the fox news christmas tree was set ablaze this week, as was my heart
i ate a lot of takis again and had some major heartburn. there are some mistakes you just aren't meant to learn from.
Hello, readers!
I have some good news this Sunday evening! Everything in my Chicago storage unit that’s in Chicago will be in my Bushwick apartment which is in Bushwick tomorrow! As we all know, this is a big moment for me. I will finally have a dresser, and I will also have a Kitchenaid mixer. I will have many other things, as well, but these are two very important items that I will be using on a daily basis. My clothes have been on the floor of my room here (they’re folded neatly I’m not a monster) since what feels like before I was born, and now I will finally have my dresser back to put those lil babies to rest. And why am I so excited about my Kitchenaid mixer, you ask? Well, first, dumb question. Second, I love makin’ dough in there. I make-uh the dough, and I use a wine bottle to roll it out because I do not have a rolling pin, so I make-uh really bad-uh homemade pasta. But the whole point is I fricken made that with the help of my beautiful mixer that I got in my (parents’) divorce. They asked me what I wanted when they were splitting everything up, and I said, “Please allow me to keep my dignity. And also the red Kitchenaid mixer.” A win-win.
This week on, What Is Even Happening? the Christmas tree outside of the Fox News headquarters in Midtown was set ablaze. Before I continue, I just wanna say that it’s super irrelevant and unnecessary to mention that he is a homeless man. A 75-year-old little lady in a pink beret who used to work as an editor at Random House would’ve done the same thing. How do I know this? I’ll never tell.* ANYWAY, when asked why he didn’t start fires outside of other media outlet headquarters like CNN, which is also in Midtown, the man said, “[there] wasn’t a tree outside CNN.” This is a very good point. Later — and this is an out-of-context statement but an important one — he said, “I didn’t do it. I’m going home. Anybody got a cigarette?” Someone get him a cigarette! But don’t give him the lighter.
*xoxogossipgirl
This week I resigned from my job at Warby Parker because everyone (including two customers) r o a s t e d me for my sweater vest. If there’s one thing I will not stand for, it is making fun of my sweater vest. And also discrimination. Also war. It goes discrimination first, then war, then roasting sweater vests. Actually, because of how recent it was that this happened, I’m putting the sweater vest at the top. This order is likely to change.
For people who knew me in my past life as a clumsy lil girl, I was notoriously concussed. I can’t tell if “notoriously” is the correct word to use here, but I’m also not asking for any of you to tell me. All (some) of my concussions were sports-related — the first one being from falling down the stairs during a high school volleyball practice. Sports-related. There are some things that I think are important to bring with you from your past life, and there are some things that you should absolutely leave behind. Unfortunately, I am not legally allowed to choose which things I can bring. The concussions happen to be things that are sticking with me. Now, I’m not saying I’m concussed; it would be a HIPPO violation for me to tell you about someone’s medical history. But I will say that I have a minor head injury from tipping a coat rack and having all of the metal machinery (a bowl and a coffee maker) fall off it and directly onto my head at work. I know what you’re all thinking: Kerry, e n o u g h with the drama! But hey, I can’t help it! I love to spice things up. Anyway, the doctor said I’m not really supposed to be on screens for about a week, so I went to see a movie right after, and I’m still writing this newsletter on a computer because I never let down my fans. Could you imagine if I was dedicated enough to handwrite each and every one of you this week’s newsletter (this would include sending one to Whoopi Goldberg because I like to tell myself that she subscribes)? This would never happen. I am prone to hand-cramps.
Not to completely change the subject because I never do that, but I have something else to talk about now and have no way to smoothly transition.
There’s something about getting your nails done that makes life seem like it’s going well all the time. With clean, gel-manicured, colorful nails, I have something to distract myself from my anxieties. Sure, my teeth are grinding down by the minute*, but my hands look amazing. I know I can’t afford it, and I know this sounds laaaame, but getting my nails done changes the way I go about my day. Looking good makes me feel good. I’ve been wearing lipstick every day and getting it on my coffee mugs — grandma behavior. I’m starting to take after my grandma: makeup, jewelry, nice things, nails done. My mom always tells me that I remind her of my grandma. Sometimes, she sees my side profile and thinks she’s looking at her mom. I can never tell what I look like. I can’t see it when people say I look like my dad and the Cunninghams or my mom and her mom. I can only see it when people say that I look like a model. ;)
*if my dentist subscribes to this newsletter I want her to know that I do have my nightguard but that it is in fact sitting on my nightstand
The other day when I was getting some work done in a coffee shop (what work, Kerry? were you researching glasses? you work at a glasses store. anyway, it’s none of your business perhaps i’m writing an award-winning screenplay you’ll never know.), a woman came up to me and touched my Doc Martens that were on my feet and said and I quote, “It looks like you might be selling your Chelsea boots soon, and I just wanna say that I’m really interested in buying them if you want to sell them right now.” I have several questions about this that I didn’t get to ask her because she disappeared almost immediately after. My first question is: What gave her the idea that I was going to be selling the shoes that were currently on my feet? There was no sign that I wrote next to them saying, SELLING SHOES ON MY FEET. $4 OR BEST OFFER. My second question is: Did she think that I had an extra pair of shoes with me that I could put on right after selling her the shoes I was wearing so that I didn’t walk home barefoot? Were we gonna trade shoes? That’s something I’d really like to know if I ever see her again. My third and final question is: What kind of person are you? I’ll take that question off the air. Soon after, when I was walking home, a rat used my foot that was in my shoe to get a better hop up onto a step. And for that rat, I have only one question: What kind of person are you?
My mom sold my lil baby 2005 Toyota Rav 4 named Jamaal the other day, and I didn’t get to give him a formal goodbye (tip my hat to him and say so long, sucker). So to commemorate the end of an ear (whoops typo I meant era), my friend photoshopped me on the roof.
Not to make this moment sadder than it needs to be, but this really feels like the final stages of my life before my family split up and I moved to another part of the country. Soon, everything I own will be here with me in New York, except for the car that allowed me to fly down Lake Shore Drive as I cried about how everything that I knew was about to be pulled out from under me. Who knew a car could feel like family? So long, Jamaal. Don’t forget to write me back. Say hi to the kids for me.
Okay, y’all. That’s enough from me this week. My manager at work caught a typo in my last newsletter, and I’ve yet to deal with that trauma, so I’m gonna do us all a favor and check myself before I wreck myself — just like when I was REKT for my sweater vest. I also just want everyone to know that I looked cool as hell and that if you can work a sweater vest, wear it. You’re a fashionista, baby!
In the wise words of Cher, I will leave you with this:
WHOOPS, sorry, that was the wrong one.
Back to work, ladies!