I'm not crying, it's just been raining. On my face.

Let's review. I'm sitting here, shivering in the glass-covered passenger seat of my beloved Volkswagen Bug, huddling away from the rain pouring through the permanently open window, taking inventory of the Things Which Are Lost Forever. This list includes my GPS, so I'm trying to figure out how to get home on my god damn original iPhone which can't find my current location (I dropped and broke my 3G two days ago. That's right. This week is bullshit). Home is a New York town I hate, where I sleep on a pull-out couch in a space so tiny there's no room for anything else. There's a boy driving me home and sneaking pitying glances at me, but we don't know each other well enough to feel comfortable in this ridiculous situation so I almost wish I was alone. How the fuck did I end up here? I'm supposed to be winning the ANTM auditions right now, dammit.

Things I understand have value, and therefore can't be mad were stolen:

1. My GPS
2. My gorgeous black pea coat
3. My zebra print shoes
4. iPod charger
   

Things that definitely do NOT have street value, and therefore I'm furious about being stolen:

1. ALL MY GOD DAMN FAVORITE SHIRTS, which I brought into the city to have options to wear to remind Tyra that I'm indispensable. They're not expensive, but I loved them. My pretty black flutter-sleeved shirt from H&M. All the tank tops that make me look thinner. My brand new cardigan, which makes me look 10 years older. Fuck.
2. My favorite skinny jeans.
3. My brand new Victoria's Secret lotion, blow-drying hairbrush, and magic hair products.

Things that for some reason were left behind:

1. My Juicy sunglasses (thank God).
2. My John Varley library book.
3. My 15-page ANTM application.
4. 1/2 of my iPod adapter (they ripped out the cord and took that with them).
5. The fucking brick that was thrown through my window, breaking my gear shifter in the process.
6. The picture of me and my friends from 2 years ago. I wonder if the fucker looked at it, saw what a nice girl I am, and felt a tiny bit guilty.

Seriously, you know what pisses me off the most? My car's a piece of shit. It's scratched up beyond belief (I'm a woman driver, nuff said), the front bumper's falling off, there's dents all over the place. Someone, years ago, was enough of a dick to scratch up my "World Peace" bumper sticker, leaving only a dismal reminder of my naivety. Why the FUCK would anyone break into this car, of all the cars on that godforsaken East Village street? Why would they be like "Oh, here's a girl who doesn't have enough money to reattach her bumper, let's see if she's got anything of value"? And who the hell are these people, who do this? Okay, crackheads, probably. But god dammit. Go break into a BMW, you fucker. LEAVE THE POOR VW DRIVERS ALONE.

Tell us how you feel about: Unicorns

In a bold move for our collective blog, I'm throwing a new thread out there for everyone's (hopefully) enjoyment and to expand our growing "trust circle". I mean, Maya shared her quasi-rational death fears and Greg has shared his anger with, well, pretty much everything. So without much more fanfare, I present Tell Us How You Feel About.

It's self-explanatory. We give the topic and our individual stance and you just read and follow suit. And to kick it off, what better topic is there than those mythical beasts of wonder and fascination: unicorns.

How do I feel about unicorns? I hate them. It's not about whether or not they exist or have ever existed. I couldn't care less. I just think they're stupid. Let me break it down for you.

1. Wow, a horse with a horn. Oooooh, big deal. Not impressed.
2. They remind me of Lisa Frank erasers and folders, which reminds me of the girls who owned said Lisa Frank paraphenalia in grade school, which reminds me of mean cliquey girls who thought they were super cool but ended up living in the suburbs with their high school "sweetheart", snotty Gap kids babies and "luxury" SUVs. No thanks.
3. I doubt unicorns would be friendly. In fact, I bet they'd be ill-tempered and quick to use their "magical" horn to impale you into a fencepost at the slightest insult.
4. In a fight with a lion, a unicorn would always lose. Hands down. I can't respect that.
5. After centuries of unadultered adoration, unicorns probably have gigantic, undeserved egos. They most likely think their unicorn droppings smell like rainbows and glitter. News flash: unicorns are a kind of horse. they don't smell nice at all.

Your turn. How do you feel about unicorns?

I'm like the Mr Rogers of Mortification

How to Turn Perfectly Neutral Events into Situations Which Are Embarrassing Because You're a Temp So No One Wants to be Your Friend at Work

(Sidenote: step one is obviously to have debilitating social anxieties.)

Get to the fancy cafeteria. Order your fancy food. Go to grab a napkin - the guy in front of you has just taken the last one. "Oh, do you need this?" he asks with an almost imperceptible sneer (but you're crazy, so you catch it). "Oh no," you laugh, "I'm not a messy eater." Too much information, you scream at yourself, now you look like you're trying to be his friend. Quickly break eye contact, worry you look too bitchy, resign yourself to sitting alone and reading a book AGAIN. Lift the fork with your first bite of delicious tortellini - oh, it's on your pants. And there's no napkins. Proceed to surreptitiously remove the pasta from your lap, put it back on the plate, and attempt to clean the sauce from your pants with your fingers. Fail. Finish your pasta, realize you ate the one that fell. Worry that everyone in the cafeteria noticed for some reason.

Notice your chapstick is missing. Must have fallen out of my pocket. Ugh. That shit costs like $4. Fuck it, I have another one at home. Not worth staying late to look for it. Get your stuff, go out to sit (alone) on the company shuttle. Before it can leave, someone climbs in with your chapstick in her hand. "Someone lost their Burt's Bees!" she exclaims, as if she's just saved a box full of kittens from a burning elementary school. Don't say anything because you've already resigned yourself to having lost it. Everyone on the bus proceeds to check their purses and pockets, announcing one by one that they all have theirs. You panic inwardly. It's been too long now to say something, and you don't feel like going through the ruse of checking your pockets. You also don't want to say anything, because you're hoping no one has noticed you exist, let alone that you're sitting on their bus like a criminal. One woman says "Oh! I think it's mine!" She goes up, opens it, crinkles her nose and says "Nevermind, mine was new. Look, this one's used." She throws it in the garbage, and you have a 25 minute bus ride to deride yourself for being so blue-collar as to actually use your $4 chapstick. Which is now in the garbage.

Smash your finger in a drawer. "Oh my god, are you okay?" asks your (probably faking it)concerned coworker. Pretend like it didn't hurt; kick yourself for grimacing when you should be producing a convincing smile. Gradually realize that the pain is getting worse, not better, and that you may have broken your finger. Shit, it's bent. Did it always look like that? Do I need to go to the ER? Glance at your coworker; she hasn't noticed the tears welling up in your eyes. Announce too loudly that you need to run to the restroom. Hide there, running cold water on your finger, until you can convince yourself it was always slightly bent and that if your future husband really loves you he won't mind. Worry that you've been in the restroom too long and that someone will assume you're up to something. Consider faking puke noises to further your bulimia charade; decide against it in case the CEO overhears. Sneak back to your desk; announce too loudly that you stopped by the kitchen for some water.

TO BE CONTINUED.