I love you. I hate you.

Salad Works (a.k.a. Lettuce Feed You): I love you because you give me choices. I love you because you exist on every city block. I love you because your low-fat vinagrette tastes just as good as regular fat. I love you because you have multigrain rolls, and sometimes they are warm. I love you because your fauntain beverages are so bubbly and delicious, and you always have lemon. I love you because your mushrooms are sliced so perfectly. I love you beacuse your salads are bigger than my head. I love you because when I order you, my short legs can't walk me fast enough back to my office so I can devour you with glee.

I hate you because your salads have gotten smaller while your price tag has grown ($8.98 for some lettuce? Come on, now). I hate you because all through college I ordered the "Turkey Pasta" then one day you said you didn't offer that salad and never had. Liar. I hate you because every other salad is ruined for me.

I just got the most a-some make-your-own... then a co-worker came in to explain some techological stuff. I had to sit there, salivating, salad untouched, while I learned about downloads. Torture!

Radio Killed the Sane Person in Me

it took me a long time to post this, mostly because i am embarrassed of my actions, but i did something last week that i never thought i would do...i called into a radio talk show while driving in my car. i know, i know. sick.

but, Your Honor, i just couldnt help myself. the host, one Ms. Michele Pilenza of New Jersey 101.5, was so obnoxious and wrong that i was forced to call in and disagree with her as she ranted and raved about relationships. the topic was something like "should you let your friends and family's opinions about your mate effect your relationship". and we werent talking about the obvious negative factors like drugs, violence, yada yada.

her reasoing was so superficial and ridiculous and my rage grew as i listened to caller after caller be instructed by this witch that if your mother doesnt like the way your boyfriend eats his dinner, you should dump him.

i dialed the number not really expecting to get through, and could hardly believe it when after the third ring, a production assistant answered the phone.

"Hey, thanks for calling New Jersey 101.5, what's your name and age and what's your question for Michele?"

...uh, actually i just want to tell her i totally disagree with her and i think she's crazy.

"OK, great! Hold the line!"

within minutes i was live on the air. it was all for nothing though. turns out Michele did not give two shits about my opinion of her and talked over me the entire time and then disconnected me and went on her merry way, destroying the lives of the hopeless people who were taking her fucked up advice.

what is my rating on a scale of 1-10 now...1 being sane and 10 being totally fucking crazy for calling into a cheesy jersey radio talk show?

i don't think i even have to say it, but i am so unpretty...

Getting ready for the holidays.

Now, many of the people who read this blog are also on the same email distribution where I get some funny stuff, like this photo. But for those who don't get my same emails... enjoy!

I'm bringing cozy back.

Today is the day: I am wearing my first turtleneck of the season. And it won't be my last, ho-no-no. I love t-necks as they make me feel safe and cozy. Yes, it's prudish, but by-god it's the best part of the cold weather season. Amen.

Melodrama does not suit me.

Ok, I am a bit of an exaggerator, and I must apologize to my pals for accusing them of thinking so badly about me. Turns out, they haven't cackled in agreement behind my back about me being like Darcy. They just compared one line to me, where the narrator says Darcy is the only person she knows over 12 that complains of being bored as often as she does. And I must admit, I do have a tendency to claim boredom. Sorry gals. Forgive me?

Comcast Hates Me or Maybe I Hate Comcast?

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I schedule my life around my favorite television shows, so it’s no shocker that I’m utterly devastated that my cable is not working -- I totally missed the season premier of Desprate Housewives last night.
I’ve been having problems with my cable on and off of about two months now. It hasn’t been a problem because all the shows were on hiatus but I’ve become a pro at fixing my cable problems when they arise. I just follow the instructions that customer service reps have been giving me time and again:
I call into Comcast and have my signal update through the automated recording system.
If that doesn’t work, I unplug the cable box for 30 seconds and then re-plug and wait.
Sometime, I even repeat a few times before calling to speak with someone in customer service in order to schedule a tech to come out. I usually tell the person on the other line that I followed the usual protocol but they make me do it again while they are on the phone, I try not to get rude and I humor them. ARE there no records of my pervious calls?
Yesterday, however the guy on the other end of the phone told me that my signal wasn’t working. Duh?! No kidding?! I figured that was the reason that my cable wasn’t working.
Then he had the audacity to ask me if he could send a technician out to my apartment on Tuesday between the hours of 1 and 6 p.m.?
Ummmm… NO! I have to go to work! I have to make money so that I can pay your outrageous fees for your sucky service!
OMG! Comcast is calling me right now to confirm the appointment. Weird!

I think I need some quality time in the suburbs.

The city is doing bad things to me. This morning, as I am crossing the street on the GREEN light, and chatting with my sweetest-of-the-sweet mama on the mobile phone, a big-ass lady with big-ass hair and a big-ass Mercedes honked at me to hurry and cross the street. Oh no, no, lady... I have the green, you have an annoying car, and you just brought anger into my day because you couldn't wait literally three seconds for a pedestrian to have safe passage-- when it was my right of way?? So, without hesitation, I turned to her, gesturing wildly to the light, and yell to her closed-up windows, "IT'S GREEN!!" I didn't bother to look around and see who might see me yell. I completely forgot that my mother could hear the honk and the obnoxious yell back. And I completely disregarded my usual decision NOT to let aggressive people like Ms. Mercedes get the better of me. I usally have a self-satisfied laugh and overly indulgent smile at those people, but not today. Today I succombed. Maybe it's because I was feeling bad at having my friends think I'm Darcy. Or maybe I am Darcy after all. Great.

Clearly, my friends hate me.

I hate stupid books. I really do. Anything with a stiletto or a little dog on the cover makes me want to barf. But my friends insisted I read "Something Borrowed," swearing that it was good and not as stupid as the cover screams that it is.

So, I'm reading it, and so irritated because the protagonist (who is sleeping with her best friend's fiance) is so wholesome and good (aside from the cheating factor) and her cuckolded best friend Darcy has no redeemable qualities whatsoever. Darcy is obnoxious, self-centered, selfish, a liar. If this was a book worth reading they would make Darcy a little more complex; as stupid/bitchy as they make her in the book leaves the reader with no concern that her best friend is shagging her soon-to-be hubby.

But I digress. The real point here is that as I am reading the book, hating the book and Darcy, I remember way back to when two of my best gals were talking about it. I knew nothing of the book at this point. But I do remember that they compared ME to Darcy. What the f? Now I am hurt that my best friends could think that I am shallow, selfish and obnoxious as her.

Jerky friends with quite low opinions of me are so unpretty. Or, maybe I am so unpretty, just like Darcy.

Well, you're not a brain sugeon.

Yesterday I had a most irritating run-in with a cocky lawyer from the floor of my building. I am getting agitated just remembering it. I was leaving my office with a bunch of flowers that a co-worker gave me for finishing up a big project. This 30-something lawyer-- definitley the type of guy that cheats on his wife-- looks at me and the flowers in the elevator and says:

"Somebody loving you?" Well, a) that's sort of personal and b) um, yea, salt in the wound.
"No, it's from a co-worker because we just launched a big project." I reply.
"Oh, yea, you guys always look so happy in your office. Always smiling." he says.
"Really?" I ask, incredulously.
"Yea!" He retorts. "I mean, it's not a law firm. It's not like you guys have any stress. No one ever yells, over there."
"Yea right." I grumble, as I depart the elevator with my roses. Just because he might not give roses to a partner when they close a case and put that f*cker in jail doesn't mean he can be a condescending bastard, right?

So unpretty.

Listen with love.

If you want to hear some nice voices... and learn about a great Philly pizza joint while you are at it, check out the "Casual Meal" segment of the My Philly tour from SoundAboutPhilly podcast tours.

He he he.

What the Holy Hell?!

how can one wear a mickey mouse shirt and be violent? this was the question that boggled my mind whilst witnessing an extremely inappropriate and ghastly altercation between two men in the middle of walnut street yesterday afternoon.

it was an ass beating like i've never seen before. and the man doing to the brunt of the beating, was wearing a mickey mouse shirt.

it took a moment to disect what was going on besides the odd wardrobe. apparently, mickey was experiencing the most toxic case of road rage ever when he threw his car into park in the middle of one of the busiest intersections in the city and jumped out to beat the crap out of a bike messenger who had allegedly hit the hood of his car.

they rumbled in the middle of the street for a good 7 seconds, stopping all traffic, motor vehicle and pedestrian and then rolled right into a philly weekly recepticle and then smack into the windows of the ING cafe. after about 15 seconds, finally two cops raced to the scene and broke the bloody pair up.

i was shocked and dazed for the next hour or two. seeing a REAL LIVE STREET FIGHT...so unpretty.

H2Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!

A frequent topic amongst So Unpretty bloggettes is that we loathe having to drink water and take trips to the bathroom to deal with the full bladders that accompany the mandate of 8 cups a day. Well, I am going to boast and tell you that I have been going above and beyond the requirements and knocking my water consumption out of the park.

Now, before you roll your eyes and ask, "Who cares, ALG?" let me share a secret. Although my newfound love of water is primarily selfish -- I am a bridesmaid in less than 20 days and want my skin to be dewy and radiant in pictures -- there is a secret to my success.

It's called TrueLemon and it's rockin'. TrueLemon is a crystallized lemon substitute that comes in packets and you simply add to water bottles. It's so refreshing and doesn't taste phony, like the Lipton Green Tea packets or Crystal Light On-the-Go. They also have TrueLime, but I haven't tried that yet.

*I also love TrueLemon because it reminds me of the time that I was so ridiculously hungover on South Charles Street and Beanorama came to me like a Dutch angel and brought me a chilled glass of water with TrueLemon. It was awesome.

Why I am a jerk.

I just started my day with completely unwarranted anger, and I feel a little bad about it. Here's why: when I am running low on cash (which is... um... always) I bring the contents of my change jar to the Penny Arcade at Commerce Bank. Now, it's basically a change counter designed for children, as Penny talks to you, prompting you to hit the right buttons on the screen and even tried to get you to guess how much cash you'll get. Juvenile as it is, I like it better than rolling my coins. So, Penny and I had a hot date this morning, and before I could even empty out my baggie-o-coins into the tray, an ancient security guard ambles over and asks if I've used the machine before. I tell him yes, then proceed. He stands there. He prompts me at every turn. ("Now put your money in the tray. Now hit the green button.") He even pulled out the reciept and handed it to me. The whole time I was burning with annoyance because A) it's a child's machine, I can handle it B) I already TOLD him I know how to work it C) Yes, it added up only to $12.55, but it's my money and I'd rather not have him looking over my shoulder.

I knew my frustration was overblown. He was an elderly security guard, probably bored, thinking he was being parental and teaching me. But Commerce Bank is weird, and he was weirder, and forcing myself to say thank you to someone that had just made me have steam come out of my ears was a very unpretty way to start the week. And that's why I am a jerk.

The Real World London was the boring-ist one.

Holy shizah. I just spent the last two hours watching quarter-life crises on the big screen. You think Zach Braff's new movie, The Last Kiss, is another feel-good film with a killer soundtrack? HELLS naw. This one does have a good soundtrack (Imogen Heap, anyone?) but you leave feeling shell-shocked rather than ooey-gooey happy.

The Last Kiss is not the romantic dramedy that the trailer promises. No way, man. This movie is all about how young, promising, hopeful, healthy good love is pretty much damn near impossible to sustain. How even the best relationships can lose something along the way...connection, honestly... and oh yea, monogamy.

And I'll tell you...two hours of brink-of-adulthood angst is a lot to take, especially when you are in the thick of it yourself. I watched the movie with three good friends: one is 3 weeks away from her wedding. One is in love, in a serious relationship. And one is in a fledgeling relationship. (Then there's single me, keeping myself OUT of a relationship for all the reasons seen in the movie, but that's between me and my diary.) We all left with wide-eyes, grimaces, stomache aches and more than a twinge of depression. Way to go, Zach.

Don't get me wrong. I am glad I saw this movie. It's well written and well played. But scary, 'cause it was truthful. And also... Rachel Bilson is in it, and I like her, even though she was basically Summer in the movie as well. (PS You can see her boobs if you watch the movie. And some guy's butt. That butt was the complete opposite of unpretty.) Peace out.

A new side of Dewey Beach.

Here's one last hurrah to summer: a hilarious New Yorker's post about their condo in Dewey Beach. It's like no Dewey I've ever known... Check it, check it, check it out.

Why doesn't every smoker have this?

(Or the real question should be: why are there still smokers? But I digress.)

I just read about pocket ashtrays. Phillip Morris, that grand cancer-causing patriarch of the drrty south, is giving them out as part of the Keep America Beautiful campaign. DOI! Why doesn't every smoker carry one? Most smokers I know wouldn't dream of tossing their old Mickey-D's bag on the street after devouring their two cheeseburger extra value meal, but they have no problem tossing a butt on God's green earth. Folks- you don't own that earth, and cigarette butts are litter, come on now. You don't want to kill the little birdies and fishies. You clean up your dog's poo, so clean up your own crap and get your smoking self a pocket ashtray. And then go get some Nicorette gum and grow up already. Harsh, I know. But so is carbon monoxide, and you inhale that, so...

In other nicotine news, Mayor Street signed the smoking ban. HOO-RAH.

Don't Xerox Your Butt, But...

Now, I'm no fan of the war. But like every good American, I like to support the BOYS (yes, boys) and girls and women and men who are risking everything over there. So, go to www.letssaythanks.com to pick out a thank you card. Xerox will print it and send it to a soldier that is currently serving in Iraq. It's free. And it's nice. So be nice. And do it. Love, Beanorama

Newbie Lawyer Update.

I know no one really cared about my "Attack of the Newbie Lawyers" post, as there were only two comments (one of them my own). But I just had to laugh when I overheard two administrative assistants on the elevator this morning, talking about how they let a young girl into the conference room, not knowing who she was but thinking she was the boss' daughter. Turns out she was the new lawyette! As a woman who was asked twice during a work event last week (once by a TV personality who shall remain nameless) what highschool I went to, I feel for this poor newbie. Let's just hope I look young when I am 45.

Uh, OK...

twice today i had the unusual and disturbing experience of having two complete strangers comment on my appearance. i don't think its happened to me more than five times in my entire life; and yet today, a double cheeseburger.

critic numero uno was a maintenance man at my office building. as i was walking through my lobby on my way to a doctor's appointment, i spied him staring at me from outside the glass. he was at first just casually smoking his cigarette. but as i approached, he started nodding his head in an enthusiastic manner. then, as i started through the revolving doors, his nodding quickened and his smile grew big as he started mouthing words to me and pointing at me with his cigarette. i smiled back because i was nervous (that's what i do). when i finally emerged from the building and could finally hear what he was saying my smile faded.

"Aw, yeah! You look WAY BETTA' with a little bit of a heel!"

what?! huh?!

true, i don't usually do heels (i'm a notorious FSW--Flat Shoe Woman). this guy must keep major tabs on me to notice the one day i am wearing a heel--and yes, it was just a little bit--kitten, in fact.

my second run in with the fashion police happened tonight. there i am, at my local pharmacy, just minding my business, dropping off my prescription when suddenly i feel someone touching my shoulder. i turn around expecting to see an old friend or something, but am surprised when i find myself staring at a complete stranger; a short, young woman with lots of make-up and a troubled look all over her face.

"um, excuse me, but do you mind if i take this piece of cat hair off of your back? that kind of stuff really bothers me!" she says as SHE PROCEEDS TO PICK AT MY DRESS. i stood start still...in shock and just let it happen. she picked off the "cat" hair--which was not a cat hair at all, but a feather from one of sadie's angel wings (sadie is my daughter-er, i mean dog).

and then it was over. i didnt know what to say...except "thanks."

strangers commenting on your shoe choices or literally "knit picking" at the dog hair on your dress...SO UNPRETTY!

You can be like Joanie too!

Now's your chance to be just like Joanie. As we gear up for the September 20 premiere of America's Next Top Model, you can chat with Tyra, here. I just wish she would say, "I have three beautiful girls, standing before me..."

And no, UPN did not pay me for this post. Although they can if they want to.

Just like Jessica Simpson and P. Diddy.

My name is Beanorama. I'm 26 years old. And I have adult acne.

I'm also a compulsive picker, so I have sweet little cuts on my face too. I just don't understand why I have not grown out of the acne phase. I qualify for cheaper car insurance! I've been a full-time employee for four years! I am a godmother! I have wrinkles! And I have acne? What the bloodclot, man? Being adult is hard enough without the leftovers of adolescence. Adult acne is so unpretty.

I've Reached a New Low.

Not only did I not eat lunch until 2:30, but my lunch was pathetic. I have been known to crack open a can of tuna and eat it straight out of the can with a fork, but this is a new frontier.

So I purchased spray-on salad dressing. And then I bought a bag of salad. Already 0 for 2, I know. But then I decided to extract the lettuce leaves individually from the bag, placed nicely on my desk, and then proceed to spray each one with the salad dressing. My boss almost died when she caught wind of this.

Not good. I have become the pinnacle of a Lazy American. The only thing that could've been worse is if I had the above accessories delivered.

Farewell Summer. Until Next Year.

This morning, it hit me. My AC is off. The contents of my closet seem woefully insufficient. I question the appropriateness of open-toe shoes. Sweaters are looking good.

It's fall.

Goodbye sweet summer. I made it a full summer without sun poisoning. I went to the biggest sand dune on the East Coast, down in Kitty Hawk, NC. I swam halfway around an island in New Hampshire. I did downward dog in the cool summer breeze (that's yoga, pervs). I picnicked on the grass in Rittenhouse Square. I braved a monsoon at an outdoor concert. I attended three weddings, two bridal shower, two bachelorette parties and one engagement party. I had three dates and two random kisses at the beach. I ate a lot of pizza while a little tipsy. I watched my sister's belly grow with a baby boy. I went to a minor league baseball game, a housewarming, and Amish Country. I swam on a roofdeck pool. A good summer, I'd say.

Summer is my favorite time of year, but I am going to make a concerted effort to look forward to fall...even winter. Football is good! Cozy sweaters are good! Hot tea is good! Chlorophyll is good! I refuse to think that the end of summer is so unpretty, and I must remember, the next one is only 8 1/2 months away.

I Was Rendered Speechless.

I am a sucker for the famous. I just spent four days in California, land of Tinseltown hotties and divas and could not stop hallucinating celebs. I did see, however, Jeffrey Tambour, Lara Spencer and Ryan Devlin (I spent a morning on the set of the Insider) and the guy who got kicked off the first season of "Blow Out" and now has his own show. I also walked past Michael Vartan, which I did not realize.

My US Weekly-reading self also had an ice blended at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, saw the gym where "Work Out" is filmed, drank at at the vineyards featured in "Sideways," spotted Fred Segal, had drinks at Sky Bar, and saw the stage where the last scene of The Truman Show was filmed.

But nothing knocked me on my tush quite so much as who I spotted as I walked off the airplane in Philadelphia: Joanie, a semi-finalist from the last cycle of America's Next Top Model. She was gorgeous. I could barely explain to the person on the other end of the phone how frigging excited I was.

Yes, she is a D-lister. Yes, she lost. But she was AWESOME.

Attack of the newbie lawyers.

Look around... they are everywhere (especially in Center City, Philadelphia): brand new lawyers, most of them starting their second week of work TODAY!! Lucky bastards have been in school for the past three-to-seven years, just had the summer off, and now are earning three times my pay. Of course, most of them have to work ungodly hours for the next few decades of their lives, poor things. I saw one on the elevator of my building this morning who described himself as "jittery" and I felt a little sympathy for him and his shiny new briefcase.

Good luck, young lawyers and lawyettes. Let justice prevail.

You'll Never Take Me Alive!

it waits...patiently. it grows...slowly. it will soon be invading all of my sinuses, causing them to swell and sludge with thick, disgusting mucus. i have been valiantly fighting "something" for the last 3.5 weeks. but, i know, fighting is pointless. in the end, "something" always wins.

i am so sick of getting/being sick. i really hate it. i feel like once a month, i have "something". my office is like one humongous kindergarten class. we pass it around it like it's in our job description. the second i here a sneeze in the hallway, i start popping AIRBORNE. the moment i'm in a meeting and someone stops what they are saying in mid-sentence to clutch their throat and massage their glands, all with that repulsive look on their face, i start popping ZICAM AND AIRBONE.

it's always all for nothing, though. it may take weeks for me to finally succumb, but i always do. it's kinda like the lindsay lohan game of pretend-she can pretend for a couple weeks that she's not a crazy coke whore, but then BAM! a second later there's a two page spread with pictures in OK! magazine with her in a sex swing at the viper room, snorting a line of blow off a midget.

being sick...so un-un-un-ACHOO!-pretty.

Soul Line


Has anyone else ever come across this show while channel surfing? It's absolutely hysterical and mesmerizing. All they do is show these random people soul line dancing for an hour. The camera just pans back and forth, no one looks at it, and the repetition is completely captivating.

I wish to God that the sound could have been recorded on this-but here's what you can imagine in your head: James Brown's "Get up Off that thang...and shake it till you feel better!"

Enjoy.

The Stars Are Drunk Driving

"That's hot."
"Loves it."
These are commonly known Paris-isms. Now that she's been arrested for DUI, maybe we can expect to start hearing a new catch phrase: "Cuff me."

I am absolutely dying to see the mugshot. Nicole Richie must be wetting herself with glee.

I know I am.

Baby Suri, Take a Bow

well, we finally see pics of Baby Suri and low and behold, the world is still spinning. i must say, she is quite the cutie even though some of my freaks, er-i meant friends, think she's not.

in fact, if i am being quite honest, and when am i not...i think Suri is beautiful. she's got her mother's face and her father's hair (not the nose). but maybe i think she's so beautiful simply because all of the wild speculation about what this celebribaby would look like (see pic attached to this post).

the only thing now that's tbd is whether or not she's as insane as her father. but, that'll take at least a decade to determine.

Spiking is scary.

I was sent this video today, and it hit really close to home. My pal Reds and I were in a bar in the Outer Banks this weekend. We're pretty sure we were given rufed (roofed?) drinks. Some weirdo guys who were staring and moving closer and closer to us bought us beers, brought them over to us and dropped off the drinks but didn’t stay to chat or introduce themselves. Reds and I clinked our bottles in cheers, then brought them up to drink—-at the same second we both smelled this lemony, chemical smell and looked at each other in surprise. We got freaked out, went upstairs and got new beers. The bartender poured the beer into a cup and drank and said it tasted weird. So, not to sound like your mom, but seriously, be careful. Because ending up in your underwear in a strange place would be far worse than unpretty.

An Ode to Blue Ink, or, Neuroses Unite Again!

I haven't oded for a while, so here goes. Today I am singing (blogging?) the praises of blue ink, that sweet indigo liquid. I love writing with blue pens, and I despise writing with black pens. In fact, I feel black pens are trashy. That's right, I said it-- black ink is white trash. I have pen predjudice.

I realize this could be another installment in my Neuroses series (hating black ink is up there with hating the sound of Blow Pop wrappers coming off the paper stick) but I am okay with that. Black ink is so unpretty, as are my neuroses. Love, Beanorama

Taking casual Friday to a whole new level.

Last week I shared the elevator with a fairly conservatively dressed woman. I saw a lot of beige and brown... until I saw her shoes. You know how little tykes wear the light-up sneaks? Well, this lady had light-up heels. Clear, light-up heels. To the office. My lord, what bad taste. And when she got off the elevator she flashed and sparkled all the way down to her law office. A little research told me later that those are the shoes that strippers wear, which is a little more office appropriate. Light-up heels are so unpretty, but did bring a little flashy happiness to my day.