With all that "Bling"

REAL CONVERSATIONS THAT HAPPENED AT WORK

As I am standing by the coffee machine, salivating for my morning espresso:

"You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at me now but I used to be a punker,"

She said with her gray hair tied back in a pony tail, her comfortable lady jeans, bright blue oversized button down and squeaky white sneakers. She has a sweet quiet motherly voice and is very matter of fact.Through her big round glasses (which I definitely see having had a silver chain wrapped around her neck for most of her life) she says,

"Oh yeah, back in the 80's it was my time. The punk, the hip hop- it was so good, so fresh, so meaningful. I was such a punker. It was poetry back then. But now...now..."

She pauses, looks behind her to make sure no one is there,

"Now, I mean, it's shit" 

she whispers deviously,

"With all of the 'bling' and the 'hoes'. It's just so terrible. No, no... back in the 80s it was all real."

We keep it real around the office.

                                           
                                                              This is what I imagined

                                         

                                                  

                                             This is probably a more accurate portrayal:
                                                 

Buut, in all honesty, it was probably this

  

     

From: Anya and Twain To: Pretty Boy

"Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please"

Twain

Dear Pretty Boy,

Let's get our facts first.

You are tall
I am 5 feet short ( five one and a half to be precise!) You are "deadly good looking" and know pretty much everyone in the city who is cool and a bartender or secret door opener- basically you get free drinks in fancy places in Manhattan. 

Me, I'm just  "looking" and my only friends are the street kids I play basketball with at the elementary school by my house by the projects in Queens. We play hard then drink our Arizona Iced Teas to cool down. We open our own doors.

Your grandma wore white linen clothes and rode horses into her 80's. You learned class from her.

My grandpa cut holes in his sneakers where the big toe was because his feet would swell up when he walked. He held up his favorite pair of sweatpants with a clothespin and told hilariously inappropriate jokes about gynecologists and sheep. I learned a thing or two about class too. Damn right.

You're so smooth in your cashmere and you never break a sweat because everything is under control. You ARE the smooth operator (or what I always thought the song said "OOo babareda").

Well, I , I am a bit eccentric and no matter what I wear, my legs chafe in the heat and my frizzy hair accurately forecasts or more so, reaffirms, the humidity by growing outwards by square foot per % of humidity. 

But alas, I guess I can forgive you for all those things because you seem like a nice guy. 

I guess what I am saying is- I'll make an exception for you this once.

Sincerely,

The Wanderer

PS XO XO

PPS Call Me

PPPS. Check yes, maybe, most likely, hell yes! or definitely if you want to go out sometime

PPPS part 2- this letter holds second to my love letter to New Zealand and Mullet Boy
http://www.thearmenianwanderer.blogspot.com/2010/01/do-you-know-who-sings-this-adventures.html

I'm Back Baby!!

Enough is enough.

Though I have not been out of the country since the riches of India last year, that is by no means any excuse to have neglected myself or my audience of one of my ingenious writing. I beg for pardon. Therefore, henceforth, hitherto, exo facto, I shall begin writing again.

 "But my dear, about what shall you write?" one might ask. Aha! Here I shall slysly turn my head and and pout my lips and say something whimsically mysterious such as, "Oh my dear soul, you just wait and see. The best is yet to come..."

Anya in New York.