It's Not That...

...I'm sick of talking about myself. I mean, really, how could that ever get old? (It can't) It's not that I don't have anything interesting going on either. (I do!) It's just that I've been really busy at work, which is an annoyance I have to learn to deal with.

Anyway, I have an event to go to tonight, so either I'll write about that or you'll be subject to hearing about my dream last night. It was really weird and can be spewed out in just a few sentences, so...

I'll be back. Hopefully normal posting will resume shortly.

In the Spirit of Narcissism...

Today I had a picture taken of me for the company web site. While I know that most people claim to be very non-photogenic for the sake of being humble, I truly do take horrendous pictures (and as you know, I don't embrace humility). In other words, you know I would admit to taking good pictures if I did. In fact, I'd probably brag. But, again and sadly, tis not so.

So, getting to the point. I had the girl who took my picture email it to me so I could, umm, fix it. At that point, I went so far as to sending it to The Skeeze, who is a graphic designer. I requested that he please (please!!!) make peace with my imperfections. I wish that I could put up the "Before" and "After" shots for all to see, but I don't want my mug all up on the internet for a day. Therefore, I will illustrate the drastic difference with the following "Before" and "After" photos. Enjoy:

The World is Conspiring Against Me and This is How I Know:

Two Hour Delay at the Airport:

Now, considering that I fly in and out of the city at least two times a month, I've been pretty considerate of your collective attention span for not having bitched too much about the misery that is flying in/out of NYC airports. In order of hatred: LaGuardia, JFK, Newark (Yeah, it's in New Jersey. So?).

I can not elaborate enough how much a weekend trip (that's a day and a half, mind you) is ruined by flight delays. I can tell you in all honesty that I have been delayed EVERY time I've flown in or out of the above-mentioned airports. That's at least 14 times in the last few months. This past Friday I left my office at 3:30 p.m. (which pisses the boss off a bit) and didn't arrive in Orlando until 12 a.m.

The newest feature of your flight out of NYC is sitting on the runway for two hours. Instead of just alerting customers that the flight will be delayed (so they can go about life and not risk their jobs to leave early for a delayed flight, uh hem), the airline would rather you board the plane and sit on the runway for a few hours. D was fortunate enough to sit on the runway for 11 hours last month! He was flying from Boston to Chicago. That's usually a hour and a half flight. The plane had no water or food on it.

There is no end to how irritating this is becoming. I'm seriously considering canceling my flight to Miami this weekend. It is that bad. I'm getting pissed off just thinking about it.

Airport Security Stole My Perfume, Two Sticks of Mascara, Lipgloss...

Granted, I knew that I shouldn't be bringing them on my carry-on, but since I've gotten away with it before, I thought I would try it this time as well. Plus, I figured I would check my luggage if they found my stuff. Nope, they threw it away. I told them that, in that case, I was just going to check my luggage. "Nope, you can't. Once you're through, you can't go through again Watch the news," said the considerate airport representative.

I'm pretty sure this new tactic is illegal. The perfume alone was full and $80. I didn't see anything on the news about the airport stealing your goods once you've gone through security. I'm convinced that they need to give you an option. Did anyone else know/hear about that?


The Air Link Driver Threatened Me After the Super Shuttle Driver Dissed Me:

When I arrived at JFK last night, I called Super Shuttle, which is the service I use to get home cheaply. "20 minutes," barked the helpful (not very), custom-retention-sensitive (couldn't care less if she never heard from another custom again) and not-rude-at-all (she was a bitch) representative on the end of the phone.

"Can I pay with a credit card?" I asked.

"You can do whatever you feel like."

"But can I pay the driver or do I pay over the phone?"

"Do whatever you want."

"So the driver accepts credit cards?"

"Yes, do whatever you want. He'll be there in 15 or 20 minutes."


Forty minutes later and he wasn't there. A driver from another service (AirLink) asked where I was going and said he could take me home. After sitting in his van for 30 minutes, watching as he scrounged up passengers, another ex-Super Shuttle customer and I started getting a bit pissed. We could have been home. We asked him if we were leaving. "You can get out of the van if you want, I don't care." Thanks for answering the question, dick. I said that we wanted to stay, but we also wanted to leave. "You're last," he threatened me. Fuck you, dude. I took my luggage out and she and I shared a cab home. This decision, however, wasn't made until an hour and a half after I landed. My saving grace is that his attitude costed him the extra time he would now have to waste scrounging up two more customers. Sucker. I did, however, feel bad for the other people in the van.


Spinach!

In non-airport related news, I ordered a mixed greens salad today. "There's no spinach in it, right?"

"No. No spinach."

As you can imagine, half of the salad was spinach. I didn't know that there were even establishments left who would even bother offering it at risk of being sued. On that note, I do feel a little sick right now...

Kindred Spirits

My client and I

Everyday at the office should be similar to the one I had yesterday. One of our clients was in from out of town, so I took him out for drinks down the street.

As soon as I heard him order a Sapphire and tonic, I knew this was a no holds-barred event. I ordered my Sapphire dirty and he proceeded to tell me how disgusting it is to watch a woman give birth. “You watched?!” I queried. “You’re not supposed to watch! You should have just stayed up at her head.” He agreed, “Yeah, she thought I’d never want to have sex with her again after watching that, but she’s pregnant with our second, so there goes that theory.”

Over drink two we discussed the national health programs in Finland, Sweden and England.

Over drink three we talked about paper production and Greenpeace.

Over drink four we discussed renting the bar out for a night and bringing in a d.j.

Over drink five we actually proposed this idea to the owner and threw out a round number ($2,000) as a prospective bar fee.

I went to the bathroom at this point and demanded he order me no more drinks.

Over drink six I decided to email a few people back so as not to feel guilty for drinking on the job. Here’s an example email:

“Hi Kay, I’m soooo sorry. I’ll email her shortly. At a meeting that’s running over a lot. The cup runneth over? Yes, something like that. Whoa... Talk to you soon!”

What can I say? I’m a professional.

At this point, it was already past 6 p.m. (it was a three hour meeting - and really, we did cover a lot of ground). I decided it was definitely a good idea to go back into the office to get some more work done. Here I ran into my boss who was interested in hearing about my meeting. I tried to speak clearly, but it only took her a few words to figure out that, "You're buzzed."

"It's all his fault," I said, properly blaming it on someone who was not present to defend himself.

Fortunately, my boss didn't seem to care too much. She left. The receptionist was still here, however, so she was privy to me telling her who in the office likes to poop a lot. I'm not kidding.

Then my phone rang. It was the client who I had just left, telling me that he thinks we are kindred spirits.

On my way home, I met up with the Skeeze, made fun of a few people on the train, wondered aloud why Oprah needs to grace every single one of her magazine covers and explained to the Skeeze how you know you've had a successful meeting when you get the 'Kindred Spirits' call.

"I mean, you have received the 'Kindred Spirits' call, haven't you?!"

He hadn't. He is clearly not as effective and slick as me. And, by 'slick' I mean blubbering at the mouth, drunk emailing people, talking about your colleagues' bowel movements and stealing seats on the train.

I'm Running for President!

Yes, this is me (and the odd little clown face that follows me around)
President of my company's building that is. You see, every morning I am forced to wait for the incompetent elevator to mozy its way down to ground level. I'm on the third floor. I would love to just use the stairs. Problem is the doorman will not let anyone use the stairs to go up, only to go down (escape, so to speak). Something about the messengers coming up and stealing stuff. I don't buy it.

Anyhow, after waiting for the elevator a few minutes too many this morning, I starting spreading my propaganda to my co-elevator riders. ("What great exercise we're missing out on!") The elevator was full of, "Yes" "Yeahs" and "Yayys." I had really struck a chord; let these people know that, no, they are not the only ones who feel this way about the building politics. "But the owners..." they countered. "It's majority rule," I informed them.

The lady whose office is on the second floor was, by far, the most spirited and excited about my political agenda. As I left the elevator, I asked my audience, "So are you going to vote for me?" Of course, they all answered in the affirmative. My colleague and I walked off the elevator and she declared that I was her hero.

"As any president should be..." I replied.

Two New Signs for NYC

This sign needs to be plastered all over the city
A while ago I mentioned that my friend Aaron is a better person than I'll ever be because he religiously carries around a plastic baggy to clean up his dog's crap.

"But it's all warm and gooey," I whined.

"Yeah, but how would you feel if you stepped in it?" He challenged.

In my mind, I thought that I'd rather someone else step in it than have to pick it up.

Today karma bit me in the ass. Who even knew that karma paid you back for your thoughts? I mean, I'd totally understand if I actually had a dog whose poop I failed to pick up, but punishment for the hypothetical is uncalled for.

So yeah, on my way to work this morning, in my nice leather shoes, I slipped into some mushy, soft stools. As I scraped my shoes on the sidewalk, I thought about what I would do to the dog owner had I seen him leave it there, in the middle of the street, no less. First, I thought I'd pick it up with my bare hands and throw it at him, whilst yelling some derogatory phrases and childish putdowns about him and his mom. Then I realized that this method would involve me picking up shit with my bare hands. So I moved onto a fantasy wherein I pick the shit up with a leaf and do the same. Finally, I envisioned picking it up with a leaf, running ahead of the perpetrator and putting it under his next step. I would then turn around, say nothing and assume he or she got the point.

As I walked further down my block, I saw the soup kitchen for the homeless and realized something pretty disturbing:

In the spirit of posting signs, this might also be a good one...

The Obligatory 9/11 Post

Some guy walked past me today and yelled, "Happy 9/11. Too bad we didn't lose more!"

I'm going to side with sarcasm and dry humor on this one. Perhaps even go as far as to say it was an abstract coping mechanism. He didn't offend me; just annoyed me like anyone else who speaks to me in the morning on my way to work.

Here's my brief September 11th memory and ultimate conclusion. I was living in Chicago at the time. I was trying to sleep-in that morning as I was working 4 jobs (not kidding), but my phone was ringing off the hook. It wouldn't stop and I was pissed because I never got to sleep. Finally my roommate, who had been let off work early, ran into my room screaming, "The world's at war!" I stumbled into the living room and watched as the planes slammed into the World Trade Center.

My roommate suggested we go to lunch, which I remember felt disrespectful in some way. (Ironically, she worked a night job at a restaurant. She came home from her shift that night saying that she couldn't believe people were going out to eat. Wait - didn't you suggest lunch earlier?)

Aside from the melancholy feeling that filled the air, the conspiracy theories that were sent via email chain letters and Chicagoans' predictions that the Sears Tower was next (my boyfriend at the time worked there and was subject to mock emergency exit drills from the 83rd floor down), life did not change much. I was not personally affected, but was sympathetic.

I heard this weekend on the news that the people who lost loved ones on Flight 93 are disturbed that they are not getting as much sympathy as those who lost family members in the WTC. Calm down, you both got a movie. Our collective attention can only be divided so much. In my opinion, unfortunate and unfair deaths occur around the world daily. I am just as sympathetic to those Iraqis I never knew as I am to any American I never knew. Our losses are no more tragic than theirs. While ours were great, there exist much worse.

American or not, all should be remembered equally.

Good Marketing

Fred Flintstone Then:
Fat, Slothy, High Blood Pressure, Gluttonous.

Fred Flintstone Now:
An icon for good health, a nutritional role model, the symbol of a balanced diet, still fat.

Get to the Point, Yo.

The other night I was out with my friend who works for a certain rapper's clothing company. Hint: It's Nelly's. She was excited because a bunch of the young, rich, single owners of other clothing companies were going to be out with us. After several shots of Patron, we got to talking to some guy who was even drunker than us.

He was stuttering something along the lines of:

“I-I-I-I am goin-going-going-to-to-ba-de-ba-de-ba-de the-the-the Hamptons….”

I couldn’t handle it anymore, so I looked at him and asked him if he could, please, “spit it the fuck out already, will ya?”

That’s when my friend gave me an elbow jab to the side and informed me through her teeth that “He has a stutter!”

I'm going to go ahead and classify this one as:

“Things that you should have told me before I took ten shots of tequila, for 100, please.”

Oops.

A Legitimate Question With No Real Good Answer

The scene: My cousin and I are sitting on the couch, glued to the television set, which is spewing out the drama of Laguna Beach high school students.

My Cousin (Age 29): At what point do you think we will no longer be entertained by high school students' lives?
Me (Age 26): I have no idea, but if it doesn't stop soon we might be accused of having a mild case of pedophilia.
My Cousin: Scary.
Me: Yeah. Sad.

If Only Gigi Were a Couples' Therapist...

Looks like our generic boyfriend and girlfriend here are having trouble keeping it spicy in the sack. In Scene 1, they visit a traditional therapist. In Scene 2, they follow Gigi's orders. Which method do you think is most effective?

Scene 1

(Click to enlarge)

Scene 2

(Click to enlarge)

This Biting Feeling.

I thought I'd ignore the fact that I spent the whole weekend with D in Chicago in favor of writing about my experience at the bagel shop this morning. After all, I'm not sure why anyone would want the play by play of my weekend, but then again, I'm not sure why anyone would want to hear about my toasted bagel with cream cheese and the schizo standing in line ahead of me. As an aside, the fact that this blog is giving me anxiety issues has some seriously creepy implications. One of which is that D thinks I'm kind of a dork. I totally am.

Of course, he follows this sentiment by asking, "Why don't you ever talk about me on your blog?" To which I respond, "I think people get bored when girls talk about their boyfriends." All of this brings us in a full circle, back to me wondering whether talking about my bagel shop is any more interesting than D? Hmm...

Anyway, here's the rundown of Labor Day weekend 2006:

I'm totally photogenic

Friday
Took an early flight. Was delayed for an hour at LaGuardia (as usual). Arrived. Measured D's wall for a future mosaic I'm making him. Frolicked. Went to sushi. Went out to a few clubs. Went home. Frolicked again. Forgot to press record. Damnit.

Saturday
Picked up the Starbucks equivalent of a McDonald's Egg McMuffin for breakfast. Got one hour massages (D's treat). Went to the liquor store and bought Bloody Mary mix; Vodka. Headed out on his friend's boat. The Chicago skyline is amazing when viewed from Lake Michigan. Tons of degenerate whores were mingling in an area of the lake called the "Play Pen," where the nouveau riche come to show off their debt. I mixed Bloody Marys for five (blue cheese stuffed olives and lemons as garnish). Went to wash my hands in the boat's lower level and proceded to projectile vomit into the toilet due to motion sickness. I was sick the next six hours. Everyone else had a great time. We got home and fell asleep at 7:30. Missed the dinner I had planned with an old college friend and his girlfriend. Didn't wake up until 9:00 the next morning.

Sunday
Our nine month anniversary (yes, we celebrate monthly). Went to Wishbone - my fave Chicago breakfast spot. Went to D's gym, ran around the indoor track, laid out by the rooftop pool where we ordered Bloody Marys and read the NY Times Magazine. Went to his cousin's housewarming party where I listened to his whole family argue in Russian for three hours, as they got annihilated by warm vodka. (The rumors about Russians and their vodka are true). Went out to a few bars and a club. Home by 2 a.m.

Monday
Made D breakfast. Had lunch with my friend Sam and his girlfriend (the couple I was supposed to meet on Saturday night). Headed to O'Hare as we planned aloud how I was going to pull off moving to Chicago within the next eight months. I sat at the airport for two hours and then on the runway for another hour (Flight delayed again). Got to LaGuardia and realized that I could take the bus all the way from LaGuardia to a stop a block away from my house. Two dollars. Woohoo! I'm big on the saving money tip lately, so this was great. Got home, talked to D, went to bed.

Why Customer Service Employees Are So Rude…

Why yes - I did do this image myself. How'd you guess?
While I’m certainly not an advocate of rude employees—especially in the morning—I can understand why enduring redundant stupidity might make an eight dollar an hour employee cranky. For example, here's what the guy working at my corner deli this morning had to listen to:

Lady in front of me: I’ll have a sesame bagel toasted with lox cream cheese
Me: I’ll have a wheat toasted with lox cream cheese.

Two minutes later. My bagel’s ready. Her bagel is not.

Lady in front of me: How is hers done before mine? I ordered my cinnamon bagel with cream cheese before her.

I grabbed mine and started walking out—because, really, why is she bringing me into this?

Lady in front of me: (As I walked out) You guys are a mess this morning. I ordered a multi-grain bagel with cream cheese before her and hers came out first. What does it take to get a toasted raisin bagel with cream cheese?

I don't know how he replied, but I would have aplogized (because the "customer is always right"), saying, "Sorry lady, but all of your personalities can’t eat for the price of one."

In Chicago...

Thanks for all the comments and good lovin'. Special thanks to Johnny Triangles who is trying his damndest to get me to convert to Conservatism, and all you other cheap bastards who will start bringing your own coffee to work with you starting Tuesday. A few words to live by: Do it with confidence.

In Chicago for the weekend and I plan to post, so stay tuned.

And no matter what nonsense "bufflo" tries to tell you about me being nice in real life - it's all lies! Lies I tell ya! I'm mean.Very, very mean...

Synonyms for "Cheap," Compliments of my Office

At the beginning of summer I decided that I was spending way too much money on iced coffee, so I decided to start making it at home and bringing it to work with me. I brought in an ice cube tray and some half 'n half, and I was in business. Every other day or so, I brew a pot of coffee before bed and put it in the refrigerator. In the morning I bring some to work with me in a recycled plastic water bottle. It kind of looks like poop water from the exotic springs of Figi. (I don't work for Figi's competitor, but wouldn't it be funny if I did? On that note, Aquafina - are you hiring?)

When I arrive to work, I take out my little ice cube tray, pour my coffee in a glass and add my half 'n half. I'd say it saves me about $20 a week. Since I'm cheap, this is definitely worth it.

My coworkers' reactions to my little production are not mixed:

"Oh, how clever. Coffee is really expensive."
"That's so smart. I should do that."
"You're probably saving a lot of money."
"How frugal of you."
"Very economical."
"You're making me feel bad for buying my coffee in the morning."
"That is such a good idea."

Of course, the look on their faces, combined with the fact that no one else has started doing it, says it all: "You are a cheap, cheap bitch."

Why yes I am (I just didn't know there were so many kind ways to say it).

By Golly, I’m a Conservative!

Okay, ‘tis not true, but check out the mounting evidence:

The Starbucks Situation

People love to hate Starbucks. Why is this? Is it because Starbucks puts the little ma and pa shops out of business? If so, let’s review: The ma and pa shops provide jobs only to one or two people—sometimes three. Starbucks, on the other hand, supplies jobs to thousands. If the ma and pa shops want to stay in business, they need to get competitive. That’s how it works in a capitalist society. If you don’t like it, move to Sweden.

If you hate Starbucks because their coffee sucks, that’s a totally different situation with a simple resolution: Don’t buy it.

Is there something that I’m missing? Do they promote slave labor? Are they not contributing to society? I don’t get it. Please fill me in.

Claiming that 9 to 5 Jobs are for Boring Corporate Robots.

Yeah, some are, but this claim is so 1998. It's usually the claim of artists who are working night jobs while pursuing their creative dreams. Why can’t people pursue the same dreams while working 9 – 5 jobs? Is that not campy enough? Does that diminish street cred? Hmmm.

I’ve been on both sides and, quite frankly, you’re taking it in the ass either way. There are way too many variables here—all of which work to make this an empty statement. Furthermore, people who make this claim are trying to compensate for something they’re lacking. If you’re talented and motivated, you’ll make it. If you’re not, you won’t.

People Blaming McDonalds for the “Obesity Epidemic”

This one is ridiculous. It’s no secret that McDonalds food isn’t good for you. If you eat it every day, you’re going to get fat. Period.

“Advertisers Responsible for Rise of Consumerism”

No, “Consumers Responsible for Rise of Consumerism.”

“George Bush sounded like a complete jackass in his recent interview, which aired this morning on The Today Show.”

Boy, did he ever…

(Watch the clip here: 8 painful minutes of stupidity.)

The Skeeze Lives in a Cave, Episode #4421.

The Skeeze--shown here in his natural habitat.*

Me: Katie Couric kind of annoys me.
The Skeeze: Who's Katie Couric?
Me: Are you kidding me?
The Skeeze: Well, she's obviously not that famous if I haven't heard of her.
Me: You know, it wouldn't kill you to jump on the NYTimes.com once a day to see what's going on around you.
The Skeeze: Whatever, you're just too easily impressed by people on TV.
Me: No, I'm just too easily unimpressed with people sitting on my couch.

*Okay fine, this is not the Skeeze.

Overrated: Being Nice to Strangers in NYC.

After seeing the movie Flight 93 about a week ago, something came over me. Pathetically enough (and I’ll have to say this quickly), IfeltlikeIshouldbenicertopeople. Wow.

You know how it is when you see a movie wherein people are dying without saying goodbye to their loved ones? You accidentally put yourself in their positions and thus, accidentally become compassionate. Even more—you accidentally feel guilty. That’s kind of how it was. I started speaking to myself as if releasing some inner-Existentialist, whom I didn't even know existed:

-“Why am I so rude to Construction workers? They’re people too.”
-“I shouldn’t get so stressed when someone cuts me off on the sidewalk.”
-“It’s okay that bums pee outside of my door every morning. They have to pee somewhere, right?”
-“I should call my mother more often, and my grandparents and my sisters too.”
-“I should pray…or at least start thanking someone for my nice apartment, my job and natural wit & charm.”
-“I should be more humble”

So anyway, I followed these thoughts with an old mantra I used to chant to myself (I put the mantra in storage after moving to New York): “It’s easier to be mean than it is to be nice. Challenge yourself.”

Being a bitch truly is a cop out; it’s the road most traveled in New York. This movie compelled me to take a leap of faith into the unknown. To make a sacrifice. To challenge myself. Hell, to be nice.

So, I tried it. I said hello to a stranger in the supermarket. I let someone else go through the turnstile before me at the subway station—although it was obviously my turn—and I was polite to the snot who works the checkout counter at Zabar’s (to date, my biggest feat).

Then came Saturday. I was walking down one of NYC’s extremely crowded sidewalks behind a family of 4 who insisted on walking in a horizontal line. Slowly. I couldn’t take it. I yelled, “Why must you insist on creating a moving wall?!”

It felt so good that I’ve decided to give up the nice thing. Sometimes people just need to be told where they can shove it. I’ll still call my family and give thanks and all that, but you won’t catch me being polite to strangers who are being inconsiderate of me. After all, that chick who went through the turnstile ahead of me? Umm, yeah, she was cutting in line. Bitch.

I had this theory…

…that my building's maintenance guy was peeing on the rug in front of my couch.

It all made sense considering our past with him. The abridged back story is that he is a lazy good for nothing who works “on call.” In some instances, an “on call” job is somewhat similar to not having a job, except you get paid. Once you get used to getting paid without working, actually getting a call to go into work kind of throws you off.

When we call him, he’s usually in New Jersey at his girlfriend’s place. He told us this when we were still cool. The coolness factor wore off when we couldn’t get him to come and deal with the deadly mold factor. He’d say, “I’ll take care of it,” seemingly just to shut us up for a few days, but then would never show. The deadly mold factor attracted slight media attention after I posted our management company’s name on this blog. My tracking reports indicate that people Googling the company’s name have been directed to my post as a result. A representative from my management company is one of these people. After having found their name on the site, it was only a day later that someone was at our apartment taking samples from our wall. Coincidence? I think not. We had called the company daily for two months without a response. I suspect they never planned to tend to this.

But getting back to the pee. Last Thursday I noticed a urine odor in my living room. I thought I was imagining it until The Geeze claimed, minutes later, that “it smells like piss in here.”

I woke up the next morning to a revelation: The maintenance guy came in here and pissed on the rug!

It made complete sense. He must have gotten yelled at by the management company and, from there, took matters into his own medieval hands.

The smell went away for a few days, and then it returned yesterday. I was lying on my bed and it was stronger than ever. I had to get to the bottom of it. It wasn’t too difficult—I just followed the scent. The root of the problem was a leather purse, which I had spilled coffee all over last week. I had stuck it in a corner to dry (I didn’t know what else to do with it). Evidently, dried coffee on leather produces an odd urine odor. And that was that.

As for the maintenance guy, I don’t feel bad for suspecting him. I wouldn’t put this sort of thing past him. He’d totally pee on my carpet if he was motivated enough to actually come to my building.

My Very Own Scaffold = My Very Own Construction Workers

Case in point:




I told you about the new scaffold on my building a few days ago. I also predicted its implications: Construction workers on my soil. I was right.

What you see here, my friends, is the window in my office. Outside of it? Construction worker feet! This has to be a product of some serioulsly bad karma. Me, out of all people. Me, who is on a constant mission to rid the world of construction workers, and now this! It makes no sense.

By the way, when this guy saw the flash, he looked into the window and started waving. He thinks I want him. Great.

Just thought I'd share.

In other news, the doorman in my building has made it a habit of calling me "sexy" when no one else is around. When people are around he won't make eye contact with me. When they're gone, he looks at me lustfully and says "You lookin' sexy today, girl." It's not uncomfortable at all.