Times Square is normal to me now. Talk about a mind f*ck, right?

I’ll write more on the bumbling contrast between “I needed to be at work 8 minutes ago” and “Look at the pretty lights! And a horse!” that fills this square another day. Today though, a few thoughts on steady occupants who confuse me and a bonus: your own Times Square survival t-shirt.

Tour Bus Pimps - “Wanna go on a tour? Great tours. Right here!”

You see me every day. So maybe I still take the wrong turn out of the subway gate occasionally. But, YOU SEE ME EVERY DAY. Is my look of empathy really so forgettable?

Homeless Shelter Pimps – “Give us your money or you’ll go to hell!”

If you got a job working minimum wage and just donated that to homeless people, everyone would really win.

Comedy Show Pimps – “Hey, you like comedy? Oh you do? Comedy show tonight! What, you don’t like to laugh? C’mon. Everyone likes to laugh! Comedy show. Comedy show!”

I made the mistake of answering, “Yep. I do!” on my second day here. I now have “Matt Comedy” in my phone book. I mean, he said I was pretty! How can you not take the number?

Because of their relentless persistence, I’ve created a Times Square survival t-shirt that will allow you to walk right past, no questions asked and no phone numbers exchanged.

Dear Blog Readers,

It’s not you, it’s me.

I arrived in NYC on Monday and this is the second time I’ve sat down with wifi.

So when today’s keynote speaker mentioned the value of blog subscribers I started hyperventilating. My subscribers. I love you. Don’t leave me. I’m just in this city with huge buildings and all I want to do is walk around smiling at everyone and analyzing their confused faces.

And then there’s the classes that are brilliant and thought-evoking and I want to change the world but I can’t sit down long enough to write about it because after the classes there are networking events and then two of my favorite people ever live down the street. And they like beer pong. And so do I. And the lights are just so shiny and everything is so expensive and fun and then my alarm rings and it’s time to do it all over again. I’m exhausted and hyper all at the same time.

I’ll be home on Monday and true to my introvert nature, I’ll be ready to lock myself in the bear cave I occasionally sleep in and type and type and publish.

I promise I have great things to say about St. Patrick’s Day and cabbies and salsa and John Cusack. Always John Cusack. Microsoft Word just suggested “John Custard,” see, that’s post material. Shit.

Don’t leave me. And if you really miss me. Maybe you should buy this t-shirt.

Except it doesn’t really exist. You know, because I’m busy!

I have an uncanny ability to rationalize 20 sweaty minutes into a yoga DVD that, “I’ve done enough for the day.”

And so, after three months of robbery* from L.A. Fitness, I took my desire for a firm butt and my avoidance of prolonged periods of self-induced pain to yoga class, a.k.a. peer-pressured torture.

My instructor looked so calm it made me nervous. He announced that yoga is not practiced in socks. I reluctantly peeled mine off, fearful of the stench that would soon invade my air supply.**

Once our attire met his qualifications, we began class with legs crossed, hands in prayer and heads bowed. A room full of people and mandatory silence puts me on edge. I wanted to giggle, but refrained.

“Good job,” I thought, commending the growth of my maturity. At work, when people mention accessing our site from the back end, I snicker. Believe me, this refrain gave my maturity a noticeably higher smudge on the wall.

All praise aside, I was not prepared for what came next.

“Let us begin with a prayer,” he said.

And then, he continued, ““Hummmmmmmmmmmm hommidity hommidity bonch de lah hibbitty hibbitty hummmm.”

As mentioned, my sense of humor is at best juvenile and I was unarmed for battle.

But like a true warrior, I avoided this landmine. In the silent presence of more than twenty strangers, I dodged the rapid gunfire of foreign chanting and multiple “bonch” grenades targeted to kill any remaining composure.

I survived and yet, the assault was not over.

Downward dog. Upward dog. Warrior one. Warrior two. Stand on your head. Put one foot behind your right ear and the other up your ass.

It continued.

He made moves that were so complex and so painful, that most of us simply crawled back to child’s pose. A couple brave gentlemen with freakish upper body strength and apparently no flexibility constraints attempted these moves. But as we crouched comfortably, we heard their limbs pound the floor and once again, we, I, held in chuckles.

It was during one of these sheepish retreats from pain that I thought of the t-shirt design I must make in order to properly continue my yoga practice:

Any buyers? Seriously?

*If you put your membership on hold, L.A. Fitness automatically starts billing you again after three months. It’s quite logical when you think about it. My membership was on hold for three months. Never once did I think about setting foot in their gym. Obviously I was dying to get back in. I’m glad men view three months of silence after a “break” differently. And also, I’m glad that men don’t have the ability to withdraw automated payments from my bank account. That was really more than you need to know about L.A. Fitness, and my personal life, and history of romantic “breaks,” but we’re all friends here.

** He would later inform us that we only breath throw our noses. This was fantastic.

I thought of this t-shirt design while eating dried cranberries in my cubicle. As I checked out the calorific damage, I noticed that I had over two years to finish the bag. And I thought, “Holy shit, that’s a lot of time to eat those cranberries.” I finished the bag at my desk, but it still put me at ease to know that if I really wanted to, I could have stretched that bag right into the corner office.

**Special thanks to Kiki Karpus for stepping up to help us with the design! Check out Kiki’s graphic/web design studio, Bekes Creative – she just launched a temporary website at www.bekescreative.com.  You can also reach her at kiki@bekescreative.com.

Real T-Shirts (and Stickers) You Can Buy, Episode 2: Hundredaire

We launched the world-renowned Girls Gone Mild T-Shirt store last week and I’m happy to announce that Kelly will have lots of PORN shirts to wear.

So this week, we’re letting a less-frightening word occupy our hope for a blogging livelihood and you should get one.

Hundredaire is the result of me respectfully linking/emailing/@mentioning and somewhat annoying one of my favorite authors, Hugh MacLeod, in hopes of purchasing him our first t-shirt on my credit card, and then Kelly quickly responding that given the choice between artist or millionaire, she’d happily take “Hundredaire.” Hugh has not sent his t-shirt size yet, but he did tag me as a #secrettwittercrush on the ol’ Twitter one night, so there is hope people.

Can’t afford to splurge $20 on a sweet tee?

No problem.

I have a solution: World’s First Sticker T-shirt*.

No seriously, we have a $5 sticker in the store too. So just buy a sticker and apply it to any shirt you already have. Or to the wall in your office’s bathroom. Or the inside of your refrigerator. Whoa, you never thought of that? Think of how much the inside of your refrigerator hates the outside of your refrigerator. Drawings. Magnets. Coupons. What do I ever get? Oh, I get to keep the 3-week-old leftover pizza cold. Wow, thanks. Can. Not. Wait.

See? You need a sticker or a t-shirt.

Wait! Before you purchase, let me recommend the design I think will be most accepted for the World’s First Sticker T-Shirt:

FRONT

BACK

Article Summary: Kelly Diels and I have started a T-Shirt store, and you need to buy our first shirt. We’re not sure if we’re going to be millionaires or artists yet, but I do hope Hugh MacLeod will see our backlink and be interested in a free t-shirt (on me Kelly!).

Mom and Dad: There’s an explanation. I swear.

But, before the explanation. There’s an offer and a call for help.

Graphic Designers (Offer): Here’s the deal. You spend 30 mins or so making one of our text ideas look all cool like the one above, you get a free t-shirt and a promo link/message of adoration on our respective blogs. Contact me or Kelly if you’re interested!

Readers (Call for Help): We need to pick the next t-shirt. Is there one in my t-shirt ideas vault that you want? Check out all the ideas and comment if there’s one you’re ready to see on cotton (and to purchase).

The Explanation

Once upon a time (a time known as October 3rd) I read a guest post by Kelly Diels on ProBlogger.

I thought, “Umm this chick rocks.”

So I subscribed to her posts. And commented on a bunch of them. And maybe added her on Twitter. And emailed her asking if I could put up a banner on my site for free because I liked her site so much (no response so I figured that her spam filter also eliminated creepers).

“Oh well,” I thought.

I kept writing my little posts that give weird views on pretty unimportant topics. Then, one day, I received an email from Kelly.

I thought, “HOLY SHIT. My fave blogger is emailing me!!”

We expressed our completely heterosexual love for the other’s site via email and I was given the opportunity to write a guest post. Life was good. Except that it was difficult for me to explain how exciting this really was to my non-blogging community friends.

I cruise through the week and into the weekend, arriving at the bar a little early Saturday night. I check the ol’ email to avoid talking to the 46-year-old English man next to me.

I see three comments from Kelly on T-shirt posts telling me to start the damn store already. I chuckle a little because a) I’ve already had two beers and b) the (Store Coming Soon) tag on those posts was really one of those things I wrote to make myself feel better even though I knew I’d prob never do it.

So I quickly write back, “Yah, yah.. def. need to do that!” Still thinking, “Maybe I can start it like next year or something?”

With my plan for further procrastination secretly tucked away, I sign on to Twitter Sunday evening and see a mention from Kelly that says something along the lines of “Kinda started a t-shirt store with @workinonaramp, but she doesn’t really know yet” and links to her latest post.

We start messaging and before the 2 a.m. hour, we have a sweet name (Girls Gone Mild T-Shirts), a new domain (www.GirlsGoneMildTShirts.com) and a quick startup store on Cafe Press.

We’re still in the beginning stages (artists), but we  plan to quickly expand the site/store (millionaires..thousandaires?). And fortunately, it has already been confirmed that both designer heels and billboards with pictures of us waving and saying “Hi!” are completely legitimate business expenses.

Stay tuned and voice your vote for the next shirt!

I refuse to attend another country concert until I have time to make this t-shirt.

If I’m going to continue drinking PBR in one of the richest cities in the U.S., I need this t-shirt to fend off constant inquiries about my beer of choice.

No, I am not from Milwaukee. I earned $23,000 at my first “real job.”

Typical conversation with bartenders circa April 2007 – June 2008:

“What can I get you?” – Bartender.

“What is the cheapest beer you sell?” – Me

So they’re going to let me on a boat next week. And I’d just like them to know, that I’m not falling for the tricks of the muster station.

Yah, this ship’s going down. And I’m going to go downstairs and wait for you to save me.

I know I paid the cheapest price possible. And I don’t want to see which priority I get on your “who is more important to save” totem pole. And yes, my friends and I will be at the art auction again. And yes, we’re going to place stickers on everything while we drink your free champagne and then go back and lay out.

Special thanks to all the whales. Keep suckin’ down our water so we feel bad about taking long, hot showers.