I'll tell you what they DIDN'T do. They most certainly DID NOT sell their lava lamp via Craigslist. No sir!
I just sold my lava lamp for $15, and while the people were here buying it, I convinced them to buy my pink lamp for $10 and Roommate's Papasan chair for $20. And they want my red IKEA cabinet and will pick it up on Sunday!
Good thing we're all mad at D and are not hanging out with him tonight, because if we were, we'd be $25 poorer and begging strangers to buy our stuff on Craigslist!
Friday, May 06, 2005
All I Needed....
... last night was a decent meal and a good night's sleep.
I got neither.
A bunch of us went out for drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat for Cinco De Mayo. Given my stress level as of late, one might say that I drank a bit too much. I won't apologize. I deserved it!
I could have had more to drink, but D exclaimed "I want to go" so I said "Ummm... ok? I guess?"
We left and D said "What do you want for dinner?" Oh, the things I wanted for dinner! I haven't been eating right/enough lately what with stress and the desire to consume all of the food in my apartment so as not to have to throw away or transport it. This has made for weird meals such as cereal with a side of Cheez-Its, and far too many peanut butter sandwiches on slightly bad bread with slightly bad peanut butter. Tonight? Waffles!
Anyway, I said "How about pizza? Or Thai? Or Indian!!! Or ITALIAN! I want raviolis!" Starving, folks, because, again, haven't had much time for lunches these days and dinners have been abominations. D said "Well, actually, I was hoping to not have to buy anything. You know."
OK. "How about an omelette?" he said, to which I said "No, I had an omelette for lunch," because I'd had an omelette for lunch because my body was crumbling and when you order an omelette you get all sorts of nourishment - protein, carbs, pickles on the side.
"What about crepes?" I suggested, since he's been dying to try his new crepe pan from Reading Terminal Market. He found that agreeable until I said "But can we not do chocolate ones? I need real sustenance." He said "Well, what would you put in them?" I said "Spinach? Vegetables? Cheese!" He said "I don't have any vegetables and I don't really want to buy them. Buying vegetables would be like eating out."
"Ummmm. OK."
The subject was dropped and when we left he started heading towards the supermarket, and I was like "Where are we going?" and he was like "To get vegetables?" and I was like "No! We can come up with something!" I knew he didn't want to do it, and who am I to suggest my boyfriend do something he doesn't want to do?
I said "I really want raviolis" and D said "Oh! I have cheese tortellini!"
YES!
We got back to his place and he started making the tortellini. Shortly thereafter, the room began to spin. Shortly after that, I was lying on D's bed thinking "This must be what vertigo is like - how awful!" when D said "So remember how I was telling you that the last time I ate these it was the worst meal of my life? I still haven't decided if it was the sauce or the tortellini."
I said "D, I think I'm just going to get a bagel or something" and he was like "No! I promise it won't be bad this time."
Heh.
Worst thing ever. Definitely the tortellini. I would side against room temperature cheese on any given day, especially cheese that claims to be ricotta but clearly is not. Vile. I had three of them and gave up and ended up not eating dinner.
Not good. Not good at all. I am very, very, very hungry right now.
I thought "Well, at least not eating dinner might help me to sleep, right? I'll just pass out! It will be lovely!" D's mother called, he ate, and I did fall asleep! Bliss!
Until D said "LEAH! There was this other thing I wanted to tell you... wah wah wah wah wah wah..." No idea what he said because I'd passed out, and because all I could hear was "I realize you haven't had a good night's sleep in at least a week, and I see you sleeping right there, so I thought I'd wake you up and tell you something inconsequential!"
So that was that. About 5 minutes later (and, folks, be made aware that this is all happening at around 9:45) D was curled up beside me passed out himself, snoring. And I was wide awake because he'd woken me up, and I was becoming increasingly cross with the snoring. And I was cross because he'd refused to set the alarm, because he said "Dude, we're going to get SO MUCH SLEEP. There's no way I'm not going to wake up." Uh-huh. Right. If I don't get into work at 8:00 my piano is not going to be moved, if my piano is even going to be moved. Ergh. The snoring. The hunger.
All irrational. All totally and completely irrational.
I got up and realized that I was in prison. I kept thinking "I am neither sleeping nor eating nor packing. This is not good."
I don't know how couples can live in a studio. No idea. I kept thinking "I wish there was somewhere else for me to go! Where am I supposed to go? I am wide awake and am freaking out and he's dead asleep and peaceful."
My stress level as of late is through the roof. Lots going on and feeling like I am all alone in the world. I thought "Shit, if there was another room, I'd call some friends who actually want to talk to me right now, unlike my boyfriend who has passed out and is preventing me from sleeping and eating" or "I could watch TV in another room if there was another room!" or "I could go through D's books and read one of them, except I can't because I can't turn on the light in this studio because he is asleep!"
I wish I'd been coherent enough to think "Ah ha! D is asleep! I can LEAVE and either get a meal or go home and pack and then sleep there!" But no. I was all emo and stressed and wanting desperately to sleep.
I did think "If I went back to Brooklyn now, I could be in bed by 11:30 but I'd
have to get up at 6:45 in order to get into work by 8:00. If I stay here, maybe
I'll fall asleep a bit later but I'll be able to get up later because I am 5 minutes from work."
Ah, the rational ways of insomniacs. These seemed like legitimate arguments at 10:00.
I decided to pretend that D's bathroom was the living room, so I hooked up the space heater, put it on the toilet bowl, turned it on, sat on the tiled floor and started to make phone calls. RR was out celebrating Cinco de Mayo, so I thought "Who is of great comfort to me? Who can I say 'Dude, I'm drunk and tired and stressed' to and will not be like 'Dude, stop worrying!'?" M!
I called M and she gave me good advice. She said "What you need to do is imagine someone - or yourself - writing the number 100 on a chalk board and then imagine them looking at it and then slowly erasing it. Then, repeat but with 99. It has to be boring. It's a variant on counting sheep."
GENIUS.
I spoke with her for a bit and then said "M, thanks for the advice. I shall try this right now!" By then I think it was probably 10:30.
I went back to bed and was hoping for D to be awake and for him to ask me how I was doing but no. Dead asleep.
I crawled onto his bed and closed my eyes and pictured a chalk board.
OK.
I knew what to do.
I am walking up to the chalk board and I am going to write the number 100.
Except that instead of writing on the chalk board, I pulled out a cup of a banana pudding from a brown bag and ate it.
Shit.
Try again. Think chalk. Only this time, I approached the chalk board and ate Pad Thai.
NO!
Think think think. Concentrate.
Write on the chalk board. Don't think about food.
Numbers.
Boring numbers.
Good yummy garlic bread!
NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I decided that this method wasn't useful to me since it required so much concentration to just even think about numbers that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. I was curious as to whether I could think of 100 items of food, but realized that was just a guarantee to be awake forever.
Crap.
Hours passed and sleep did not come. I was doing the typical insomniac manuever of "If I fall asleep right now, I'll get 7 hours! That's totally enough! I mean, I haven't gotten more than 4 hours in forever, so 7 will seem like tons compared to that! And then I'll go in and work with radioactivity at the crack of dawn and then stay up all night tomorrow night packing and then get up at 6 on Saturday and I'll be fucking fine fine fine!" Except this was all conjecture, since D doesn't believe in clocks. Every now and then I'd turn on my cell phone just to see what time it was. It was always discouraging, especially given that I could have conceivably gone to bed at 9:30 and gotten 10 hours of sleep if someone didn't feel compelled to wake me up.
At around 12:30 I thought "OK, 7 hours. I can get 7 hours. This needs to work. It's been about an hour and a half since the chalk board thing and maybe its about time we give this another try!"
I decided that the best way to do it would be to think of someone else at the chalk board, and it would be someone who wasn't starving to death and someone who hasn't lost 5 pounds this week.
My delirious mind conjured up the chalk board, and a man approached. "He's going to write 100, I just know it!" I thought. And he did! And then he turned around and revealed himself to be Colin Farrell.
Meeeeowwwww! Colin Farrell, hottttt. Oh yes, Colin Farrell, write 99! Just don't face me again because I can't think about numbers when you are in the room. How can I think about chalk at a time like this, when you keep looking at me coyly?
Oh, my post-drunk mind. WHY!?!??!?!
I thought "This is fucking ridiculous. Why Colin Farrell? Where did he come from? OK. Think of someone who looks really bland. Someone really boring. Right. Someone who will make you tired just thinking about them!"
Thom Yorke. Yes. Thom Yorke will put me to sleep. His droopy eyes will convince me that I am tired! His lethargic ways. Yes.
It worked, and I was almost falling asleep. I think I remember him getting to 92, looking all sullen and taxed. Perfect representation of how I was feeling. Perhaps this is the key to the chalk board game. Pick someone to go to the board who suits your mood.
But, of course, I woke up again.
I think, though, that I got about 4 hours.
And I am psyched that I woke up at about 5:00 and realized that there was no way in fuck D was going to get up at 7:30 on his own, so I set my cell phone.
Thankfully, because did he get up? No.
He said "How did you sleep?" and I said "Not at all" and he said nothing. And then he started singing some stupid song and I wanted to sing a song about how irrational it is to be jealous of people who sleep and how insomniacs must want to kill people who have gotten 9 hours of sleep and who have enough energy to sing stupid songs at 7:30 am.
But I didn't, because I have no energy. Because I haven't slept. Or eaten. And I have lots of work to do. And might be having a piano moved. And definitely have to pack for hours tonight. And then have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.
It will all be over tomorrow.
I will have sheets on my bed in my new apartment and a towel over my bedroom window and I will sleep like the dead.
Incidentally, I had the following waking dream last night while trying to sleep:
I was at a show and it turned out that Eugene Mirman was headlining. There was some sort of drama with getting tickets, but somehow we had them. At the end of the show, Eugene Mirman came up to me and was like "Hey - I know you! Thanks for coming! How do I know you?" In the dream I was hot for Eugene Mirman and was all flustered by his talking to me. I was like "Well, I went to school in western MA. I think you did, too?" He was like "Yeah, but you look familiar. I feel like I know you." I said "Well, yeah, funny, I was actually in a talent show with you. Ummm. Not that I have any talent, but yeah. I think that's how you know me." He was like "Oh! YEAH! I remember. You were good. You were cute." I got all awkward, mainly because D was standing right behind me and I wanted to be like "Oh, please, you shouldn't... but please... go on...." Minutes later, after he had gone on and was telling me that I had a good voice etc., his girlfriend, a gorgeous and tall model-type appeared. I thought "Further evidence that funny men who aren't particularly hot get really hot chicks" and "Shit, of COURSE he has a girlfriend." I was nice, and said "What do you do?" and then she started to sing. Amazing voice. She said "I'm an opera singer." And I felt like shit. She said "What do you do?" and I said "Nothing."
I got neither.
A bunch of us went out for drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat for Cinco De Mayo. Given my stress level as of late, one might say that I drank a bit too much. I won't apologize. I deserved it!
I could have had more to drink, but D exclaimed "I want to go" so I said "Ummm... ok? I guess?"
We left and D said "What do you want for dinner?" Oh, the things I wanted for dinner! I haven't been eating right/enough lately what with stress and the desire to consume all of the food in my apartment so as not to have to throw away or transport it. This has made for weird meals such as cereal with a side of Cheez-Its, and far too many peanut butter sandwiches on slightly bad bread with slightly bad peanut butter. Tonight? Waffles!
Anyway, I said "How about pizza? Or Thai? Or Indian!!! Or ITALIAN! I want raviolis!" Starving, folks, because, again, haven't had much time for lunches these days and dinners have been abominations. D said "Well, actually, I was hoping to not have to buy anything. You know."
OK. "How about an omelette?" he said, to which I said "No, I had an omelette for lunch," because I'd had an omelette for lunch because my body was crumbling and when you order an omelette you get all sorts of nourishment - protein, carbs, pickles on the side.
"What about crepes?" I suggested, since he's been dying to try his new crepe pan from Reading Terminal Market. He found that agreeable until I said "But can we not do chocolate ones? I need real sustenance." He said "Well, what would you put in them?" I said "Spinach? Vegetables? Cheese!" He said "I don't have any vegetables and I don't really want to buy them. Buying vegetables would be like eating out."
"Ummmm. OK."
The subject was dropped and when we left he started heading towards the supermarket, and I was like "Where are we going?" and he was like "To get vegetables?" and I was like "No! We can come up with something!" I knew he didn't want to do it, and who am I to suggest my boyfriend do something he doesn't want to do?
I said "I really want raviolis" and D said "Oh! I have cheese tortellini!"
YES!
We got back to his place and he started making the tortellini. Shortly thereafter, the room began to spin. Shortly after that, I was lying on D's bed thinking "This must be what vertigo is like - how awful!" when D said "So remember how I was telling you that the last time I ate these it was the worst meal of my life? I still haven't decided if it was the sauce or the tortellini."
I said "D, I think I'm just going to get a bagel or something" and he was like "No! I promise it won't be bad this time."
Heh.
Worst thing ever. Definitely the tortellini. I would side against room temperature cheese on any given day, especially cheese that claims to be ricotta but clearly is not. Vile. I had three of them and gave up and ended up not eating dinner.
Not good. Not good at all. I am very, very, very hungry right now.
I thought "Well, at least not eating dinner might help me to sleep, right? I'll just pass out! It will be lovely!" D's mother called, he ate, and I did fall asleep! Bliss!
Until D said "LEAH! There was this other thing I wanted to tell you... wah wah wah wah wah wah..." No idea what he said because I'd passed out, and because all I could hear was "I realize you haven't had a good night's sleep in at least a week, and I see you sleeping right there, so I thought I'd wake you up and tell you something inconsequential!"
So that was that. About 5 minutes later (and, folks, be made aware that this is all happening at around 9:45) D was curled up beside me passed out himself, snoring. And I was wide awake because he'd woken me up, and I was becoming increasingly cross with the snoring. And I was cross because he'd refused to set the alarm, because he said "Dude, we're going to get SO MUCH SLEEP. There's no way I'm not going to wake up." Uh-huh. Right. If I don't get into work at 8:00 my piano is not going to be moved, if my piano is even going to be moved. Ergh. The snoring. The hunger.
All irrational. All totally and completely irrational.
I got up and realized that I was in prison. I kept thinking "I am neither sleeping nor eating nor packing. This is not good."
I don't know how couples can live in a studio. No idea. I kept thinking "I wish there was somewhere else for me to go! Where am I supposed to go? I am wide awake and am freaking out and he's dead asleep and peaceful."
My stress level as of late is through the roof. Lots going on and feeling like I am all alone in the world. I thought "Shit, if there was another room, I'd call some friends who actually want to talk to me right now, unlike my boyfriend who has passed out and is preventing me from sleeping and eating" or "I could watch TV in another room if there was another room!" or "I could go through D's books and read one of them, except I can't because I can't turn on the light in this studio because he is asleep!"
I wish I'd been coherent enough to think "Ah ha! D is asleep! I can LEAVE and either get a meal or go home and pack and then sleep there!" But no. I was all emo and stressed and wanting desperately to sleep.
I did think "If I went back to Brooklyn now, I could be in bed by 11:30 but I'd
have to get up at 6:45 in order to get into work by 8:00. If I stay here, maybe
I'll fall asleep a bit later but I'll be able to get up later because I am 5 minutes from work."
Ah, the rational ways of insomniacs. These seemed like legitimate arguments at 10:00.
I decided to pretend that D's bathroom was the living room, so I hooked up the space heater, put it on the toilet bowl, turned it on, sat on the tiled floor and started to make phone calls. RR was out celebrating Cinco de Mayo, so I thought "Who is of great comfort to me? Who can I say 'Dude, I'm drunk and tired and stressed' to and will not be like 'Dude, stop worrying!'?" M!
I called M and she gave me good advice. She said "What you need to do is imagine someone - or yourself - writing the number 100 on a chalk board and then imagine them looking at it and then slowly erasing it. Then, repeat but with 99. It has to be boring. It's a variant on counting sheep."
GENIUS.
I spoke with her for a bit and then said "M, thanks for the advice. I shall try this right now!" By then I think it was probably 10:30.
I went back to bed and was hoping for D to be awake and for him to ask me how I was doing but no. Dead asleep.
I crawled onto his bed and closed my eyes and pictured a chalk board.
OK.
I knew what to do.
I am walking up to the chalk board and I am going to write the number 100.
Except that instead of writing on the chalk board, I pulled out a cup of a banana pudding from a brown bag and ate it.
Shit.
Try again. Think chalk. Only this time, I approached the chalk board and ate Pad Thai.
NO!
Think think think. Concentrate.
Write on the chalk board. Don't think about food.
Numbers.
Boring numbers.
Good yummy garlic bread!
NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I decided that this method wasn't useful to me since it required so much concentration to just even think about numbers that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. I was curious as to whether I could think of 100 items of food, but realized that was just a guarantee to be awake forever.
Crap.
Hours passed and sleep did not come. I was doing the typical insomniac manuever of "If I fall asleep right now, I'll get 7 hours! That's totally enough! I mean, I haven't gotten more than 4 hours in forever, so 7 will seem like tons compared to that! And then I'll go in and work with radioactivity at the crack of dawn and then stay up all night tomorrow night packing and then get up at 6 on Saturday and I'll be fucking fine fine fine!" Except this was all conjecture, since D doesn't believe in clocks. Every now and then I'd turn on my cell phone just to see what time it was. It was always discouraging, especially given that I could have conceivably gone to bed at 9:30 and gotten 10 hours of sleep if someone didn't feel compelled to wake me up.
At around 12:30 I thought "OK, 7 hours. I can get 7 hours. This needs to work. It's been about an hour and a half since the chalk board thing and maybe its about time we give this another try!"
I decided that the best way to do it would be to think of someone else at the chalk board, and it would be someone who wasn't starving to death and someone who hasn't lost 5 pounds this week.
My delirious mind conjured up the chalk board, and a man approached. "He's going to write 100, I just know it!" I thought. And he did! And then he turned around and revealed himself to be Colin Farrell.
Meeeeowwwww! Colin Farrell, hottttt. Oh yes, Colin Farrell, write 99! Just don't face me again because I can't think about numbers when you are in the room. How can I think about chalk at a time like this, when you keep looking at me coyly?
Oh, my post-drunk mind. WHY!?!??!?!
I thought "This is fucking ridiculous. Why Colin Farrell? Where did he come from? OK. Think of someone who looks really bland. Someone really boring. Right. Someone who will make you tired just thinking about them!"
Thom Yorke. Yes. Thom Yorke will put me to sleep. His droopy eyes will convince me that I am tired! His lethargic ways. Yes.
It worked, and I was almost falling asleep. I think I remember him getting to 92, looking all sullen and taxed. Perfect representation of how I was feeling. Perhaps this is the key to the chalk board game. Pick someone to go to the board who suits your mood.
But, of course, I woke up again.
I think, though, that I got about 4 hours.
And I am psyched that I woke up at about 5:00 and realized that there was no way in fuck D was going to get up at 7:30 on his own, so I set my cell phone.
Thankfully, because did he get up? No.
He said "How did you sleep?" and I said "Not at all" and he said nothing. And then he started singing some stupid song and I wanted to sing a song about how irrational it is to be jealous of people who sleep and how insomniacs must want to kill people who have gotten 9 hours of sleep and who have enough energy to sing stupid songs at 7:30 am.
But I didn't, because I have no energy. Because I haven't slept. Or eaten. And I have lots of work to do. And might be having a piano moved. And definitely have to pack for hours tonight. And then have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.
It will all be over tomorrow.
I will have sheets on my bed in my new apartment and a towel over my bedroom window and I will sleep like the dead.
Incidentally, I had the following waking dream last night while trying to sleep:
I was at a show and it turned out that Eugene Mirman was headlining. There was some sort of drama with getting tickets, but somehow we had them. At the end of the show, Eugene Mirman came up to me and was like "Hey - I know you! Thanks for coming! How do I know you?" In the dream I was hot for Eugene Mirman and was all flustered by his talking to me. I was like "Well, I went to school in western MA. I think you did, too?" He was like "Yeah, but you look familiar. I feel like I know you." I said "Well, yeah, funny, I was actually in a talent show with you. Ummm. Not that I have any talent, but yeah. I think that's how you know me." He was like "Oh! YEAH! I remember. You were good. You were cute." I got all awkward, mainly because D was standing right behind me and I wanted to be like "Oh, please, you shouldn't... but please... go on...." Minutes later, after he had gone on and was telling me that I had a good voice etc., his girlfriend, a gorgeous and tall model-type appeared. I thought "Further evidence that funny men who aren't particularly hot get really hot chicks" and "Shit, of COURSE he has a girlfriend." I was nice, and said "What do you do?" and then she started to sing. Amazing voice. She said "I'm an opera singer." And I felt like shit. She said "What do you do?" and I said "Nothing."
Thursday, May 05, 2005
The Last Time
Knowing that you're doing something for the last time is really sad.
Seeing someone that you know you're seeing for the last time is even more sad.
Most of the time, you don't know that what you're doing is the last time you'll do it. Or, you don't know that the conversation you're having with someone is the last time you'll ever speak to them. Or, you're somewhere and you don't think to think "This is the last time I'll ever be here."
That's sad too, but at least you get to be happy and normal during those last times.
Ignorance is bliss.
I am thinking about the last time I saw The Sandwich Who Shall Not Be Named and I am thinking "Man, if I had known that would be the last time things would have been so different." There are things that are huge parts of your life that just disappear without your having had a say.
I guess knowing things are going to disappear suggests a certain amount of power over a situation. That doesn't, however, make things easier.
Most of the last time things I am doing this week aren't enough to make me sad. This morning I thought "This is the last time I'll ever take a shower in The Loft!" and then thought "Huh. Interesting."
Last night I said "Wait! D! This is the last time we're ever going to be sleeping in The Loft together!" He had no response to its being the last time. I was like "But D, this is the location of the first time! This is where it all began! You were the first person I met in NY who set foot in The Loft! You were here riding Roommate's bike around the loft during my second week here! This is where you put up the post-it note on my wall that said 'Kiss D' after Bench Buddy's party! This is where you first said 'I love you!'" He then said "Huh. I guess it just hasn't hit me."
I have to admit that I don't have much sentimental attachment to The Loft. I always knew it was temporary. But I am attached to the little things that happened there, such as the previously mentioned post-it note. Things like RR coming down for the karaoke party, my entire family being able to stay with me at the same time, Roommate's Cat, D and I giggling and getting-to-know-each-other on the couch on New Year's Eve, M's suggestions for shelf systems, bitching to N and RR all night long while it snowed outside, LBF and I creeping around while an unwanted Canadian slept in my bed, cooking dinner with PW, talking to Sister all morning about how weird death is, wondering if DirectTV interfered with my cell phone reception, drinking wine in the early days with Roommate when New York was new and things were overwhelming.
Things are still overwhelming. I haven't settled in at all. The new apartment will be a good opportunity to feel settled and feel like myself. I haven't felt like myself since I moved here. This is most likely because there hasn't been time. Hopefully having a new apartment in the city and having time to myself will remind me of why I've chosen this.
Anyway, melodrama aside, I took the L to work this morning for the last time. No more L! Life is good. I basically skipped to the subway, waving to all of the places I'll miss but that can be visited. Ah, Asian/Organic supermarket with the sesame sticks, I will miss you but I will be back! Ah, adorable boutique with the fabulous clothes I cannot afford, you will torture me no more! Ah, Relish! We will meet again! Oh, Anytime, I wish you would deliver to Manhattan. Sigh.
So I walked down the stairs of the L and nearly burst into tears, because I'd forgotten about my favorite subway musicians! I listened and tried to hold it together. They are the cutest things ever - older white gentleman who wears a black winter hat and black jacket and plays violin and looks Italian but is probably Russian playing with an adorable little (Mexican?) man with a pot belly who plays classical guitar and who never stops smiling. They play together a few times a week at the Bedford Ave. stop and they are amazing. They love what they do and dance and nod as the riders walk by. I would pay all sorts of money to see them non-subway-style. They are happiness.
I wrote down their names. I wanted to buy their CDs to commemorate The Last Time but the train came and I didn't want to interrupt them.
I almost wish I hadn't seen them, because then I could think back to the last time I saw them and be nostalgic instead of dramatic.
Sigh.
Now I'm sad about potato knishes at Pita Power. When was my last one? I don't know!
Seeing someone that you know you're seeing for the last time is even more sad.
Most of the time, you don't know that what you're doing is the last time you'll do it. Or, you don't know that the conversation you're having with someone is the last time you'll ever speak to them. Or, you're somewhere and you don't think to think "This is the last time I'll ever be here."
That's sad too, but at least you get to be happy and normal during those last times.
Ignorance is bliss.
I am thinking about the last time I saw The Sandwich Who Shall Not Be Named and I am thinking "Man, if I had known that would be the last time things would have been so different." There are things that are huge parts of your life that just disappear without your having had a say.
I guess knowing things are going to disappear suggests a certain amount of power over a situation. That doesn't, however, make things easier.
Most of the last time things I am doing this week aren't enough to make me sad. This morning I thought "This is the last time I'll ever take a shower in The Loft!" and then thought "Huh. Interesting."
Last night I said "Wait! D! This is the last time we're ever going to be sleeping in The Loft together!" He had no response to its being the last time. I was like "But D, this is the location of the first time! This is where it all began! You were the first person I met in NY who set foot in The Loft! You were here riding Roommate's bike around the loft during my second week here! This is where you put up the post-it note on my wall that said 'Kiss D' after Bench Buddy's party! This is where you first said 'I love you!'" He then said "Huh. I guess it just hasn't hit me."
I have to admit that I don't have much sentimental attachment to The Loft. I always knew it was temporary. But I am attached to the little things that happened there, such as the previously mentioned post-it note. Things like RR coming down for the karaoke party, my entire family being able to stay with me at the same time, Roommate's Cat, D and I giggling and getting-to-know-each-other on the couch on New Year's Eve, M's suggestions for shelf systems, bitching to N and RR all night long while it snowed outside, LBF and I creeping around while an unwanted Canadian slept in my bed, cooking dinner with PW, talking to Sister all morning about how weird death is, wondering if DirectTV interfered with my cell phone reception, drinking wine in the early days with Roommate when New York was new and things were overwhelming.
Things are still overwhelming. I haven't settled in at all. The new apartment will be a good opportunity to feel settled and feel like myself. I haven't felt like myself since I moved here. This is most likely because there hasn't been time. Hopefully having a new apartment in the city and having time to myself will remind me of why I've chosen this.
Anyway, melodrama aside, I took the L to work this morning for the last time. No more L! Life is good. I basically skipped to the subway, waving to all of the places I'll miss but that can be visited. Ah, Asian/Organic supermarket with the sesame sticks, I will miss you but I will be back! Ah, adorable boutique with the fabulous clothes I cannot afford, you will torture me no more! Ah, Relish! We will meet again! Oh, Anytime, I wish you would deliver to Manhattan. Sigh.
So I walked down the stairs of the L and nearly burst into tears, because I'd forgotten about my favorite subway musicians! I listened and tried to hold it together. They are the cutest things ever - older white gentleman who wears a black winter hat and black jacket and plays violin and looks Italian but is probably Russian playing with an adorable little (Mexican?) man with a pot belly who plays classical guitar and who never stops smiling. They play together a few times a week at the Bedford Ave. stop and they are amazing. They love what they do and dance and nod as the riders walk by. I would pay all sorts of money to see them non-subway-style. They are happiness.
I wrote down their names. I wanted to buy their CDs to commemorate The Last Time but the train came and I didn't want to interrupt them.
I almost wish I hadn't seen them, because then I could think back to the last time I saw them and be nostalgic instead of dramatic.
Sigh.
Now I'm sad about potato knishes at Pita Power. When was my last one? I don't know!
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Today
I....
1. ...am thinking "It's good to be small because nobody ever asks you to help them move!"
2. ...am thrilled to have seen a mid-40's man walking down the street carrying a bag in his right hand and shaving his head with his left hand. Seriously. Walking at a completely normal rate whilst shaving his head with an electric razor.
3. ...am wondering "What do normal people do when told by a doctor 'You have cancer'?" Am betting they don't think "Huh."
4. ...am officially feeling like a grown-up for the first time in my life because I considered my response to #3 realistically for the first time in my life. Have decided that the sudden realization of mortality is a part of adulthood.
5. ...am glad that I don't have to realistically consider my response to the question posed in #3 but
6. ...am wondering, if I did have to respond to the statement in #3, how to change the response from "Huh" to "I know exactly what I will do with my last moments" or "I know exactly who I will spend my last moments with" or "I will kick the ass of cancer because I have so much to live for!"
7. ...am getting psyched about NetFlix and can't wait to construct an elaborate spreadsheet detailing all of the movies I need to see.
8. ...am wishing for a world without deductibles, because in a world without deductibles, I could have cable for a year instead.
9. ...am wondering why everyone in the world wants to buy my bookshelves but nobody wants my fabulous pink lampshade from Miami.
10. ...am wondering how I am working, well, how I am even awake, given that I am the most tired I've ever been in my life.
11. ...am thinking about Martin Short, who was in class last night. Am thinking about his philosophy of success, and think that I might employ the Martin-Short-Method of life assessment. It involves a report card. I think its a great idea, but my grades-to-be are already scaring me. Am thinking Martin Short would be a good writer of a self-help book.
12. ...am thinking that it is INSANE that another person at work has exactly what D had a few months back. Am wishing I was a member of the CDC and could track this virus or bacteria to the source and STOP IT! Am paranoid that this suggests that I could, ahem, contract it. Am thrilled by the fact that someone has indicated that "other people have reported similar symptoms." Outbreak! It could be a freak coincidence, but really. How exciting.
13. ...am hungry.
14. ...am procrastinating lunch for some reason.
15. ...am wondering what to rename "MyMundaneLifeInSong.com" given that I have sold my keyboard to afford moving the piano, which means that there will be no music! Well, there could be music, and then an internet cafe to post music. Any ideas? MyMundaneLifeInBlog? I don't know. Brain... has... ceased... functioning....
16. ...am annoyed by feeling that I have been reduced to a person who only packs, coordinates moves, and gets medical tests. I feel boring. I feel like I haven't had fun in ages. I feel like I am only dates and times and phone calls and confirmations and planning. I want to just go to a movie. Or see the Basquiat show. Or walk around aimlessly instead of in search of CD envelopes.
17. ...am mystified as to how Best Buy has sold out of CD envelopes! I have converted to a new system for CD storage that I am excited about (although not as excited as I was yesterday after D said last night when he said "I don't like the way it looks. I am going to make my own," which made me feel like I am without taste and also without function and made me feel like I wanted to cry) but that requires CD envelopes. I don't like the paper ones. Makes me nervous. Scratches. No good! I want the cloth-y ones. You know the kind. Anyway, I did a pilot of this system last Tuesday on my way to class - bought one container, bought one set of envelopes (I toyed with buying many envelopes but thought "Well, what if I hate it? Plus, they have about 50 BOXES OF ENVELOPES, so I can just come back whenever and buy tons of them"), went home on Wednesday and decided "Yes! This is good for now." I ordered more boxes online (because Best Buy had only one in stock) and then went back for envelopes on Sunday. There were NONE! Seriosly, there were TONS OF THEM on Tuesday. I bought three boxes of rainbow ones (hideous, but literally all they had) and decided to go back last night after the restocking I was convinced would occur. Again, NONE. Weird.
18. ...am certain there is a counterpart of me out there in NYC who had the exact same "Eureeka!" moment about his CD's as I did at the exact same moment, and went back on Saturday and bought 5000 CD envelopes. I don't know if I should hate him or love him. I think love.
19. ...am now really hungry and am going to go to lunch.
20. ...am sad I couldn't think of 20 things. Boring boring boring moving-doctor's-appointment-robot. Awful.
1. ...am thinking "It's good to be small because nobody ever asks you to help them move!"
2. ...am thrilled to have seen a mid-40's man walking down the street carrying a bag in his right hand and shaving his head with his left hand. Seriously. Walking at a completely normal rate whilst shaving his head with an electric razor.
3. ...am wondering "What do normal people do when told by a doctor 'You have cancer'?" Am betting they don't think "Huh."
4. ...am officially feeling like a grown-up for the first time in my life because I considered my response to #3 realistically for the first time in my life. Have decided that the sudden realization of mortality is a part of adulthood.
5. ...am glad that I don't have to realistically consider my response to the question posed in #3 but
6. ...am wondering, if I did have to respond to the statement in #3, how to change the response from "Huh" to "I know exactly what I will do with my last moments" or "I know exactly who I will spend my last moments with" or "I will kick the ass of cancer because I have so much to live for!"
7. ...am getting psyched about NetFlix and can't wait to construct an elaborate spreadsheet detailing all of the movies I need to see.
8. ...am wishing for a world without deductibles, because in a world without deductibles, I could have cable for a year instead.
9. ...am wondering why everyone in the world wants to buy my bookshelves but nobody wants my fabulous pink lampshade from Miami.
10. ...am wondering how I am working, well, how I am even awake, given that I am the most tired I've ever been in my life.
11. ...am thinking about Martin Short, who was in class last night. Am thinking about his philosophy of success, and think that I might employ the Martin-Short-Method of life assessment. It involves a report card. I think its a great idea, but my grades-to-be are already scaring me. Am thinking Martin Short would be a good writer of a self-help book.
12. ...am thinking that it is INSANE that another person at work has exactly what D had a few months back. Am wishing I was a member of the CDC and could track this virus or bacteria to the source and STOP IT! Am paranoid that this suggests that I could, ahem, contract it. Am thrilled by the fact that someone has indicated that "other people have reported similar symptoms." Outbreak! It could be a freak coincidence, but really. How exciting.
13. ...am hungry.
14. ...am procrastinating lunch for some reason.
15. ...am wondering what to rename "MyMundaneLifeInSong.com" given that I have sold my keyboard to afford moving the piano, which means that there will be no music! Well, there could be music, and then an internet cafe to post music. Any ideas? MyMundaneLifeInBlog? I don't know. Brain... has... ceased... functioning....
16. ...am annoyed by feeling that I have been reduced to a person who only packs, coordinates moves, and gets medical tests. I feel boring. I feel like I haven't had fun in ages. I feel like I am only dates and times and phone calls and confirmations and planning. I want to just go to a movie. Or see the Basquiat show. Or walk around aimlessly instead of in search of CD envelopes.
17. ...am mystified as to how Best Buy has sold out of CD envelopes! I have converted to a new system for CD storage that I am excited about (although not as excited as I was yesterday after D said last night when he said "I don't like the way it looks. I am going to make my own," which made me feel like I am without taste and also without function and made me feel like I wanted to cry) but that requires CD envelopes. I don't like the paper ones. Makes me nervous. Scratches. No good! I want the cloth-y ones. You know the kind. Anyway, I did a pilot of this system last Tuesday on my way to class - bought one container, bought one set of envelopes (I toyed with buying many envelopes but thought "Well, what if I hate it? Plus, they have about 50 BOXES OF ENVELOPES, so I can just come back whenever and buy tons of them"), went home on Wednesday and decided "Yes! This is good for now." I ordered more boxes online (because Best Buy had only one in stock) and then went back for envelopes on Sunday. There were NONE! Seriosly, there were TONS OF THEM on Tuesday. I bought three boxes of rainbow ones (hideous, but literally all they had) and decided to go back last night after the restocking I was convinced would occur. Again, NONE. Weird.
18. ...am certain there is a counterpart of me out there in NYC who had the exact same "Eureeka!" moment about his CD's as I did at the exact same moment, and went back on Saturday and bought 5000 CD envelopes. I don't know if I should hate him or love him. I think love.
19. ...am now really hungry and am going to go to lunch.
20. ...am sad I couldn't think of 20 things. Boring boring boring moving-doctor's-appointment-robot. Awful.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Pots On!
I am so tired.
I haven't had a good night's sleep in ages.
This is of particular concern as I will be starting to move at 8am on Saturday and up all night Friday packing for said move. I will be out on Thursday night consuming much-needed drinks for R's birthday. Tomorrow night - packing! And hopefully selling some stuff that I posted on Craigslist. Tonight - class, and possibly Bed, Bath, and Beyond, because suddenly I am concerned about things like curtains and colanders.
If I pull this off I will be amazed.
All sorts of drama with movers and piano movers and freight elevaotors and work and shelves and measurements and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am very tired today because I went to see Eugene Mirman and some other comics at Pianos last night for their recording of a CD/DVD for Comedy Central.
Yes, folks, Eugene Mirman. You read that right!
Some of you are thinking "Eugene Mirman... that sounds familiar... how do I know...."
YES! It is the VERY SAME EUGENE MIRMAN who was featured in the very same Orgy of Talents as Leah Lar way back in the day!
Yes, folks, picture it: the debut and demise of The Orchard Hillbillies. You might forget Eugene Mirman because you were too busy revelling in the Fleetwood-Mac-like-drama that plagued the Hillbillies backstage. Or, you may have been too busy singing along with "Ridin' on the City of New Orleee-ans...."
Or, you might remember Eugene Mirman because he was DAMN FUNNY.
He still is DAMN FUNNY. He has a bizarre sense of humor, which makes me damn happy. He has a weekly show in NYC. Awshummmm.
The show allegedly started at 8:00, and did not start until 9:00. It went until 11:30, and because I am old, I could not function. And of course we had to stop for Breadsticks at Domino's on the way home. And then had to hang out, because we hadn't seen each other since Friday!, which, as D said, really isn't that long, but it feels like forever.
I said "It's because we've gotten used to sharing our lives, so when we don't, it feels weird. And weirdness feels like eternity."
The show was great, though, and I have decided that all jobs should be like stand-up comedy.
For example, when I get into work in the morning, I should bring a beer with me into the lab. Then, as the day goes on, someone should just hand me beers when I am at the bench. Well, not beer for me, because I don't like beer. Maybe a glass of wine, and when I mess up an experiment, I'll shrug my shoulders and say "Man, this is a tough crowd" and pound the glass.
And, if someone is doing something stupid, I should be able to heckle them. I could say things like "YOU SUCK!" and throw a Kim Wipe at the guy in the next bay. That's the best I could do, because I suck at heckling because I think its mean. It would still be fun.
And when I mess up an experiment, I could just blame the fact that its "new material" that I haven't tried before, and everyone would laugh instead of getting all stressed out.
Yes.
As stressful as standup comedy must be, it has its perks.
OK. I'm off to Bed, Bath, and Beyond!!! which actually sounds somewhat sci-fi if you say it dramatically. Watch out, world, I am going to have my very own garlic press in an hour!!!
I haven't had a good night's sleep in ages.
This is of particular concern as I will be starting to move at 8am on Saturday and up all night Friday packing for said move. I will be out on Thursday night consuming much-needed drinks for R's birthday. Tomorrow night - packing! And hopefully selling some stuff that I posted on Craigslist. Tonight - class, and possibly Bed, Bath, and Beyond, because suddenly I am concerned about things like curtains and colanders.
If I pull this off I will be amazed.
All sorts of drama with movers and piano movers and freight elevaotors and work and shelves and measurements and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am very tired today because I went to see Eugene Mirman and some other comics at Pianos last night for their recording of a CD/DVD for Comedy Central.
Yes, folks, Eugene Mirman. You read that right!
Some of you are thinking "Eugene Mirman... that sounds familiar... how do I know...."
YES! It is the VERY SAME EUGENE MIRMAN who was featured in the very same Orgy of Talents as Leah Lar way back in the day!
Yes, folks, picture it: the debut and demise of The Orchard Hillbillies. You might forget Eugene Mirman because you were too busy revelling in the Fleetwood-Mac-like-drama that plagued the Hillbillies backstage. Or, you may have been too busy singing along with "Ridin' on the City of New Orleee-ans...."
Or, you might remember Eugene Mirman because he was DAMN FUNNY.
He still is DAMN FUNNY. He has a bizarre sense of humor, which makes me damn happy. He has a weekly show in NYC. Awshummmm.
The show allegedly started at 8:00, and did not start until 9:00. It went until 11:30, and because I am old, I could not function. And of course we had to stop for Breadsticks at Domino's on the way home. And then had to hang out, because we hadn't seen each other since Friday!, which, as D said, really isn't that long, but it feels like forever.
I said "It's because we've gotten used to sharing our lives, so when we don't, it feels weird. And weirdness feels like eternity."
The show was great, though, and I have decided that all jobs should be like stand-up comedy.
For example, when I get into work in the morning, I should bring a beer with me into the lab. Then, as the day goes on, someone should just hand me beers when I am at the bench. Well, not beer for me, because I don't like beer. Maybe a glass of wine, and when I mess up an experiment, I'll shrug my shoulders and say "Man, this is a tough crowd" and pound the glass.
And, if someone is doing something stupid, I should be able to heckle them. I could say things like "YOU SUCK!" and throw a Kim Wipe at the guy in the next bay. That's the best I could do, because I suck at heckling because I think its mean. It would still be fun.
And when I mess up an experiment, I could just blame the fact that its "new material" that I haven't tried before, and everyone would laugh instead of getting all stressed out.
Yes.
As stressful as standup comedy must be, it has its perks.
OK. I'm off to Bed, Bath, and Beyond!!! which actually sounds somewhat sci-fi if you say it dramatically. Watch out, world, I am going to have my very own garlic press in an hour!!!
Monday, May 02, 2005
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Bye-bye, Loft
Roommate is on the phone, talking really loudly.
I am exhausted. I need sleep.
Instead I am up and blogging, because, well, she's loud.
Really, really, loud.
But you know what?
This is the last time, ever, that this will be a problem, because this is my Last Weekend In the Loft!
I am not feeling at all sentimental. I think its because I never settled in here, because I knew it was temporary.
I spent yesterday packing, and, again, felt nothing. When I moved out of Hall Street, every time I put something in a box I wanted to break down and weep. Everything had a memory attached to it, everything belonged there. I have no attachment to this place whatsoever. I think I've always felt like a poser here. Hopefully I'll feel like me in the new apartment.
And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the new apartment!!!!
I am very excited. Stressed, but excited. I don't have enough boxes. I am disorganized. I haven't sold everything. I haven't changed my address on things. I haven't cancelled cable. I haven't put up shelves. I don't have anything for anyone to sit on in the new place. I don't have anything, really. Sigh. Much to do.
I have, however, sold my keyboard for cash! I have hired two guys to help unload the truck. I have secured a truck although that means nothing. I have secured piano movers although I don't know when we're going to move the piano because the superintendent of my building will not call me back to tell me if/when I can use the freight elevator.
It's going to be fine, and soon I will be able to start feeling comfortable in NYC!
I am exhausted. I need sleep.
Instead I am up and blogging, because, well, she's loud.
Really, really, loud.
But you know what?
This is the last time, ever, that this will be a problem, because this is my Last Weekend In the Loft!
I am not feeling at all sentimental. I think its because I never settled in here, because I knew it was temporary.
I spent yesterday packing, and, again, felt nothing. When I moved out of Hall Street, every time I put something in a box I wanted to break down and weep. Everything had a memory attached to it, everything belonged there. I have no attachment to this place whatsoever. I think I've always felt like a poser here. Hopefully I'll feel like me in the new apartment.
And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the new apartment!!!!
I am very excited. Stressed, but excited. I don't have enough boxes. I am disorganized. I haven't sold everything. I haven't changed my address on things. I haven't cancelled cable. I haven't put up shelves. I don't have anything for anyone to sit on in the new place. I don't have anything, really. Sigh. Much to do.
I have, however, sold my keyboard for cash! I have hired two guys to help unload the truck. I have secured a truck although that means nothing. I have secured piano movers although I don't know when we're going to move the piano because the superintendent of my building will not call me back to tell me if/when I can use the freight elevator.
It's going to be fine, and soon I will be able to start feeling comfortable in NYC!
Last Time In The Loo - Day 3
On our last day in The Loo, we spent a great portion of the early afternoon trying to decide what to do in The Loo.
Brother, who actually lives in Edwardsville, IL, is not overly familiar with the city. After hours of debate, we decided to go to The City Museumt prior to checking out the Wash U MFA gallery show.
First, though, Brother suggested that we have some authentic midwestern pizza at Imo's! Brother had described the pizza to us. For whatever reason, pizza in the midwest is made with Provel cheese instead of mozzarella. Rumor has it that this is because Provel cheese is made in IL or St. Louis or something. Sister, who worked at Panera bread (originally St. Louis Bread Co. - yes! I am SUCH a fan) said that she told customers that Provel is a combination of Provolone and American cheese, which actually sounds good, just not as a pizza topping. Brother kept saying "Look I'm not taking you there because it's going to be a good meal. It's just that you have to try it."
We got there and Father found a coupon for a free 2-liter bottle of Pepsi with a purchase of a pizza, so instead of my getting a small Pepsi, I was handed a 2-liter bottle. Yeah.
The pizza:
It was cut in squares and was edible. I'd never eat it again, unless I was utterly and completely starving, which I was when we ate this. It tasted like a microwave pizza. Namely, Celeste. Ewwww.
On our way into the city, Father said "We have to stop at the arch!" I've been to St. Louis four times and have never actually stopped at the Arch. I have millions of photos of it from afar, but never actually walked up to it. People resisted this idea, but thankfully father insisted.
Photo Credit: Sister
The Arch, The Gateway To The West, is spectacular. When you stand directly underneath it, it looks like its shaking and you feel dizzy.
People from the east call it The Asshole Of The East, which I think is funny. But now that I've seen it up close, I don't think its as funny. Apparently you can take a ride in the Arch, which is not something I ever want to do.
We headed into the city and parked near the City Museum, because there is a ton of parking in St. Louis. This is because there are very few people in St. Louis. When we got into the City Museum, we realized that not only is it quite expensive (Brother had only ever been at night - it is open until 1 am - when it is cheaper) but that it was populated by millions of children. The prices changed at 5:00, so we decided to not go and to perhaps come back at 5:00. I felt bad because my friend G was supposed to join us. I called him and said "Dude, there are a million kids. This is not a good idea. We may be back later."
It was about 3:00 at that point, so we had two hours to kill. We walked over to the MFA exhibit, which was actually in the middle of being taken down. Snap.
Ummmm.
We asked the kid who was taking it down "Are there any other good galleries around here?" He said "Blah blah blah gallery is around the corner."
"What are they showing?" I asked.
"Landscapes."
Snap.
Brother had no idea what to do. We stood in the lobby of the gallery for about 20 minutes just looking at Brother really hard, hoping that he'd have an idea. He kept saying "There's really nothing to do!" He suggested, after a while, that we head to Delmar, where there are nice shops. Brother and I hung out there during my last visit when we went to The Tivoli Theater to see "The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra," the best movie of all time. There are cute shops. It's scene-y. I said "Maybe I can buy stuff for my new apartment there!" Yay!
Only one problem - Brother didn't know where we were in relation to Delmar. We finally found two dudes on the street and asked them "How do we get to the Tivoli?" They said "That way." Turns out we were on Delmar. Sweet!
We drove down Delmar for about 20 minutes, getting the not-so-scenic tour of whatever part of St. Louis we were in. St. Louis is different from other cities because it doesn't seem to be a walking city. You can drive for an hour and not see a single person or a single business. You'll see nothing but abandoned and scary looking warehouses and then bam! Beautiful residences.
Delmar just ended amidst the beautiful residences. We looped back around, perplexed, and just headed back in the direction we came from. By then it was getting late, and Brother said "Look, even if we figure this out, we're going to get there and have to turn around to go to the City Museum."
We scrapped the plan and went back to the City Museum. When we got there, there were still a million kids. Brother said "The City Museum is effective birth control."
We debated for an eternity - should we go in? Should The Parents go in? What package should we get? Is this going to be at all fun with a million kids in there? Sister desperately wanted to go in, so we finally, after much much much debate, decided to go in. I didn't call G because I was afraid that the plan could change at any second, or that the City Museum would crumble just because that was the sort of luck we were having that day.
So! The City Museum is the best place ever. There was a chance I would hate it, but I ended up liking it. I didn't take many pictures because, well, its all caves and tight spaces and climbing through ceilings through steel/wire tubing and crawling through tunnels under the museum. It would have been easier had I not had my camera at all.
It's in this huge building where they've erected caves and scaffolds and 8-story slides (see above). Sister described it as being "very Terry Gilliam," which it was. There was a lot of climbing and darkness and getting lost and desperately searching for more slides. The kids in the museum were nuts. Little bodies can sneak through any crevice. The museum is basically just a huge playground and its yours for the taking. There are signs everywhere saying that the museum is not responsible for injuries. I imagine there are many.
There was also an outside portion of the museum, but we didn't play there because it was a little cold out and also it was more money. Plus, I think I'd have had a heart attack.
We all had bruises and soreness after our adventure. But it was worth it. Fun in St. Louis! YAY!
We went for dinner and then headed back to Edwardsville, where we hung out with Brother's roommate's for a bit and then spent time discussing my relationship insecurities. I have the best siblings of all time, and am lucky to know so many people who support me.
I headed back on Sunday and had amazing flight luck! We got to the airport a little before we'd planned. My flight had been delayed already, so I would miss the connecting flight in O'Hare and most likely be stranded for a while. The standby earlier flight was already booked, but because I got there so early, they were able to put me on a direct flight on another airline that got me to Laguardia 2 hours before the original flight!
YES!
I had to undergo the complete bag check, which is always demoralizing because I am such a terrible packer. After checking my bag, the dude said "Miss! You look like you're in fashion... could you please tell these women that my glasses are in style?" This guy was about 60 years old and had old-school brown plastic scientist glasses. I was like "Oh, yes, those are TOTALLY coming back in." "See? TOLD YOU!" he said to the ladies, and then turned to me and said "Miss, you've made my day" and I said "No, you have made MY day." Because he really did make my day. I love cute, little things with cute, new people. Awshummmm.
My last trip to St. Louis was amazing. Being with my entire family was lovely. I can't wait to do it again. And I can't wait to see Brother again, because when I next see him, he will be back on the east coast for good! YEAH!
Brother, who actually lives in Edwardsville, IL, is not overly familiar with the city. After hours of debate, we decided to go to The City Museumt prior to checking out the Wash U MFA gallery show.
First, though, Brother suggested that we have some authentic midwestern pizza at Imo's! Brother had described the pizza to us. For whatever reason, pizza in the midwest is made with Provel cheese instead of mozzarella. Rumor has it that this is because Provel cheese is made in IL or St. Louis or something. Sister, who worked at Panera bread (originally St. Louis Bread Co. - yes! I am SUCH a fan) said that she told customers that Provel is a combination of Provolone and American cheese, which actually sounds good, just not as a pizza topping. Brother kept saying "Look I'm not taking you there because it's going to be a good meal. It's just that you have to try it."
We got there and Father found a coupon for a free 2-liter bottle of Pepsi with a purchase of a pizza, so instead of my getting a small Pepsi, I was handed a 2-liter bottle. Yeah.
The pizza:
It was cut in squares and was edible. I'd never eat it again, unless I was utterly and completely starving, which I was when we ate this. It tasted like a microwave pizza. Namely, Celeste. Ewwww.
On our way into the city, Father said "We have to stop at the arch!" I've been to St. Louis four times and have never actually stopped at the Arch. I have millions of photos of it from afar, but never actually walked up to it. People resisted this idea, but thankfully father insisted.
Photo Credit: Sister
The Arch, The Gateway To The West, is spectacular. When you stand directly underneath it, it looks like its shaking and you feel dizzy.
People from the east call it The Asshole Of The East, which I think is funny. But now that I've seen it up close, I don't think its as funny. Apparently you can take a ride in the Arch, which is not something I ever want to do.
We headed into the city and parked near the City Museum, because there is a ton of parking in St. Louis. This is because there are very few people in St. Louis. When we got into the City Museum, we realized that not only is it quite expensive (Brother had only ever been at night - it is open until 1 am - when it is cheaper) but that it was populated by millions of children. The prices changed at 5:00, so we decided to not go and to perhaps come back at 5:00. I felt bad because my friend G was supposed to join us. I called him and said "Dude, there are a million kids. This is not a good idea. We may be back later."
It was about 3:00 at that point, so we had two hours to kill. We walked over to the MFA exhibit, which was actually in the middle of being taken down. Snap.
Ummmm.
We asked the kid who was taking it down "Are there any other good galleries around here?" He said "Blah blah blah gallery is around the corner."
"What are they showing?" I asked.
"Landscapes."
Snap.
Brother had no idea what to do. We stood in the lobby of the gallery for about 20 minutes just looking at Brother really hard, hoping that he'd have an idea. He kept saying "There's really nothing to do!" He suggested, after a while, that we head to Delmar, where there are nice shops. Brother and I hung out there during my last visit when we went to The Tivoli Theater to see "The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra," the best movie of all time. There are cute shops. It's scene-y. I said "Maybe I can buy stuff for my new apartment there!" Yay!
Only one problem - Brother didn't know where we were in relation to Delmar. We finally found two dudes on the street and asked them "How do we get to the Tivoli?" They said "That way." Turns out we were on Delmar. Sweet!
We drove down Delmar for about 20 minutes, getting the not-so-scenic tour of whatever part of St. Louis we were in. St. Louis is different from other cities because it doesn't seem to be a walking city. You can drive for an hour and not see a single person or a single business. You'll see nothing but abandoned and scary looking warehouses and then bam! Beautiful residences.
Delmar just ended amidst the beautiful residences. We looped back around, perplexed, and just headed back in the direction we came from. By then it was getting late, and Brother said "Look, even if we figure this out, we're going to get there and have to turn around to go to the City Museum."
We scrapped the plan and went back to the City Museum. When we got there, there were still a million kids. Brother said "The City Museum is effective birth control."
We debated for an eternity - should we go in? Should The Parents go in? What package should we get? Is this going to be at all fun with a million kids in there? Sister desperately wanted to go in, so we finally, after much much much debate, decided to go in. I didn't call G because I was afraid that the plan could change at any second, or that the City Museum would crumble just because that was the sort of luck we were having that day.
So! The City Museum is the best place ever. There was a chance I would hate it, but I ended up liking it. I didn't take many pictures because, well, its all caves and tight spaces and climbing through ceilings through steel/wire tubing and crawling through tunnels under the museum. It would have been easier had I not had my camera at all.
It's in this huge building where they've erected caves and scaffolds and 8-story slides (see above). Sister described it as being "very Terry Gilliam," which it was. There was a lot of climbing and darkness and getting lost and desperately searching for more slides. The kids in the museum were nuts. Little bodies can sneak through any crevice. The museum is basically just a huge playground and its yours for the taking. There are signs everywhere saying that the museum is not responsible for injuries. I imagine there are many.
There was also an outside portion of the museum, but we didn't play there because it was a little cold out and also it was more money. Plus, I think I'd have had a heart attack.
We all had bruises and soreness after our adventure. But it was worth it. Fun in St. Louis! YAY!
We went for dinner and then headed back to Edwardsville, where we hung out with Brother's roommate's for a bit and then spent time discussing my relationship insecurities. I have the best siblings of all time, and am lucky to know so many people who support me.
I headed back on Sunday and had amazing flight luck! We got to the airport a little before we'd planned. My flight had been delayed already, so I would miss the connecting flight in O'Hare and most likely be stranded for a while. The standby earlier flight was already booked, but because I got there so early, they were able to put me on a direct flight on another airline that got me to Laguardia 2 hours before the original flight!
YES!
I had to undergo the complete bag check, which is always demoralizing because I am such a terrible packer. After checking my bag, the dude said "Miss! You look like you're in fashion... could you please tell these women that my glasses are in style?" This guy was about 60 years old and had old-school brown plastic scientist glasses. I was like "Oh, yes, those are TOTALLY coming back in." "See? TOLD YOU!" he said to the ladies, and then turned to me and said "Miss, you've made my day" and I said "No, you have made MY day." Because he really did make my day. I love cute, little things with cute, new people. Awshummmm.
My last trip to St. Louis was amazing. Being with my entire family was lovely. I can't wait to do it again. And I can't wait to see Brother again, because when I next see him, he will be back on the east coast for good! YEAH!
A Very Boston Cab Ride
I went to a party on Saturday night during which occurred much Boston-bashing. What was said was mostly true, but it was said with venom and judgment and without sensitivity to my MA-upbringing.
I had much to say on the subjects at hand, but drunkenness prevented me from actually saying anything and caused me to literally just walk away.
D's tiredness prevented us from staying at the party as late as I'd have liked. D biked to the party after a show he attended, so he said "I'll race you to Williamsburg."
I waited for a cab for what seemed like an eternity and was thrilled when a van cab pulled up in front of me and said "I'm only going to Williamsburg!"
Sweet!
I jumped in and immediately knew it was going to be a Boston-like cab ride. In New York, cab drivers either talk on their cell phones or ignore you. If they do pay even the slightest of attention to you, they give you dirty looks that suggest "How DARE YOU have the audacity to ride in my cab?" In Boston I expected an interesting conversation (and the gathering of a good story) in a cab. In NY, I'm always scrambling to think of who I can call on my cell phone so as to not feel awkward for 20 minutes while being ignored.
For example, there was the time I got into a cab hysterically crying in Cambridge and received a wonderful, fatherly pep talk from the cab driver that actually made me feel better.
And there were discussions of evolution or religion or politics.
And life story exhanges.
Here - nothing. Well, I shouldn't say that. Maybe there's conversation 20% of the time.
Anyway, I got into the van and the dude was adorable. "How are you tonight, miss?" and "Are you going home or to a party?" and "What a night!"
About a minute into the drive, I received a drunk tag from former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. This was expected because former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was in the city and there was minor effort put into a meeting for drinks or meeting at the party. Former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was DRUNK. Obviously. Slurring, incoherent, not-making-much-sense. Ah! The old days!
When I finally got off the phone with him, the taxi driver was like "So, was that your ex?"
Heh. I briefly explained what was going on and gave a minor version of our history.
The cab driver proceeded to give me a pep talk about it! He said "This reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. She calls, but only when there's a problem. She'll say 'My husband is driving me crazy!'" but that's the only time I hear from her." I thought "Actually, that reminds me of me."
Amidst the pep talk, former-favorite-ex-boyfriend called again and I said "He's calling AGAIN!" "You're not going to answer it?" "No, I really don't want to." "But you should." "I don't think I should."
By this time, we were in front of my building and I'd already paid him.
He said "I really think you should call him. He probably just wants to talk to someone who knows him. I mean, you guys dated on and off for 5 years! Sometimes you just want to hear the voice of someone who knows you well."
"I don't know. I just don't think its a good idea."
"But why is he thinking of YOU when he's drinking? Why is it you? You should think about that."
"I really don't think this is a big deal."
"But really, he could call anyone. But he wants to talk to and see you."
"Yes, but neither of those things are a good idea."
Traffic appeared and the cab driver pulled over to continue his talk.
"You should give him a chance. See, sometimes, when things are bad, you want to talk to someone who knows you. As you get older, its harder and harder to be friends with girls. You know, just friends. You date, but you don't make new friends, and you don't have a lot of women who know you. I bet he just needs to talk to someone who knows him. I think he wants to talk to you because you guys used to be close. Come on, give the guy a chance. Call him back."
"Oh. Well, maybe I'll call him tomorrow when we're both sober."
"I feel bad for him. He probably just feels lonely."
"No, well, I just think he's drunk."
I wished him a good night and smiled as I got out of the cab.
How sweet.
It's funny, but I felt like, well, the cab driver exactly explained why it is that I sometimes call former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. I don't think he was right about the reasons for former-favorite-ex-boyfriend's calling me, but it felt nice to have someone understand what can motivate a good drunk tag.
I actually won the race but D got to my building's door before I did because I was sitting in the cab outside my building for 5 minutes receiving unsolicited advice from a very Boston cab driver in NYC.
I had much to say on the subjects at hand, but drunkenness prevented me from actually saying anything and caused me to literally just walk away.
D's tiredness prevented us from staying at the party as late as I'd have liked. D biked to the party after a show he attended, so he said "I'll race you to Williamsburg."
I waited for a cab for what seemed like an eternity and was thrilled when a van cab pulled up in front of me and said "I'm only going to Williamsburg!"
Sweet!
I jumped in and immediately knew it was going to be a Boston-like cab ride. In New York, cab drivers either talk on their cell phones or ignore you. If they do pay even the slightest of attention to you, they give you dirty looks that suggest "How DARE YOU have the audacity to ride in my cab?" In Boston I expected an interesting conversation (and the gathering of a good story) in a cab. In NY, I'm always scrambling to think of who I can call on my cell phone so as to not feel awkward for 20 minutes while being ignored.
For example, there was the time I got into a cab hysterically crying in Cambridge and received a wonderful, fatherly pep talk from the cab driver that actually made me feel better.
And there were discussions of evolution or religion or politics.
And life story exhanges.
Here - nothing. Well, I shouldn't say that. Maybe there's conversation 20% of the time.
Anyway, I got into the van and the dude was adorable. "How are you tonight, miss?" and "Are you going home or to a party?" and "What a night!"
About a minute into the drive, I received a drunk tag from former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. This was expected because former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was in the city and there was minor effort put into a meeting for drinks or meeting at the party. Former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was DRUNK. Obviously. Slurring, incoherent, not-making-much-sense. Ah! The old days!
When I finally got off the phone with him, the taxi driver was like "So, was that your ex?"
Heh. I briefly explained what was going on and gave a minor version of our history.
The cab driver proceeded to give me a pep talk about it! He said "This reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. She calls, but only when there's a problem. She'll say 'My husband is driving me crazy!'" but that's the only time I hear from her." I thought "Actually, that reminds me of me."
Amidst the pep talk, former-favorite-ex-boyfriend called again and I said "He's calling AGAIN!" "You're not going to answer it?" "No, I really don't want to." "But you should." "I don't think I should."
By this time, we were in front of my building and I'd already paid him.
He said "I really think you should call him. He probably just wants to talk to someone who knows him. I mean, you guys dated on and off for 5 years! Sometimes you just want to hear the voice of someone who knows you well."
"I don't know. I just don't think its a good idea."
"But why is he thinking of YOU when he's drinking? Why is it you? You should think about that."
"I really don't think this is a big deal."
"But really, he could call anyone. But he wants to talk to and see you."
"Yes, but neither of those things are a good idea."
Traffic appeared and the cab driver pulled over to continue his talk.
"You should give him a chance. See, sometimes, when things are bad, you want to talk to someone who knows you. As you get older, its harder and harder to be friends with girls. You know, just friends. You date, but you don't make new friends, and you don't have a lot of women who know you. I bet he just needs to talk to someone who knows him. I think he wants to talk to you because you guys used to be close. Come on, give the guy a chance. Call him back."
"Oh. Well, maybe I'll call him tomorrow when we're both sober."
"I feel bad for him. He probably just feels lonely."
"No, well, I just think he's drunk."
I wished him a good night and smiled as I got out of the cab.
How sweet.
It's funny, but I felt like, well, the cab driver exactly explained why it is that I sometimes call former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. I don't think he was right about the reasons for former-favorite-ex-boyfriend's calling me, but it felt nice to have someone understand what can motivate a good drunk tag.
I actually won the race but D got to my building's door before I did because I was sitting in the cab outside my building for 5 minutes receiving unsolicited advice from a very Boston cab driver in NYC.
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