Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass, Or, Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office : A Memoir Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Jen Lancaster
right thing. Promise me that you’ll end it with Brad before you take up with Chad. 21 You owe him that much.”
She whimpers and nods. “I promise.”
At this moment, Fletch breaks through the retreating travelers. He looks at their shell-shocked faces and shakes his head. He readily recognizes the victims of Hurricane Jen. “Hey, stranger, welcome home! How was your trip?” he asks while giving me a bear hug. He swoops down to grab my bags. Didn’t I say he was a keeper? “Jen, you left with two bags, but now I see four. You do some shopping?”
“I had to buy extra bags for all the treats I bought you.”
“I’ll bet.” His face is wreathed in an ironic smile. Apparently he didn’t care for last present I got him…a pink Ralph Lauren V-neck tennis sweater that just happened to fit me.
He notices Courtney and says a cautious hello as he takes in her tearstained countenance. I shake my head and whisper, “Don’t ask,” as we stroll to short-term parking.
On the drive back to the city, Fletch attempts to distract us with boring stories about work. Oh, sweetie, I love you, but do you really think anyone in this car cares about the IP-data-transport-telecom-bandwidth-blah-blah-whatever-it-is-you-do? Your job is to look pretty and keep earning fat commission checks, agreed? Agreed.
We get back to the city and drop Courtney at her high-rise apartment over by the lakefront. In the rearview mirror, I see her whip out her cell phone and one of our company’s business cards. She’s calling Chad! Stinking liar. I roll down my window and shout, “Get off the phone, whore!” as we pull away. Courtney smiles and give me a wan one-finger wave, phone cradled in her shoulder as her doorman grabs her bags.
“What happened to Courtney?” Fletch asks.
I sigh. “Mai tais.”
The What Street Journal?
----
Washington Times-Herald Opinion Page, March 6, 2001
$6 HOT DOG BETTER BE GOOD
Rarely do I feel the need to skewer a family member publicly, but recently my younger sister made a comment that deserves some scrutiny.
My sister, a successful high-tech something.com salesperson in her early 30s recently announced that Chicago was “growing a little too small” and she might be ready to move on. Hoping for the best, we thought that she might be ready to move a little closer to home. We were wrong.
She said that she thought the Big Apple was in her future because Chicago was just “too Midwestern.”
We decided to dissect this statement over breakfast. Having lived in the New York metropolitan area, I felt I could give my sister some loving advice.
First we looked at housing. We established that her old Lincoln Park apartment (one bedroom) would quadruple in cost to $3600 per month in midtown Manhattan. I assume that this prime location would give her unfettered access to the beautiful East River and $40/day parking spots.
She said she would have better access to Broadway shows. When I asked her how her life has been short-changed by having to wait six months for the three Broadway shows she has actually seen, she quickly moved on.
On to restaurants. She said that New York has the best restaurants in the world and one can get whatever they want around the clock. I reminded her that no one actually goes to those places, they just talk about how nice it would be if they could. And if the food is so great, then why do all those people stand around eating $6 hot dogs?
I guess “too Midwestern” would also mean she would get four extra ounces of steak for the same price in Chicago, but she wouldn’t have access to goat tripe at 4:00 AM.
Books, music, shopping—all were bantered about at the kitchen and I felt like I made a pretty good argument for man’s ability to survive if one had to shop at Marshall Field on Michigan Ave instead of Bloomingdale’s on Fifth Ave.
The final straw was coffee. She said the Big Apple had better coffee than Chicago and that was an important part of her daily routine.
So we added up
She whimpers and nods. “I promise.”
At this moment, Fletch breaks through the retreating travelers. He looks at their shell-shocked faces and shakes his head. He readily recognizes the victims of Hurricane Jen. “Hey, stranger, welcome home! How was your trip?” he asks while giving me a bear hug. He swoops down to grab my bags. Didn’t I say he was a keeper? “Jen, you left with two bags, but now I see four. You do some shopping?”
“I had to buy extra bags for all the treats I bought you.”
“I’ll bet.” His face is wreathed in an ironic smile. Apparently he didn’t care for last present I got him…a pink Ralph Lauren V-neck tennis sweater that just happened to fit me.
He notices Courtney and says a cautious hello as he takes in her tearstained countenance. I shake my head and whisper, “Don’t ask,” as we stroll to short-term parking.
On the drive back to the city, Fletch attempts to distract us with boring stories about work. Oh, sweetie, I love you, but do you really think anyone in this car cares about the IP-data-transport-telecom-bandwidth-blah-blah-whatever-it-is-you-do? Your job is to look pretty and keep earning fat commission checks, agreed? Agreed.
We get back to the city and drop Courtney at her high-rise apartment over by the lakefront. In the rearview mirror, I see her whip out her cell phone and one of our company’s business cards. She’s calling Chad! Stinking liar. I roll down my window and shout, “Get off the phone, whore!” as we pull away. Courtney smiles and give me a wan one-finger wave, phone cradled in her shoulder as her doorman grabs her bags.
“What happened to Courtney?” Fletch asks.
I sigh. “Mai tais.”
The What Street Journal?
----
Washington Times-Herald Opinion Page, March 6, 2001
$6 HOT DOG BETTER BE GOOD
Rarely do I feel the need to skewer a family member publicly, but recently my younger sister made a comment that deserves some scrutiny.
My sister, a successful high-tech something.com salesperson in her early 30s recently announced that Chicago was “growing a little too small” and she might be ready to move on. Hoping for the best, we thought that she might be ready to move a little closer to home. We were wrong.
She said that she thought the Big Apple was in her future because Chicago was just “too Midwestern.”
We decided to dissect this statement over breakfast. Having lived in the New York metropolitan area, I felt I could give my sister some loving advice.
First we looked at housing. We established that her old Lincoln Park apartment (one bedroom) would quadruple in cost to $3600 per month in midtown Manhattan. I assume that this prime location would give her unfettered access to the beautiful East River and $40/day parking spots.
She said she would have better access to Broadway shows. When I asked her how her life has been short-changed by having to wait six months for the three Broadway shows she has actually seen, she quickly moved on.
On to restaurants. She said that New York has the best restaurants in the world and one can get whatever they want around the clock. I reminded her that no one actually goes to those places, they just talk about how nice it would be if they could. And if the food is so great, then why do all those people stand around eating $6 hot dogs?
I guess “too Midwestern” would also mean she would get four extra ounces of steak for the same price in Chicago, but she wouldn’t have access to goat tripe at 4:00 AM.
Books, music, shopping—all were bantered about at the kitchen and I felt like I made a pretty good argument for man’s ability to survive if one had to shop at Marshall Field on Michigan Ave instead of Bloomingdale’s on Fifth Ave.
The final straw was coffee. She said the Big Apple had better coffee than Chicago and that was an important part of her daily routine.
So we added up
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