I met my neighbor the other night!!!
I have been sharing walls with this man since May, and I'd seen him only once in passing.
I've fantastized about him - I've wondered what he does for a living, what hours he keeps, what he thinks about the sounds coming from my apartment. I've wondered if he purposefully avoids me because he hates me due to my constantly listening to music or playing piano or talking loudly in my bedroom which, for all I know, could keep him up because maybe his bedroom is right alongside mine and he's trying to sleep at 9pm because he works a bizarre shift at his mystery job.
As I was leaving my apartment the other night at around 9pm to go to D's to watch the Netflix DVD that ultimately wouldn't play, I bumped right into him!
We stared at each other.
My first response was panic. I thought "Oh my god, he's going to KILL ME!" because obviously he hates me because I am loud and he has been working out his evil plan to kill me as soon as he found out who I was!!!
He stared at me, I stared at him, and finally, enthusiastically, he blurted out "DO YOU LIVE HERE?!"
"Yes?" I said, timid.
"OH MY GOD! FINALLY! WE'VE BEEN NEIGHBORS LIKE FOREVER AND I'VE BEEN DYING TO MEET YOU!!!!"
B is a 40-ish fellow who works in fashion. He is extremely excited about everything. He asked me what I did for a living. I said "I'm a scientist" and he said "I love that."
He unlocked his door, and I took a peak inside his apartment. D and I are constantly trying to figure out the layout of the apartment next to mine. Clearly it would have to be nothing like mine, but we couldn't decide if it was microscopic or huge.
I looked around him as he said "You know, I had a friends visiting from Rhode Island the other day and they kept saying how small my apartment is, but I just love living here! I mean, I have two bedrooms..."
"You have two bedrooms?" I asked. Eureeka! I only have one bedroom, how dare he have two?
"Well, they are small," he said, "And your apartment - I saw when they were renovated it. I would kill for your floors."
"They are quite fabulous," I said, trying to see into his apartment. I couldn't, because he has a very long hallway that cuts to the left so you can't see a damn thing from the doorway.
He said "Well, I work for Isaac Mizrahi," he said, "You must have heard of him."
"Oh yes," I said, unimpressed.
"It's been a pleasure living near you," he said. "I hope I don't make too much noise," he said.
"Oh, no, I never hear you. I wasn't even sure that anyone lived here!"
"Well, I'm usually quiet. I sometimes have friends over. Hopefully we're not too loud. The models, you know, it can be crazy."
"Models?"
"Yes, models."
"Oh. I'm taking a photography class. Maybe when we have to do portraits you can hook me up with some models."
"Well, there are some in here right now! Do you want to meet them?"
Models! Yes! I was in!
He invited me in, and I couldn't contain my excitement. I met my neighbor! I was going to get to see the mystery apartment! I was going to meet models!!!!
His apartment looks nothing like mine. At all. It's not renovated, and the layout is strange. His "bedrooms" are both microscopic. It is his living room that is behind my bedroom, and his bedroom is adjacent to mine. Which is weird, but whatever. Things I didn't need to know.
But best of all... his shower is in the kitchen!!!
He was apologetic about that. Not only is it in the kitchen, but it is elevated in the kitchen, so it just hangs there next to the stove! You have to climb a stool to get into it! Insane!
We gushed about our apartments and renovations and models, and I said that I had to get going. He wants to eat lunch or drink wine at some point.
I am just satisfied knowing what lies beyond my walls.
Thrilled, folks.
And with that, have a good loooooooong weekend!
Friday, October 07, 2005
Weird
You know what's weird?
That I have found myself walking behind not one, not two, but three separate people in the past three days that have been smoking cigars on the street.
I mention this because the downstream smoke from a cigar is horrid.
***
You know what else is weird?
I saw a guy the other day who looked just like Master P. I was so convinced it was him, until I remembered that Master P. is really tall, and this guy was only like 5'10''.
On the way to work this morning, after walking behind a dude smoking a cigar, I saw a guy who looked just like Mystikal! It wasn't him, though.
I haven't seen any rappers since moving to NYC.
D saw Redman once from his apartment window. I was jealous.
***
You know what's even more weird?
D was insecure for the first time ever yesterday and it made me really sad, but also, in some weird and deranged way, it made me feel good to know that he thinks about things.
***
You know what else is weird?
I just got really outbid on something on EBay and I am devastated.
Why am I devastated? It's not like I needed that adorable pick laptop bag!
But I did really want it for $4.95.
***
Also weird was this dream I had last night, in which D and I moved into this immense house that was fully furnished. We were not allowed to bring anything into the apartment other than clothes. I complained to the landlord "I can't live under these conditions! I want my own furniture! I want to hang things on the wall! This furniture is absurd!"
D wasn't as distressed.
The house was part of an apartment complex that was basically loft space in a converted barn (yes, a barn) and for some reason the entire apartment would tilt once an hour. I can't even explain it. Something to do with the reindeer that were being kept in the only portion of the barn that remained a barn.
The landlord said "You'll get used to it."
"No, I won't!" I yelled. "Nor will I get used to sleeping in a twin bed!"
"You can push them together," she said.
"But we have two beds outside in the truck. You mean to tell me we can't bring either of them in here?" I asked.
"No, sorry."
"But what about D's memory foam?"
"He'll get used to it."
"We are collectors of art!" I lied. "We have an extensive collection that we would like to hang."
"You can't."
"D, we're minimalists! We can't live like this! We can't live in this clutter!!! There's no empty space!!!!"
"But its so big," he said, in awe.
"Who cares? It's like being a prisoner!"
I walked down to the apartments on the first floor. A lavish party was being hosted in one of them. I let myself in and saw that this apartment was furnished way cooler than ours. Ours was very rustic and country-like. Lots of plaid and yellow walls and wood. This one wouldn't have been out of place in New York City. The people at the party were very fashionable and funky. I asked the owner "How did you get this apartment? You got way better furniture that I did!"
The owner said "Honey, just sneak. Little by little. One piece a day. They won't even realize!" She pointed to some art that was hanging from the ceiling. "They never look up," she said. "They never look."
I suppose its not that weird. I am trying to figure out a New Life Plan that will allow me to live in New York City forever.
***
More later.
That I have found myself walking behind not one, not two, but three separate people in the past three days that have been smoking cigars on the street.
I mention this because the downstream smoke from a cigar is horrid.
***
You know what else is weird?
I saw a guy the other day who looked just like Master P. I was so convinced it was him, until I remembered that Master P. is really tall, and this guy was only like 5'10''.
On the way to work this morning, after walking behind a dude smoking a cigar, I saw a guy who looked just like Mystikal! It wasn't him, though.
I haven't seen any rappers since moving to NYC.
D saw Redman once from his apartment window. I was jealous.
***
You know what's even more weird?
D was insecure for the first time ever yesterday and it made me really sad, but also, in some weird and deranged way, it made me feel good to know that he thinks about things.
***
You know what else is weird?
I just got really outbid on something on EBay and I am devastated.
Why am I devastated? It's not like I needed that adorable pick laptop bag!
But I did really want it for $4.95.
***
Also weird was this dream I had last night, in which D and I moved into this immense house that was fully furnished. We were not allowed to bring anything into the apartment other than clothes. I complained to the landlord "I can't live under these conditions! I want my own furniture! I want to hang things on the wall! This furniture is absurd!"
D wasn't as distressed.
The house was part of an apartment complex that was basically loft space in a converted barn (yes, a barn) and for some reason the entire apartment would tilt once an hour. I can't even explain it. Something to do with the reindeer that were being kept in the only portion of the barn that remained a barn.
The landlord said "You'll get used to it."
"No, I won't!" I yelled. "Nor will I get used to sleeping in a twin bed!"
"You can push them together," she said.
"But we have two beds outside in the truck. You mean to tell me we can't bring either of them in here?" I asked.
"No, sorry."
"But what about D's memory foam?"
"He'll get used to it."
"We are collectors of art!" I lied. "We have an extensive collection that we would like to hang."
"You can't."
"D, we're minimalists! We can't live like this! We can't live in this clutter!!! There's no empty space!!!!"
"But its so big," he said, in awe.
"Who cares? It's like being a prisoner!"
I walked down to the apartments on the first floor. A lavish party was being hosted in one of them. I let myself in and saw that this apartment was furnished way cooler than ours. Ours was very rustic and country-like. Lots of plaid and yellow walls and wood. This one wouldn't have been out of place in New York City. The people at the party were very fashionable and funky. I asked the owner "How did you get this apartment? You got way better furniture that I did!"
The owner said "Honey, just sneak. Little by little. One piece a day. They won't even realize!" She pointed to some art that was hanging from the ceiling. "They never look up," she said. "They never look."
I suppose its not that weird. I am trying to figure out a New Life Plan that will allow me to live in New York City forever.
***
More later.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Quality Time
Ever appreciative that my IPod survived the Cranberry Juice Fiasco, I have been trying to spend as much quality time with it as possible.
En route to D's last night, I didn't have anything to read and was suffering from attention deficit, so I decided to play games. I hadn't played a game on my IPod since one of the many try-to-get-the-loft-trips to NYC last summer with Former Roommate, who played Solitaire on her IPod on the train. I said "What are you doing?" "Playing Solitaire." "How?" "What do you mean?" "How did you get a game on your Ipod?" "It comes with games." "Oh."
It apparently also has an address book and other non-music related features that are not interesting enough to me to merit my learning more about them.
I played Solitatire for about two seconds and got frustrated with it. I don't like the weird little hand that appears over the cards. I don't like the action. It just isn't fun.
I decided to see what else it has, and it has this music trivia game! It randomly selects a song and starts playing it, and gives you five multiple choice options for the name of the song! Awesome! I got, like, 1 out of 7 right. This is because I own too much music, and also because I don't know the names of any songs.
The reason I bring this all up is because, at random, IPod picked a song that I'd never even heard before! It was on a mix that Stupid A gave me last April. I listened to his mixes nonstop when things were good, but somehow managed to miss this song. It must have been at the end of one of the mixes, or maybe I thought the beginning of it was boring so skipped it.
It's awesome! It's my new favorite song!!! I love it! Thank you, IPod, for surviving and making me aware of this song. And you know what? If I'd lost the IPod forever, I'd never have heard this song because I didn't keep the mixes on CD.
Yay!!!
I am going to cover this song for My Mundane Life In Song, so watch out!!!
En route to D's last night, I didn't have anything to read and was suffering from attention deficit, so I decided to play games. I hadn't played a game on my IPod since one of the many try-to-get-the-loft-trips to NYC last summer with Former Roommate, who played Solitaire on her IPod on the train. I said "What are you doing?" "Playing Solitaire." "How?" "What do you mean?" "How did you get a game on your Ipod?" "It comes with games." "Oh."
It apparently also has an address book and other non-music related features that are not interesting enough to me to merit my learning more about them.
I played Solitatire for about two seconds and got frustrated with it. I don't like the weird little hand that appears over the cards. I don't like the action. It just isn't fun.
I decided to see what else it has, and it has this music trivia game! It randomly selects a song and starts playing it, and gives you five multiple choice options for the name of the song! Awesome! I got, like, 1 out of 7 right. This is because I own too much music, and also because I don't know the names of any songs.
The reason I bring this all up is because, at random, IPod picked a song that I'd never even heard before! It was on a mix that Stupid A gave me last April. I listened to his mixes nonstop when things were good, but somehow managed to miss this song. It must have been at the end of one of the mixes, or maybe I thought the beginning of it was boring so skipped it.
It's awesome! It's my new favorite song!!! I love it! Thank you, IPod, for surviving and making me aware of this song. And you know what? If I'd lost the IPod forever, I'd never have heard this song because I didn't keep the mixes on CD.
Yay!!!
I am going to cover this song for My Mundane Life In Song, so watch out!!!
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Grades Are Good
I am taking a class.
I thought that the beauty of taking a class as an adult, a class that doesn't matter, was the lack of pressure! Go at your own pace! Do as much or as little as you feel appropriate! Don't even bother with the homework if you don't have time! Don't feel any pressure to actually show up! Spend absurd amounts of money and get nothing out of it if that's what you want!
No grades, no pressure, no future. Lovely!
I am finding, though, that I actually care about my photography class. I desperately want feedback. I want personal attention. I want to sit with the teacher and dissect my technique. I want him to be brutal, objective, and merciless. I want him to make suggestions. I want him to tell me I am a unique talent! I want him to exclaim "Brilliant!" when he sees my contact sheets that actually have pictures on them! I want something!!!!
I realize that this is impossible. Given the size of the class and the length of the classtime, it's unrealistic to think that anyone will be given individual attention. We can't go over everyone's photos. It would take forever. It would be boring. It would be futile.
I stayed late after class, hoping to ask the teacher if maybe I could come early to the next class to go over some things with him - show him some old photos, talk about my show, throw some ideas at him and have him tell me that they are great or that they are trite.
All the girls (think Indiana Jones, folks) and this one high maintenance older gentleman who's usually a riot (not on purpose) but who slept through the entire class remained behind.
Drat.
I'm timid. I waited while all the other girls asked their questions ("why are my photos printing out weird?" "what kind of tripod should I get?") and while high maintenance older gentleman asked for advice about photographing Park Ave. for some sort of professional endeavor (it seems that this man is a photographer but has no idea how to take pictures! I have to figure this out...).
I gave up and left, sad, not knowing if I'm any good.
Now.
Does it matter if he thinks I'm any good? No. I suppose it's up to me. I should monitor my progress and be able to assess if things are changing for the better.
But sometimes you want feedback! This is why, gasp, grades are good!!!!
I called R, who'd taken this class previously and who'd had similar complaints, and said "R, is it completely inappropriate for me to send him an email and ask if we could meet for coffee to discuss things?"
"Yes."
"CRAP!!!" I whined.
I want help. I want guidance. Assistance. Criticism. I want a massacre and then I want things to improve.
It's bizarre to actually care about something. It's been so long.
I thought that the beauty of taking a class as an adult, a class that doesn't matter, was the lack of pressure! Go at your own pace! Do as much or as little as you feel appropriate! Don't even bother with the homework if you don't have time! Don't feel any pressure to actually show up! Spend absurd amounts of money and get nothing out of it if that's what you want!
No grades, no pressure, no future. Lovely!
I am finding, though, that I actually care about my photography class. I desperately want feedback. I want personal attention. I want to sit with the teacher and dissect my technique. I want him to be brutal, objective, and merciless. I want him to make suggestions. I want him to tell me I am a unique talent! I want him to exclaim "Brilliant!" when he sees my contact sheets that actually have pictures on them! I want something!!!!
I realize that this is impossible. Given the size of the class and the length of the classtime, it's unrealistic to think that anyone will be given individual attention. We can't go over everyone's photos. It would take forever. It would be boring. It would be futile.
I stayed late after class, hoping to ask the teacher if maybe I could come early to the next class to go over some things with him - show him some old photos, talk about my show, throw some ideas at him and have him tell me that they are great or that they are trite.
All the girls (think Indiana Jones, folks) and this one high maintenance older gentleman who's usually a riot (not on purpose) but who slept through the entire class remained behind.
Drat.
I'm timid. I waited while all the other girls asked their questions ("why are my photos printing out weird?" "what kind of tripod should I get?") and while high maintenance older gentleman asked for advice about photographing Park Ave. for some sort of professional endeavor (it seems that this man is a photographer but has no idea how to take pictures! I have to figure this out...).
I gave up and left, sad, not knowing if I'm any good.
Now.
Does it matter if he thinks I'm any good? No. I suppose it's up to me. I should monitor my progress and be able to assess if things are changing for the better.
But sometimes you want feedback! This is why, gasp, grades are good!!!!
I called R, who'd taken this class previously and who'd had similar complaints, and said "R, is it completely inappropriate for me to send him an email and ask if we could meet for coffee to discuss things?"
"Yes."
"CRAP!!!" I whined.
I want help. I want guidance. Assistance. Criticism. I want a massacre and then I want things to improve.
It's bizarre to actually care about something. It's been so long.
I'll Be Loving You Forever
I work directly across the street from a club called Culture Club.
It's Pollyesther's. Or whatever that nostalgia-themed-nightclub-chain thing is called. You know the one. The one where Brother and his friend B started dancing in a very coordinated fashion and caused a circle to form around them, 80's style.
The one across the street hosts concerts. The last concert advertised was Tiffany. Before that - Deborah Gibson. I was tempted to attend both.
I am so so so very tempted to attend... gasp... the Jordan Knight concert next week!
I'll admit it. I was a huge fan of New Kids on the Block. I had posters all over my wall. It was as though I had NKOTB wallpaper. I had t-shirts. I had the New Kids on the Block pillowcase. I spent hours upon hours hiding in the basement, playing Sega, listening to the Hangin' Tough tape over and over and over.
I went to the concerts. I threw fits when my parents wouldn't allow me to camp out for tickets. I was envious when my friends went to JP and sat outside Joey's parents' house, waiting for a glimpse of Joe!!!
I also claimed to be partial to Jon Knight, even though I was secretly smitten with Jordan. I think this was the beginning of my tendency to side with the underdog no matter what! Sometimes I secretly root for the favored team to lose, even if they're my team, because I feel sorry for the bad team who hasn't a chance.
I think this was what I was doing in claiming to love Jon Knight. I was all about him, but I think I was all about him because, well, nobody else was.
Or maybe that was the beginning of my being, ahem, contrary. I was against the mainstream, even at age 12! Well, not really, since I clearly was the mainstream in liking NKOTB. I bet all future hipsters liked Jon Knight, or, in the most extreme of cases, Danny Wood.
Anyway...
Yeah. I loved Jordan Knight. I still think he's adorable. Talentless, but adorable.
I'm tempted.
Very, very tempted.
The poster claims that he will be singing songs from his NKOTB days.
I am tempted, not only to see him, but to see who else will be at the show. What will the crowd be like? Who will be there? Will it be a bunch of 30-somethings who were raised in MA?
For $10, no issue. I'd be there with bells on and camera in hand.
But for $30? No way.
***
Speaking of $30, should I put ads on my blog to make money? Does anyone know anything about this? Do you actually make money? Will it be unsightly? Will it deter people from reading? As far as I can tell there aren't many people reading anymore so I guess it doesn't really matter. The ads won't make money, because nobody is reading, and the ads being there won't prevent people from reading because nobody is reading.
Which means... I should just put them on there? In case they make money?
I don't know.
It's Pollyesther's. Or whatever that nostalgia-themed-nightclub-chain thing is called. You know the one. The one where Brother and his friend B started dancing in a very coordinated fashion and caused a circle to form around them, 80's style.
The one across the street hosts concerts. The last concert advertised was Tiffany. Before that - Deborah Gibson. I was tempted to attend both.
I am so so so very tempted to attend... gasp... the Jordan Knight concert next week!
I'll admit it. I was a huge fan of New Kids on the Block. I had posters all over my wall. It was as though I had NKOTB wallpaper. I had t-shirts. I had the New Kids on the Block pillowcase. I spent hours upon hours hiding in the basement, playing Sega, listening to the Hangin' Tough tape over and over and over.
I went to the concerts. I threw fits when my parents wouldn't allow me to camp out for tickets. I was envious when my friends went to JP and sat outside Joey's parents' house, waiting for a glimpse of Joe!!!
I also claimed to be partial to Jon Knight, even though I was secretly smitten with Jordan. I think this was the beginning of my tendency to side with the underdog no matter what! Sometimes I secretly root for the favored team to lose, even if they're my team, because I feel sorry for the bad team who hasn't a chance.
I think this was what I was doing in claiming to love Jon Knight. I was all about him, but I think I was all about him because, well, nobody else was.
Or maybe that was the beginning of my being, ahem, contrary. I was against the mainstream, even at age 12! Well, not really, since I clearly was the mainstream in liking NKOTB. I bet all future hipsters liked Jon Knight, or, in the most extreme of cases, Danny Wood.
Anyway...
Yeah. I loved Jordan Knight. I still think he's adorable. Talentless, but adorable.
I'm tempted.
Very, very tempted.
The poster claims that he will be singing songs from his NKOTB days.
I am tempted, not only to see him, but to see who else will be at the show. What will the crowd be like? Who will be there? Will it be a bunch of 30-somethings who were raised in MA?
For $10, no issue. I'd be there with bells on and camera in hand.
But for $30? No way.
***
Speaking of $30, should I put ads on my blog to make money? Does anyone know anything about this? Do you actually make money? Will it be unsightly? Will it deter people from reading? As far as I can tell there aren't many people reading anymore so I guess it doesn't really matter. The ads won't make money, because nobody is reading, and the ads being there won't prevent people from reading because nobody is reading.
Which means... I should just put them on there? In case they make money?
I don't know.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Fry Baby
After dining with the other LL last night, I returned home and was suddenly overcome with motivation to clean! I don't know why. It was late-ish and I was tired, but I thought "Hmmm... my friend might be crashing here tomorrow night. I should probably tidy up a bit."
Additionally, I was over D's apartment on Sunday night while he was cleaning (I read the UMass Alumni magazine for the first time ever while he focused on the cleaning), which for D involves getting on his hands and knees with a sock soaked in some sort of cleaning product and cleaning his entire apartment's floor by hand. I said "D, I don't know how you spend any time in my apartment. You must be disgusted." Then "D, why do you put such love and care into the floors of an apartment you don't own?" He said "Because, it has to be liveable." "But wouldn't it be fine if you just, like, swept? And maybe mopped every so often?" He does this at least once a week. I then said "D, you'd better stop doing this. You're making me want to move in with you." I'd be exempt forever from doing any sort of cleaning if I lived with him. How appealing!
My kitchen floor has some shady areas, areas that were un-clean before I moved in. I'd mopped a couple times but the areas were never cleaned. I just assumed that there was no hope, that the floor was stained, but last night I thought "Perhaps I should try the Cinderella-clean-the-floor-on-my-hands-and-knees-while-scrubbing- unglamorously method that D has had such success with."
Miraculous!
Since my entire apartment began to reek of cleaning product, I decided to air things out and opened a window.
Within two seconds my entire apartment smelled like Fried.
Fried what? I don't know.
It was immersed in Fried.
Like someone had turned on 4204 deep fryers in my apartment, not in order to fry anything in particular, but just heated up oil. Tons of it.
I shut the window immediately, but it was too late.
Everything was soaked in the aroma of Fried.
What do you do in this situation? You can't air out your apartment, because if you open the window, it will just get worse. I lit candles and hoped it would go away.
D turned up late - he'd gone to see Transporter 2 - and I said "Does it smell like..."
"Fried? Yes. It's the people on the second floor."
"Could you tell what they were frying?"
"Chicken?"
"No, its definitely not meat. It just smells like Fried."
"French fries?"
"Maybe."
Later D revised his statement and said that he thought it smelled like a fried dessert of some sort.
"That's actually just the smell of Fried mixed with fruity-smelling red candle, darling."
"Oh."
I was reminded of how Former Roommate RM used to cook meat on his George Foreman Grill, and how, because my bedroom was closest to the kitchen, all of the meat stench would accumulate in my room and there was nothing I could do.
It seemed that the fried had dissipated this morning, but its possible I'd just habituated to it.
At about 12:30am, D said "Oh my god. I haven't stopped thinking about the strawberry milkshake you didn't have. I think I am going to go to McDonald's right now and get one for us to split."
"Oh, well, if you want one, but I don't want any. It's too late for food."
I said this (a) because I didn't want the milkshake anymore and (b) because I was dying for fried dough.
Those bastards on the second floor!
Additionally, I was over D's apartment on Sunday night while he was cleaning (I read the UMass Alumni magazine for the first time ever while he focused on the cleaning), which for D involves getting on his hands and knees with a sock soaked in some sort of cleaning product and cleaning his entire apartment's floor by hand. I said "D, I don't know how you spend any time in my apartment. You must be disgusted." Then "D, why do you put such love and care into the floors of an apartment you don't own?" He said "Because, it has to be liveable." "But wouldn't it be fine if you just, like, swept? And maybe mopped every so often?" He does this at least once a week. I then said "D, you'd better stop doing this. You're making me want to move in with you." I'd be exempt forever from doing any sort of cleaning if I lived with him. How appealing!
My kitchen floor has some shady areas, areas that were un-clean before I moved in. I'd mopped a couple times but the areas were never cleaned. I just assumed that there was no hope, that the floor was stained, but last night I thought "Perhaps I should try the Cinderella-clean-the-floor-on-my-hands-and-knees-while-scrubbing- unglamorously method that D has had such success with."
Miraculous!
Since my entire apartment began to reek of cleaning product, I decided to air things out and opened a window.
Within two seconds my entire apartment smelled like Fried.
Fried what? I don't know.
It was immersed in Fried.
Like someone had turned on 4204 deep fryers in my apartment, not in order to fry anything in particular, but just heated up oil. Tons of it.
I shut the window immediately, but it was too late.
Everything was soaked in the aroma of Fried.
What do you do in this situation? You can't air out your apartment, because if you open the window, it will just get worse. I lit candles and hoped it would go away.
D turned up late - he'd gone to see Transporter 2 - and I said "Does it smell like..."
"Fried? Yes. It's the people on the second floor."
"Could you tell what they were frying?"
"Chicken?"
"No, its definitely not meat. It just smells like Fried."
"French fries?"
"Maybe."
Later D revised his statement and said that he thought it smelled like a fried dessert of some sort.
"That's actually just the smell of Fried mixed with fruity-smelling red candle, darling."
"Oh."
I was reminded of how Former Roommate RM used to cook meat on his George Foreman Grill, and how, because my bedroom was closest to the kitchen, all of the meat stench would accumulate in my room and there was nothing I could do.
It seemed that the fried had dissipated this morning, but its possible I'd just habituated to it.
At about 12:30am, D said "Oh my god. I haven't stopped thinking about the strawberry milkshake you didn't have. I think I am going to go to McDonald's right now and get one for us to split."
"Oh, well, if you want one, but I don't want any. It's too late for food."
I said this (a) because I didn't want the milkshake anymore and (b) because I was dying for fried dough.
Those bastards on the second floor!
Ice Cream
Had dinner last night with the other LL at the worst restaurant ever.
I chose this restaurant because I saw someone in the window eating waffles. And I also wanted an ice cream sundae. "I want waffles!" I declared, "With fruit on them. And ice cream. Yes. We shall eat here."
We walked in and I said "This place reminds me of Friendly's!" LL agreed. I thought to myself "I hope, though, that the service is better than Friendly's. And I hope they actually have the stuff that's on the menu." Friendly's is notorious for not being able to make the waffle sundae when I want it, or for being out of the first three ice cream flavors I order.
Upon perusing the menu, I realized that I couldn't decide what I wanted. So many options! The only thing I knew I wanted was a strawberry milk shake. And mashed potatos. And a waffle with a pile of fruit on it. Weird, yes, but who cares? It's New York City. Anything goes.
I decided that I would get the waffle with fruit only if the fruit was to my liking. If the fruit was not to my liking, I'd go with the banana pancakes. The other LL decided that she would have a grilled cheese if she could also get cheese fries with gravy, and that if they couldn't do cheese fries with gravy, she'd get something breakfast related.
When the waitress appeared, I asked "What kind of fruit comes with the waffle with fruit?" She didn't know, but guessed "Watermelon, and I think orange."
"Really?" I asked, thinking this was unlikely because watermelon on a waffle? Oranges? Just doesn't seem right. "Are there any berries involved?"
"Berries?"
"Yeah, berries."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, some places... you can get a waffle with strawberries on it. And also raspberries and blueberries if you're lucky."
"Oh, I don't know. I'll ask."
She left, returned, and informed me that they basically put their fruit cup on the waffle.
Ewwww.
I said "I'll have the banana pancakes, then, and a strawberry milkshake."
"Oh, we don't have strawberry milkshakes."
"Oh, ok then, I'll have a chocolate one."
"Well, we don't have any because we have no ice cream. The shipment didn't arrive today."
Curses!
"Oh, ok, then I'll have the strawberry milk."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"You mean milk with strawberry syrup in it?"
"Yes, like right here it says strawberry milk on the menu."
"You're sure you want that?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I said.
"Is that actually good?"
"Well, I don't know if it will be good here, but its usually good."
I didn't bother with the mashed potatos for fear that it would be too complicated.
The other LL ordered cheese fries with gravy and a grilled cheese, and then asked for a cherry coke. Which they did not have. So she asked for coke with vanilla syrup.
Our drinks arrived about ten minutes later. They were acceptable.
After 45 minuters, the other LL said "Dude, has it been like 45 minutes? How long can it take to make a grilled cheese and pancakes?"
We waited a bit longer, then started doing the thing where you try to stare down your waitress and look cross so that your food will materialize. A few moments after the stares were realized, she presented us with gravy and a plate of butter and syrup. Tease. We looked at this for about ten minutes when I exclaimed "Dude, seriously, I am just going to start eating this butter if she doesn't bring food."
She finally appeared with pancakes and cheese fries. We waited a few moments longer, and the other LL said "Why are you waiting?" "I'm waiting for your grilled cheese." "No, I'll eat the fries. We need to eat!"
We ate for about 10 more minutes. The other LL said "Where is the grilled cheese?!?!? Do you think they forgot?"
We did the stare thing again, and asked the waitress "Where is the grilled cheese?"
"What grilled cheese?"
"The grilled cheese. That I ordered."
"You ordered a grilled cheese?"
Oh. My. God.
What is wrong with New York City?
We should have gone for Indian food. Damn you lame diner on University Place and your promise of an ice cream sundae!!!!
I chose this restaurant because I saw someone in the window eating waffles. And I also wanted an ice cream sundae. "I want waffles!" I declared, "With fruit on them. And ice cream. Yes. We shall eat here."
We walked in and I said "This place reminds me of Friendly's!" LL agreed. I thought to myself "I hope, though, that the service is better than Friendly's. And I hope they actually have the stuff that's on the menu." Friendly's is notorious for not being able to make the waffle sundae when I want it, or for being out of the first three ice cream flavors I order.
Upon perusing the menu, I realized that I couldn't decide what I wanted. So many options! The only thing I knew I wanted was a strawberry milk shake. And mashed potatos. And a waffle with a pile of fruit on it. Weird, yes, but who cares? It's New York City. Anything goes.
I decided that I would get the waffle with fruit only if the fruit was to my liking. If the fruit was not to my liking, I'd go with the banana pancakes. The other LL decided that she would have a grilled cheese if she could also get cheese fries with gravy, and that if they couldn't do cheese fries with gravy, she'd get something breakfast related.
When the waitress appeared, I asked "What kind of fruit comes with the waffle with fruit?" She didn't know, but guessed "Watermelon, and I think orange."
"Really?" I asked, thinking this was unlikely because watermelon on a waffle? Oranges? Just doesn't seem right. "Are there any berries involved?"
"Berries?"
"Yeah, berries."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, some places... you can get a waffle with strawberries on it. And also raspberries and blueberries if you're lucky."
"Oh, I don't know. I'll ask."
She left, returned, and informed me that they basically put their fruit cup on the waffle.
Ewwww.
I said "I'll have the banana pancakes, then, and a strawberry milkshake."
"Oh, we don't have strawberry milkshakes."
"Oh, ok then, I'll have a chocolate one."
"Well, we don't have any because we have no ice cream. The shipment didn't arrive today."
Curses!
"Oh, ok, then I'll have the strawberry milk."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"You mean milk with strawberry syrup in it?"
"Yes, like right here it says strawberry milk on the menu."
"You're sure you want that?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I said.
"Is that actually good?"
"Well, I don't know if it will be good here, but its usually good."
I didn't bother with the mashed potatos for fear that it would be too complicated.
The other LL ordered cheese fries with gravy and a grilled cheese, and then asked for a cherry coke. Which they did not have. So she asked for coke with vanilla syrup.
Our drinks arrived about ten minutes later. They were acceptable.
After 45 minuters, the other LL said "Dude, has it been like 45 minutes? How long can it take to make a grilled cheese and pancakes?"
We waited a bit longer, then started doing the thing where you try to stare down your waitress and look cross so that your food will materialize. A few moments after the stares were realized, she presented us with gravy and a plate of butter and syrup. Tease. We looked at this for about ten minutes when I exclaimed "Dude, seriously, I am just going to start eating this butter if she doesn't bring food."
She finally appeared with pancakes and cheese fries. We waited a few moments longer, and the other LL said "Why are you waiting?" "I'm waiting for your grilled cheese." "No, I'll eat the fries. We need to eat!"
We ate for about 10 more minutes. The other LL said "Where is the grilled cheese?!?!? Do you think they forgot?"
We did the stare thing again, and asked the waitress "Where is the grilled cheese?"
"What grilled cheese?"
"The grilled cheese. That I ordered."
"You ordered a grilled cheese?"
Oh. My. God.
What is wrong with New York City?
We should have gone for Indian food. Damn you lame diner on University Place and your promise of an ice cream sundae!!!!
Monday, October 03, 2005
Contact Sheet
OK.
Melodrama over.
I picked up my first successful contact sheet on Friday afternoon and it came out magnificently. I will not be quitting my photography class. I will not be giving up on photography.
***
Speaking of photography, last week's class was on shutter speed and long exposures. You know. Light tricks. D and I spent last night taking long exposures of words written and shapes drawn in the sky with a laser pointer. We were giddy. I love when D gets so happy and smiles so hard that it hurts my face.
***
This lead to pre-sleeping discussions of photography and art photography and the personalities of photographers based on what they choose to photograph.
I think this then resulted in my having an extremely disturbing dream in which my superintendent, who is, in real life, the sweetest and most adorable 70-ish old lady, attempted to rape D while he slept on a field trip bus that was taking us to an unknown destination. I witnessed this happening - he was asleep in his seat and she approached him, started to remove his clothes, started to remove her clothes (ewwww). I just watched, not knowing what to do. I thought "If I wake him up, he's going to be traumatized on so many levels. He'll be horrified. It will shatter his entire philosophy of life. It will make him bitter and jaded. It will ruin him. There's a chance, if he wakes up, that he'll let her go through with this because he's too nice of a person and that will ruin me." So, instead of waking him up, I took out my camera and contemplated taking a photo.
Luckily I was able to wake myself up before anything further happened.
A gross dream with more symbolism than I care to deal with consciously.
***
I went to my first NYC wedding this weekend and it was awesome. It was in a midtown loft with a view of nothing since it was on the second floor, but who cares? The people were smart and beautiful and all have interesting jobs and personalities and glasses.
I cried more than I've ever cried at a wedding. I hadn't met the bride nor the groom prior to this night. I didn't know them at all, but still I was weeping when their mothers spoke during the ceremony. I wept when they read the vows they'd written to one another. I wept when the Unitarian Minister Dude talked about love and how crazy and wonderful it is.
I determined later on that I cried because I was jealous.
When D asked what I was jealous of, I said "I don't know" but thought "Love? Perfection? Their mothers? Their smart bohemian families. Their perfect hair. The way they love each other. The way they compliment each other. The way everyone here loves that they're in love. They way everyone is supporting them. The way their families are mutually thrilled with this union. The way they know they are lucky to have found each other. The way they acknowledge one another's weaknesses and find them lovely instead of burdensome. The way they talk about their future children. Commitment. Certainty. Hope. The way its so perfect for them today. The way they make it seem like it was always and will always be perfect."
Despite my jealousy, I had a great time. Met some cool people. Danced a bit and then watched Curb Your Enthusiasm back at my apartment.
***
Didn't do much else this weekend other than catch up on phone calls and run errands, including a trip to Williamsburg during which I had to kill time while waiting to find out that Beacon's Closet was giving me $12 for like three bags of awesome clothes. The clothes were awesome, but they weren't in the best condition. Small stains, that sort of thing. Maybe they don't want high maintenance clothing.
Regardless, I had to kill an hour and ended up killing two hours because, for the love of god, I tried on glasses at a place that has the best selection of glasses I've ever seen! I found an amazing pair on sale for $100. $100!!!! The exact kind I wanted! ON SALE!!! For very little!
I am going to go back this weekend with Sister and ask her what she thinks. If she likes them, I'll buy them. Who knows? Maybe I can sell my old ones or something.
I am an addict.
But they are so cute!!!
***
OK. I think that's all.
Try to survive Monday.
Melodrama over.
I picked up my first successful contact sheet on Friday afternoon and it came out magnificently. I will not be quitting my photography class. I will not be giving up on photography.
***
Speaking of photography, last week's class was on shutter speed and long exposures. You know. Light tricks. D and I spent last night taking long exposures of words written and shapes drawn in the sky with a laser pointer. We were giddy. I love when D gets so happy and smiles so hard that it hurts my face.
***
This lead to pre-sleeping discussions of photography and art photography and the personalities of photographers based on what they choose to photograph.
I think this then resulted in my having an extremely disturbing dream in which my superintendent, who is, in real life, the sweetest and most adorable 70-ish old lady, attempted to rape D while he slept on a field trip bus that was taking us to an unknown destination. I witnessed this happening - he was asleep in his seat and she approached him, started to remove his clothes, started to remove her clothes (ewwww). I just watched, not knowing what to do. I thought "If I wake him up, he's going to be traumatized on so many levels. He'll be horrified. It will shatter his entire philosophy of life. It will make him bitter and jaded. It will ruin him. There's a chance, if he wakes up, that he'll let her go through with this because he's too nice of a person and that will ruin me." So, instead of waking him up, I took out my camera and contemplated taking a photo.
Luckily I was able to wake myself up before anything further happened.
A gross dream with more symbolism than I care to deal with consciously.
***
I went to my first NYC wedding this weekend and it was awesome. It was in a midtown loft with a view of nothing since it was on the second floor, but who cares? The people were smart and beautiful and all have interesting jobs and personalities and glasses.
I cried more than I've ever cried at a wedding. I hadn't met the bride nor the groom prior to this night. I didn't know them at all, but still I was weeping when their mothers spoke during the ceremony. I wept when they read the vows they'd written to one another. I wept when the Unitarian Minister Dude talked about love and how crazy and wonderful it is.
I determined later on that I cried because I was jealous.
When D asked what I was jealous of, I said "I don't know" but thought "Love? Perfection? Their mothers? Their smart bohemian families. Their perfect hair. The way they love each other. The way they compliment each other. The way everyone here loves that they're in love. They way everyone is supporting them. The way their families are mutually thrilled with this union. The way they know they are lucky to have found each other. The way they acknowledge one another's weaknesses and find them lovely instead of burdensome. The way they talk about their future children. Commitment. Certainty. Hope. The way its so perfect for them today. The way they make it seem like it was always and will always be perfect."
Despite my jealousy, I had a great time. Met some cool people. Danced a bit and then watched Curb Your Enthusiasm back at my apartment.
***
Didn't do much else this weekend other than catch up on phone calls and run errands, including a trip to Williamsburg during which I had to kill time while waiting to find out that Beacon's Closet was giving me $12 for like three bags of awesome clothes. The clothes were awesome, but they weren't in the best condition. Small stains, that sort of thing. Maybe they don't want high maintenance clothing.
Regardless, I had to kill an hour and ended up killing two hours because, for the love of god, I tried on glasses at a place that has the best selection of glasses I've ever seen! I found an amazing pair on sale for $100. $100!!!! The exact kind I wanted! ON SALE!!! For very little!
I am going to go back this weekend with Sister and ask her what she thinks. If she likes them, I'll buy them. Who knows? Maybe I can sell my old ones or something.
I am an addict.
But they are so cute!!!
***
OK. I think that's all.
Try to survive Monday.
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