Skylar Gets Swindled

Things were going pretty uncharacteristically fabulous in my life, and then two days ago I was brought back to reality by the most bougie homeless man to ever exist. His dietary choices mixed with my staunch gullibility once again beg the question, “How do these things always happen to you?!” to which I reply, “Shoot me in the face.”

Here’s how my most recent interaction with a hobo friend went down:

I was walking to the gym after work, stopped to watch the game going down at the West 4^th Street Basketball Courts, didn’t get the opportunity to yell, “AND 1!”, got bored and kept going. All of a sudden a man comes up to me and asks, “Excuse me, do you have a dollar?”

Now, everyone knows that the answer to this question is “No.” Not because you’re a bad person, or cheap, or a liar, but because homeless people run rampant and if I gave them all of my dollars I wouldn’t have anything left to impulse-buy Pretzel M&M’s with in my bi-weekly moments of weakness. At this time, I had nine single dollars in my wallet, which is a rarity, and as selfish as it may sound I was guarding them with my over-privileged life.

“No, I’m sorry,” I replied to the man who will now be known as Richie Rich.

“Would you mind buying me some food?”

Ugh, tug at my heartstrings, Richie. I literally don’t know what came over me, but I agreed.

“There’s a Morton Williams right around the corner.”

“Sure, let’s go.”

As we walk and chat about things like the warmer weather and allergies, I started to take stock of what exactly I was dealing with. Number one, he was wearing relatively new looking shoes. In my top 10 most recent homeless-guy experiences, 80% of them are wearing holey black Velcro New Balances with the pinky toe displayed prominently, so this was new. Second, he was wearing clean Adidas track pants and carrying a multi-pocketed Jansport that for the purposes of this story appeared much more high-tech than your standard shopping cart. Interesting, to say the least.

“I’m really trying to get my energy up,” Richie Rich said.

“That’s always a good plan.”

“Have you heard of Kombucha?”

Yes, Richie, I’m a white girl from the ‘burbs who befriends several health nuts, follows fitspo Instagram accounts, and pins quinoa recipes on Pinterest; of course I’ve heard of Kombucha.

“I really like the Multi-Green one. It’s a great detoxifier.”

WHAT WHAT WHAT.

“And I’m a vegetarian so it’s a great supplement to that type of diet.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

Everyone stop laughing immediately. I was already pretty keen to what was happening and it was not cool.

Richie continues to explain the different benefits of a variety of products typically found at Whole Foods and I just nodded in defeat. We arrive at the grocery store and still giving him some semblance of the benefit of the doubt, I think we’ll go straight to the prepared food section, he’ll grab a veggie sandwich and his fermented tea concoction, and we’ll be out.

Nope.

Richie grabs a fucking basket.

So there we are, the Odd Couple shopping for Tuesday Night Dinner. Richie throws Kombucha, premade samosas, two Vitamin Waters (Restore flavor), and a box of Boca burgers in his basket, along with a toothbrush and my trust. It crossed my mind several times to say, “Are you kidding me?” and dipset, but the small chance that this was maybe the only thing Richie would eat for the next couple of days coupled with me potentially being the girl who left a homeless man in the aisle of the grocery store with food he couldn’t pay for made me stay.

We get up to the checkout line and he tosses it all on the conveyer belt like he’s done this a few times before. The cashier looks at me out of pity and confusion, which is something I’m used to but was much more attentive to in this situation. I had let my conscience be my guide and now I was planning on speaking to her in my office the next morning and putting her on leave without pay, because she was an idiot.

Everything is rung up to a grand total of $52.11, which is more than I spend on groceries for myself for an entire week. I swiped with undetectable hesitation and kept the receipt to wipe off my shame later that night. Richie and I walk out of the store holding hands (jk) and I’m just about to launch into a full-on sprint when he says, “There’s a Duane Reade right down the street….”

Really? Really.

“Sorry dude, I’ve got to go.”

“Oh okay, thanks again then!”

“Ohhhh you are so welcome.”

If you think it ends there you clearly need to backtrack and read some more of my life tales because it most definitely does NOT, per usual.

The next night, I was walking with my boyfriend and another friend through the same area. I had just finished telling them this exact story, and they berated me for being naïve and oblivious, and I was agreeing but defending it all by saying, “Hey, at least my karma’s in check.”

We’re about to cross the street when a man rounds the corner.

“Excuse me, do you have a dollar?”

They both automatically say no and keep moving.

I start violently squeezing my boyfriend’s hand.

“THAT WAS HIMMMM!” I hissed.

Predictable “NO WAY”’s and “Are you sure?”’s and “GO YELL AT HIM!”’s were thrown around but obviously did not occur. Richie might’ve been wearing a Rolex and applying a mud mask to his face when he passed on his way to a candle-lit hot yoga class, but who could be sure.

So I’m back and arguably better than ever, friends. For my sake, I hope my life will return to a state of boring normalcy. It won’t, though, and you’re all welcome for that. Raise a glass of brewed yeast and bacteria encased in cellulose to being young and dumb; I have like three more weeks of being able to get away with it!

x

Gotcha Bitch: Country Music

As a recent country music convert, I’m unsure of the rules in terms of just how critical of the genre I’m allowed to be. That being said, I have ears and some fucking common sense, so I know horrible music when I hear it, and new country is pretty bad.

New country is riding the coattails of decent/old country by including a few key aspects that are supposed to make us forget that everything else coming out of the singer’s mouth is ridiculous. You think I’m going to overlook you talk-singing about a "corn star who’s the talk of the crop at every county fair" just because you mention her jew-lah suntan? Guess again.

I see through your honkey-tonk formula regardless of how often you compliment my badonkadonk, and I’m one step away from boycotting the city of Nashville in its entirety if things don’t shape up. Now pour me a shot of whiskey bourbon and let’s break down why name dropping Conway Twitty every five lines does nothing to distract from the fact that you’re probably wearing a cowboy hat with just one X.  

Blake Shelton – Boys ‘Round Here
Congratulations, southern gents, you’ve been pigeon-holed into being horrible conversationalists, worse dancers, and future Leukoplakia patients. “Chew tobacco chew tobacco chew tobacco spit” is the only thing Hank Williams can do up in heaven to keep himself from crying. I’m down for drinking the ice cold beer, but could we go somewhere else rather than down by the river? Jason Aldean, Kenny Chesney, and Eli Young Band have all brought me down there already, and I’m pretty sure there’s a dead member of The Band Perry floating around in it.   
Side note: am I the only one who’s surprised every time a southern accent comes out of Blake Shelton’s mouth? He looks so British to me. Unrelated to the topic at hand, but disconcerting nonetheless.

Jana Kramer – Why Ya Wanna
I honestly don’t even know what Jana Kramer looks like, but if I had to guess, I would assume that she’s blonde, has a decent bod, wears tacky airbrushed acrylic tips with rhinestones, and reenacted the scene from “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” where Kate Hudson cries and flings tofu at Matthew McConaughey screaming, “My boyfriend thinks I’m fat!”…except Jana was serious. This outburst naturally led to their breakup, which naturally led to her being a crazy girl and pulling an, “Oh my God I had no idea Ex-Boyfriend would be at the one bar we have in BFE but let’s not leave because I really want him to see me how’s my hair make me laugh so I look like I’m not perpetually miserable.” You’re right, he shouldn’t be the bigger person and ask you how you’re doing or give you a hug, because that would mean you don’t get to psychoanalyze the situation over Qdoba with your friends tomorrow afternoon or for three days after. Aren’t country girls supposed to be badasses who don’t take shit? Who let this whiney loser into the club?

 P.S. The video proves my hair color prediction was off. Everything else still stands.

When in doubt, shoot it out
Shooting is one of those things I think I’d actually be pretty good at if A) I had someone to patiently teach me how not to blow my face off and B) I wasn’t so hopped up on Zantrex all the time to keep a steady hand. Even then I’d still only be able to take out some rusty soda cans or a squirrel [if I thought he really deserved it]. Is shooting your boyfriend/girlfriend really a common thing? So your boyfriend shook you around and now you want to Lorena Bobbit him with a shotgun; that’s fine, Miranda Lambert, you do you. But then we get into Commies and terrorists and the second amendment and suddenly everyone thinks they’re Tex Williams in a pair of American Eagle Light Faded Wash Original Boot Cut jeans. Tuck it in your waistband and rub the corner of your concealed carry license for good luck whenever you need a boost; not every Toby Keith song needs to be taken as the gospel.

Natural disasters are radio gold
Most people’s thoughts following the tornado in Henryville, IN or Hurricane Sandy were, “Oh that is terrible! How tragic for those people! Let’s donate and help.” In Carrie Underwood and Little Big Town’s heads, these high winds and funnel clouds were in the shape of dollar signs. Tracy Lawrence’s “Texas Tornado” was revamped with a female edge as Carrie once again reminded us that her home state of Oklahoma has like, super bad weather, and LBT jolted us from our relaxing “Pontoon” vacay to get revenge on an ex. I guess earthquakes and avalanches don’t show how pissed off we are about our boyfriend forgetting our birthday; we have to rip his house off the foundation and hope Auntie Em made it to the cellar before it was too late.

The Entire Kip Moore Discography
I was Jedi mind-tricked into liking Kip Moore’s “Somethin Bout a Truck” when it first came out, and I hate myself for it every day. Yet again the ice cold beer thing got me (Corona and lime, get in mah belleh), but then he goes on to talk about a red sundress (“I HAVE ONE OF THOSE!”) and a creek (“I USED TO LIVE BY ONE OF THOSE!”) and corn (“I EAT THAT!”) and before I knew it I insisted on playing it every time it came on the radio despite everyone else insisting that it was god-awful. Fortunately, after he released a few more singles, I came to and realized that that fucker just follows the same cumulative song formula for every tune he writes. First we had a truck in a field and a girl and a potential one-hit-wonder, then he shoots back with “Hey Pretty Girl” and sorry-I’m-not-sorry, nothing about this “dance” feels right. I heard you the first time, Kip, I don’t need you to reiterate how badly you want to take me home just so we can sleep in separate rooms which illogically leads to me getting knocked up and having a shotgun wedding with you. My kiss that tastes like honey doesn’t want any of your “Beer Money,” it wants a divorce and full custody.

I know there are plenty of terrible new country songs that I failed to mention here, but browse the internet and you’ll see that even God hated “Truck Yeah,” so there’s no need to bring any more attention to it. Is this enough to make me stop listening to country music altogether? Not quite. Am I thankful that “5-1-5-0” has finally lost airtime, regardless of what it’s been replaced with? Every day.

Gotcha Bitch: Matthew McConaughey

Matthew McConaughey is one slick bastard.
The man is essentially doing what I have desired my whole life to achieve: do whatever the eff you want, don’t change for nothin’, and make cash mahney while doing it.

Technically, we could call him an actor. In reality, however, we all know that McConaughey most likely shows up to the set, reads over the script, says, “Yeah, I’m gonna say whatever comes to mind, actually,” and then goes and smokes weed in his trailer for three hours. I really don’t think we can call what he does “acting” simply because he isn’t.
He’s being himself.
In every single movie.
Seriously, every time.
Observe:

Failure to Launch: Plays a 35-year-old man-child who lives with his parents, has commitment issues, and is friends with Justin Bartha who is always type-cast as the goofy sarcastic friend. Has a chill playboy attitude, wears expensive-looking clothes, drives a sports car, and a cute twangy southern accent. Leaning against his love interest in the movie poster.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days: Plays a 30-something ad executive who has commitment issues and is friends with Adam Goldberg and Thomas Lennon, his goofy, sarcastic friends. Has a chill playboy attitude, wears expensive-looking clothes, and rides a motorcycle. Has a cute twangy southern accent even though the movie is set in NYC and his family is supposed to originally be from Staten Island. Leaning against his love interest in the movie poster.  

Ghosts of Girlfriends Past: Plays a 30-something fashion photographer who likes to hit it and quit it (thus having commitment issues), and is brothers with Breckin Meyer, who typically plays the sarcastic, down-to-earth, half-funny character. Has a chill playboy attitude, wears a suit pretty much throughout the entire movie, drives a sports car AND ghosts around with a pimped out Michael Douglas. Still has the twangy southern accent even though the movie is set in Massachusetts, which is unfortunate because with those looks and a Bahston accent I would practically lose my mind. Leaning against his love interest in the movie poster.

The Wedding Planner: Plays a 30-something doctor who is getting married (!) but is easily seduced by Jennifer Lopez. Justin Chambers is funny I guess (?). Is actually pretty nice and tries to be dedicated to his hot blonde fiancé but “settles” for a super-hot Latina…all while driving a nice car. Has a twangy southern accent in the country-bumpkin town of San Francisco, CA. Standing behind his love interest in the movie poster (?!).

Dazed and Confused: Plays a 20-year-old who looks like a 30-something-year-old man. Likes younger, high school girls, which is fine because no one should believe in commitment when they’re 20 and/or live in the 70’s. Surrounds himself with goofy, sarcastic, stoned friends, as well as Adam Goldberg. Drives a 1970 Chevy Chevelle Super Sport and wears a Ted Nugent t-shirt. Has a twangy southern accent because OH MY GOD the movie is set in Texas. Doesn’t lean on anyone but is definitely L-I-V-I-N.


Gotcha Bitch: Ne-Yo

It is impossible to get anything past me.

That's not actually true, as evidenced by my boyfriend's several successful attempts at surprising me with anything from M&M's to a TV to a freakin bed, but when I am given ample time to figure something out I am the master at observing the situation and cracking the code.

My most recent bout with being a sleuth came when I heard Ne-Yo's new song "Let Me Love You." When the radio announcer introduced the new tune, the first thing that popped into my head was a song by Mario of the same name, circa 2004. Of course, I currently have no idea how Ne-Yo's new song goes, because all I can think of is Mario's song, which led me to a life-changing epiphany:

Ne-Yo is a copycat.

It is my overwhelmingly correct opinion that Ne-Yo gains success from the previous accomplishments of other artists. Nice try, Popped Collar, looks like I figured you out. And unlike the girl in the Bacardi commercial I will not be swooned by your fedora.

Miss Independent - Raise your hand if the first person you thought of after reading those two words was Kelly Clarkson. She released her version during the heyday of girl power songs such as Destiny's Child's "Independent Women (Part 1)" and Christina Aguilera's "Can't Hold Us Down." Immediate success, giving lots of awkward middle school girls hope that society would not limit them to a life of huge foreheads and questionable bob haircuts (whattup). Five years later, Ne-Yo decided to recycle this success with his own version. "Omigah he is like the perfect man, he totally gets that I'm my own person I LOVE HIMMM," said other women. "Oh reeeeeal original," said I.

Think About You - This is Ne-Yo's David Guetta collabo. I believe the thought process went something like this: "People like dubstep. David Guetta makes dupstep popular. David Guetta worked with Usher. I am Diet Usher." Regardless of the melodic dissimilarities, "Think About You" and "Without You" are basically the same thing, because everything dubstep is the same thing, aka I'd rather bury my head in the ground like an ostrich than listen to it. I'd have a lot more respect for Ne-Yo if he had avoided the dubstep route entirely, but what would the world be without tantric beats and glow sticks flooding the radio airwaves? Lack of strobe lights is the reason for political unrest in Syria, count it.

Lazy Love; Sexy Love; Crazy Love - Ne-Yo isn't even innovative enough to not imitate himself. How many schizophrenics have you dated, sir? I'm afraid to ask, but considering the sheer amount of baby mama drama songs he has produced, I can only assume that his Number is way high, and we all know what that leads to, right? Syphillis and illegitimate children. Maybe hang up the falling in love fantasy and adopt a hit-it-and-quit-it mentality like the rest of the music community. It's working out phenomenally well for Taylor Swift.

So Sick - This isn't actually a copycat song. I just find it incessently funny when people tell me, "I'm so sick" and I reply, "...of love songs?" This song came out in 2006. I have a lot of friends.