Read Online 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 by Jen Lancaster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: United States, General, Humorous fiction, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Business & Economics, Women, Careers, Job Hunting, Unemployed women workers, Jeanne
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so tired I can’t even see straight.
Now I have to grab a cab so that I can sweat on a client during a lunch before I head to New York. Which, of course, means we can’t meet today YET AGAIN. Want to cry, but more likely will punch someone. Oh, and how are you?
Jen
**********
Jennifer A. Lancaster
Manager, Interactive Products, Midwest 312-555-2790
“This communication is for discussion purposes only and does not create any obligation to negotiate or enter into a binding agreement with Corporate Communications Conglomerate, Inc.”
----
Perhaps my first mistake was taking financial advice from a book titled Confessions of a Shopaholic. But when you’re desperate to raise sixty-five hundred dollars, you’re willing to embrace even the craziest of ideas.
Like spending an entire summer sweating your ass off in the back of a cab.
Or living within a budget.
Following in the divine Miss Becky Bloomwood’s Louboutin-clad steps, I decided I, too, would Spend Less Money.
“A lot of innocent muppets died for this piece,” Fletch says, running a skeptical hand over a hairy lime green ottoman in the too-trendy-for-words Gold Coast furniture store. “Tell me again what’s wrong with the couch we have now.”
“It’s icky,” I reply.
“That’s not what you thought a year ago when you threw a fit in Pottery Barn. If I recall correctly, you claimed your life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t own the Charleston model. You even threatened to stab yourself Dracula-style with a wooden slat from the back of the futon if I refused you.”
“I never said anything of the sort,” I say, attempting to look innocent. 35
He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. Then you were so excited when it arrived, you tried to shove the deliverymen out of the way to carry it up the stairs yourself.”
“Their overalls looked dirty, and I didn’t want their grubby paws on my clean new upholstery. Besides, I hated that futon more than pleather shoes and acid-washed jeans combined, so I was just trying to speed the process of getting it out of the living room and into storage.”
“I was glad to be rid of the futon, too,” he concedes. “ That’s why we bought the soft, down-filled couch. I still don’t get why we’re here looking at furniture we do not need.”
“Everyone and their brother owns our stupid sofa now. I’m tired of stepping into every apartment in the city and seeing my generic old furniture. It may as well be white with a black bar code and a label reading Couch . Where’s the originality? Where’s the creativity? I don’t want people looking at my furniture and thinking, ‘Oh, great, another yuppie lemming who ordered off page forty-three.’ I want them to exclaim, ‘What an exquisite collection! Jen, as always, your taste is second to none.’”
“Who are the ‘they’ in this scenario?”
“The stylish people we’re bound to meet sooner or later.”
“But we don’t know them?”
“Not yet. And we won’t ever if we don’t get some trendy new pieces.”
Fletch throws his hands in the air, completely resigned. “I certainly can’t argue with your logic.”
“See? I knew you’d agree.” Actually, he’s a lot less disgusted with me than he sounds. The way we bicker, people always think we’re on the verge of a breakup, but that’s totally untrue. We simply communicate better by arguing. We spend so much time fighting tiny battles, e.g., which was the better Darrin on Bewitched , 36 that we never seem to have any steam left over for big ones.
We wander around the store for a few minutes until I spot something that takes my breath away.
“Oh, Fletch, look, isn’t it dreamy?” I ask, caressing the side of the loveliest couch in the entire world. This magnificent piece of craftsmanship is covered in creamy taupe leather and shaped like a twin mattress standing on glossy cherrywood legs. Dotted with tufted buttons, the ends swirl up into delicate rolled espresso-colored suede
Now I have to grab a cab so that I can sweat on a client during a lunch before I head to New York. Which, of course, means we can’t meet today YET AGAIN. Want to cry, but more likely will punch someone. Oh, and how are you?
Jen
**********
Jennifer A. Lancaster
Manager, Interactive Products, Midwest 312-555-2790
“This communication is for discussion purposes only and does not create any obligation to negotiate or enter into a binding agreement with Corporate Communications Conglomerate, Inc.”
----
Perhaps my first mistake was taking financial advice from a book titled Confessions of a Shopaholic. But when you’re desperate to raise sixty-five hundred dollars, you’re willing to embrace even the craziest of ideas.
Like spending an entire summer sweating your ass off in the back of a cab.
Or living within a budget.
Following in the divine Miss Becky Bloomwood’s Louboutin-clad steps, I decided I, too, would Spend Less Money.
“A lot of innocent muppets died for this piece,” Fletch says, running a skeptical hand over a hairy lime green ottoman in the too-trendy-for-words Gold Coast furniture store. “Tell me again what’s wrong with the couch we have now.”
“It’s icky,” I reply.
“That’s not what you thought a year ago when you threw a fit in Pottery Barn. If I recall correctly, you claimed your life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t own the Charleston model. You even threatened to stab yourself Dracula-style with a wooden slat from the back of the futon if I refused you.”
“I never said anything of the sort,” I say, attempting to look innocent. 35
He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. Then you were so excited when it arrived, you tried to shove the deliverymen out of the way to carry it up the stairs yourself.”
“Their overalls looked dirty, and I didn’t want their grubby paws on my clean new upholstery. Besides, I hated that futon more than pleather shoes and acid-washed jeans combined, so I was just trying to speed the process of getting it out of the living room and into storage.”
“I was glad to be rid of the futon, too,” he concedes. “ That’s why we bought the soft, down-filled couch. I still don’t get why we’re here looking at furniture we do not need.”
“Everyone and their brother owns our stupid sofa now. I’m tired of stepping into every apartment in the city and seeing my generic old furniture. It may as well be white with a black bar code and a label reading Couch . Where’s the originality? Where’s the creativity? I don’t want people looking at my furniture and thinking, ‘Oh, great, another yuppie lemming who ordered off page forty-three.’ I want them to exclaim, ‘What an exquisite collection! Jen, as always, your taste is second to none.’”
“Who are the ‘they’ in this scenario?”
“The stylish people we’re bound to meet sooner or later.”
“But we don’t know them?”
“Not yet. And we won’t ever if we don’t get some trendy new pieces.”
Fletch throws his hands in the air, completely resigned. “I certainly can’t argue with your logic.”
“See? I knew you’d agree.” Actually, he’s a lot less disgusted with me than he sounds. The way we bicker, people always think we’re on the verge of a breakup, but that’s totally untrue. We simply communicate better by arguing. We spend so much time fighting tiny battles, e.g., which was the better Darrin on Bewitched , 36 that we never seem to have any steam left over for big ones.
We wander around the store for a few minutes until I spot something that takes my breath away.
“Oh, Fletch, look, isn’t it dreamy?” I ask, caressing the side of the loveliest couch in the entire world. This magnificent piece of craftsmanship is covered in creamy taupe leather and shaped like a twin mattress standing on glossy cherrywood legs. Dotted with tufted buttons, the ends swirl up into delicate rolled espresso-colored suede
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