NYC Taxi Drivers, a 2014 calendar
The cabdrivers pose with erotic novels, a unicorn mask and an energy drink to help bring out their inner sex appeal. The calendar is priced at $14.99 and can be purchased here. All proceeds will go to a local charity that serves over 30,000 immigrant and working individuals and families. (via PSFK)
Best. Gift. Ever.
You say you love New York? Tack this shit in your cube.
How many holes until…
My Boss: “Cool tights”
Everyone in my office, quietly, as I serve myself a seventh seltzer: “…she drunk.”
I have literally torn through a dozen pairs of leopard-print black tights in the past four years. Something about the pattern makes it ideal for shredding immediately and often.
They still offer a nice break from the traditional black tight variety. They’re subtle enough you don’t demand the whole subway car to raise an eyebrow at your cheeky, bold magenta and mustard choice. (But, if that’s your style, rock on.) So I keep buying them.
And hopefully one day a company will get wise and market ultra-cheap, single-wear leopard-print tights. It’s something we all know and accept. No matter how much care and caution you exercise (not to mention zero actual exercise in them—baby steps), they go from zero to hooker as soon as nylon hits leg.
Ignore the salon smell from my legs I shellacked in clear nail polish this morning. I hope the gal above is enjoy the country highway drive and her legs are drying nice and even.
How did I fall down this K-Hole?
MEMPHIS MINNIE: Bumble Bee
Warm in my tropical apartment and completely negligent to the snow rusting my bicycle outside. How’s your Sunday night going?
In college, I made friends sit still in really dumb ways so I could photograph them. This happened all the time and I can’t thank them for their patience enough.
Here I shot my former roommate Cay after I trimmed her bangs in our backyard. Look closely and see dozens of tiny hairs splayed straight like confetti all over her bare shoulders. Look with your eyeballs at all and see the 32-oz. OE she drank from in several shots.
We later tried to combine the leftover malt liquor with OJ, a sad ode to Beastie Boys. I finished the batch, but only out of spite—and also because I was 21.
Who told me at an impressionable age that nail polish might dry on your skin, but it washes off easily in the shower? Who spouted such an egregious lie? I hope you swallowed a little OPI at some point somehow because now I blame you for my hopelessly poor polish skills. No matter how sober I am during application, the finished product looks five whiskies deep.