Disappointment

I just got back from DC tonight. It was freaking tiring. I had to work on this event with like an entire delegation from France. It was kind of retarded but they were happy with the event which is, I guess, all that matters.
While I was there I got some rather disappointing news. An opportunity that I was told was going to come my way was taken away at the last minute. It kind of makes me mad and sad at the same time. Anytime you're rejected -- even when it's not personal, it feels personal, right? So now I feel like a big fucking failure and there's nothing I can do about it. My friend Katie kind of talked me through it while I was standing in between the train cars on the Acela which was nice of her. I really feel like shit right now. It's hard not to feel stupid and useless sometimes. It's just more important to figure out a way to channel those feelings and not let them get to you. For various reasons lately I have wished I could wake up in a different body, a different brain. I'm not particularly fond of me lately.
I came home and watched reruns of The L Word and The Real World Road Rules Challenge and had two Magners and I feel slightly better.

Secret ingredient

I'm pretty sure the secret ingredient in Brooklyn Lager is gin... or crack. I had three beers last night -- I've been avoiding hard alcohol lately so as to also avoid the marching band that comes into my brain the morning after consuming such drinks. And still I woke up this morning and felt like a small animal had crawled into my mouth and died. (It's a WONDER that I am single, huh?) So I say again, Brooklyn Lager is really gin in a pint glass.

I went out last night and saw people I haven't seen in a while. It was fun. Stumbling home wasn't fun. Never is. I had a whole conversation in French on the subway -- two guys from Toulouse who live in Astoria saw me reading a book about France. I don't speak very good French unless I'm drunk. Actually, it is probably closer to the truth that I don't notice how badly I am speaking French BECAUSE I am drunk. It was funny that they thought I was capable of conversation in any language seeing how my eyes were rolling back in my head while we were talking.

I found out last night that someone that I thought was gay but who worked really hard to convince me that he was not is actually GAY. Which puts my gaydar track record back in championship status. YAY! I thought I was losing it.

One of these days I am going to write about something important like politics or sexuality or literature. I swear I am. But now I think I have to go throw up. I'm going out to dinner with my family for my grandfather's birthday. I have to figure out how to stop being nauseous before then. If anyone knows someone who works for the Brooklyn Lager company, shoot me an email. I have a bone to pick with them.

Grateful

Okay, so I just got some pretty bad news. I have to pay like $1200 extra to the government that my accountant didn't know about. Technically I can afford to do this but, as I was walking back from my accountant's office contemplating my budget -- clutching my $4 coffee and the bottle of gin I stopped to pick up on the way home, how's that for budgeting -- I realized how quickly I was sinking into feeling sorry for myself. And that is UNACCEPTABLE so I decided to spend today listing all the reasons that I am grateful and all the things I should be grateful for even if I am not.

1) Although my apartment is consistently messy and I have no closet space, I am not homeless. And for that I am very grateful.

2) I don't agree with anything that the president of my country has to say but I am allowed to say that, scream it from the rooftops if I want to, even write about it on my blog. And for that I am very grateful. (Latest stupidity from Bush - http://www.nytimes.com/2006/01/28/politics/28legal.html?n=Top%2fReference%2fTimes%20Topics%2fPeople%2fB%2fBush%2c%20George%20W%2e)

3) I have never known what it is to actually be starving. And for that I am very grateful.

4) I know what government cheese tastes like, so I am always aware of how wonderful it is to be
able to buy food at the supermarket. And for that I am very grateful.

5) I have friends, lots of friends. Straight friends, gay friends, black, white, purple friends -- okay, not really purple unless you count the tiny Dead bear someone bought me in college. And for that I am very grateful.

6) I have never had to wear a burka, gotten beaten for being a woman, not been allowed to vote or drive or walk down the street with a man. And for that I am very grateful.

7) My mother loves me unconditionally and always. And for that I am very grateful.

I could go on but I think those seven things are enough to chew on so that I won't be all sad sack about being poor again this month. And I have enough money for a drink with some friends and to pay my rent, so I'm good.

I feel better already.

A Million Little Pieces

Did you guys watch the interview with James Frey on Oprah? (For those of you living under a rock -- http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0104061jamesfrey1.html)

My absolute favorite moment was when Nan Talese's cell phone went off. She was totally like, "Is that me?" Meanwhile, I was looking all over my bedroom for my cell phone before I realized hers was going of while she was on TELEVISION. That would totally happen to me. My phone once went off in a funeral parlor.

One of my friends (who shall remain nameless) does not think the following link is funny. http://www.jessiesbatmitzvah.com/html/my_video.html
The fact that he doesn't find it funny has caused me to seriously doubt our compatability as friends. And his intelligence. If you are reading this, please tell me what you think. I seriously cannot stp laughing at it.

Help (Archive from January 25, 2006)

I need some help. While I seem to have an endless amount of crap to write about on this blog, I am a man without a country when it comes to writing anything else. I have an idea for a book but some days it seems like it would make a better short story. Once during an ill-fated bout of confidence I thought it might make a good movie. But then I sobered up.

Anyway, if anyone has any cures for writer's block that they would like to share, please send them on. Unless it involves quitting my job. I can't afford to do that right now.

Oh and if anyone has any good recipes for sangria, that would be good.

Or if anyone knows how to get bright red stains out of things, that would be good, too. I drink a lot of sangria and it shows. So maybe I shouldn't learn to make it at home. But its so yummy. Alcohol with fruit. It's like nutritious booze.

Abby, stop pandering. I will write a blog about you when it comes NATURALLY. You've been mentioned in a couple of them. Is that not good enough? Besides, you know I love ya. (If anyone else would like to write a blog about Abby, call me for material. I think she would really like that.)

That's Mrs. Moennig to you (Archive from January 24, 2006)

What would I do without digital cable? Between the DVR and the movies on demand, my life is full and exciting. If I don't have anywhere to go after work or on the weekend-- that's very rare these days --- I sit here and watch TV shows I have recorded during the week and regale you all with my tales of woe via this blog.

Have I mentioned that I am addicted to The L Word? If you have not seen this show please do not worry that you can't watch it if you're not gay because you won't enjoy it. Whatever. This show is PURE SMUT. It is up there with Melrose Place -- these girls get it on A LOT. And they are allllllllllll gorgeous, well-dressed with exciting jobs and ... here's the kicker that may change everone's long-held preconceptions about lesbians -- they have the nicest shoes. I may become a freaking lesbian just so I can be one of these girls.

Most of all, I am now mildly obsessed with Katherine Moennig. She is DELICIOUS! If all lesbians looked like her, who wouldn't be gay? Remember how in college we all thought we were gay? You know even if it was just for a minute? It was a little bit longer for me and my friends because we tried ecstasy a bunch of times. Everyone looks good on E, let me tell you. But if Kate Moennig went to my college, I would be writing this blog from a Gay Pride parade in P-Town, I swear to God.

The bad thing about DVR is that I watch everything like 3 weeks late so I never know what happened on the most recent episode of The Office but I know what happened last month on The Office. Doesn't make for very good water cooler talk. It's kind of embarassing actually.

I'm going to go download Kate Moennig wallpaper now.

Oren Wants a Blog Entry (Archive from January 23, 2006)

Oren is harassing me to post something today. So here goes...

One side of my face is leaking because the eye on that side has decided to reject my contact lens. It does this by producing a large amount of moisture and making it look like I am really sad on just that side of my face. Today it is the right side that is crying but they like to switch it up. I feel very betrayed by these orifices today.

I am celebrating my birthday in New York, contrary to popular belief. I am also going to Vegas, contrary to popular wisdom. The New York party will take place on February 4, probably at Ace Bar or another low-key venue like that. I promise to send an evite this week. Please, for the love of God people, stop harassing me. Most of you don't even like me --- why do you care when I have my birthday party? :)

I have an ear infection. I thought only babies got those but no, I have one. It feels like I am on an airplane and my ears haven't popped yet. My mom has a cure for this. It worked, too -- well, at least enough to get me to sleep last night. You put salt in a sock (no, seriously) and you put the sock in the microwave for 1-2 minutes at a time. Don't put it on consistently for 4 minutes or something, the sock will burn. Then you put the sock on the ear that hurts while it is hot. Sleep this way if you can. My mom is so smart. I wonder how she discovered this cure?

Here is an interesting link for the day... I may have sent this to several of you today in an email. It is courtesy of Katherine in my office and I like to call it, Never Cheat on Your Boyfriend in Front of his Bird -- http://www.nytimes.com/2006/01/18/international/europe/18parrot.html

Happy now, Oren?

The Wedding Gene

I would like to unite all the women in New York who are missing "the wedding gene". There are a select few of us who do not conform to the Lifetime for Women mold -- we have not been planning our weddings since we were 12, we are not holding our breath waiting for a proposal, we are not already saving for a Carolina Herrera gown. We are living in the moment. When most people say that its bullshit, but I really mean it. I am living in the moment. I like my life. I have no interest in marriage. The reason I currently don't have any interest in marriage is because there is no one I want to marry currently in my life. See how that works? It's not that I don't think it is possible for me to meet someone that I will someday want to marry. But I haven't yet. How can you plan on someone you haven't met yet? The other person is a key element of marriage. The "wedding nuts" of the world seem to forget that. They are so focused on the wedding they don't realize that WEDDINGS LEAD TO MARRIAGE which, if you do it right, should lead to FOREVER. Why are people rushing into weddings and not realizing this? Is it just that they like cake?

I should be honest here. Remember that Sex and the City episode where Sarah Jessica Parker tries on the wedding dress and breaks out in a rash. That's me. If I my ex-boyfriend even mentioned marriage I would start to hyperventilate. Once he had to actually pull the car over so I could stick my head out the window. I don't know if he figured out that I couldn't breathe because he has used the phrase "Someday when we get married... " I hope when and if I meet "The One" I won't hyperventilate anymore. But even if that happens, I am missing "the wedding gene".

I also don't like weddings because I hate "The Electric Slide" and they always play that freaking song at weddings. I think it is a symbol of the end of civilization. I could go into that a little bit more but it makes me sound crazy.

Circle Dancing (Archive from January 21, 2006)

My friend Alev and I were discussing religion last night. I was saying how when I was little I used to argue with my religion teacher about original sin. Why were we all punished, born with this stain on our souls, because of Adam and Eve, an allegory written by a man about fictional people that was created to SYMBOLIZE the creation of people, not a factual bit of history? I was telling her that at some point I realized that there are people who REALLY BELIEVE that Adam and Eve existed.

She asked me if I believed that Jesus was the son of God. I do. I believe in him. I believe he was the coolest person that ever lived. My favorite quote is "I like Jesus. It's his fan club I can't stand." But I still consider myself Catholic. I like catholicism. There's a lot of blood and wine and pomp and circumstance to it -- it's ancient and archaic and mostly associated with latin-based cultures. Oh and the Irish. Who doesn't like the Irish?

I'm sure there are a lot of people out there who don't like actual CATHOLICS and for that I can't blame them. There has been some weird shit going down in the RCC in the past couple of years. Scratch that -- a lot of weird things have come to light in the last couple of years that have actually been going on for decades. And it breaks my heart. Because churches, syngagogues, mosques -- all houses of worship have the innate ability to be sanctuaries and when they stray from this purpose -- their ultimate purpose -- they fail humanity.

So last night my friend Alev (who's Turkish and whose name means "flame" -- is that not the coolest?) took me to her friend's "wedding". Her friend got married in Vegas, had a party last night in the East Village for her New York friends, and will have her actual reception in Turkey (my ideal kind of wedding, broken down in stages and involving a bar in the East Village -- more on that in another blog). Anyway, there were all these people dancing in a circle, which I loved. And they were happy -- happy for the couple, happy to be with people who have the same shared ethnic experience as themselves but happy to share it with me and others. And I noticed that the circle dancing was quite similar to Jewish weddings I've been to, not to mention Irish dancing at the many, many bars I've been to and the Italian tarantella (also often done at weddings) which proves that when it comes to celebrating we are not so different from each other, are we?

It was a lot of fun.

Sleepwalking (Archive from January 19, 2006)

I am not participating in my own daily existence. I am sleepwalking through my life. It's freaking me out, but I am too sleepy to notice. I feel sick and nauseous all the time. I have to change a lot of things -- the time has come. This is very stressful and stress makes me sleepy. Like yawning at staff meetings sleepy. Like forgetting you have a dentist appointment in the morning even though you sent your entire department an email that you had a dentist appointment. Yes, I did this. I came to work and my co-worker was like "Aren't you supposed to be at the dentist? You sent an email yesterday right?" But I just sleepwalked out of bed, sleepwalked into the shower, sleepwalked into some clothes (that I am happy to note actually match) sleepwalked out of my apartment, onto the subway, into a coffee shop, into my messy, disorganized, crazed office.

I would very much like a distraction from my weirdness right about now.

Dog the Bounty Hunter (Archive from January 18, 2006)

I don't know if all of you are aware of the genius that is the show Dog the Bounty Hunter. This show rocks my world. It is about a bounty hunter called Dog -- I swear, that is what he calls himself. I think his real name is Dwayne or something. Anyway, he is like 5'7'' but he seems huge because he dresses all in black, often all in black leather, and he wears cowboy boots and he has a big blonde mullet. His wife, Beth, does the bounty hunting with him. She is easily 250 lbs, maybe five feet tall, all boobs, and she often wears biker shorts and high heels and she has a mullet, too. Other random family members work with them as well and they are all born again Christians so they... wait for it... they say a circle prayer and ask God to help them catch the fugitives. All of this is done in the most white trash area of Hawaii. I love this show. I gobble it up like french fries. It is SHEER GENIUS! Who could script a show like this? Because, did I mention -- it's REAL! They really exist. I want to meet them and pretend to be on crystal meth so that they will pray for me. It's so cute when they pray for people. I very rarely have patience for born agains but for some reason I find these hockey-hair people oddly endearing.

Stupid (Archive from January 15, 2006)

It sucks when you argue with a friend. A friend of mine interviewed for a job with my company like 2 years ago and she didn't get it. According to various sources, she demanded too much money, she was snotty in the interview, whatever. For that amount of time I have tried to avoid her questions about why she didn't get the job. But she often brings it up. She actually HATES the girl who did get the job even though they have never met. The funniest part is she went on to find a better job. She is about to be promoted. It is probably the best thing that she didn't come work with me. But she's so bitter.

Well last night -- there was beer involved --- she started on it again. She started insulting people at my job who are close friends of mine -- well, one in particular. And then she went on to say that no one likes my company, we all have a bad reputation. I lost it. I tried to stay calm. I said, "Why can't you let it go? Your life turned out so much better than it would have if you came to work with us." But it was like she wanted me to understand that not only did she not get the job because she was TOO GOOD for us but that we suck. Maybe I shouldn't have taken it personally but I have been a good friend to her. I take my job seriously. I work hard. It was just too much.

Anyway, I walked out. Not before telling her that I could probably list a lot of people who thought she sucked at her job, too. But what would be the point?

I think this is the end of our friendship, at least for a while. And I feel like crap today. This is worse than a hangover. I hate fighting with my friends. I felt like I was backed into a corner and all she wanted to do was to hurt my feelings, like she wanted to expunge her embarrassment by making me feel like shit. And I took the bait and that pisses me off.

I would love to be one of those people who can't be goaded.

Ah well, tomorrow is another day. Thank God I have a lot of friends.

Beer has calories (Archive from January 20, 2006)

For the past few weeks, I have ingested my daily caloric intake almost entirely in alcohol. Perhaps this is a problem.

I don't think liquids should have calories.

I would very much like to take this hungover moment to highly recommend the jukebox at The Cubby Hole in the West Village. Yes, this is technically a lesbian bar an no, I am technically not a lesbian. But I enjoyed singing Reba McIntyre and Johnny Cash songs at the top of my lungs with the les-es.

Love and Basketball is the coolest movie. I love when you wake up and you're bleary-eyed and hungover and a great movie is on basic cable. I would not survive these mornings of pain and nausea were it not for TBS Super Station.

I need to take an Advil. I'm meeting people at a bar in a few hours. I have to get rid of this hangover before then.

Fan fiction (Archive from January 11, 2006)

I just discovered the seedy underbelly of being a fan. It's called FAN FICTION. Do you know what this is? My friend Abby and I had lunch and this is all we could talk about. I discovered this hot actor, Oded Fehr. He was in The Mummy -- he played the Egyptian. So I looked him up on the internet and I found that there are literally dozens of websites not just dedicated to him but dedicated to fan fiction about him. Fan fiction about him in The Mummy. For those of you who do not know what this is, fan fiction is -- to put it bluntly -- EROTICA about fictitious people, usually written by a woman over 30 who puts her self (barely disguised) in the story with her chosen fictional character. I literally could not stop laughing. The best part about this is some of it is really well-written. The other best part of it is that no one uses their real name so ANYONE YOU KNOW could be a fan fiction ghost writer. So it could be your boss or something. How funny! And it could be that she writes it about someone really embarassing -- like a wrestler or Fabio or something like that. Come on. The possibilities are limitless. It might also be a really great way to test your range as a writer. Like pick someone HORRIFIC and force yourself to write an erotic tale about them.

Oded Fehr is really hot, though.

I know JT Leroy (Archive from January 9, 2006)

Wait wait wait, you guys are gonna love this story. Okay for anyone who doesn't know who JT Leroy is, this link is for you
http://newyorkmetro.com/nymetro/news/people/features/14718/

Oh my God, I know JT Leroy. I sent him/her to France like six months ago. He/she told me that he/she was a transgender individual and he/she had a kid and they wanted to go to Disneyland Paris. As soon as they got to Paris, I got phone calls from hoteliers. "Is it a man? Is it a woman? There are all these people with her. They ran up a 400 Euro breakfast bill. They claimed they got heat stroke." Never mind the fact that HE/SHE called me like six times. And I like him/her. He/she was fun to talk to. And now I don't even know who I talked to. When he/she got back from France he/she sent me this huge box of Kiehl's products and invited me out to dinner in San Francisco.

There is another story in today's New York Times. Apparently the girl who has been posing as JT Leroy went to high school with my assistant. I kid you not.

My friend Doug's response to me telling him that I know JT Leroy was "How do you get involved with these people?" Well, in essence, they find me -- "they" being weirdos. Seriously I don't seek them out. They freaking find me. And the best story to highlight this fact is the headbiting story.

One night out at Hell with some friends for a birthday party, I caught sight of this guy. He was cute -- really cute. He kind of looked like Dave Matthews. So I did the mature thing -- I caught his eye and immediatly looked away, blushing. (Yes, I can blush!) Like a half-hour later I feel a small pinch on the back of my head. My friend Anthony, who is facing me, makes a face that can only be described as "Oh my God, your head is on fire." My head was not on fire but there was Mr. Dave Matthews, standing behind me, looking sheepish. His explanation? Yes, he bit my head. He was smelling my hair and he got carried away. Let me repeat that -- HE WAS SMELLING MY HAIR AND HE GOT CARRIED AWAY.

Yeah, they find me.

The Nubbin (Archive from January 8, 2006)

Okay so there's a guy. He doesn't live in NY which doesn't matter so much (I travel so much anyway, who cares where he lives). The problem is I don't want to like him. Dating is like a series of painful job interviews. Until you get comfortable with someone it's all just a bunch of awkward encounters. Sometimes the awkward encounters include dinner but that's about all that can be said for them. And mostly they include equally awkward physical contact. 'Cuz come on, it's like 9 times out of 10, the son of bitch don't know what he's doing anyway.

Back to the guy...

On second thought, instead of talking about him, I will share the tale of The Nubbin. I never like anyone. Everyone knows this about me. I like someone for about as long as it takes for them to start liking me. And then I stop. So I had just broken up with my ex-boyfriend (this was like 4 years ago) -- he cheated on me, broke my heart, the whole nine. A few weeks later, after I got tired of crying my eyes out and putting pins in the voodoo dolls, I was out at a club and I met this other guy. He was cute, he was smart (so freaking important to me, seriously. Girls always say that but I mean it.) and he pulled some line about locking his friend out of the apartment by accident and having to go back and let him in. It was quite similar to when you're in college and the guy says "Do you wanna come back to my dorm room to see my bong?" or stereo or guitar or whatever it is in his room that he just has to show you. You go with him under the pretense of checking out his bong, but you know what's up. You're just playing along.

So we go back to his place and in the cab it was like we had been dating for years. We were just comfortable. He was successful. He was a Yankee fan. He was even Italian -- my mom would have been thrilled. We get back to his place -- a doorman building in the East 50s, very impressive to a girl who was living in abandoned office space at the time -- and we go upstairs and we're rolling around on the bed, as you do. And he pulls it out. And its a nubbin. Like a 2nd bellybutton. Like "Huh? How do you pee with that thing?"

This story proved 2 things to me. 1 -- While size doesn't matter as much as you guys fear it does, a nubbin is a nubbin and there is nothing you can do with that. And 2 -- Dating sucks. 'Cause there is always something wrong.

So this guy that I think I like... I may just forget about him.

DAY OFF! (Archive from December 26, 2005)

I have to share my stupidity with someone. I went to work this morning only to find out that we are closed until tomorrow. Have you ever encountered someone as stupid as me? I doubt it. I mean how did I not know that my office was closed?

Christmas (Archive from December 25, 2005)

I hate the end of Christmas. I don't particularly like Christmas anyway but there is nothing more depressing than when it is over. You gather up all your presents, you shuffle home with your new sweaters and earrings and Santa mugs and you come home to your dingy apartment, sans Christmas tree and mom's home cooking. It's terrible. Being a kid on Christmas morning meant the magical possibility that a strange fat man came all the way across the world to leave you a brand new Barbie. Being almost thirty on Christmas means you are sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the living room -- it means something completely different, something depressing, something altogether not-magical.

Carpool (Archive from December 22, 2005)

So actually the transit strikewas nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. I mean I'm glad it's over but because of this little inconvenience, I got to experience something that only Americans who don't live in New York City get to experience -- car pooling. It was so fun! We told jokes, and sang Sheena Easton songs at TV crews, and drank coffee, and ate chocolate, and told more jokes and reminisced. Unlike a majority of New Yorkers, I was actually lucky enough to carpool with people I went to college with and it happened to be 2 of the people that always manage to make me laugh until I cry -- actually cry. Abby can tell you when we were walking down 2nd Avenue earlier tonight looking for Kristen's car, there were tears streaming down our cheeks. I do not exaggerate. Anyway, it was fun. I'm happy the subways are running again though.

STRIKE (Archive from December 20, 2005)

I've decided that I am going on strike. I feel that in all honesty I DESERVE to make more money. I DESERVE to not have to pay for my health insurance. I DESERVE to work whenever and wherever I damn well please. I will not go to work until I get these things and if my company tries to fire me or compel me to live up to the agreement that I made with them when I came to work there, I will just take them to court. But first I will take out a $5 million loan so that it won't matter that I'm not working -- a loan I never intend to pay back, by the way -- and before I walk away from my office in a huff in the middle of a workday I will make it so that no one else can do my job by convincing everyone else I work with that I am fighting the good fight so of course they will all come with me. It won't be so bad. It's not like I work for a major metropolitan transit authority or something. I'm sure it will be fine.

Good luck to my fellow non-Manhattan residents. I bet you never thought you'd have an excuse to walk over a bridge in the freezing cold.