Montreal

Yesterday was the first day at work that I've taken the stairs.
Let me tell you why.

Once upon a time exactly a year ago, I went to Chicago. I believe you may reminisce my travels here.
While my mom was off doing dentist things, I got to stravaig about the city by myself.

One morning, I went to go eat breakfast in the ADA building. I went up the elevator with some other people, got my breakfast, paid for it, and sat in the corner and read Gone With the Wind until I had finished my frosted flakes.
Once I was done, I walked back into the hallway, but I didn't feel like taking the elevator again. I wanted to be slightly healthier and take the stairs (even though it was only like 2 or 3 floors up).
I opened the door to the stairs and began going down. I heard the door close behind me. Then I see this taunting "notice" on the wall that said something like:

"The stairwell is locked from the inside. MUAHAHAHA!!! You've been TRAPPED. If you need to get out of here, proceed to use the phone to the left to make one  of the most embarrassing phone calls of your life to security. Have a great day!"

So I called security.
"Yeah, hi, I'm locked in the stairwell..."
"Alright, I'll send someone to you shortly."

And a nice guy came and got me, and I was able to escape that mocking stairwell. I'm sure that happens all the time, but I felt less like Princess Peach and more like a bumbling idiot for having to be rescued from the stairwell of a skyscraper.

I would just like to know their plan for if ever there was a fire. Do they still plan on using the elevators then?

Anyway, since then I've been hesitant about taking the stairs.
Anywhere.
Any stairs.

The other day, I was putting away some files at work.
These were big files- like 400 page files- and heavy.
When these huge files are outside of the cabinets, they leave these holes between files, so in order to put them in properly, you have to move back everything surrounding it, and then plop it in.
So I was plopping in a file, but it slipped and fell against my thumb, and that's the true story of how I got four paper cuts at once.

#accountinginjuries

One time, I had to write this essay that was 1000 words.
So I drew a picture.

Not based on a true story,
TWS

Script

I feel like sometimes "Amen" could be the Hebrew equivalent of "True story".

Luke 23:43
John 6:53
Matthew 26:34

It kind of works.

Amen,
TWS

Pears

Valet parking is one of the most lucrative institutions of our time.
Did I say lucrative?
I meant to say ludicrous.
Because it's ridiculudicrous.

I just made a new word. Yay me!

The other night, I went to this fancy party. It was at a very nice restaurant, and the party and the food and the people were great (and nothing like the video).
But the valet was terrible.
Let me break it down for you.

You remember this post where I listed get-rich-quick ideas and most of them involved some kind of vehicle exploitation?
Add valet to that list.

Since it was a fancy party for the firm, I didn't have to pay for the "service", but I did have to hand over my keys to a very corpulent, gold-toothed worker and tell my name to his scraggly sidekick.

And people always want to spell Jansen with an O for some reason.

But these people didn't even have a booth. Or an organized system. Or any real appearance of employment. They were just standing in the driveway, wearing matching outfits, and somehow obtaining possession of people's vehicles.

Valet.

*party begins*
*party ends*

Let me tell you how valets are supposed to work:
At our hotel in Cincinnati, we had to get valet parking. Whenever we wanted to go somewhere, we'd call, and in about 10 minutes, they'd have our car right out front, warm and running.
They were fast and nice and kind and smart.
And that's how valets are supposed to be.
You know, like, convenient.

Mike and I walked out with a group of coworkers at about 9:30. They took our tickets and slowly began bringing around the vehicles. One by one, people slowly leave. And remember how I said there was no valet  booth? The workers were sorting and organizing the tickets and keys on the hood of some Mustang. With a flashlight. It was one of the most unprofessional things I've ever seen.

And then the fat one pressed the button on one of the keys, and a car lit up in the adjacent parking lot. And then the other one gave the keys to the owner so that the owner could get his own car.

IS THIS A SELF-SERVICE VALET?!?!?
The outrage:  then he tipped her.

So because of this disorganization, my tickets was one of the last cars that they dragged out of the sewer or wherever they put the cars, even though it was one of the first tickets they were given.
I tippeth not.

And they pushed my seat back. I was like, really? You have to adjust my personal car settings because you're moving it twenty feet? Awesome. People do this when they change my oil and I can't figure it out. It's like they absolutely must be comfortable for the 14 seconds that they're driving my car. 

Also, on the way home there was a traffic jam on  I-16  because the City of Savannah likes to do road work in the middle of the night and move traffic to one lane.

I know a lot of you are like, "Allie, oh em geezy. These are such rich people problems. Get off your hai-horse and take a chill pill."

Bad business just annoys me though. Especially when I see things that are a problem that could easily be fixed. I wish I could be a bad-business-fixer-upper. I guess that's how consulting got started.
And consulting is another entirely ridiculudicrous business.

Interrobangs look like ears,
TWS

Frittatas

Let's talk about fat models.

I personally do not like fat models because when I'm shopping online, I really don't want to see things like this:

If you go to the website, you can see how the dress is actually supposed to fit [see mannequin].
Compare how the peplum is being stretched out across her enormous midsection.
And those poor shoes- having to hold all that weight up.
And that color? That much color all in one place makes her kind of look like the cookie monster.
(maybe she is and that's how she got so huge???)

I know this probably makes me a horrible person and an eating disorder enthusiast, but there's a point behind this, I promise.
Models this large do not make the clothes look good nor do they convince me that the clothes would look good on myself.
#model fail
Also, at this point, we're really just promoting obesity and that it's okay to have Type II Diabetes by the time you're 24.
#social fail

I don't think scrawny anorexic chicken legs modeling is the way to go either. Models should be displaying normal sized body types. "Normal", to me, still encompasses a wide range of weights for girls (100-150 lbs).

But close to 200?
No.
You shouldn't be a model.

And if you think about it, obesity should be classified as an eating disorder,
TWS