I would like you all to be the first to know that tonight I welcomed the two new members of my family -- Henrietta and... well, the second kitten doesn't have a name because I wasn't really expecting her. I thought I might take two but I thought I was getting a boy kitten as the second, and I was going to name him Rufus. My cousin Frankie spit-tagged that one so I got two girls.
I'm trying to get inspiration from her behavior thus far. My aunt and uncle have been keeping these kittens for the last four months -- the mama cat lives with them. Henrietta wasn't easy to get in the cat carrier. We chased her all over the house. But the other one actually climbed the walls to avoid getting in the carrier. She was a like a cokehead being forced into rehab. Ya think I can name her "Junkie"? Or "Coke-Fiend?" Maybe "Lohan"?
Anyway, now they're curled in two little furry balls in the back of the cat carrier, not even breathing for fear that I will touch them or make them seperate from each other. Or maybe they're in there plotting my imminent death. Probably I'll fall asleep and they'll come in the bedroom and slit my throat with their little tiny claws.
I guess two cats at once was a bad idea but I kept imagining Henrietta sitting in my boring apartment all day with no one to play with. She got used to playing with five other cats at my aunt's house. How would she adjust to being all alone all day? At least now she has her very own sister.
I'm gonna go close the door to my bedroom now. Lohan's a wild one -- you never know what she might do and I have clothes that I'm really attached to in there.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Reasons why I am allowed to punch other commuters
I need to get this off of my chest. If you feel the following message applies to you, consider it a public service announcement from New York to you.
It is IMPOLITE and ANNOYING to stand in the doorway of the subway car because you don't want to move into the car and have to be close to your fellow passengers. In fact, it doesn't even matter WHY you don't want to move in. I don't care if you're getting off in two stops. I don't care if you can't speak English and you don't understand me politely asking you to move so I can get on or off the subway. JUST MOVE. You don't belong there. We allllllllllllllll are more comfortable leaning on the door than we are holding onto the pole crawling with bacteria in the middle of the car. But we can't. Because people need to be able to walk THROUGH the door and you standing there PREVENTS THAT. My new rule is if you are standing in the door that means you are some kind of masochist and we, your fellow straphangers, are all allowed to punch you as we are forced to squeeeeeeeze past you.
You are also asking to be punched if you lean on the pole that other people are holding onto, squeeze into a seat your fat ass can't fit in and spend the entire ride with your leg on top of mine or decide that your elbow belongs in my side while you read the newspaper. This isn't your living room. If you want all the room in the world as you commute to work in the morning spring for a taxi.
I think I need a vacation.
It is IMPOLITE and ANNOYING to stand in the doorway of the subway car because you don't want to move into the car and have to be close to your fellow passengers. In fact, it doesn't even matter WHY you don't want to move in. I don't care if you're getting off in two stops. I don't care if you can't speak English and you don't understand me politely asking you to move so I can get on or off the subway. JUST MOVE. You don't belong there. We allllllllllllllll are more comfortable leaning on the door than we are holding onto the pole crawling with bacteria in the middle of the car. But we can't. Because people need to be able to walk THROUGH the door and you standing there PREVENTS THAT. My new rule is if you are standing in the door that means you are some kind of masochist and we, your fellow straphangers, are all allowed to punch you as we are forced to squeeeeeeeze past you.
You are also asking to be punched if you lean on the pole that other people are holding onto, squeeze into a seat your fat ass can't fit in and spend the entire ride with your leg on top of mine or decide that your elbow belongs in my side while you read the newspaper. This isn't your living room. If you want all the room in the world as you commute to work in the morning spring for a taxi.
I think I need a vacation.
Reasons why I am allowed to punch other commuters
I need to get this off of my chest. If you feel the following message applies to you, consider it a public service announcement from New York to you.
It is IMPOLITE and ANNOYING to stand in the doorway of the subway car because you don't want to move into the car and have to be close to your fellow passengers. In fact, it doesn't even matter WHY you don't want to move in. I don't care if you're getting off in two stops. I don't care if you can't speak English and you don't understand me politely asking you to move so I can get on or off the subway. JUST MOVE. You don't belong there. We allllllllllllllll are more comfortable leaning on the door than we are holding onto the pole crawling with bacteria in the middle of the car. But we can't. Because people need to be able to walk THROUGH the door and you standing there PREVENTS THAT. My new rule is if you are standing in the door that means you are some kind of masochist and we, your fellow straphangers, are all allowed to punch you as we are forced to squeeeeeeeze past you.
You are also asking to be punched if you lean on the pole that other people are holding onto, squeeze into a seat your fat ass can't fit in and spend the entire ride with your leg on top of mine or decide that your elbow belongs in my side while you read the newspaper. This isn't your living room. If you want all the room in the world as you commute to work in the morning spring for a taxi.
I think I need a vacation.
It is IMPOLITE and ANNOYING to stand in the doorway of the subway car because you don't want to move into the car and have to be close to your fellow passengers. In fact, it doesn't even matter WHY you don't want to move in. I don't care if you're getting off in two stops. I don't care if you can't speak English and you don't understand me politely asking you to move so I can get on or off the subway. JUST MOVE. You don't belong there. We allllllllllllllll are more comfortable leaning on the door than we are holding onto the pole crawling with bacteria in the middle of the car. But we can't. Because people need to be able to walk THROUGH the door and you standing there PREVENTS THAT. My new rule is if you are standing in the door that means you are some kind of masochist and we, your fellow straphangers, are all allowed to punch you as we are forced to squeeeeeeeze past you.
You are also asking to be punched if you lean on the pole that other people are holding onto, squeeze into a seat your fat ass can't fit in and spend the entire ride with your leg on top of mine or decide that your elbow belongs in my side while you read the newspaper. This isn't your living room. If you want all the room in the world as you commute to work in the morning spring for a taxi.
I think I need a vacation.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Everyday life of an ordinary oblivious American
I spent the entire afternoon wandering midtown Manhattan with my client's digital camera taking short videos of "everyday life for an ordinary American consumer" -- people getting in cabs, getting on buses, buying lunch, queuing up at Starbucks, buying unreasonably priced seperates at Banana Republic. It was a bit annoying but I found out something rather surprising about my fellow New Yorkers. You know how people are supposedly paranoid about terrorist plots? Not so -- I filmed office buildings, public transportation, the freaking giant and highly bombable 42nd Street Library -- you know, the one with the big lions. No one even blinked - not even when I was filming them. And I did film lots of people -- I followed people down the street to Pret A Manger. I filmed some guy sitting on the library steps reading a newspaper. I was right next to this other guy leaning against the plate glass window of Starbucks and I filmed him for like 15 seconds.
If someone started filming me I might shove their camera up their nose. But that's just me. I get annoyed when I see newscasters reporting "man on the street" segments -- they're always in the way while I'm trying to get to work.
Maybe these people didn't notice I was filming them? Maybe they are the most oblivious people on the face of the planet? Maybe they are so wrapped up in their little worlds that they don't care why some strange girl might be filming them? It just scares me that these are the same people who are expected to alert the authorities if they see a suspicious package left on the subway -- 'cuz they might not notice it to report it.
Says the girl who just last week walked into a closed subway door because she didn't look up from her book in time to notice that, although the train had stopped, the doors hadn't opened yet. Yeah, that was me.
If someone started filming me I might shove their camera up their nose. But that's just me. I get annoyed when I see newscasters reporting "man on the street" segments -- they're always in the way while I'm trying to get to work.
Maybe these people didn't notice I was filming them? Maybe they are the most oblivious people on the face of the planet? Maybe they are so wrapped up in their little worlds that they don't care why some strange girl might be filming them? It just scares me that these are the same people who are expected to alert the authorities if they see a suspicious package left on the subway -- 'cuz they might not notice it to report it.
Says the girl who just last week walked into a closed subway door because she didn't look up from her book in time to notice that, although the train had stopped, the doors hadn't opened yet. Yeah, that was me.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Leave the sign alone
This was the sign that was laminated and taped on the wall on the door of the bathroom stall in the ladies' room at my new favorite bar, Dusk.
"Ladies, if the toilet paper runs out, please inform us so that we can replace it. The fact that we are men means, only, that we don't come in here that often and not that we are insensitive... If you like this sign enough to steal it (god knows why but you won't be the first) please don't... Please, please, please don't make me go to Kinko's again."
"Ladies, if the toilet paper runs out, please inform us so that we can replace it. The fact that we are men means, only, that we don't come in here that often and not that we are insensitive... If you like this sign enough to steal it (god knows why but you won't be the first) please don't... Please, please, please don't make me go to Kinko's again."
Monday, July 09, 2007
The other day, as I was walking back from getting my daily lunchtime salad, I spotted a rolled up pair of lacy purple panties in the middle of 7th Avenue the other day. Spotting them forced me to think about little to nothing else all freaking day. At one point did the woman wearing those panties decide that she just didn't want to wear said panties any more? Were they riding up her butt and she just couldn't take it anymore? Did she decide she just need a little air up there? The possibilities are seemingly endless, don't you agree?
Sunday, July 08, 2007
In my family, baseball is like a religion. In fact, I'm pretty sure my mom would be more likely to accept an interfaith marriage than if either my sister and I were to marry, let's say, a Red Sox fan. Needless to say we take our season tickets very seriously and we are loathe to miss one of our regular Sunday home games. So you can imagine how hungover we had to have been this morning when Jess and I couldn't get our asses to the Bronx to make the 1:00 pm game time. And what a game to miss.
We celebrated Ron & Joe's engagement party in Jersey yesterday with grain alcohol and chicken parm. It was fun to see everyone. In fact, I had so much fun I think I'll wait a while before smacking Ronnie in the back of the head for making everyone RSVP in April as if he was trying to get an accurate head count for a state dinner with the fucking QUEEN. I mean, he is a queen but that is beside the point.
Afterwards, I ended up at Sullivan Room. If, like me, you are a former club kid but in your old age you would rather shave your head than set foot in another club, check this place out. Good DJs, low-key vibe. Just don't do what I did and drag your drunk, sorry ass all the way up the stairs and out into the street before you realize you left your bar tab still open and your credit card and ID with the bartender. On my way back up, I realized that the banister was no longer secured into the wall and I nearly bit it walking up the stairs. Would have been an interesting, albeit not surprising, way for me to kill myself.
In other interesting developments gleaned from my nightlife experiences, lately I'm like catnip to boys who are bit too young for me. Must be something in my perfume.
We celebrated Ron & Joe's engagement party in Jersey yesterday with grain alcohol and chicken parm. It was fun to see everyone. In fact, I had so much fun I think I'll wait a while before smacking Ronnie in the back of the head for making everyone RSVP in April as if he was trying to get an accurate head count for a state dinner with the fucking QUEEN. I mean, he is a queen but that is beside the point.
Afterwards, I ended up at Sullivan Room. If, like me, you are a former club kid but in your old age you would rather shave your head than set foot in another club, check this place out. Good DJs, low-key vibe. Just don't do what I did and drag your drunk, sorry ass all the way up the stairs and out into the street before you realize you left your bar tab still open and your credit card and ID with the bartender. On my way back up, I realized that the banister was no longer secured into the wall and I nearly bit it walking up the stairs. Would have been an interesting, albeit not surprising, way for me to kill myself.
In other interesting developments gleaned from my nightlife experiences, lately I'm like catnip to boys who are bit too young for me. Must be something in my perfume.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
I nearly drank myself into a coma last night and now I have to go to Jersey for an engagement party. Thank God I love the people who are getting engaged otherwise I would not bother stopping myself from puking on their lawn.
Last night one of the grooms (there are two) texted me to tell me to bring a bathing suit. What the hell kind of engagement party is this, you ask? The kind thrown by Evite by my dear friend Ronnie -- who, although usually detail-oriented and slightly anal retentive often forgets to mention crucial elements to his guests until the last minute. I bought a dress and heels for this shindig. Bathing suit?
I swear to God, if I wake up one more Saturday with snippets of memories of things I did and said floating around my sad little brain, I'm going to run off and join a convent or something just for the fact that it would give me new stories to tell. My life is like one long episode of... some show in which the main character drinks herself into a stupor and then has seemingly meaningful conversations about love and life with people she barely knows and wakes up the next morning to a splitting headache and the nagging feeling that she embarassed herself and her friends somehow. It could be called "My So Called Hungover Life" Or "Sunnyside, Queens 11104. Or "Saved by the Beer...The Hungover Years". I'll work on a title and get back to you.
Something tells me I wouldn't even make it through pilot season.
Last night one of the grooms (there are two) texted me to tell me to bring a bathing suit. What the hell kind of engagement party is this, you ask? The kind thrown by Evite by my dear friend Ronnie -- who, although usually detail-oriented and slightly anal retentive often forgets to mention crucial elements to his guests until the last minute. I bought a dress and heels for this shindig. Bathing suit?
I swear to God, if I wake up one more Saturday with snippets of memories of things I did and said floating around my sad little brain, I'm going to run off and join a convent or something just for the fact that it would give me new stories to tell. My life is like one long episode of... some show in which the main character drinks herself into a stupor and then has seemingly meaningful conversations about love and life with people she barely knows and wakes up the next morning to a splitting headache and the nagging feeling that she embarassed herself and her friends somehow. It could be called "My So Called Hungover Life" Or "Sunnyside, Queens 11104. Or "Saved by the Beer...The Hungover Years". I'll work on a title and get back to you.
Something tells me I wouldn't even make it through pilot season.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Morphine makes Mom sleepy
My poor mom. Another national holiday in the hospital. I swear if she was stolen she couldn't be sold for spare parts -- 'cuz none of them work.
As most of you know, she was in a bad accident about 7 years ago and since then she's been in and out of the hospital with various lingering injuries. She gets these cortizone shots for the pain in one of her knees (which by the way, she hurt long before the accident -- because clutziness toootallly runs in the family) and -- wouldn't you know it? -- she had some kind of allergic reaction to it or some kind of infection because of it and we had to rush her to the emergency room on Sunday night. I say "we" but really I met her there -- when she was being packed into the ambulance with my aunt and my crazy uncle in tow I was at Yankee Stadium watching Andy Pettitte get his ass handed to him. Oh, and did I mention I was drunk at the time? Anyway, that's been my week so far.
I hope you all had a better Fourth of July than I did. I spent it watching my mom sleep off the effects of a morphine drip, drinking tea in a hospital room. But at least I didn't have to go to work.
As most of you know, she was in a bad accident about 7 years ago and since then she's been in and out of the hospital with various lingering injuries. She gets these cortizone shots for the pain in one of her knees (which by the way, she hurt long before the accident -- because clutziness toootallly runs in the family) and -- wouldn't you know it? -- she had some kind of allergic reaction to it or some kind of infection because of it and we had to rush her to the emergency room on Sunday night. I say "we" but really I met her there -- when she was being packed into the ambulance with my aunt and my crazy uncle in tow I was at Yankee Stadium watching Andy Pettitte get his ass handed to him. Oh, and did I mention I was drunk at the time? Anyway, that's been my week so far.
I hope you all had a better Fourth of July than I did. I spent it watching my mom sleep off the effects of a morphine drip, drinking tea in a hospital room. But at least I didn't have to go to work.
Monday, July 02, 2007
I heard, tore your faces right off
You know that scene in Beetlejuice when Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin come back from visiting Juno, the caseworker, and they think they're in another room of the hallway they've been walking down and then they realize they are back at their own house but it's completely different than when they left? I relive that scene every night -- I wake up, look around in the dark and don't recognize my own bedroom. It takes me a minute to place my own furniture, come to the realization that the long skinny thing on the floor is my bra where I dropped it before I went to bed and then I can relax because I know where I am.
I guess changing addresses three times in less than a year will do that to you.
I guess changing addresses three times in less than a year will do that to you.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Perspective
Another terrorist plot thwarted. Or so I'm told. I didn't watch the news today. I watched old episodes of "Rescue Me" on the internet and sat around my apartment feeling depressed.
There's at least one moment during every day of my life where I realize what an ass I am. I find myself cursing the fact that I can't change the way I think or the way I behave. I get older and supposedly wiser but I still sit around, watch news reports of people in real trouble, read books about sad things that happened to people that they just didn't deserve... and still I feel like crap because of the shitty little miseries in my life.
It's disgusting and it has to stop.
I thought you all would like to know that I'm aware of the problem. That even if I can't change, can't become less of a retard -- at least I know that I am one.
There's at least one moment during every day of my life where I realize what an ass I am. I find myself cursing the fact that I can't change the way I think or the way I behave. I get older and supposedly wiser but I still sit around, watch news reports of people in real trouble, read books about sad things that happened to people that they just didn't deserve... and still I feel like crap because of the shitty little miseries in my life.
It's disgusting and it has to stop.
I thought you all would like to know that I'm aware of the problem. That even if I can't change, can't become less of a retard -- at least I know that I am one.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Why I'm not going out tonight
Because I just bought a six-pack of Magners.
Because I organized a happy hour last night and was struck with the idea that six pomegranite martinis were a good idea... which they were not.
Because "There's Something About Mary" is on, followed by "Parenthood".
Because bars are full of idiot men who are full of sperm that meeting me makes them feel like they have to get rid of just as soon as they possibly can. Not all men, mind you -- just the fucking idiot ones.
Because I just yelled at the guy who called me from my credit card company and told him he's welcome to call me five times a day for the rest of the week but there is nothing I can do about the fact that I won't have the money to pay him until next week.
Because jammies and a t-shirt are more comfortable than a slutty tank top and heels, and my bed is way more comfortable than a bar stool.
Because I'm not going to meet a guy like Denis Leary in a bar... but he is on TV.
Because I'm sitting here writing to you people, that's why.
Because I organized a happy hour last night and was struck with the idea that six pomegranite martinis were a good idea... which they were not.
Because "There's Something About Mary" is on, followed by "Parenthood".
Because bars are full of idiot men who are full of sperm that meeting me makes them feel like they have to get rid of just as soon as they possibly can. Not all men, mind you -- just the fucking idiot ones.
Because I just yelled at the guy who called me from my credit card company and told him he's welcome to call me five times a day for the rest of the week but there is nothing I can do about the fact that I won't have the money to pay him until next week.
Because jammies and a t-shirt are more comfortable than a slutty tank top and heels, and my bed is way more comfortable than a bar stool.
Because I'm not going to meet a guy like Denis Leary in a bar... but he is on TV.
Because I'm sitting here writing to you people, that's why.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Your grandmother
I realized today that I've become the kind of person who steals Splenda packets by the fistful from the coffee shop by my job and filling my desk drawers with them, along with honey packets from Cosi, and brown paper napkins from every conceivable deli on the West Side. They rest there happily next to a box of Twinings tea. In essence, I have become... your grandmother.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Proud to be a New Yorker
Showing someone else my city reminds me how much I love it. As you all know, I've been winging a lot about moving -- should I have stayed in Vegas? Should I have never moved there in the first place? But Michael was here this weekend and I showed him around the Theater District and Times Square, the West Village and little bit of Chelsea. Which was fun because I never do that anymore. When I was younger and the city was somewhat exotic to me (my mom didn't know I took the subway into the East Village after school and hung out with squatters and burn outs -- she thought I was at choir practice, tee hee) I used to wander around for hours. Now I go where I'm going and come back home.
It is a beautiful city. Talking to Michael, I've come to the conclusion that I might not be done with Vegas or the West Coast. I don't think New York is permanent for me -- I think I have to try something else before I get too old and boring. But it's fabulous to be from here and I owe Michael a big "thank you" for helping me remember that. Even when I'm yelling "Let's go already" because the number 1 express is moving at the speed of molasses and the tourists getting off the train in front of me can't seem to remember that they are bipedal organisms capable of forward motion. Yelling because the people in front of you aren't moving fast enough is all part of being a Nu Yawka.
It is a beautiful city. Talking to Michael, I've come to the conclusion that I might not be done with Vegas or the West Coast. I don't think New York is permanent for me -- I think I have to try something else before I get too old and boring. But it's fabulous to be from here and I owe Michael a big "thank you" for helping me remember that. Even when I'm yelling "Let's go already" because the number 1 express is moving at the speed of molasses and the tourists getting off the train in front of me can't seem to remember that they are bipedal organisms capable of forward motion. Yelling because the people in front of you aren't moving fast enough is all part of being a Nu Yawka.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Where's my freakin' tiara?
Michael is in New York which makes me very happy. I saw him on Thursday night, when I took him to a greasy New York diner and the Virgin Megastore, and last night he met my favorite couple, "Mr. and Mrs. Crazyfriend", the adorable Ana and Rob, when we all went out for someone else's birthday to The Village Pourhouse.
That party will make for the 2nd time this week I've had to pay for a paper bracelet in order to drink, which seems to lead me to try to drink like I'm competing for the title of "World's Drunkest White Girl". Since there is no such contest (and no tiara or sash involved) -- and truly, I'm only competing against myself -- someone should tell me that before I proudly sashay up to people to deliver my platform on world peace. But no one ever does.
At some point I got so beligerent in my belief that, as the "World's Drunkest White Girl 2007", all attention should be shone on me, I called my friend in Vegas twice in a row until he picked up. When he did I started to sputter about the lack of attention being paid to me and he, after laughing so hard at my inability to form a coherent sentence that he nearly wet himself, said, "I'm on the phone with the store trying to buy a new refrigerator. Can you please wait for me to be done with that before you start getting all crazy-like?" Which I... did not. But it was nice of him to say "please".
That party will make for the 2nd time this week I've had to pay for a paper bracelet in order to drink, which seems to lead me to try to drink like I'm competing for the title of "World's Drunkest White Girl". Since there is no such contest (and no tiara or sash involved) -- and truly, I'm only competing against myself -- someone should tell me that before I proudly sashay up to people to deliver my platform on world peace. But no one ever does.
At some point I got so beligerent in my belief that, as the "World's Drunkest White Girl 2007", all attention should be shone on me, I called my friend in Vegas twice in a row until he picked up. When he did I started to sputter about the lack of attention being paid to me and he, after laughing so hard at my inability to form a coherent sentence that he nearly wet himself, said, "I'm on the phone with the store trying to buy a new refrigerator. Can you please wait for me to be done with that before you start getting all crazy-like?" Which I... did not. But it was nice of him to say "please".
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
I can define "amazing" any way I goddamn please
Amazing things I learned today. Well, "amazing" might be a stretch but I'm reaching here -- you people get mad when I skip a day with this fucking thing and I'm tired of the annoying complaints so you're forcing me to reach for material.
Anyway back to my "amazing" list.
1) My grandmother married a loan shark so she wouldn't have to work at Woolworth's anymore.
2) My father is only 57 but he can't remember what he told me just yesterday.
3) I have a seeming inability to remember that I don't like someone while I'm on the phone with them. Especially if I used to like them.
4) I don't own a calendar. Granted, I knew this before but it became glaringly apparent today that I need to own a calendar -- what day is it? No clue.
5) I care too much about people who don't give a fuck about me. Again, not news -- it was just a fact that made apparent to me again this afternoon.
6) There is no instrumental version of the song "Keep it Gay"
7) Michael has seen "Phantom" too many freaking times.
8) Several dozen people who I've known for years think I still live in Vegas. This, I'm told, is my own stupid fault which I believe could be true.
9) I have oddly shaped big toes.
) I've become fascinated with the show "Big Love" purely to replace "The Sopranos", which left me sad, bereaved, utterly disappointed. Is David Chase under the impression that I waited 7 seasons to watch Tony eat an onion ring and Meadow park her car?
That's it. Fire up your pens. I'm ready for the "what a lame blog entry" complaint letters.
Anyway back to my "amazing" list.
1) My grandmother married a loan shark so she wouldn't have to work at Woolworth's anymore.
2) My father is only 57 but he can't remember what he told me just yesterday.
3) I have a seeming inability to remember that I don't like someone while I'm on the phone with them. Especially if I used to like them.
4) I don't own a calendar. Granted, I knew this before but it became glaringly apparent today that I need to own a calendar -- what day is it? No clue.
5) I care too much about people who don't give a fuck about me. Again, not news -- it was just a fact that made apparent to me again this afternoon.
6) There is no instrumental version of the song "Keep it Gay"
7) Michael has seen "Phantom" too many freaking times.
8) Several dozen people who I've known for years think I still live in Vegas. This, I'm told, is my own stupid fault which I believe could be true.
9) I have oddly shaped big toes.
) I've become fascinated with the show "Big Love" purely to replace "The Sopranos", which left me sad, bereaved, utterly disappointed. Is David Chase under the impression that I waited 7 seasons to watch Tony eat an onion ring and Meadow park her car?
That's it. Fire up your pens. I'm ready for the "what a lame blog entry" complaint letters.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Flattery is no longer top of mind
It's funny that yesterday I referenced a hangover in this very blog and now I actually have one.
The beer garden was fun. Thanks to Christine, Caroline and Ben for showing up and watching me drink my weight in Hoegaarden, and of course, my lovely sister for watching me fall off the bench we were sitting on, and then picking me up and putting me in a cab. The cab driver laughed at me the whole way home -- apparently a 31-year old girl with a skinned knee and no eyeballs to speak of (mine were rolled up into my brain where he couldn't see them) is funny.
And a special shout-out to the 23-year old Italian kid who couldn't believe that I didn't believe that he thought I was the "girl for him". My sarcastic "thank you" is specifically for him taking my phone, calling himself with it so my number would be in his phone and then calling me every hour on the hour from 11:00 pm until like 4 in the freaking morning in an attempt to convince me to let him "come over for just like a half hour". I stopped answering after the 2nd call but I have to assume the subsequent calls were for the same purpose. Flattering but annoying -- I don't have a plug next to my bed so my phone charger is plugged in across the room. After I had to peel my drunken ass off the sheets more than once to get up and check my phone, being flattered at the attention was no longer top of mind.
The beer garden was fun. Thanks to Christine, Caroline and Ben for showing up and watching me drink my weight in Hoegaarden, and of course, my lovely sister for watching me fall off the bench we were sitting on, and then picking me up and putting me in a cab. The cab driver laughed at me the whole way home -- apparently a 31-year old girl with a skinned knee and no eyeballs to speak of (mine were rolled up into my brain where he couldn't see them) is funny.
And a special shout-out to the 23-year old Italian kid who couldn't believe that I didn't believe that he thought I was the "girl for him". My sarcastic "thank you" is specifically for him taking my phone, calling himself with it so my number would be in his phone and then calling me every hour on the hour from 11:00 pm until like 4 in the freaking morning in an attempt to convince me to let him "come over for just like a half hour". I stopped answering after the 2nd call but I have to assume the subsequent calls were for the same purpose. Flattering but annoying -- I don't have a plug next to my bed so my phone charger is plugged in across the room. After I had to peel my drunken ass off the sheets more than once to get up and check my phone, being flattered at the attention was no longer top of mind.
The definition of insanity (reprint from June 16, 2007)
I've been thinking a lot about the definition of insanity. I'm not sure if it's the real definition but it's the one everyone always tells you -- "insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." I feel that way lately.
I've been moving a lot. Not just moving moving -- as in my recent move across the country and subsequent move back -- but moving as in not sitting still. I'm going all the time. On a plane or a subway or in an airport -- sometimes these are the only moments when I have the chance to sit still. This has never been a healthy way for me to live. But, back to the insanity defense, I keep going and going and never stopping to look around, and then expecting things to turn out differently.
I take on whatever comes at me and think about the consequences later. I don't worry about how the next big change or chance I'm taking will make me feel until the it's already underway. Then I feel like crap. Like right now, I'm looking around my new apartment and wishing for something else, wondering why I made all these changes in the past year when change doesn't agree with me. Because I'm never sure what I'm going to do next, I'm often treading water in my life. I don't have a clear idea of what my future holds -- I mean, who does? -- but more importantly I have no idea what I want my future to hold.
Anyway, the gist of this stupid blog entry is I'm sort of floating right now. I don't feel anything going on my life like it's really happening to me. It's like being hungover -- there's really no cure for it, I just have to wait it out until I feel better. And when I feel better it won't be because of anything I've done -- it will just happen and I'll be ok.
I wish I had a funny one for you today, guys. I really do. I'm headed out to the Beer Garden this afternoon -- maybe I'll feel better after that.
I've been moving a lot. Not just moving moving -- as in my recent move across the country and subsequent move back -- but moving as in not sitting still. I'm going all the time. On a plane or a subway or in an airport -- sometimes these are the only moments when I have the chance to sit still. This has never been a healthy way for me to live. But, back to the insanity defense, I keep going and going and never stopping to look around, and then expecting things to turn out differently.
I take on whatever comes at me and think about the consequences later. I don't worry about how the next big change or chance I'm taking will make me feel until the it's already underway. Then I feel like crap. Like right now, I'm looking around my new apartment and wishing for something else, wondering why I made all these changes in the past year when change doesn't agree with me. Because I'm never sure what I'm going to do next, I'm often treading water in my life. I don't have a clear idea of what my future holds -- I mean, who does? -- but more importantly I have no idea what I want my future to hold.
Anyway, the gist of this stupid blog entry is I'm sort of floating right now. I don't feel anything going on my life like it's really happening to me. It's like being hungover -- there's really no cure for it, I just have to wait it out until I feel better. And when I feel better it won't be because of anything I've done -- it will just happen and I'll be ok.
I wish I had a funny one for you today, guys. I really do. I'm headed out to the Beer Garden this afternoon -- maybe I'll feel better after that.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Don't rush flan or blueberries
My boss signed our whole company (all 12 of us) up for a cooking class at the Whole Foods downtown. We made gazpacho and chicken mole verde -- my team made the best meal, if I do say so myself, because they had a culinary genius on their team (uh... me!). We were told we were going to make flan but we didn't have to which is very good because our instructor told us while he was showing us caramelization techniques that you can't talk or check your cell phone while you're making flan, and you can't impatiently stir at the caramel hoping it will hurry up and be done. That kind of leaves me out of the "sure to make successful flan" club, dontcha think?
Anyway, on the way out of the store our group was trying to get past all the people waiting on line with their purchases and I bumped right into a guy who seemed to be in an awful hurry to get his stuff home. He was tapping his foot, sighing impatiently. I looked at his purchases out of curiosity. Do you know what he was buying? Blueberries and pita bread. What could be the fucking rush?
Anyway, on the way out of the store our group was trying to get past all the people waiting on line with their purchases and I bumped right into a guy who seemed to be in an awful hurry to get his stuff home. He was tapping his foot, sighing impatiently. I looked at his purchases out of curiosity. Do you know what he was buying? Blueberries and pita bread. What could be the fucking rush?
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Trying not to throw up
I spent most of today moving. Moving and peeling pieces of tape off of my face. The second part of that sentence is more interesting than the first so I shall elaborate. The movers were peeling huge strings of packing tape off of those blue blankets they use to wrap furniture in and leaving large balls of it on the floor. I couldn't exactly help them with anything else (weak wrists and I'm, well, the opposite of graceful) so I thought I would clear up the huge tumbleweeds of adhesive that were gathering around my new apartment. I picked one up and while opening a large trash bag with my other hand inadvertently hit myself in the face with the giant tape ball. I peeled it back and immediately checked to make sure I still had eyelashes and eyebrows (I did, phew!) before I then checked to see if the movers saw me do it. I mean, how embarassing! Seeing as how I just made it the subject of the first paragraph of my blog, I guess I'm over the possible embarassment.
I'm trying not to be pissed at the state of my apartment. I'm trying to just feel grateful that I finally have an address. But I am pissed. I'm living in someone else's apartment -- it is a legal sublet that I am renting in a co-op building. Before I moved in, the owner told me that he scrubbed all of the appliances and fixtures until his "hands were raw" -- direct quote. So imagine my surprise when I found all of the following within the first ten minutes of walking into this "clean" apartment:
1) a half-used box of butter in the butter bin
2) actual mold growing under the crisper bin
3) a smelly bag of ice and two half-filled ice-cube trays in the freezer
4) three dead bugs and their still living friend in the sink
5) a pile of ants feeding on another of their friends in the middle of the living room
6) potting soil under the radiator, and seeping out onto the floor
7) a large hole in the area under the sink, with a bucket and bowl covered in someone else's hair
8) more q-tips than I cared to count on the bathroom floor
Well, you get the picture. I couldn't sleep there -- it was too gross. So for the rest of the week, I'm going to go to work from my mom's house and spend my after-work hours cleaning my new apartment and trying not to throw up. Why oh why did I ever leave Vegas?
I'm trying not to be pissed at the state of my apartment. I'm trying to just feel grateful that I finally have an address. But I am pissed. I'm living in someone else's apartment -- it is a legal sublet that I am renting in a co-op building. Before I moved in, the owner told me that he scrubbed all of the appliances and fixtures until his "hands were raw" -- direct quote. So imagine my surprise when I found all of the following within the first ten minutes of walking into this "clean" apartment:
1) a half-used box of butter in the butter bin
2) actual mold growing under the crisper bin
3) a smelly bag of ice and two half-filled ice-cube trays in the freezer
4) three dead bugs and their still living friend in the sink
5) a pile of ants feeding on another of their friends in the middle of the living room
6) potting soil under the radiator, and seeping out onto the floor
7) a large hole in the area under the sink, with a bucket and bowl covered in someone else's hair
8) more q-tips than I cared to count on the bathroom floor
Well, you get the picture. I couldn't sleep there -- it was too gross. So for the rest of the week, I'm going to go to work from my mom's house and spend my after-work hours cleaning my new apartment and trying not to throw up. Why oh why did I ever leave Vegas?
Sunday, June 03, 2007
To everyone I drunk-dialed
This is a profuse, profound, utterly sincere apology to everyone that I drunk-dialed (or texted) last night. While reciting the "beer before liquor" epithet usually ensures that I will not mix vodka, tequila, beer and white wine, it didn't work yesterday and, since Rachel's little shindig started in the afternoon I was RIPPED by about 10:30 and had to be forced into a cab. A few minutes prior to this is when the texting and ill-advised dialing began.
If I drunk-dial you it is intended to show you that I really like you. And since most of the people harassed were in Vegas, their nights were just getting started so maybe it wasn't such a big deal. But I'm sorry anyway. Sorry and embarassed.
Thank you for not hanging up on me. And I promise to not do any of the following any more:
a) drink so much I can't walk down the street without veering into oncoming traffic
b) call you to remind you of our friendship and my profound feelings for you after imbibing the contents of my friend's liquor cabinet
and c) send you text messages when I am no longer in control of my basic motor functions, thereby ensuring that no one in the future receives a text similar to the last one I sent last night, which read "m& sta sorry". What the fuck that means, I have no idea.
If I drunk-dial you it is intended to show you that I really like you. And since most of the people harassed were in Vegas, their nights were just getting started so maybe it wasn't such a big deal. But I'm sorry anyway. Sorry and embarassed.
Thank you for not hanging up on me. And I promise to not do any of the following any more:
a) drink so much I can't walk down the street without veering into oncoming traffic
b) call you to remind you of our friendship and my profound feelings for you after imbibing the contents of my friend's liquor cabinet
and c) send you text messages when I am no longer in control of my basic motor functions, thereby ensuring that no one in the future receives a text similar to the last one I sent last night, which read "m& sta sorry". What the fuck that means, I have no idea.
Full disclosure and keg stands (reprint from June 2, 2007)
Rachel is having a bbq and I'm trying to get Jessica's lazy ass off the couch to come with me. Yes, it's all the way in Brooklyn and yes, we will probably be roped into doing keg stands, but I still think we should go. Because I don't go out as much as I used to and far be it from me to turn down free alcohol. My last name is O'Brien after all! Jess would rather watch the "Kate & Allie" marathon we found on WE. Could we beeeee bigger weiners? I don't think so.
I think any day that a terrorist plot is thwarted is a good day to go drinking. Don't you agree? What better way to celebrate our good ole American freedom than by chugging imported beers with a bunch of people I barely know in Broolyn?
And, of course, the other thing we have to celebrate is freedom of the press, the same people who are stupid enough to tell all the terrorists in the world in detail exactly the plan that was thwarted and exactly the intelligence (and I use that word lightly) our government has in place to stop said terrorists. Because I'm sure that won't inspire more of them to come up with half-baked plans to kill all of us. When people are trying to blow tourists to smithereens in one of the nation's busiest airports, full disclosure really should be the first order of business.
In case you didn't figure it out, that last paragraph was mostly sarcasm.
I think any day that a terrorist plot is thwarted is a good day to go drinking. Don't you agree? What better way to celebrate our good ole American freedom than by chugging imported beers with a bunch of people I barely know in Broolyn?
And, of course, the other thing we have to celebrate is freedom of the press, the same people who are stupid enough to tell all the terrorists in the world in detail exactly the plan that was thwarted and exactly the intelligence (and I use that word lightly) our government has in place to stop said terrorists. Because I'm sure that won't inspire more of them to come up with half-baked plans to kill all of us. When people are trying to blow tourists to smithereens in one of the nation's busiest airports, full disclosure really should be the first order of business.
In case you didn't figure it out, that last paragraph was mostly sarcasm.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Folding under questioning
On my way to meet the tenant board for the interview from hell (more on that later) I was on the 7 train with a guy wearing a Barry Bonds jersey and another guy wearing a shirt that read "Ban Bonds". They argued the entire way from 42nd Street to, I would assume, Shea Stadium. (I got off the train in Sunnyside so I really wouldn't know). When they started debating whether or not Roger Maris legitimately broke the home run record in 1961 since he played in more games than Babe Ruth, I was tempted to chime in because, and please note this for future reference, Maris' record is completely legitimate and he was the recognized record holder up until Mark McGwire broke it in 1998, regardless of the fact that there are some "baseball purists" (read: "assholes") who beg to differ. But if I had made that point, I would probably still be on that train redfaced and yelling, and would have completely missed the interview I mentioned earlier.
About the tenant board interview... Let me just put it this way, if I were in the mafia, I would be the bagman (no violence for me, thanks) who cracked under police questioning and had to either be taken into witness protection or get whacked on Tony Soprano's boat. I spent the last sweaty hour sitting in a hot basement with four grown men, three of whom couldn't have been nicer and one of whom decided to read my very embarassing credit report line by line and then define the words "recycling" and "security" for me in some detail. Maybe he thought I rode to the interview on the little bus -- I was tempted to respond with something like, "So when you say I have to recycle all plastic, does that include condom wrappers? And what about 40-bottles? Because there are usually a lot of both of those things in my apartment. I like to be hospitable to all the strangers I buzz into the building."
He also said if that I could have a cat but if I get engaged they have to meet and approve of my fiancee. I asked if he wanted to meet my cat, too. I don't think he got that I was kidding because he just kept talking. I told my dad who said that if I get engaged he wants to meet the guy before Otto from the tenant board, which seems reasonable.
About the tenant board interview... Let me just put it this way, if I were in the mafia, I would be the bagman (no violence for me, thanks) who cracked under police questioning and had to either be taken into witness protection or get whacked on Tony Soprano's boat. I spent the last sweaty hour sitting in a hot basement with four grown men, three of whom couldn't have been nicer and one of whom decided to read my very embarassing credit report line by line and then define the words "recycling" and "security" for me in some detail. Maybe he thought I rode to the interview on the little bus -- I was tempted to respond with something like, "So when you say I have to recycle all plastic, does that include condom wrappers? And what about 40-bottles? Because there are usually a lot of both of those things in my apartment. I like to be hospitable to all the strangers I buzz into the building."
He also said if that I could have a cat but if I get engaged they have to meet and approve of my fiancee. I asked if he wanted to meet my cat, too. I don't think he got that I was kidding because he just kept talking. I told my dad who said that if I get engaged he wants to meet the guy before Otto from the tenant board, which seems reasonable.
There are bigger losers than me... I just don't know them (reprint from May 27, 2007)
There are people in this world who are bigger losers than I am. I just don't know them.
Saturday night of a 3-day weekend and my nightlife invitations include dragging my candy ass to Brooklyn to go to the Catty with Jenny OR try to get in touch with Shara to find out the name of the club she's going to with Bonita from Florida. Brooklyn is seeming more and more likely, mostly because Jenny is easier to get a hold of and I haven't seen her in like a month. At about 9:30 pm, after a shower, as I'm deliberating on what to wear, watching hip hop videos on FUSE, the cider and Irish nachos I had with Jess earlier in the day start to make their presence felt and I FALL ASLEEP WITH THE PHONE IN MY HAND. Wake up at 3:00 am to find one missed call and four missed text messages basically asking, "Hey loser, where the fuck are you?"
This was actually supposed to be a public service announcement. Don't ever feel like you, yourself, can be categorized as a loser. Have confidence in the fact that you're probably not. And if ever you do start to feel like you just might be, conjure up the picture of me, in a towel, sleeping with a ringing phone in my hand and feel better about yourself. Because at least you're not that bad.
Saturday night of a 3-day weekend and my nightlife invitations include dragging my candy ass to Brooklyn to go to the Catty with Jenny OR try to get in touch with Shara to find out the name of the club she's going to with Bonita from Florida. Brooklyn is seeming more and more likely, mostly because Jenny is easier to get a hold of and I haven't seen her in like a month. At about 9:30 pm, after a shower, as I'm deliberating on what to wear, watching hip hop videos on FUSE, the cider and Irish nachos I had with Jess earlier in the day start to make their presence felt and I FALL ASLEEP WITH THE PHONE IN MY HAND. Wake up at 3:00 am to find one missed call and four missed text messages basically asking, "Hey loser, where the fuck are you?"
This was actually supposed to be a public service announcement. Don't ever feel like you, yourself, can be categorized as a loser. Have confidence in the fact that you're probably not. And if ever you do start to feel like you just might be, conjure up the picture of me, in a towel, sleeping with a ringing phone in my hand and feel better about yourself. Because at least you're not that bad.
My interview persona (reprint from May 25, 2007)
That slow-ass tenant board finally called. I have a meeting with them next week during which they will decide if I can live in what is now beginning to seem like a lame, over-priced apartment in Queens. But it's better than staying with my family. All of my friends feel sorry for me -- homeless, sleeping at my mom's, getting sixteen calls a day from her asking if I'm coming home for dinner, which, because she's getting older is increasingly being served at 5:00 pm. I hate when people feel sorry for me -- makes me crazy.
Keep your fingers crossed for me with the tenant board, 'kay? Maybe I'll be able to pull off my interview persona, the one that has made so many foolish people give me jobs. Or maybe they'll take one look at me and say, "Ms. O'Brien, perhaps it is better if you look for another place to live. Something about you says that you're the kind of person who would find herself overdrawn on her checking account because she just had to blow hundreds of dollars on Marian Keyes books and platform espadrilles." Which has happened -- but just that one time.
Keep your fingers crossed for me with the tenant board, 'kay? Maybe I'll be able to pull off my interview persona, the one that has made so many foolish people give me jobs. Or maybe they'll take one look at me and say, "Ms. O'Brien, perhaps it is better if you look for another place to live. Something about you says that you're the kind of person who would find herself overdrawn on her checking account because she just had to blow hundreds of dollars on Marian Keyes books and platform espadrilles." Which has happened -- but just that one time.
Africa withdrawal (reprint from May 23, 2007)
South Africa changed my life. At least I think it did. It's hard not to gain some perspective about your crappy little life when you're looking down on the world from Table Mountain or seeing where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for twenty-seven years or visiting a shanty town where four grown men live in a shack with no running water every day just because it means they might have a better life than they did in Zimbabwe. It was eye-opening, let me tell you. All the shit I was bitching about before I left suddenly seems a little silly.
I wasn't quite ready to come back. I came home a few days earlier than I had originally planned -- some meetings I was supposed to attend in Johannesburg wound up being cancelled so they sent me home on Monday. I'm still converting dollar amounts to rand in my head and I woke up this morning expecting to see the V&A Waterfront out of my window. I'm going through Africa-withdrawal or something.
I wasn't quite ready to come back. I came home a few days earlier than I had originally planned -- some meetings I was supposed to attend in Johannesburg wound up being cancelled so they sent me home on Monday. I'm still converting dollar amounts to rand in my head and I woke up this morning expecting to see the V&A Waterfront out of my window. I'm going through Africa-withdrawal or something.
Off to Africa (reprint from May 9, 2007)
I leave for South Africa today. I'm so scared. I'm also sad about something completely unrelated to Africa so I hope this rather long, arduous trip will be a good distraction. I'll try to check in and blog from there -- I've never been there before so I'll probably have a lot to say. But if I can't send me messages anyway -- I'll read them when I get back.
I won't catch typhoid (reprint from May 6, 2007)
Squishy pajamas and a hangover. The hangover is the reason I am in pajamas at 6:00 pm.
The Yankees won. But Phelps is in trouble. Oh, and the Rocket is back.
I leave for South Africa on Wednesday. I have band-aids on both arms where I got the shots that are required before you can go to Africa. They are shots to prevent polio and typhoid and a host of other diseases I didn't think people got anymore.
My mail is beginning to trickle into my mother's house, meaning I am officially no longer a Las Vegas resident.
Parties with people I don't know are some of the most fun parties I've ever been to. Saturday night was no exception. Cuervo was a bad idea but the rest of the night was fun.
I know my cell phone is working but it seems only the weirdest people have the number. But I finally got my credit card company to stop calling.
Random observations. Not particularly well-thought out. Not particularly insightful. Just the facts as I see them.
The Yankees won. But Phelps is in trouble. Oh, and the Rocket is back.
I leave for South Africa on Wednesday. I have band-aids on both arms where I got the shots that are required before you can go to Africa. They are shots to prevent polio and typhoid and a host of other diseases I didn't think people got anymore.
My mail is beginning to trickle into my mother's house, meaning I am officially no longer a Las Vegas resident.
Parties with people I don't know are some of the most fun parties I've ever been to. Saturday night was no exception. Cuervo was a bad idea but the rest of the night was fun.
I know my cell phone is working but it seems only the weirdest people have the number. But I finally got my credit card company to stop calling.
Random observations. Not particularly well-thought out. Not particularly insightful. Just the facts as I see them.
Working for a living (reprint from May 3, 2007)
The guy next to me at the bar snapped his fingers at the bartender. She was holding five full Corona bottles splayed between her fingers like a bunch of flowers. She looked at him, made a snotty face, put down the bottles and put her finger up in the universal hand sign for "I'll be just a minute". And he complained to his friend, "What a bitch?"
I felt some solidarity with her, like, Hey buddy, I've been her a lot longer than I've been you.
Could you do her job? You in your fancy suit with your perfect, almost femme hair and your imperfect face that becomes beautiful to the girls you date because you are single and have a good job. But really she (the bartender) is better than you because she works for a living. And no, I'm not exactly like her so I can't say for sure what's it's like to be her, because she is beautiful with shiny hair and a perfect C-cup (because she would have to be to be a bartender in Manhattan, now wouldn't she?) but still she works for a living, and I get that because I did, too, for a long time. And, even when you're beautiful with shiny hair and boobs, you're still kind of invisible when you serve people for a living. She will go home with swollen feet and no medical insurance and you will probably go home to a wife in Scarsdale.
I've been thinking about quitting my "career" and becoming a bartender, so that's where those thoughts came from.
I felt some solidarity with her, like, Hey buddy, I've been her a lot longer than I've been you.
Could you do her job? You in your fancy suit with your perfect, almost femme hair and your imperfect face that becomes beautiful to the girls you date because you are single and have a good job. But really she (the bartender) is better than you because she works for a living. And no, I'm not exactly like her so I can't say for sure what's it's like to be her, because she is beautiful with shiny hair and a perfect C-cup (because she would have to be to be a bartender in Manhattan, now wouldn't she?) but still she works for a living, and I get that because I did, too, for a long time. And, even when you're beautiful with shiny hair and boobs, you're still kind of invisible when you serve people for a living. She will go home with swollen feet and no medical insurance and you will probably go home to a wife in Scarsdale.
I've been thinking about quitting my "career" and becoming a bartender, so that's where those thoughts came from.
I'm a teenaged boy having an identity crisis (reprint from May 1, 2007)
I'm reading this great book and the writer (a guy) writes from the perspective of a few different, equally weird people of both genders. In reading one of the stories about a teenage boy (and while still suspended in the state of disbelief where I believed the character in a novel was a real person) I realized that this kid thinks the same way I thought when I was a kid -- and the way I often do now. In reading one of the stories about a 30-ish female writer I realized that this woman thinks the same way I think now -- and the writing style is eerily similar to my writing, fiction or otherwise, which is often written from the perspective of a 30-ish female writer. Which means one of two things -- 1) I think like a man writing in the guise of a woman or 2) I am secretly a teenage boy.
My cat! My apartment (reprint from April 29, 2007)
The Yankees are trying to kill me. That's all I have to say. They are trying to make me curl up into a tiny ball under one of the blue plastic seats at the stadium and just DIE. But I forgive them. Because deep down I love them. Even if they cause me gastrointestinal distress and nervous eczema.
Tonight is my last night in my sublet-life on the Upper West. Tomorrow, after one last vacuum of the rug and dropping off the sheets at the Chinese laundry next door, I have to give Katherine her apartment (and her cat) back. I've become quite attached to both of them. If not for the photographs of Kitty's family everywhere this could be my apartment. Maybe I will hide behind the door and wait for her to come back, club her over the head and take it. Then I won't have to look for one myself. Good idea? No, disposing of the body could be tricky.
In a little more than one week I'm leaving for Africa -- I will be there through May 25. If I haven't found a permanent place to live before I leave I will a) get my deposit back from those crack-head, slow-ass decision making people at the tenant board in Sunnyside and b) shoot myself. Maybe not in that order. I canNOT live on my mother's couch for too long. I will become a murdering, marauding LUNATIC if I do. I nearly killed a Japanese tourist at Yankee Stadium today for telling me to sit down. I'm like two steps away from a breakdown as it is.
I probably should have stayed in Vegas.
Tonight is my last night in my sublet-life on the Upper West. Tomorrow, after one last vacuum of the rug and dropping off the sheets at the Chinese laundry next door, I have to give Katherine her apartment (and her cat) back. I've become quite attached to both of them. If not for the photographs of Kitty's family everywhere this could be my apartment. Maybe I will hide behind the door and wait for her to come back, club her over the head and take it. Then I won't have to look for one myself. Good idea? No, disposing of the body could be tricky.
In a little more than one week I'm leaving for Africa -- I will be there through May 25. If I haven't found a permanent place to live before I leave I will a) get my deposit back from those crack-head, slow-ass decision making people at the tenant board in Sunnyside and b) shoot myself. Maybe not in that order. I canNOT live on my mother's couch for too long. I will become a murdering, marauding LUNATIC if I do. I nearly killed a Japanese tourist at Yankee Stadium today for telling me to sit down. I'm like two steps away from a breakdown as it is.
I probably should have stayed in Vegas.
Yay transexuals! (reprint from April 27, 2007)
My fascination with the transgender lifestyle has reached a new level with the announcement made by this sports writer from the LA Times. I am so proud of this guy and I don't even know him. He announced to the world that he was becoming a woman named Christine. How rockin' is that? Can you imagine being so self-aware that you know you were born in the wrong body? I can't. Bravo Christine Daniels!
I'm tired because I'm getting over a cold but I wanted to share that little tidbit with you.
I'm tired because I'm getting over a cold but I wanted to share that little tidbit with you.
Eggs all over the place (reprint from April 26, 2007)
I'm heartbroken, you guys. I don't want to be -- but I am. Heartbroken doesn't become me. Anyone who knew me around Fall 2001 knows that that is a very true statement.
\
I have this terrible tendency of becoming attached to a situation that doesn't really fit me. I find someone or something that I think is the only thing that will make me happy. I put all of my eggs in that basket and then the basket breaks and there are broken eggs all over my life. The good thing is that it happens very rarely. I probably won't be like this again for at least a couple of years. It will take a few weeks and I will bounce back and it will be, to the casual observer, as if nothing ever happened.
But the downside is I will go the next couple of years welcoming things into my life that aren't that one perfect thing. I'll date people I don't really care about, I'll do things that don't make my heart sing. I'll just go through the motions, drinking and laughing and hanging out with my friends. Nothing will change -- I will always be me. I gotta tell you though, right now I'm sick of the sight of me and would love to be someone else.
Anyway, I'll be fine. I'm trying not to sink too deep into this morose swamp I've created. I just needed to get this out.
\
I have this terrible tendency of becoming attached to a situation that doesn't really fit me. I find someone or something that I think is the only thing that will make me happy. I put all of my eggs in that basket and then the basket breaks and there are broken eggs all over my life. The good thing is that it happens very rarely. I probably won't be like this again for at least a couple of years. It will take a few weeks and I will bounce back and it will be, to the casual observer, as if nothing ever happened.
But the downside is I will go the next couple of years welcoming things into my life that aren't that one perfect thing. I'll date people I don't really care about, I'll do things that don't make my heart sing. I'll just go through the motions, drinking and laughing and hanging out with my friends. Nothing will change -- I will always be me. I gotta tell you though, right now I'm sick of the sight of me and would love to be someone else.
Anyway, I'll be fine. I'm trying not to sink too deep into this morose swamp I've created. I just needed to get this out.
Avoiding the "bad" topic (reprint from April 24, 2007)
What I want to write about, talk about, think about -- well, I'm not allowed to a) because Emily told me I'm not allowed and b) because she's right but not for the same reasons she thinks she is. Anyway, I'm determined to distract myself from these "bad" thoughts. So I'm going to find something else to write about.
"Dancing with the Stars? No. That's well-covered territory in other blogs and I just saw a whole segment about it this very evening on "Access Hollywood". I also saw a story about the new concert venue in Las Vegas but that led to thoughts of the "bad" topic. Damnit!
What else, what else... what about the beautiful weather we're having here on the East Coast? My goodness, I haven't even needed a jacket. It's been wonderful! Not as good as the 90-degree temperatures I left behind in Las Vegas... where the "bad" topic is based. Sheesh!
My time on the Upper West Side has almost come to a close. Katherine is due back in a few days and I will have to go back to my mom's couch. And to think, I left a lovely two-bedroom apartment in Las Vegas to come to the most expensive city in North America and be homeless.
All roads lead back to Vegas in my mind. Which means that all roads lead back to the "bad" topic. Emily is not going to be happy.
"Dancing with the Stars? No. That's well-covered territory in other blogs and I just saw a whole segment about it this very evening on "Access Hollywood". I also saw a story about the new concert venue in Las Vegas but that led to thoughts of the "bad" topic. Damnit!
What else, what else... what about the beautiful weather we're having here on the East Coast? My goodness, I haven't even needed a jacket. It's been wonderful! Not as good as the 90-degree temperatures I left behind in Las Vegas... where the "bad" topic is based. Sheesh!
My time on the Upper West Side has almost come to a close. Katherine is due back in a few days and I will have to go back to my mom's couch. And to think, I left a lovely two-bedroom apartment in Las Vegas to come to the most expensive city in North America and be homeless.
All roads lead back to Vegas in my mind. Which means that all roads lead back to the "bad" topic. Emily is not going to be happy.
Comatose (reprint from April 15, 2007)
I did not miss rain when I lived in Las Vegas. I hate hate hate precipitation. I know it is good for the earth and prevents droughts but, godammit, it's also very inconvenient. I went out for like five minutes before -- Katherine doesn't have coffee or a coffeemaker in her apartment so I had to make a Starbucks run -- and I came back literally soaking wet. Starbucks is a block and a half away. Stupid Noreaster. Bite me, Mother Nature.
Jessica and I went out Friday night and for some reason it did me in. Between moving, and starting a new job, and not having a place to live my little, teeny brain is very tired and I did nothing this weekend but sleep. I drank and slept. I'm officially the laziest sack-of-something on the planet. Katherine has a very comfortable bed and a very comfortable couch and a very warm apartment, all of which are conducive to a coma. So between texting people in Las Vegas, watching the Food Network and sipping on cider, I haven't accomplished very much.
Jessica and I went out Friday night and for some reason it did me in. Between moving, and starting a new job, and not having a place to live my little, teeny brain is very tired and I did nothing this weekend but sleep. I drank and slept. I'm officially the laziest sack-of-something on the planet. Katherine has a very comfortable bed and a very comfortable couch and a very warm apartment, all of which are conducive to a coma. So between texting people in Las Vegas, watching the Food Network and sipping on cider, I haven't accomplished very much.
My smartness (reprint from April 14, 2007)
After re-reading this blog entry, I came to the conclusion that it was boring and uninteresting. So rather than disappoint my "fans" with a less-than-stellar entry, I rewrote it using a thesarus. Watch out for my $5 dollar words -- my smartness will blow you away.
I do not retain an accomodation yet. Auspiciously when I told my cohort, Katherine, that I was going to be reposing on my matriarch's pull-out chesterfield until I found an abode she told me she was going to France for a fortnight and needed an auxiliary for her very necessitous grimalkin. So here I am, persisting tariff-gratis through the terminus of April on the Loftier West Ancillary.
I surmise I may have found my own berth but I'm waiting for approval from an addressee conclave. It's an august cooperative -- ample passable chamber for my behemothic, ostentatious-ferrous divan, passel windows and a laundry lodging on the establishment -- but it has one detriment. It is veraciously two ingots abroad from my ex-paramour's commorancy. Kind of brings the propinquity's estimation bottomward a smidgen, don't you acquiesce? It's all I can incur fortwith, though.
Nevertheless, I miss Las Vegas but I'm relishing being back in my terrain. I have to go put maquillage on momentarily. I'm departing.
I do not retain an accomodation yet. Auspiciously when I told my cohort, Katherine, that I was going to be reposing on my matriarch's pull-out chesterfield until I found an abode she told me she was going to France for a fortnight and needed an auxiliary for her very necessitous grimalkin. So here I am, persisting tariff-gratis through the terminus of April on the Loftier West Ancillary.
I surmise I may have found my own berth but I'm waiting for approval from an addressee conclave. It's an august cooperative -- ample passable chamber for my behemothic, ostentatious-ferrous divan, passel windows and a laundry lodging on the establishment -- but it has one detriment. It is veraciously two ingots abroad from my ex-paramour's commorancy. Kind of brings the propinquity's estimation bottomward a smidgen, don't you acquiesce? It's all I can incur fortwith, though.
Nevertheless, I miss Las Vegas but I'm relishing being back in my terrain. I have to go put maquillage on momentarily. I'm departing.
In over my very tired head (reprint from April 10, 2007)
I'm awake at 2:30 am (which my body thinks is 11:30 pm) because I flew in at 8:30 am (which my body thought was 5:30 am) after not having slept for two days (drinking with Julie at Mix followed by early morning visit from the movers followed by final brunch with Michael and two mimosas followed by one last goodbye to the cutest dog in Las Vegas followed by a few hours spent removing last minute dirt and crap from my apartment followed by driving everything
I thought would fit in my suitcases but didn't to the charity box followed by returning rental car followed by limping through the airport with 4 giant bags followed by 4 1/2 hour flight with my sad, tired head pressed against the window) and went straight to my mom's house to shower, change, go visit the new home for all of my belongings and then go to my new job for a short meeting to discuss the three days of meetings I will be attending in midtown for the rest of the week. Oh, and I bought a suit. That's right -- Louise, who would wear jeans to her own wedding, owns an actual suit.
I feel like I've been here 3 days. And I'm homesick if you can believe that. I had a little nervous breakdown in my mom's living room this morning when I couldn't find anything in my giant, overstuffed suitcase. I started to wonder what I was thinking giving up a nice apartment and my new friends in a clean (although sometimes boring) environment to live out of a suitcase and not have an apartment at all. Now I'm sleeping in the house I grew up in but in which I no longer have a bedroom and I don't even have most of my personal stuff with me. It's all happening so fast.
Part of my worry is that I feel like I stepped back in time. Some of the people at my new job are girls I used to work with at my first PR job which is great but disconcerting as well. Did I take a step backwards? Was I so anxious to leave my last job that I didn't think this through? I thought I hated Vegas a lot of the time but, of course, as I was getting ready to leave there for good all the stuff that was great about living there became apparent. My friends, for one thing -- I never expected to be so close to people I met six months ago. Also, for some reason right before I left Las Vegas, some of the things that were making my life there a little sad and stale seemed like they might be changing. Great timing, God.
I'm a little confused and out of sorts. I know the longer I am here the easier it will become to figure out what makes me happy. I have to learn to not let my environment make or break me.
Who knew where I lived would have such a profound effect on my moods? And who knew New York would take adjusting to? I'm from here, for Christ's sake?
Anyway, now I can't sleep. I have to be up at 6:45 am (which my body thinks is 3:45 am) so I should get some rest.
Wish me luck, ok guys? I might be in over my head... again.
I thought would fit in my suitcases but didn't to the charity box followed by returning rental car followed by limping through the airport with 4 giant bags followed by 4 1/2 hour flight with my sad, tired head pressed against the window) and went straight to my mom's house to shower, change, go visit the new home for all of my belongings and then go to my new job for a short meeting to discuss the three days of meetings I will be attending in midtown for the rest of the week. Oh, and I bought a suit. That's right -- Louise, who would wear jeans to her own wedding, owns an actual suit.
I feel like I've been here 3 days. And I'm homesick if you can believe that. I had a little nervous breakdown in my mom's living room this morning when I couldn't find anything in my giant, overstuffed suitcase. I started to wonder what I was thinking giving up a nice apartment and my new friends in a clean (although sometimes boring) environment to live out of a suitcase and not have an apartment at all. Now I'm sleeping in the house I grew up in but in which I no longer have a bedroom and I don't even have most of my personal stuff with me. It's all happening so fast.
Part of my worry is that I feel like I stepped back in time. Some of the people at my new job are girls I used to work with at my first PR job which is great but disconcerting as well. Did I take a step backwards? Was I so anxious to leave my last job that I didn't think this through? I thought I hated Vegas a lot of the time but, of course, as I was getting ready to leave there for good all the stuff that was great about living there became apparent. My friends, for one thing -- I never expected to be so close to people I met six months ago. Also, for some reason right before I left Las Vegas, some of the things that were making my life there a little sad and stale seemed like they might be changing. Great timing, God.
I'm a little confused and out of sorts. I know the longer I am here the easier it will become to figure out what makes me happy. I have to learn to not let my environment make or break me.
Who knew where I lived would have such a profound effect on my moods? And who knew New York would take adjusting to? I'm from here, for Christ's sake?
Anyway, now I can't sleep. I have to be up at 6:45 am (which my body thinks is 3:45 am) so I should get some rest.
Wish me luck, ok guys? I might be in over my head... again.
Vegas vs. New York (reprint from April 8, 2007)
I'm sitting in an empty apartment. And when I say "empty" I mean empteeeeeee. Gone is my big squishy bed. Gone is my TV. Gone is the arm chair that I spent many a hungover weekend dangling my legs off of while watching reruns of Six Feet Under. I'm kind of sad. I like this apartment a lot better than any apartment I've had in New York. Which has led to the thoughts of comparisons. I tend to compare things in lists so here you go:
Differences between Vegas and New York:
1) Walking is practically illegal in Vegas. People look at you like they want to lean out of their car window and hand you a dollar to wash their windshield. In New York walking is not only expected but neccessary.
2) In Vegas, the lady that works the register at my local CVS knows me -- not my name but she knows stuff I like that might be on sale and she reminds me not to forget my discount card the next time I come in. In New York, the same woman worked the register at my local supermarket the whole time I lived there and she never even made eye contact with me when handing me my change.
3) In New York you have to squat when you pee -- girls are fully aware of how annoying this can be. In Vegas, even dive bars have toilet seat covers and soap in the sink dispenser -- very handy and sanitary.
4) Walking in the street with an open container of alcohol is legal in Las Vegas. 'Nuff said.
5) People in New York pay $2000 a month to live in a shoebox but they don't have to buy a car. People in Vegas practically get a palace for $800 a month but they end up having to buy a car that will most likely get smacked into at least 10 times during the course of its ownership by other crazy drivers who refuse to signal or check their mirrors when changing lanes.
6) Some of the best clubs in Las Vegas will often have people who look and dress like your grandparents bellying up to the bar right next to you. Slightly disconcerting.
7) People come to Vegas dressed like they're getting ready to do yard work and then sit next to you at champagne brunch. People in New York know that fanny packs and khaki walking shorts should only be worn on a dare.
8) It is very difficult to meet people in Las Vegas who aren't tourists because the best places to hang out are all on the Strip. People in New York would not be caught dead comingling with the common folk.
9) Starbucks drive-thrus. Ingenious and slightly stinking of laziness.
Well, I hope that helps you get a better idea of what the major differences between my two home cities are. Looking at this list now, I'm amazed that I'm going back to New York, with the overpriced apartments and surly supermarket employees. I do miss it and I know I'll fall right back into my old pattern of being a typical New Yorker. But I will miss Vegas. I really will.
Differences between Vegas and New York:
1) Walking is practically illegal in Vegas. People look at you like they want to lean out of their car window and hand you a dollar to wash their windshield. In New York walking is not only expected but neccessary.
2) In Vegas, the lady that works the register at my local CVS knows me -- not my name but she knows stuff I like that might be on sale and she reminds me not to forget my discount card the next time I come in. In New York, the same woman worked the register at my local supermarket the whole time I lived there and she never even made eye contact with me when handing me my change.
3) In New York you have to squat when you pee -- girls are fully aware of how annoying this can be. In Vegas, even dive bars have toilet seat covers and soap in the sink dispenser -- very handy and sanitary.
4) Walking in the street with an open container of alcohol is legal in Las Vegas. 'Nuff said.
5) People in New York pay $2000 a month to live in a shoebox but they don't have to buy a car. People in Vegas practically get a palace for $800 a month but they end up having to buy a car that will most likely get smacked into at least 10 times during the course of its ownership by other crazy drivers who refuse to signal or check their mirrors when changing lanes.
6) Some of the best clubs in Las Vegas will often have people who look and dress like your grandparents bellying up to the bar right next to you. Slightly disconcerting.
7) People come to Vegas dressed like they're getting ready to do yard work and then sit next to you at champagne brunch. People in New York know that fanny packs and khaki walking shorts should only be worn on a dare.
8) It is very difficult to meet people in Las Vegas who aren't tourists because the best places to hang out are all on the Strip. People in New York would not be caught dead comingling with the common folk.
9) Starbucks drive-thrus. Ingenious and slightly stinking of laziness.
Well, I hope that helps you get a better idea of what the major differences between my two home cities are. Looking at this list now, I'm amazed that I'm going back to New York, with the overpriced apartments and surly supermarket employees. I do miss it and I know I'll fall right back into my old pattern of being a typical New Yorker. But I will miss Vegas. I really will.
Radio static made me turn around (reprint from April 7, 2007)
To prove the randomness of my existence in this city, I spent today driving -- like for 4 hours. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't like to drive -- I only learned when I moved here and the whole time I was here I never bought a car. But I rented one this weekend so I could run some last minute errands. I drove all the way north and then west and then to Mount Charleston. I only turned around when I got so high up that Hot 97 stopped coming in clear. It's true -- a long drive will clear your head.
Here's are the things I was thinking about that kept me driving for so long.
1) I'm going to miss Las Vegas
2) I have to stop letting what other people think about me define me.
3) Somehow I have given people the impression that hurting my feelings is impossible. Not only is it possible -- it happens a lot.
4) Beating myself up because someone doesn't like me is the same as getting mad when it rains -- it doesn't do any good because it's out of my control.
I didn't expect to leave Vegas this way. I expected to be happy that I was moving on to this great opportunity and a little bit sad about the friends and job that I'm leaving. Instead I feel like shit and all I want to do is take a very long nap. But I'll bounce back -- I always do.
Here's are the things I was thinking about that kept me driving for so long.
1) I'm going to miss Las Vegas
2) I have to stop letting what other people think about me define me.
3) Somehow I have given people the impression that hurting my feelings is impossible. Not only is it possible -- it happens a lot.
4) Beating myself up because someone doesn't like me is the same as getting mad when it rains -- it doesn't do any good because it's out of my control.
I didn't expect to leave Vegas this way. I expected to be happy that I was moving on to this great opportunity and a little bit sad about the friends and job that I'm leaving. Instead I feel like shit and all I want to do is take a very long nap. But I'll bounce back -- I always do.
Leaving Las Vegas in a drunken stupor (reprint from April 6, 2007)
So although I am hungover from last night's tequila-fest (three shots of Patron? Suurrrre. Why not?) I am going out tonight -- first to First Friday and then Beauty Bar. I will have to get up verrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyy early tomorrow to finish packing my life but that is not a good enough deterrent. I'm leaving Las Vegas and I'm going to be drunk while doing it.
I feel bad -- like I'm leaving Vegas on a sour note. Several people at work hate me. I have friends here who don't understand why I bothered coming into their lives (and taking them over, thank you very much) if I was gonna run off in 6 months. I'm used to losing people. At my old job we got used to people being important to us for 6 months before their tourist visa or internship ran out. But I guess everyone isn't like that.
So to make up for it, shots are on me. Seriously.
I feel bad -- like I'm leaving Vegas on a sour note. Several people at work hate me. I have friends here who don't understand why I bothered coming into their lives (and taking them over, thank you very much) if I was gonna run off in 6 months. I'm used to losing people. At my old job we got used to people being important to us for 6 months before their tourist visa or internship ran out. But I guess everyone isn't like that.
So to make up for it, shots are on me. Seriously.
Kind of a bitch (reprint from April 5, 2007)
After a few margaritas with friends, I came home tonight to find that my father, who is visiting from L.A. supposedly to help me pack, knew since about 3:00 pm that there was a little red piece of paper on my door from Southwest Gas. Why is it red, you ask? Wellllll... because they turned my gas off. Apparently I haven't paid a bill in 2 months. YES! Way to go, Louise.
So now I have to get it turned back on tomorrow just to turn it off again on Sunday. I didn't want to be mad at him but his response to why he didn't tell me was because he thought I purposely turned it off to save time. Why he thought that I would go without hot water or burners for four days I don't know. But that's his story and he's sticking to it. He did help me bubble-wrap glasses since yesterday. I guess I shouldn't be mad but I'm kind of a bitch.
So now I have to get it turned back on tomorrow just to turn it off again on Sunday. I didn't want to be mad at him but his response to why he didn't tell me was because he thought I purposely turned it off to save time. Why he thought that I would go without hot water or burners for four days I don't know. But that's his story and he's sticking to it. He did help me bubble-wrap glasses since yesterday. I guess I shouldn't be mad but I'm kind of a bitch.
Agave Thursday Night (reprint from April 4, 2007)
I'm saying good-bye to Las Vegas with margaritas at Agave. It was chosen for no other particular reason than the fact that they have pomegranite margaritas and I can see it from my office window. If you live in Las Vegas and you care that I'm leaving please come on down -- Thursday at about 5:30 pm. You have to drive to Summerlin but you are welcome back to my house if you need to pass out my couch afterwards. It will be fun -- well, maybe not fun unless you think it's fun to watch me blubber and sob all over people like I'm never going to see them again. Who knows? It might be. I look really weird when I cry.
An apology to Las Vegas (reprint from April 1, 2007)
Michael asked for an apology to all of my friends here in Vegas. He's in Laughlin so we are not spending my last full Sunday in Vegas hungover in some restaurant after having watched Lisa return another dress at the Meadows. Stupid Laughlin. But that is probably what we would be doing if he were here.
Anyway, in the way of apologies I don't have much. But I will miss him and every other wonderful person I met in Vegas. Now that I'm leaving I kind of wish I had some more time here. I guess that happens at the end of anything big that happens in your life.
It was only like 6 months ago that I was crying about leaving New York. I'm such a wuss. I am hungover, actually, and have been not the least bit productive today. In addition to having to clean this pit that I live in I also have to start bubble-wrapping my whole life. But I did want to take a moment to put in writing how much I'm going to miss all the fucking awesome people I met while I was here. Big kiss. Keep in touch. As Lisa would say, "I'm feeling a little melancholy" about the whole thing.
Anyway, in the way of apologies I don't have much. But I will miss him and every other wonderful person I met in Vegas. Now that I'm leaving I kind of wish I had some more time here. I guess that happens at the end of anything big that happens in your life.
It was only like 6 months ago that I was crying about leaving New York. I'm such a wuss. I am hungover, actually, and have been not the least bit productive today. In addition to having to clean this pit that I live in I also have to start bubble-wrapping my whole life. But I did want to take a moment to put in writing how much I'm going to miss all the fucking awesome people I met while I was here. Big kiss. Keep in touch. As Lisa would say, "I'm feeling a little melancholy" about the whole thing.
If you can make it there (Reprint from March 31, 2007)
And they said it wouldn't last?
Well... it didn't.
You know what they say -- you can take the girl out of New York but ... very often when you do that girl might wait a few months but eventually she will figure out a way to run back to the only city in the world that makes sense because, apparently (who knows why) but she can't live without Yankee games, honking cars and humidity.
Actually, the truth is I was offered a phenomenal job that I just can't turn down and I'm headed back to New Yawk City yo! I'll be back the Monday after Easter.
I feel kind of bad that I made all of you New York people say "goodbye" to me a few months ago. Some of you cried and shit. I feel like an ass. The sad thing is I can't even really promise it won't happen again. In a few years I might get the itch to move again and do all of it all over. For that I will apologize in advance. I don't see it happening in the forseeable future but you never can tell. No one thought I would ever move to Las Vegas, did they?
Anyway, I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll buy you a drink or a cookie or a steak or something. And I promise to wait a good long while before I think about moving again.
Well... it didn't.
You know what they say -- you can take the girl out of New York but ... very often when you do that girl might wait a few months but eventually she will figure out a way to run back to the only city in the world that makes sense because, apparently (who knows why) but she can't live without Yankee games, honking cars and humidity.
Actually, the truth is I was offered a phenomenal job that I just can't turn down and I'm headed back to New Yawk City yo! I'll be back the Monday after Easter.
I feel kind of bad that I made all of you New York people say "goodbye" to me a few months ago. Some of you cried and shit. I feel like an ass. The sad thing is I can't even really promise it won't happen again. In a few years I might get the itch to move again and do all of it all over. For that I will apologize in advance. I don't see it happening in the forseeable future but you never can tell. No one thought I would ever move to Las Vegas, did they?
Anyway, I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll buy you a drink or a cookie or a steak or something. And I promise to wait a good long while before I think about moving again.
Monday, March 26, 2007
I'm a yellow-red spazoid
Big decisions have to be made, people. Big decisions. Am I going to change my whole world again in the next 24 hours? Dunno. But keep your fingers crossed for me, would ya? I can't do this kind of shit alone.
Last week we did Emergenetics training at work. R&R takes this stuff very seriously. It's about finding out how you think and how your co-workers think and then how you can all work together. Everyone's "preferences" are broken down by color -- blue (logical), green (structured), red (social) and yellow (conceptual). Guess what I am? That's right a "conceptual" (read: "airhead") social butterfly who can't tell her left from her right and whose desk is a mess. Seriously, I had so little blue it's a wonder I can dress myself and get to work every day. It does explain how last week I had no money for groceries but still managed to budget in a t-shirt with Jimi Hendrix's face on it.
Anyway, my color chart also says "bad at making decisions", "needs approval from others" and "easily distracted". So its no wonder I need all of your support and good wishes.
Keep me in mind, 'kay?
Last week we did Emergenetics training at work. R&R takes this stuff very seriously. It's about finding out how you think and how your co-workers think and then how you can all work together. Everyone's "preferences" are broken down by color -- blue (logical), green (structured), red (social) and yellow (conceptual). Guess what I am? That's right a "conceptual" (read: "airhead") social butterfly who can't tell her left from her right and whose desk is a mess. Seriously, I had so little blue it's a wonder I can dress myself and get to work every day. It does explain how last week I had no money for groceries but still managed to budget in a t-shirt with Jimi Hendrix's face on it.
Anyway, my color chart also says "bad at making decisions", "needs approval from others" and "easily distracted". So its no wonder I need all of your support and good wishes.
Keep me in mind, 'kay?
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The only Oscar recap you'll need to read
This has been a very exciting night and to top it off I wanted to give you all my up-to-the-minute, live-action Oscar commentary. I know you can't wait so let's get to it.
READER’S NOTES: Please keep in mind that these are in the present tense because they were written as the action unfolded. And also keep in mind that Myspace fucks every all kinds of formatting so if you're reading it there, my apologies for all the weird spacing. But it ain't my fault.
- I like being on the West Coast. That means that for the first time in my life, I will not be straining to keep my eyes open to see who won Best Picture.
- Everyone ... and I mean everyone, everyone, everyone, everyone -- except Penelope Cruz and Anne Hathaway (whose photo from tonight I couldn’t find so here’s another nice one with her boobies showing) looks STUPID on the red carpet. It's the Oscars, people – comb your freaking hair and get it out of your face. And you're not dancing in Jubilee! so leave the feathers home.
- "The Ballad of the Tragically Un-nominated" as sung by Jack Black, Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly about the plight of comedians not being recognized by the Academy will probably be one of the funniest moments of the night – it will almost be superceded by Jerry Seinfeld much later in the broadcast referring to the documentaries in the full-length category as "incredibly depressing”. The theme of the song seems to be that comedians should do serious, artsy films sometimes to show their range. A good addition to this musical number would have been Jim Carrey coming out to sing about how he manages to do both comedy and serious films and still is routinely ignored at the Oscars. (I'm still a little bitter about him not winning for Man on the Moon. The pain has begun to fade but it still stings now and again.)
- I think Will Smith’s little boy might have a big head already. I don't know why I think that. It's just a gut feeling I have while watching his parents glow with pride as he makes a tiny ass of himself on national TV. Awww, isn't he cute. Weird little Dakota Fanning-wannabe Abigail Breslin managed to read the teleprompter right, dumbass.
- Pan’s Labyrinth starts to win awards early in the broadcast. I begin to feel bad for a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless) who recently embarrassed himself in a group email situation by accidentally insulting the film to the film's producer. I start hoping the film will start losing so as to vindicate him.
- Someone should teach little Abigail Breslin to pay just a little bit of attention while her octogenarian co-star (who doesn't even mention her or any other member of the film’s cast in his acceptance speech) is giving his acceptance speech.
- I want to pinch Al Gore’s chubby cheeks. He's so cute. He makes me recycle but I love him.
- Why is Ben Affleck on stage? I step away for one minute to put a load of laundry in and Affleck appears.
- Children of Men looks like a good movie. Pity I never heard of it before. Not living in New York or Los Angeles means I often miss the best shit but there are currently six theaters in my immediate vicinity playing Music and Lyrics.
- Tom Cruise scares me. I can't even look right at him. Now would be a good time to get up and make some tea. It's like his crazy beady eyes are following me as I get up and walk away from the TV.
- Pan’s Labyrinth does not win Best Foreign Language Film. Unnamed friend must be very relieved. If it had won he would never have heard the end of it.
- God gave Jennifer Hudson (who I love but who I don't believe is the recipient of divine intervention) the Supporting Actress Oscar. Or maybe it was her grandmother. Or maybe her grandmother asked God to do it. It's a little unclear but I'm happy for her.
Jerry Seinfeld comes on to make his depressing comment. And then they show a clip of a doc called Jesus Camp and tea comes out of my nose when I start laughing. - Davis Guggenheim hugs Al Gore while collecting his Oscar and no one pinches his cheeks. I am disappointed but I lived through his presidency being stolen from him from him so I think I can handle it.
- I wish I had written Little Miss Sunshine, especially since everyone who knows me knows that I am obsessed (and not in a healthy way) with the following things in no particular order – VW vans, child beauty pageants, Steve Carell and pornography, the latter only because I think porn stars are hiiiiii-larious. This is not exactly Oscar commentary so I will follow it with this little interesting tidbit that I'm learning during tonight's telecast—Michael Arndt who did write the screenplay used to be Matthew Broderick’s assistant and had to quit his job in order to finish the project. It's a little inspiring -- he was kind of nobody and he wrote an Academy-award winning script.
- Beyoncé is completely upstaged by ma girl Jennifer. I love it! I have nothing against Beyoncé but she's a little slow and I think she has trouble talking. After uttering the phrase "Sing it girl" (presumably to Jennifer Hudson) during their little Dreamgirls medley she begins to sing. Um... yeah... I think she was talking to herself.
- Watching the clip from the Pursuit of Happyness convinces that I was right in not seeing in the theaters because I would still be crying. I’m kind of a sap.
- Forest Whittaker won Best Actor. I didn’t see that coming and I don’t think I picked him in the Oscar Pool at work so there goes $100. I’m happy for him, though. I hope they don’t cut off his speech with that stupid music.
- Please let Marty win. Please let Marty win. Please let Marty win. I have to stop typing and go cross my fingers.
- YAY! YAY! Way to go, Marty. You could see him trying not too look excited. He’s been burned so many times. I have to go call my sister.
- Jessica’s not answering. But my Mom does when I call her. She paused the awards when she went to the bathroom about an hour ago so she’s like 8 minutes behind. She says she’ll call me back when the announcement is made in her living room.
- Jack, Jack, Jack you look like Marlon Brando in The Island of Doctor Moreau. Yeah, not a good thing.
- WAY TO GO MARTY! Even though The Departed is a movie about Boston I forgive you. The announcer just said that he was quoted as saying this was the first movie he ever did with a plot. Um… what? GoodFellas had a plot (and it was about NEW YORK). Casino had a plot (and it was about LAS VEGAS). Ok, Marty, let’s not fight. Enjoy your moment. I see your giant glasses getting all fogged up. Let it out, Marty. You deserve it.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Un-glamorous
As I look back on my day I am struck by the number of things I did that serve as proof that I will never be graceful and glamorous...
I gave myself such a profound blister with a pair of cheap shoes that I bought at Target that I've been limping all week. (The cheap shoes is the unglamorous part and the large exposed blister is not only not graceful but icky.)
While talking to my client today I got one of those shivers up the spine but instead of just quietly dealing with it I started to twitch like an epileptic poodle. He had the grace to not look horrified.
I went through half of this morning with lipstick on my teeth and a large smear of black ink on the back of my hand.
I told my boss (whose name is Dain) that he was "Dain-irrific". Then I let out a very unglamorous guffaw which, I believe, was followed by a snort.
While having lunch with some co-workers I started to do an impression of my sister as a junior high-school cheerleader doing the "Funky Chicken". Allow me to repeat that -- I was in public having lunch in front of other people doing the FUNKY CHICKEN!
I would like to be the kind of person that never has a run in her stocking, knows just what to say and when to say it, and has a delightful little genteel giggle. But these, alas, are not the kind of traits I exhibit. At least my own stupidity is an endless source of amusement for my blog readers. And for that reason, dear readers, I will continue to be a jerk for as long as I can. 'Cuz I'm a giver.
I gave myself such a profound blister with a pair of cheap shoes that I bought at Target that I've been limping all week. (The cheap shoes is the unglamorous part and the large exposed blister is not only not graceful but icky.)
While talking to my client today I got one of those shivers up the spine but instead of just quietly dealing with it I started to twitch like an epileptic poodle. He had the grace to not look horrified.
I went through half of this morning with lipstick on my teeth and a large smear of black ink on the back of my hand.
I told my boss (whose name is Dain) that he was "Dain-irrific". Then I let out a very unglamorous guffaw which, I believe, was followed by a snort.
While having lunch with some co-workers I started to do an impression of my sister as a junior high-school cheerleader doing the "Funky Chicken". Allow me to repeat that -- I was in public having lunch in front of other people doing the FUNKY CHICKEN!
I would like to be the kind of person that never has a run in her stocking, knows just what to say and when to say it, and has a delightful little genteel giggle. But these, alas, are not the kind of traits I exhibit. At least my own stupidity is an endless source of amusement for my blog readers. And for that reason, dear readers, I will continue to be a jerk for as long as I can. 'Cuz I'm a giver.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Wingey moany-hole
I've been a wingy moany-hole since I moved here. "I have no friends." "I miss New York." "Why did I move so far away?" Winge winge, moan moan. Who knew I was so flippin' pathetic?
Last night a bunch of people went out to dinner for Elizabeth's birthday and I looked around the table and I realized: I have friends here. I've only been here three months and I am lucky enough to have found a group of people that make me smile... and I get to see them every day at work.
Las Vegas is not the easiest city in which to meet people but my company is so friendly and so full of fun people. They may not fully understand the concept of happy hour (although Tamar, Stephanie and I plan to change that if we can) but they know how to have a good time, they take the time to stop and talk over morning coffee and not a one of 'em comes to work cranky.
Anyway thought I would throw that out to all my friends from back home that have been subjected to my whining. Next time, tell me to shut the fuck up, 'kay?
Last night a bunch of people went out to dinner for Elizabeth's birthday and I looked around the table and I realized: I have friends here. I've only been here three months and I am lucky enough to have found a group of people that make me smile... and I get to see them every day at work.
Las Vegas is not the easiest city in which to meet people but my company is so friendly and so full of fun people. They may not fully understand the concept of happy hour (although Tamar, Stephanie and I plan to change that if we can) but they know how to have a good time, they take the time to stop and talk over morning coffee and not a one of 'em comes to work cranky.
Anyway thought I would throw that out to all my friends from back home that have been subjected to my whining. Next time, tell me to shut the fuck up, 'kay?
Monday, January 01, 2007
Coffee is bad for you
I've had so much to tell you guys lately but no time available to write. I've met celebrities -- Fergie, Jamie Fox, All American Rejects, Wayne Newton AGAIN -- and done other weird things -- served as bodyguard for actual Vegas showgirls as they walked through Fremont Street to stand in front of a Dodge Neon on national TV, fell flat on my face while trying to get to my seat on an America West flight from New York -- all of which were worthy of a blog. But I haven't had the time, dear readers. And time is of the essence when writing an entertaining blog.
And that is because I am overworked. Overworked, overwhelmed and tired. And after working for 13 straight hours on New Year's Eve I've come to the conclusion that my New Year's resolution will be to start telling people who make me work for 13 straight hours on a national holiday to go fuck themselves.
That probably won't happen. Because I'm chicken shit.
Maybe I'll just give up drinking so much damn coffee.
And that is because I am overworked. Overworked, overwhelmed and tired. And after working for 13 straight hours on New Year's Eve I've come to the conclusion that my New Year's resolution will be to start telling people who make me work for 13 straight hours on a national holiday to go fuck themselves.
That probably won't happen. Because I'm chicken shit.
Maybe I'll just give up drinking so much damn coffee.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Taking things personally
Sorry I haven't written in a while. Apparently I have fans. Fans who complain when I don't write blogs. Granted they all went to college with me but they are still fans. And lately I've disappointed them by not writing much.
Truthfully I haven't written because I have nothing to say. I'm always tired and cranky and, truthfully, quite weepy and sensitive lately. I've been taking a lot of things very personally that really don't warrant that much attention.
Example -- a good friend of mine was here this weekend (which made me soooooooo happy) but she brought this total tool with her -- latent homo who hides this fact by screaming the word "titties" at the top of his lungs in public (long story and just as charming as it sounds) and pretending to have a girlfriend. He proceeded to get drunk and insult me (another long story that is not at all charming) and I let it get to me and it's been pissing me off ever since. I mean I didn't cry or anything but I allowed him to engage me in the stupid, nonsensical rant of insults by insulting him back. Which means I let him get to me. Which means I took it personally. When it wasn't personal at all. He's a miserable, ugly wanna-be fag -- wouldn't you be miserable if that were you? Anyway women like me should not let total tools get to her. I mean I'm not very smart but I'm smarter than some tool. Don't you agree, three fans? But I guess I'm a little mushy and icky lately -- it must be an after-effect of moving 3,000 miles away from the only home I've ever known.
I've also been letting my boss get to me. Which is even stupider. Because everyone knows you should never let work get personal. It doesn't make any sense.
I've also been taking it personally that a guy that I went on an excrutiatingly bad date with hasn't called me. Is that wacked or what?
Anyway, if I think of anything interesting to say I will totally tell you guys. And if one of these days I encounter a total tool and instead of arguing with him just punch him in the face and walk away, I will be sure to include that.
Truthfully I haven't written because I have nothing to say. I'm always tired and cranky and, truthfully, quite weepy and sensitive lately. I've been taking a lot of things very personally that really don't warrant that much attention.
Example -- a good friend of mine was here this weekend (which made me soooooooo happy) but she brought this total tool with her -- latent homo who hides this fact by screaming the word "titties" at the top of his lungs in public (long story and just as charming as it sounds) and pretending to have a girlfriend. He proceeded to get drunk and insult me (another long story that is not at all charming) and I let it get to me and it's been pissing me off ever since. I mean I didn't cry or anything but I allowed him to engage me in the stupid, nonsensical rant of insults by insulting him back. Which means I let him get to me. Which means I took it personally. When it wasn't personal at all. He's a miserable, ugly wanna-be fag -- wouldn't you be miserable if that were you? Anyway women like me should not let total tools get to her. I mean I'm not very smart but I'm smarter than some tool. Don't you agree, three fans? But I guess I'm a little mushy and icky lately -- it must be an after-effect of moving 3,000 miles away from the only home I've ever known.
I've also been letting my boss get to me. Which is even stupider. Because everyone knows you should never let work get personal. It doesn't make any sense.
I've also been taking it personally that a guy that I went on an excrutiatingly bad date with hasn't called me. Is that wacked or what?
Anyway, if I think of anything interesting to say I will totally tell you guys. And if one of these days I encounter a total tool and instead of arguing with him just punch him in the face and walk away, I will be sure to include that.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Things I learned this weekend
Uttering the phrase, "I feel a cold coming on so I think I'll have orange juice with my vodka" causes your friends to recommend you seek a twelve-step program.
Fruit juice with vodka does not make the vodka less likely to give you a hangover.
Claiming to be a straight man and then being spotted by your colleagues at a gay bar means you're gay... or at least that's what they're going to tell everyone you know.
When someone sends a picture of his penis via text message to someone else, that someone else will show his co-workers and those co-workers will meet said someone and call him "the penis" no matter how much that someone else tells them to stop.
Don't argue with Michael about any of the following -- the color of pre-cum, where Hart & Huntington is located and what makes people from Redwood, CA so damn conservative. Just pinch his cheeks and he will giggle and go back to being in a good mood.
Knowing Hot Chocolate will get you into Krave for free.
Hot Chocolate cannot get you into Girl Bar even though it's attached to Krave.
Some women will be offended if you compliment them on their "hot fuck-me boots" and then will go on to pretend they have never heard that term before.
There is nothing more depressing than waking up on Sunday afternoon and being immediately faced with the paper bracelet from the night before still attached to your wrist and the ink stamp from the night before that still on the back of your hand.
Fruit juice with vodka does not make the vodka less likely to give you a hangover.
Claiming to be a straight man and then being spotted by your colleagues at a gay bar means you're gay... or at least that's what they're going to tell everyone you know.
When someone sends a picture of his penis via text message to someone else, that someone else will show his co-workers and those co-workers will meet said someone and call him "the penis" no matter how much that someone else tells them to stop.
Don't argue with Michael about any of the following -- the color of pre-cum, where Hart & Huntington is located and what makes people from Redwood, CA so damn conservative. Just pinch his cheeks and he will giggle and go back to being in a good mood.
Knowing Hot Chocolate will get you into Krave for free.
Hot Chocolate cannot get you into Girl Bar even though it's attached to Krave.
Some women will be offended if you compliment them on their "hot fuck-me boots" and then will go on to pretend they have never heard that term before.
There is nothing more depressing than waking up on Sunday afternoon and being immediately faced with the paper bracelet from the night before still attached to your wrist and the ink stamp from the night before that still on the back of your hand.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
I found my people
Piercings and tattoos and guitars -- oh MY!
I found my people. Last night I decided to ask people at work if they wanted to check out First Friday. Before I moved here I heard that downtown was where the arts scene was, where there was live music and punk bars and people drinking coffee NOT produced by Starbucks. After I moved in to my apartment and checked out my neighborhood (lovely, clean, quite the picture suburbia and -- most importantly -- 2 miles from work) and my co-workers (lovely, polite, hailing from suburbia and friendly and welcoming) I thought that such a place as "downtown" could not really exist. But it does.
There are vintage shops, art galleries, large rooms with threadbare couches and half-dressed chicks singing along plaintively while a scruffy guy in a hipster t-shit plays the acoustic guitar. One look around and I realized I was home.
And Fremont Street, which for historic reasons is very interesting and is also home to Vegas Vick, the large neon cowboy, is more than just a pedestrian district with non-glam casinos. Beauty Bar is down there -- one of my favorite bars in NewYork and the official hang-out for more of my people HERE. I was so happy to see them I had five screwdrivers and paid a $5 cover.
I'm so happy.
By the way, if you are ever in the mood to learn more about Fremont Street -- or any other part of Vegas -- ask my friend Michael to walk with you. He knows EVERYTHING.
I found my people. Last night I decided to ask people at work if they wanted to check out First Friday. Before I moved here I heard that downtown was where the arts scene was, where there was live music and punk bars and people drinking coffee NOT produced by Starbucks. After I moved in to my apartment and checked out my neighborhood (lovely, clean, quite the picture suburbia and -- most importantly -- 2 miles from work) and my co-workers (lovely, polite, hailing from suburbia and friendly and welcoming) I thought that such a place as "downtown" could not really exist. But it does.
There are vintage shops, art galleries, large rooms with threadbare couches and half-dressed chicks singing along plaintively while a scruffy guy in a hipster t-shit plays the acoustic guitar. One look around and I realized I was home.
And Fremont Street, which for historic reasons is very interesting and is also home to Vegas Vick, the large neon cowboy, is more than just a pedestrian district with non-glam casinos. Beauty Bar is down there -- one of my favorite bars in NewYork and the official hang-out for more of my people HERE. I was so happy to see them I had five screwdrivers and paid a $5 cover.
I'm so happy.
By the way, if you are ever in the mood to learn more about Fremont Street -- or any other part of Vegas -- ask my friend Michael to walk with you. He knows EVERYTHING.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
"How I Spent My Wednesday" by Louise O'Brien
My company likes us to keep a record of how we spend our time. I aim to please so here is today's run down.
7:21 am. Wake up in a panic. A slightly hungover panic. Smak self repeatedly in the head for thinking that Kahlua and milk was the appropriate response to insomnia.
7:22 am Trip over own foot on the way to the bathroom.
7:25 am Take shower and decide that washing one's hair should be optional.
7:33 am Poke self in eye while putting in left contact.
8:05 am Run madly out the front gate of apartment complex thinking I'm going to miss the bus. Notice guy who stands outside complex waiting for his ride to work everyday is laughing. Then notice that there is no bus and am running for nothing.
8:14 am Board bus behind a weird woman who doesn't seem to know what city she's in.
8:21 am Woman behind me on bus begins screaming that the driver has to let her off. Silently look up at the signal string hanging off of each bus window and wonder if she knows what they're for -- to signal your stop on the bus.
8:22 am Another woman behind me tells me my hair smells like sunshine. Debate on whether to tell her hair has not been washed since yesterday. Decide against it and try to look menacing instead.
8:29 am Arrive at work. Trip over own foot a second time.
8:31 am Smack own arm with front door to office building.
8:35 am Walk into office kitchen to be greeted by empty coffee carafe. Mutter the words "Greedy coffee drinking bastards" and slink back to cubicle.
8:36-10:05 am Various work activities too boring to mention.
10:06 am Attempt to fax producer in Century City. Realize have no knowledge of how fax machine works. Inadvertently fax Brazil. Ask coworker for help. Explain that I was dropped on the head as a child and it has forever affected my ability to use machinery.
10:07-11:00 am Search for coffee proceeds at five-minute intervals. Spend nearly an hour hoping someone else will make a fresh pot. Decide it would be sad to have to admit that I don't know how to use the coffee maker either. Suffer in silence.
11:01 am Give up on coffee in office and walk across street to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Trip over own foot in front of co-workers walking the other way.
11:05 am Order vanilla latte and sigh in disbelief that this stupid morning is not over.
11:06 am Try sample of iced vanilla peppermint coffee drink while waiting for coffee.
11:07 am Spit iced vanilla peppermint coffee drink in waste basket. Shoot dirty look at barista and take latte off the counter.
11:10 am Tell my mother I don't have time to talk to her when she calls/
11:11 am Call mother back and apologize.
11:12-12:00 pm Spend most of hour looking for boss. Vow to staple him to his chair the next time he sits in it.
12:02 pm Realize that no one I was planning to have lunch with remembered that we had lunch plans.
12:03 pm Think about how long I have to wait for them to remember before I can ditch them and go to Pei Wei.
1:01 pm Go to Pei Wei. Wait 10 minutes for food while sipping on soda.
1:06 pm Trip on way to get soda refill.
1:14 pm Pick pieces of chicken out of pad thai that I purposely ordered with chicken because I remember that I don't like chicken.
:00 pm Participate in brainstorming session during which Elizabeth and I decide that it is not appropriate to name a Las Vegas tourism campaign intended to promote local taxpayers confidence in the system either of the following :"Wasting your tax dollars" or "Why the freeway still isn't finished."
2:21 pm Trip over own foot while sitting down. Decide I'm mentally retarded and take candy out of Tamar's candy jar to cheer myself up.
3:01 pm Wonder how many people would like to watch me trip and crack my head open.
3:02 pm Michael walks by and calls me "poppet". Decide he would think me tripping and cracking my head open was funny.
3:30 pm Start singing "Jimmy Crack Corn" with no noticeable provocation. Hear Josh sigh in the next cube. Wonder if the two events are related.
3:31-5:00 pm Compile a media list of 1,000 journalists for a future event. Accidentally delete half my work. Call myself a "foot-tripping idiot of the first order" and decide to go home.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Danke shoen, Wayne
Did I tell you guys that not only did I MEET Wayne Newton yesterday but he hugged me and welcomed me to Las Vegas? It was SURREAL! It's a long story but basically I was in the same room with Wayne and Shawn Marion. I would have rather copped a feel on ole Shawn (my God is he hot!) but it was tooooooo tempting to make friends with Mr. Danke Shoen. But for the rest of the say I smelled like potent men's cologne and pancake makeup. I don't know what came over me but I blame my friend Stephanie who is so pretty that famous crooners and basketball players flirt with her and take her business card.
Jessica arrives on Sunday. I'm so excited!
Jessica arrives on Sunday. I'm so excited!
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Ed Bradley we hardly knew ya
I'm very sad about Ed Bradley. Aren't you? I always liked him. Other than the fact that he was the coolest guy on 60 Minutes (hip, older black guy with an earring) he seemed really smart and not condescending about his brilliance. I like that in a man. Who knew he was friends with Jimmy Buffett, though? Other than Margaritaville and being realllllyyyy funny at basketball games, I'm not sure how much ole Jimmy has contributed to the world at large. Well, there is "Cheeseburger in Paradise. Which is stupid but still kind of a funny song. Even more interesting than the fact that they were friends -- they were introduced to each other by Hunter S. Thompson.
What a freaking cool life! I should have been a journalist. Why didn't I do that agan? Oh, right, 'cuz I'm a lazy candyass who didn't want to go to local city council meetings for journalism class. Because I didn't want to have to take the city buses near my very suburban college. And now I take the bus everywhere because I was too much of a lazy candyass to get my license at 17 like everyone else in the free world. See the irony?
Mr. Bradley, I raise a glass to you. The glass is filled with $4.00 Chardonnay I picked up yesterday at Whole Foods. I hope you won't be offended. I'm a little broke right now.
What a freaking cool life! I should have been a journalist. Why didn't I do that agan? Oh, right, 'cuz I'm a lazy candyass who didn't want to go to local city council meetings for journalism class. Because I didn't want to have to take the city buses near my very suburban college. And now I take the bus everywhere because I was too much of a lazy candyass to get my license at 17 like everyone else in the free world. See the irony?
Mr. Bradley, I raise a glass to you. The glass is filled with $4.00 Chardonnay I picked up yesterday at Whole Foods. I hope you won't be offended. I'm a little broke right now.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Dear Mr. Bus Driver
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
Thank you very much for only making me chase you half a block the other morning before you stopped and let me on. It was very smart of you to figure out that since I was the only person WALKING let alone running on Charleston Boulevard that might mean that I needed to get on the bus. I certainly enjoyed the whoosh of the doors opening and was very relieved, albeit out of breath, when I was able to join my fellow poor people on your smelly bus.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I hope you weren't offended that I referred to your bus as smelly in my last letter. I know this is not your fault. I'm pretty sure the guy who gets off at the same stop as me at Red Rock probabaly works with fish or something because he smells to high heaven. It doesn't help that your shirt hasn't been laundered in a while but I want you to know it's not ENTIRELY your fault. It's mostly fish guy. And the guy who gets on and off the bus holding that dirty shovel. But I wouldn't suggest that we tell him that since he could hit us with that shovel. So let's just keep that info between us.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I don't know if anyone told you this but you are expected at the stop near my house at 8:05 am. You might not have realized this but you arrived at my stop at 8:17, which is a bit later than you were expected. Making me a little later than I expected to be for work. It's not a big deal, BD, but in the future if you could give me a call and let me know you're gonna be late that would be awesome. Maybe you're getting back at me for complaining about the whole running incident the other day. Or maybe it's because of the smelly comment. I certainly hope that's not the case and that you will adhere to the schedule in the future. I certainly didn't mean to offend you. In fact, the more I think about it, the happier I am that you allowed me to get some much needed exercise.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I am fully aware that you don't know my life story so you don't know that I am from New York and therefore well-acquainted with public transportation and the behavioral tendencies of bus drivers. So for me it's a bit weird (and I'm pretty sure forbidden in New York) when a bus driver tells a passenger she "looks very pretty today". I'm sorry that I responded to said compliment with a look of withering disdain. I'm not a bitch. I'm just from the East Coast. I promise to tell you that you look pretty the next time I see you wearing a shirt that fits you and that is properly buttoned. That has not happened yet but, rest assured, I'll be ready when it does.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
That was not a beer can I was drinking out of the other day. It was a brand new energy drink that I got for free at work. It just happens to come in a tall, silver can. No, really, that's what it was. I could tell you wanted to tell me that I was too young to drink my life away, or that it was innappropriate to be drinking at 8:00 am, or maybe that I looked pretty again. But it's not illegal to drink in public in Las Vegas. So you couldn't say anything. So instead you just quietly resented me. But I wanted you to know that it wasn't beer.
Love Louise
Thank you very much for only making me chase you half a block the other morning before you stopped and let me on. It was very smart of you to figure out that since I was the only person WALKING let alone running on Charleston Boulevard that might mean that I needed to get on the bus. I certainly enjoyed the whoosh of the doors opening and was very relieved, albeit out of breath, when I was able to join my fellow poor people on your smelly bus.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I hope you weren't offended that I referred to your bus as smelly in my last letter. I know this is not your fault. I'm pretty sure the guy who gets off at the same stop as me at Red Rock probabaly works with fish or something because he smells to high heaven. It doesn't help that your shirt hasn't been laundered in a while but I want you to know it's not ENTIRELY your fault. It's mostly fish guy. And the guy who gets on and off the bus holding that dirty shovel. But I wouldn't suggest that we tell him that since he could hit us with that shovel. So let's just keep that info between us.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I don't know if anyone told you this but you are expected at the stop near my house at 8:05 am. You might not have realized this but you arrived at my stop at 8:17, which is a bit later than you were expected. Making me a little later than I expected to be for work. It's not a big deal, BD, but in the future if you could give me a call and let me know you're gonna be late that would be awesome. Maybe you're getting back at me for complaining about the whole running incident the other day. Or maybe it's because of the smelly comment. I certainly hope that's not the case and that you will adhere to the schedule in the future. I certainly didn't mean to offend you. In fact, the more I think about it, the happier I am that you allowed me to get some much needed exercise.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I am fully aware that you don't know my life story so you don't know that I am from New York and therefore well-acquainted with public transportation and the behavioral tendencies of bus drivers. So for me it's a bit weird (and I'm pretty sure forbidden in New York) when a bus driver tells a passenger she "looks very pretty today". I'm sorry that I responded to said compliment with a look of withering disdain. I'm not a bitch. I'm just from the East Coast. I promise to tell you that you look pretty the next time I see you wearing a shirt that fits you and that is properly buttoned. That has not happened yet but, rest assured, I'll be ready when it does.
Love Louise
Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
That was not a beer can I was drinking out of the other day. It was a brand new energy drink that I got for free at work. It just happens to come in a tall, silver can. No, really, that's what it was. I could tell you wanted to tell me that I was too young to drink my life away, or that it was innappropriate to be drinking at 8:00 am, or maybe that I looked pretty again. But it's not illegal to drink in public in Las Vegas. So you couldn't say anything. So instead you just quietly resented me. But I wanted you to know that it wasn't beer.
Love Louise
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Cupcakes, green sake & famous chefs
It's been so long, dear readers. And I am woefully hungover but I thought I would take this quiet Sunday afternoon to catch you up on my pathetic life. You game? 'Kay here we go.
Halloween at my company is HI-LARIOUS! The first meeting I had at R&R was my Halloween team meeting. We all get split up into teams and then told to put on a skit. Our clients judge each skit, pick the winners and we get prizes. I played Al Gore in our skit -- well, I wore an Al Gore mask -- and my team won 2nd place -- 4 hours of personal time off was the prize, which I will be using to beat the Thanksgiving traffic when Jessica and I drive to L.A. next month. More importantly Thanksgiving at R&R meant free beer and orange cupcakes, two of my favorite things.
On Friday night I took a group of visiting British journalists out to dinner at Aureole which was FABULOUS and made me miss my press trips to France just a little bit. If you have a few extra bucks to spend (quite a few actually) I highly recommend it. The Charlie Palmer is American but he has perfected the modern French restaurant experience. He came out to meet the group and gave everyone chocolate and cookbooks. He has another Aureole in New York as well but it is much more buttoned-up -- it's in a beautiful townhouse in the East 60s and you're not allowed to use your cell phone if you eat there. That would never fly in Vegas so the one here is a bit more fun. There is also a huge wine collection housed in a clear column three floors-high and serviced by a "wine angel" (a young woman harnessed by very strong cables who flies up and down the rows fetching the wine for the diners.)
Yesterday, R&R bought a table to an event at Gold Coast to benefit The Gay & Lesbian Center of Southern Nevada. Penn & Teller were given an award for I'm not sure what (I think I was standing in line at the bar when they announced it) and they were supposed to sit with us but they didn't. They came in, got their award and booked out of there. (If anyone wants to hear the dirty story I heard about one of those funny fellas let me know.) A drag queen named Kenny did a few minutes of singing/stand-up and recited a very dirty limerick about a girl named Louise with pubic hair down to her knees. Tamar had to control herself from pointing at me and laughing. I thank her for that. My favorite part was during this little film about the center when they interviewed members of the seniors group who were just ADORABLE. I have no idea but lesbians that look like grandmas are just cute. Some of them were there and I had to stop myself from going over and pinching their cheeks. I also had to stop myself from bidding on a cupcake-of-the-month subscription in the silent auction. It was a struggle, let me tell you.
Afterwards I met up with Michael and the British group at Social House (very cool restaurant with a woefully small number of bathrooms) where I was tricked into buying a $222 bottle of green sake. Uh-huh. I'm a jackass.
Afterwards we went to Tangerine where we were told that in order to get a table we had to guarantee to buy THREE bottles. If any of you know anything about clubs, three bottles can run you about the same amount as a couple of pairs of Manolos which I definitely could not have convinced my boss was a legitimate business expense. I'm cute but not cute enough to get away with that. Am I? I think the management could have spared a table for us without the bottle service -- almost all the tables were empty and the only full ones had people at them that looked eerily like my mom and dad.
Needless to say I'm HUNGOVER this morning. Those Brits can drink -- not that Michael and I were exactly teetotalers. We went to brunch this afternoon and went over the dinner bill again with our mouths hanging open. $100 for Kobe beef. Did we even eat that? How much did they charge us for water? Thank God the waitress at Egg & I left the coffee carafe on the table. I definitely needed it this morning.
So now I'm going to do some laundry and attempt to get this ink stamp off my hand and look through the bag of impusle purchases I just picked up at Chez Target. I have problems.
Halloween at my company is HI-LARIOUS! The first meeting I had at R&R was my Halloween team meeting. We all get split up into teams and then told to put on a skit. Our clients judge each skit, pick the winners and we get prizes. I played Al Gore in our skit -- well, I wore an Al Gore mask -- and my team won 2nd place -- 4 hours of personal time off was the prize, which I will be using to beat the Thanksgiving traffic when Jessica and I drive to L.A. next month. More importantly Thanksgiving at R&R meant free beer and orange cupcakes, two of my favorite things.
On Friday night I took a group of visiting British journalists out to dinner at Aureole which was FABULOUS and made me miss my press trips to France just a little bit. If you have a few extra bucks to spend (quite a few actually) I highly recommend it. The Charlie Palmer is American but he has perfected the modern French restaurant experience. He came out to meet the group and gave everyone chocolate and cookbooks. He has another Aureole in New York as well but it is much more buttoned-up -- it's in a beautiful townhouse in the East 60s and you're not allowed to use your cell phone if you eat there. That would never fly in Vegas so the one here is a bit more fun. There is also a huge wine collection housed in a clear column three floors-high and serviced by a "wine angel" (a young woman harnessed by very strong cables who flies up and down the rows fetching the wine for the diners.)
Yesterday, R&R bought a table to an event at Gold Coast to benefit The Gay & Lesbian Center of Southern Nevada. Penn & Teller were given an award for I'm not sure what (I think I was standing in line at the bar when they announced it) and they were supposed to sit with us but they didn't. They came in, got their award and booked out of there. (If anyone wants to hear the dirty story I heard about one of those funny fellas let me know.) A drag queen named Kenny did a few minutes of singing/stand-up and recited a very dirty limerick about a girl named Louise with pubic hair down to her knees. Tamar had to control herself from pointing at me and laughing. I thank her for that. My favorite part was during this little film about the center when they interviewed members of the seniors group who were just ADORABLE. I have no idea but lesbians that look like grandmas are just cute. Some of them were there and I had to stop myself from going over and pinching their cheeks. I also had to stop myself from bidding on a cupcake-of-the-month subscription in the silent auction. It was a struggle, let me tell you.
Afterwards I met up with Michael and the British group at Social House (very cool restaurant with a woefully small number of bathrooms) where I was tricked into buying a $222 bottle of green sake. Uh-huh. I'm a jackass.
Afterwards we went to Tangerine where we were told that in order to get a table we had to guarantee to buy THREE bottles. If any of you know anything about clubs, three bottles can run you about the same amount as a couple of pairs of Manolos which I definitely could not have convinced my boss was a legitimate business expense. I'm cute but not cute enough to get away with that. Am I? I think the management could have spared a table for us without the bottle service -- almost all the tables were empty and the only full ones had people at them that looked eerily like my mom and dad.
Needless to say I'm HUNGOVER this morning. Those Brits can drink -- not that Michael and I were exactly teetotalers. We went to brunch this afternoon and went over the dinner bill again with our mouths hanging open. $100 for Kobe beef. Did we even eat that? How much did they charge us for water? Thank God the waitress at Egg & I left the coffee carafe on the table. I definitely needed it this morning.
So now I'm going to do some laundry and attempt to get this ink stamp off my hand and look through the bag of impusle purchases I just picked up at Chez Target. I have problems.
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