I was at the post office this morning and needed some stamps. (Stamps.com, I know, Dan Savage!) The cashier actually asked me what kind I wanted, which I’m never asked.
I spotted a lady of color and immediately asked, “Who’s that?” and the cashier replied, “Oh, Dorothy Height! She was involved with civil rights and marched with Dr. King.” He didn’t need to sell me on her because I was going to buy the stamps anyway (hello, lady of color!), but I later (in a cursory Google search) saw that she was not allowed to speak at the March on Washington (because #WOMAN) but fought for reproductive rights (because #WOMAN).
Ugh, my knowledge of U.S. history is shameful. (Yes, I was a history major.)
Anyway, I think these stamps put me in a very purpley mood because this was my dinner:
TBH, I feel pretty sick right now.
This morning at my boxing gym, I’m walking past the jam-packed training floor toward the ladies’ locker room when a trainer (whom I always see but have never spoken to) gestures at me. I’m still blasting Beyoncé so I remove my headphones before raising my eyebrows.
“There’s been a complaint,” Guy I Don’t Know says. “You need to smile more.”
My brain at 7:45 a.m.:
For the past 15 years or so, I’ve been aware of a woman who shares my name. She attended the University of Virginia around the time that I was in college and married a guy named Albert a few years ago. Occasionally, I’ll get email that was meant for her. For the past week, I’ve been receiving emails from the Shangri-La Hotel in Yangon (not Rangoon, interesting) asking me to rate my recent stay.
Whenever I get a reminder that Anny is out there doing something more fun than me (although what’s more fun than eating burgers?), I just remind myself that I secured firstname.lastname from Gmail way before my nemesis could. Blessing (AND A CURSE).
Earlier today, I finished Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon to White America by Michael Eric Dyson. Good stuff, even though his editors didn’t catch the correct spelling of Nikole Hannah-Jones’ name. I am currently reading The Sound of Music Family Scrapbook. (RIP, Charmian Carr.)
Last night, I received my most recent box from HelloFresh. If you’re not familiar, it’s one of those meal-prep kits (à la Blue Apron) geared toward people with too much discretionary income who can’t be bothered to buy food in a store.
I don’t get regular deliveries ($69 for six servings? NO THANKS), but if you continuously cancel your subscription, they’ll lure you back with a $25 discount every other month or so (maybe less frequently, I don’t remember). Unfortunately the chicken in yesterday’s box came delivered like this:
Gross, right? So obviously I sent them the above photo, and a really nice rep promptly replied with an apology and a note that they credited $33 to my account. Of course I’d already CANCELED my subscription by then, but maybe next time I’ll get that plus the regular $25 off? (And let’s be real: I used that chicken anyway. WASTE NOT, WANT NOT.)
Speaking of which, the customer service at Everlane is seriously UNPARALLELED. In April, I purchased a pair of the women’s slingback sandals, which I started wearing in May. About a week after I started wearing them, the snap enclosure broke on the left shoe:
I contacted Everlane, and that same day, a rep put in a replacement order, which was shipped before I even returned the original pair. But seriously a week or two after I started wearing the replacement pair, this happened on the right sandal:
I mean, I definitely should’ve learned my lesson (F me once, shame on you; F me twice, shame on me) but it’s impossible for me to find shoes that I like, and they sent me a third pair anyway (I should’ve kept the first since it was the opposite shoe).
In conclusion, bravo, Everlane, you’ve won my loyalty forever (and now I just slip my feet in and out).
- I’m obsessed with the podcast 2 Dope Queens, which I started listening to yesterday. I look like an insane person on my morning commute because I’m literally holding my stomach. Major LOL.
- I was watching part of the Republic National Convention on CNN today in the office, and I was HORRIFIED to see at least two Asian ladies (and one Asian guy somewhere) front and center. Like, WHY? Republicans hate you too! AND THEN THEY CAME FOR ME, you know? We get so little representation and the camera guys at CNN are zooming in on us at the RNC? Zoom in on the Second Amendment zealots!
- As I’m walking into work, this guy who’s a good 30 feet in front of me entered the building, glanced up and saw me, and dutifully held the door open—until I made a little “scamper off” hand motion to let him know that he gets the chivalry points and to please go ahead. ‘Cause I’m not rushing but thanks anyway.
Waiting for your laundry to dry late at night is the worst. I need a wife.
A few weeks ago, C invited me to spend the long weekend at the beach with her friend P and some other people. $150 for three nights in East Hampton sounded pretty good, considering that my cousin was trying to get me to subsidize her vacation in Westhampton for $240/night (no thanks) and my lady gym is charging $1,395 for two nights in Amagansett (HAHAHAHA).
Observations about my first time in the Hamptons:
- Shocker: There are a lot of white people there
- The beach was clean and not crowded, which confused me since I only know Coney Island and the Rockaways
- Most businesses are cash-only (as T pointed out to me later, rich people know how to stay rich)
P is an amazing organizer and had the foresight to make a Fresh Direct order for our first night. I had some It’s-It ice cream, which is an ice cream sandwich covered in chocolate. GENIUS:
Fun facts about my stay:
- The person who lives in the house where I stayed works for Ina Garten, which is the most Hamptons-y job I’ve ever heard
- One of my housemates was a sex-crimes prosecutor in Brooklyn, which thrilled me (she’s a real-life ADA Alex Cabot!)
- We left the key under the doormat pretty much all of the time, which makes me believe that half of the houses in East Hampton are accessible by a key under the doormat, at least during summer weekends
A few of us returned to the city midday Monday. I went to a douchey party in Williamsburg (redundant?) in an apartment where there were caterers, toilet paper with Donald Trump sound bites, and an entire bedroom dedicated to video games. Here’s a pic of the fireworks from the rooftop:
Moral of the story: Secure your air rights.
Earlier today, T advised me to update my Facebook privacy settings to opt out of new targeted ads. He then asked me if I’d seen the keywords that Facebook uses to select ads especially for me. My “ad preferences” include but are not limited to:
- Rings of Saturn
- Ice cream parlor
- U.S. Politics (Very Liberal)
- Lin-Manuel Miranda
- Elizabeth Warren
- Lori Greiner
- Robert Herjavec
- Kevin O’Leary
- George R.R. Martin
- Rafael Nadal
- Nicholas Kristof
- Junot Díaz
- Prenuptial agreement
Sounds about right.