.

Parisian Weekend

Posted: April 25, 2012 in Everything
Tags:

Champagne, brie, baguettes
Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Champs Elysees
Not speaking french, getting hit on, vodka

Slight Work – Wale ft Big Sean

Posted: April 25, 2012 in Videos
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#Twitter @RalphRudeSays

Posted: April 23, 2012 in Tweets
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Ima make a hologram of me doin my "I’m Not The Daddy" dance in case i AM the daddy. I’ll be south of the border n HoloTrey gon shame a bitch
I must say… Technology has come entirely too far for hoes to STILL be takin pictures in the bathroom. Jesus rose. Do better.
I’m not gon wash my balls 20 times a week. Niggas got water bills. Ain’t tryna fornicate wit you 20 times in a MONTH yo.
Who the hell started this "sex 20 times a week" conversation?! Have a fuckin seat hoe, I got a job to go to!
Every kid in the entire world knows they the boss of some shit. You got a bed time lil nigga, eat your fuckin french fries.
Kids are assholes. All of em. Inherently. They be tryna throw smoke screens with the cute shit, but you can’t fool me. I live this shit.

Amazing: Daphne Groeneveld

Posted: April 23, 2012 in Uncategorized
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via I AM A VERY FAMOUS MODEL



(more…)

In the fashion district in Paris, I saw this Louis Vuitton ad that I thought captured that sense of Paris being the city of lights.

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Friend x: Ew–the thought disgusts me.
Friend y: I mean, I hope they’re avoiding the underground dwellers (subway riders) too.
Friend x: hahahah hoped that this was a reply all.
cornell and penn pshhh

Me: Below Harlem and no outer boros = no minority communities plz

Begin forwarded message:

Hey guys,
A friend of mine (Cornell and Penn Law ) will be … a studio/one-bedroom.
Anything below Harlem and above Wall Street with easy access to downtown would be ideal.

Neighbors – Gnarles Barkley

Posted: April 18, 2012 in Videos
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via Thought Catalog

You don’t ask many questions. You don’t question what animal bologna comes from. You don’t question if American cheese is as much cheese as Swiss or cheddar. You make no distinction between mayo or Miracle Whip. You like what you like.

You with your Lunchables

You are the product of amazing marketing and/or busy parents without the time to make something in the morning. You have taken the legacy of New York City pizza and made a mockery of it, spreading pizza sauce over a pathetic cracker with a plastic stick that ought be used for spreading artificial cheese. You are the remnant of the American Dream: speed over quality, color over content, calories over all.

You with your Dunkaroos

You don’t need to share your pencil in class. You don’t worry about being picked for kickball. You have everyone’s attention and affection. Everyone squeals around you, pleading for a skateboarding kangaroo cookie, or, if lucky, the final swoop of the index finger into the pool of frosting. You relish in this power, gleefully rejecting each advance. But in your generosity, you offer the remains on your plastic wrapper. You’re evil.

You with your carrot sticks

You have nothing to share, nothing to trade, nothing to offer the intense negotiations around you at the cafeteria. You munch in silence, reading the nutritional facts on a friend’s pouch of fruit snacks, preparing your oral arguments to convince your parents to buy you some, noting that they contain real fruit juice and Vitamin C. You are smart enough to know it won’t work. But you have very pretty eyes and perfect vision.

You with your chocolate milk

You understand the essence of childhood. It is about adults compromising with their children, giving them the things that they need by mixing in something else they like. Like mathematical video games.

You with last night’s leftovers

Did you bring garlic bread to go with your chicken parm? A side salad? A corkscrew? How old are you?

You with the bologna sandwich

You don’t ask many questions. You don’t question what animal bologna comes from. You don’t question if American cheese is as much cheese as Swiss or cheddar. You make no distinction between mayo or Miracle Whip. You like what you like. You like that white bread can stick to the roof of your mouth. No judging. I do too.

You with affectionate notes from your parents in your lunchbox

You have asked again and again for this to stop, knowing that insecure goons like myself will wave the Winnie the Pooh stationary around in mocking pleasure. Secretly though, you are glad that they do not stop. School can be scary. You like being reminded of a time when Pokemon cards didn’t validate your status in the class. You like rereading the Boxcar Children while everyone else has a riot over Tiana holding DelRoy’s hand at recess. Simply said, you miss third grade.

You with your Juicy Juicy

Eagerly enjoying 100 percent Juice for a 100 percent kid. You watch PBS, particularly Arthur and Wishbone. You dream of one day reading The Count of Monte Cristo or Romeo and Juliet on your own. You sometimes sneak in watching Hysteria. Because it’s sort of educational.

You with your cafeteria meal

You graciously acknowledge the valiant attempt of your lunch ladies, who decided to offset the gravy of grease that sits upon your pizza by adding a mushy apple on the side. You are a planner, analyzing the schedule weeks in advance, deliciously anticipating next Thursday’s special: fish sticks. You are a schmoozer, knowing precisely which lunch lady will be persuaded with a smile or your story detailing your anxiety over the afternoon’s spelling test. She adds extra fries to your Styrofoam tray. You possess all the tools for a revolution: ketchup packets, fruit cups, and your weapon of choice, the spork.

And me, with my peanut butter and jelly in a plastic grocery bag and apple

Of all the things that do not need to be placed into a historical, psychological, or emotional context, the peanut butter sandwich is one.

It is simple: Skippy over Jif. Smooth over chunky. Strawberry over grape. The classics. I’m like most kids. We don’t overthink things.

Video: Sander x Paper

Posted: April 11, 2012 in Everything
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Corp. Bites: Existential Moment

Posted: April 11, 2012 in Ramblings
Tags: ,

On any given day, I remember and forget what I like and what I don’t like.

Today, I remembered that the job function that I have is not what actually motivates me. I don’t really hate my job, it’s more that I know that I’m not 100% good at it. And it isn’t because I can’t be, but because I just don’t want to sacrifice X amount more to be perfect at it. I do love elements of my job.

Now that I’m over on assignment for 4 months and I’m in an office that’s a much more distilled version of what I do, I’m not exactly struggling but I am having to reach so much more. Working longer hours, and forcing myself to think differently is ultimately good for me, but I really don’t enjoy this ‘stretch period.’ It’s like if I had to take organic chemistry because I missed the deadline to drop classes by one week, and I’m not even going to be pre-med. Or like that one time I took Math 1b…for fun…because it counted as an elective when I switched concentrations.

I guess this is good motivation for my next step, since I had been looking at similar options and it’s clear from what I’ve heard and what I know that this won’t be that different if I do the same thing at a different company or in a different group. But I really don’t know what the next step is, but can I figure out what my motivation is?

It’s a bit ridiculous that I don’t know more about myself in areas that are currently pressing (some of which I can’t elaborate on). Or perhaps, it’s that I’ve been sufficiently good at most things in my life and now that I’m not as good at them, I feel like I have to start over from scratch. Or perhaps, I have always taken the easy way out by doing what is expected/typical and that which is easier to execute against. I think this is the more likely case.

Almost everything about me is typical in a way despite how much I am a contrarian (or attempt to be). Ok, that’s not really true. But I am emoting a lot right now, and I’m should probably only write with a clear mind. But I feel like life is just one big high school/college/purgatory, where you have to do a bunch of things you don’t really want to do in order to get to some desired goal.

Or that everything in life is just a means to an end….but there seems to not be much of an end in sight. You just graduate from one interim stage to another, or go from one level of hell to a different level. And in all of that, I came in to work this morning tired, after having worked late, faced with the prospect of working late again.

Thankfully, I decided I needed a pick-me-up and checked my Google Reader, and whew, the smile that was affixed to this sourpuss…I love NY (the city, the state, the over the top entity). I wonder if missing NYC the one redeeming quality of my job has anything to do with things? Anyway, this .gif is giving (almost) everything that I need right now.

Someone really needs to throw me a .gif party ASAP!

Introverts x Extroverts

Posted: April 10, 2012 in Everything
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via I Love Charts
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#Twitter: @RalphRudeSays

Posted: April 10, 2012 in Tweets
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I walk around wit a copy of my retirement plan on me. Like "girl, you fellate me right n you could be set for life".
I promise I’m a dick tho. But bitches have a hard time sayin "no" to a nigga wit paid vacations. I’m desirable as a muhfucka.
There should be a holiday the exact opposite of Valentine’s Day. Where you show your man how much you love him by making yourself scarce.
Sofia Vergara just came on my TV unexpectedly. So did I. And I am not ashamed.
HOW DO YOU WALK AROUND WITH YOUR LABIA EXPOSED?! You don’t feel the wind highlight sticking you fallopian tubes?!
Girl just walked by, and I wanted to tell her that her dress was actually a shirt, but I don’t think she heard me over her loud ass coochie.