... the fairest of them all?

Living in Chicago, the third-biggest city in the United States, is quite an experience. (Yeah, we lost "second-city" status to LA, but only in statistics, not in spirit!) As a college student, I rely on public transportation and my own two feet for most of my daily trips. This is a great way to save money and get exercise. However, it's made me extremely self-conscious about my appearance. Not self-conscious in a shy, don't-look-at-me-way, but self-conscious in a "alright, I probably rate an 8 today, I should work on that for next week!" way. The biggest problem is the mirrored windows that line almost every street in the Loop. When I am running errands for my boss, I can't help but stare at my reflection as I pass by, taking notice how unflattering these jeans really are, how lame my walk looks, how immature my unironed shirt comes off, and how my haircut belongs in the suburbs. It's prompted me to spend way too much money on jeans ($110, ben sherman, availabe at Macy's) and pay someone $50 to cut my hair (salon blonde, on north ave. in wicker park) which is a lot compared to my regular $13 cut at supercuts/hair cuttery/great clips, but less than what my roommate pays for his cut. I've also spent time trying to walk differently. This is the weirdest side effect of living in the city. Its also a little uncomfortable, but after doing it for several long walks on my way to job interviews or to the post office, I can't tell the difference anymore between my regular walk and my "sexy, mature, city-resident" walk. When I switch back and forth I get confused and eventually give up. Can you really train yourself to walk differently all the time? Or does it always have to be a conscious effort? I don't know. But I do know my ass looks better in the mirrored windows when I'm doing my "sexy, mature, city-resident" walk so it pays off, even if I'm the only one who notices. Well, me and the people working on the other side of the window. Maybe one of them will ask for my number soon! haha well not until I start ironing my shirts that is.

Witty title, snarky content

Blogs have become my newest addiction. I can't sit down in front of a computer with an internet connection without checking four or five different blogs to see if there is a new post, even though I just checked before I left the house to go to work/school. And once I get through the cycle of those blogs, of course I check again since in the six minutes that have elapsed, Perez may have found a new pic of Britney or gawker.com has skewered another book review. It didn't used to be like this; my addiction to myspace and facebook seem to pale in comparison of my dependecy on blogs. Let me tell you how it all began.

I started a new job that had me sitting in front of a computer for six hours a day. This was new to me, since I worked at restaurants and retail stores before this. I was a good worker in the beginning. I would diligently input all the data that was stacked in front of me, never straying to the internet fuction of the computer. But one day the pretty blonde who started working with me was staring a pink screen. I was confused; why wasn't she inputting her data?? I glanced over and saw the now-all-too-familiar perezhilton.com logo sprawled across the screen. I asked her what it was, she responded with a fact about the then-emerging relationship of Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn. Intrigued, I signed on. Five pages of celebrity pictures and gossip later, I was a fan.

I could check perez once and day, and that was enough. But then I realized he updated it throughout the day. So i would check twice, then three time, then as often as possible to end the monotony of data entry. It was officially a problem. My checking became so frequent, perez couldn't add pictues fast enough. I needed a new fix. Through some at-work googling, (or is it googleing? google-ing?) I found tmz.com. Then gawker.com. Then gofugyourself.com. Then thesartorialist.com. Then all the blogrolls of these blogs sent me into a blog-reading frenzy that has resulting in the favorites that I now frequent a minimum of five times daily.

And here I am now, starting a blog. And why? Because I ran out of postings to read. So I thought I would blog about it. Is that irony? No, it's the next stage of my addiction. Just watch me start posting five times a day. Actually, you probably won't have to worry about that since I don't possess the wit or snark or grammar to do this that often. But, you never know what horrible depths a depedency will throw you to.