Look at that intimidating scowl!
I am feeling rather bad ass lately.
(These comments will elicit scoffs and mockery from my friends.)

Maybe it’s just my absolute hatred for 99% of the personal blogs out there that makes me hate this Crap so much. I even hate my own personal blog. All personal blogs are full of the same inane drivel that maybe you and one other person find funny or relevant. The rest of the internets, however, gets to read Crap like this:

• EVG: LSP still wishes she was a chola. She’s tough.
• CRF: And KSG is the man-slayer.
• EVG: I aim to be a female Danny Zuko-slash-member of the Outsiders.
• CRF: I fancy myself a — lady — Lost Boy!
• EVG: I’m really glad we’ve identified the pop culture references of the street urchins we aspire to be.

And think, WTF??? I mean, I’m not expecting Salinger here, folks. But maybe a ten second pause before you throw this feces at the wall? Or maybe, the next day when you read it and think “country gravy, what in THE hole did I post that for?”, you could go to your tumbly dashthingie and click delete on that post. I don’t check people’s Crap daily, you know. So ya got maybe 24 hours to delete this kind of Crap before I mock it.

Just saying.

Cary, the only midwestern girl in NYC, wants to help you become a badass! That’s right, gurl has a foolproof plan to make your cool factor go through the rizoof!

How to be a skater girl in New York City:
I’ve been shredding all over Manhattan for about six months now. When I began, I didn’t know grip tape from wheels, and I thought trucks were what my boyfriends drove in high school.  These days every time I pop into a friend’s apartment or our preferred brunch spot avec deck, I hear the same sweet song: “I want to learn!” Buddies, you now have no excuse not to join me on my next island cruise.

Yes my friends, Cary is a SHREDDAH! She even offers a point by point listy to ensure everyone knows you are RAD! Highlights include:

Fill your iPod with classic slacker jams. I listen to a lot of Sublime and Citizen Cope whilst weaving through traffic.

Skate to the bars! Nothing, I repeat, nothing will make you and your gang of lady ruffians look cooler than hanging out with your board propped against the bar at your friendly, bro-centric, neighborhood watering hole. My preferred public house is Brother Jimmy’s. You’ll own the place without even trying (very hard).

Remember that despite the torn jeans, bloody palms, and scabby elbows, you are a total bad ass. There is nothing you can’t handle. You’re a girl on a skateboard in New York City!

There you have it! Your absolute number one way to be a BAD AZZ…if it were 1989 and you were Christian Slater.

Cary Randolph, She-Ra’s less hot sister, is home in Muzzurah or Kansas or whatever backwater spewed her forth. Of course after 15 years as the only midwestern girl in NYC, she’s able to teach the toothless TJ Maxx shoppers a thing or two about STYLE!

KB and I reunited yesterday at her family’s Homecoming tailgate and as usual tied for Best Dressed, thanks in great part to her fly-ass boots and my open toes.

Look you hillbillies, take a tip from Cary: wear a fly fishing jacket over some white Guess jeans and some open toed shoes (wtf to a tailgate?) and call that Crap Best Dressed. Outside of NYC everyone’s an editor at Vogue.

Scary Randolph, who’s been spending most her life living in a gangster’s paradise, is proud to announce she thugs:

• CR: I thug on a regular basis.
• EVG: Do you even know what “thug” means?
• CR: I know what it means to be a thug, but the verb eludes me.
• EVG: It means never having to say you’re sorry. Duh.

Miss Thugsalot is currently touring the mean ghettos of her youth, schoolin bortches and not takin no disrespect, yawl.

Cary Randolph, the sort of sad, angry version of Emily Brill, is taking her brilliant proseinating skillz  on back to MO:

I’m taking a long sabbatical in the home state for the next two weeks. What better time than now to give a big, red-lacquered middle finger to such corporate mainstays as “accrued vacation days” and visit friends on my parents’ dime? Or to put it another way, I’ve completely lost my mind. Since the airfare is nonrefundable, I plan on doing the following:

* Impress college friends with my wacky “New York fashion”.
* Smoke cigarettes inside the bar.
* Sneer at my ex-boyfriends, like “Don’t you still wish. Ex.”
* Cheer on the Dear Old Varsity at the Homecoming game.
* Drink too much every single day and night.
* Drive cars on highways!
* Hold my best friend’s new baby and feel sorry for myself because I’ll probably never trick some poor unsuspecting gentleman into marrying me and thus I’ll never have my own bambini.
* Run on wilderness trails and commune with nature.
* Fly down Hanley on my Zig Zagger and be a ragamuffin.
* Slouch around and look cool, like, “Ugh, I’m so New York now.”
* Generally be insufferable.

J/K! Same ol’ Cary!

LOL! SAME OL CARY!!!!!! What I don’t get is didn’t she just start birthing articles about being the only MO girl in NYC for some backwater paper? Seems weird to announce that and then scamper off back to Wherethehole Missouri for two weeks of what? Dressing like a lumberjack and passin’ chaw around? Oh well, have fun Cary.

Cary Randolph, the only Missouri girl in NYC (Ok, so I said she was from Kansas, which shows you how much journalistic giveaCrap I have), is clapping her hands. Why? She now has a column in her hometown’s newspaper. Yeah, I know. What’s it all about? A one of a kind adventure never before heard about – a Midwestern girl moving to New York!

On November 28, 2008, I packed two suitcases, bid Joplin goodbye, and bought a one-way ticket to New York City. You would think that with no job and in the midst of the worst financial crisis in thirty years, prospects would look grim, but every day (and late night) bring new adventures. Through this blog I hope to give you, my hometown friends and Globe readers, a glimpse into the life and thoughts of a brand new New Yorker – a twenty-something Midwestern girl trying to figure it all out in the Big Apple while she’s still young enough to dance till dawn.

I for one think this is ah-mazing. Never before has a small town girl living in a lonely world moved to the “Big Apple” (I hate when people say that, btw) to take the midnight train going anywhere.

Unfortunately she destroys the premise of her column right off the bat:

On Wednesday evening I joined Mindy, who hails from Scotts City, at a TriBeCa pub to watch the Cardinals game. Apparently there is a networking group for Saint Louis and Missouri natives now living in the City.

I thought she was “The only Missouri girl in New York”? Oh well, I can’t wait to hear her famously lucid thoughts on her adventures!