Do You Want to Take My Picture?

I started my photography class this week and decided that, instead of taking lovely pictures with my digital camera that I already know how to use, I'd borrow D's fully manual camera that he never ever uses ever. Because he never ever uses it, he has a full roll of film in it - well, that's not true. He took two pictures. I decided that rather than waste the roll (this week's homework assignment has to be on black and white, high sensitvity film), I'd use up his roll to practice.

Walking to work this morning, I had the camera out and was taking pictures of random things like parking lots and cardboard boxes.

I must have looked convincing or competent or something, because tons of people approached me and asked me what I was doing, why I was taking pictures of boxes, if they could be in the picture, and did I want to take their picture?

A surly cowboy said that I should ride with him in his delivery truck and do a project entitled "Idiots on the Road." I decided against it, although fantasized about what a fabulous final project a documented kidnapping would be!

Another man with an unintelligable accent smothered me with enthusiasm until I took his portrait. Then he said "Will you give me the photo?" and I was like "Well, if I ever see you again, I'll give it to you."

Maybe a manual camera with a long lens suggested that I was a professional.

Or maybe it was the red glasses.

Or perhaps midtown people on the west side are culture starved. Or personal-contact starved. Or maybe its because there are no people around my apartment, there's nothing going on, so people there aren't used to people with cameras. Or maybe its some weird cosmic force that causes the only people in the world who WANT their pictures to be taken to aggregate on one city block.

Whatever the reason, I am feeling optimistic about my project now because it won't be difficult. Apparently all I have to do is walk outside and stand there and people will throw themselves at me and present potential subject matter.

I'm sure none of these photos will come out well. They'll be blurry and underexposed and compositionally tragic because I had to take them quickly, but its good experience.

I'm very, very excited.

Anniversary Again

The Boss was adorable yesterday and brought donuts and bagels (and oh! how I heart The Boss for bringing Dunkin Donuts instead of Krispy Kreme!) to our weekly departmental meeting to celebrate my one year anniversary at the company.

One year!

My one year anniversary happened to coincide with a loft party hosted by someone who has worked at the company for 20-ish years. He's president of The Old Boy's Club.

I am still a new kid, apparently, as I left the party in tears because not only do people still not talk to me, I now have the added issue of being an appendage, a function of someone else, "the girlfriend" at my own place of employment.

Someone turned to me and said "You know who's special? D. He's so special. I hope you know how special he is."

"Yes, I know, obviously" I said, while wanting to scream "What am I, chopped fucking liver!!??! You've never spoken to me in your life and this is what you decide to say to me?"

I wasn't even going to go to the party. I had class and was just going to go home, but I haven't had much fun lately (sickness, home for the weekend, etc.) so thought it would be nice to be social. I also thought that it wasn't fair that I didn't feel comfortable going to The Old Boy's Club Fort. I work here, I deserve free drinks and dinner just as much as The Members do!!

It's weird going to a company function and feeling like "the girlfriend" even though you work there.

I shouldn't have gone. I knew I was feeling emo. I was thinking about things like feeling transparent and lonely and inconsequential. These are all things you feel on your anniversary in New York City. I knew a work function would only reinforce these feelings. I guess I'd hoped to find other outcasts, but there were no outcasts remaining by the time I arrived because everyone had been drinking for three hours.

The situation is complicated in ways I didn't envision. It's hard to be new and insecure and nonexistent when you are dating the golden boy.

I wonder if anyone ever tells D that he's lucky.

I mentioned this to a woman at work today, and she said the most perfect thing. She said "He's lucky that you came here. He was a lost soul before you."

I feel better today, because its sunny and I don't have a headache today and I am psyched about my photography class even though I am afraid that I am going to suck.
Speaking of which... here are some photos from my time in RI:

D's Granny's cat:


Cool pile of wood:


We found a school near a lake that had this swingset:


We played on the swings and had an awesome time talking about pendulums and realizing that we don't remember anything from Physics:


If only I'd kept my notebooks!

Until tomorrow...

Memories

I went to my parents' house this weekend to go through my stuff.

My parents may or may not be moving. My philosophy was better to be safe than sorry. I'd rather spend a few days there going through everything I've ever saved than have them toss something that is extremely precious to me despite my having forgotten its existence.

I didn't get as much done as I'd hoped. Sadly, there was not enough time to go through The Toys. That will have to happen at another time. I am looking forward to the crates of Transformers and Care Bears and She-Ra's and Charmkins that await me.

I apparently used to live my life by a philosophy completely contrary to that to which I now subscribe. This behavior started somewhere around 9th grade and ended a few years ago. Thankfully there is little evidence other than that photographic of my existence prior to high school. Without distress I was able to toss photos of my 5th grade class and the glamor shots I'd set up of myself and my friends as 3rd graders. Ah, the 80s makeup. I suppose I didn't throw these away because I've become less sentimental. It's most likely because I don't want there to be a record of this behavior.

Starting in the ninth grade I began to save everything. Notebooks, photos, class assignments, cutouts from magazines, every card I received. These things, luckily, were very organized and I was able to go through them without difficulty.

It was hard, though, to throw away my high school notebookes - piles of Physiology, History, Calculus, Western Civilization, and Global Studies! It was difficult not because of sentimental attachment, but because of the wealth of information contained within! I can't believe how much I've forgotten. I quickly went through these notebooks and couldn't stop thinking "I can't believe I used to know these things." A deluded part of me thinks that if I re-read these notebooks, I can instantly reclaim all of this knowledge that has since disappeared. Maybe. The likelihood of my ever having time to go through these notebooks? Slim.

It was heartbreaking for another reason. The notes, man. The notes! I looked through my Physiology notebook and couldn't stop laughing. There was a note that read something like this:

I saw Brian today.

(stop. someone writing something to me in their notebook.)

He was in his computer class. I walked in there and he was just sitting
there. I'd copied down an Ogden Nash poem for him that I found about not
liking to have your picture taken. I gave it to him and he didn't say
anything! I asked him if he was in that class and he just said "yeah." I
just don't know what his deal is.

(stop. someone writing something to me in their notebook.)

WHATEVER.

I'd love to have gone through all of the notebooks and kept the notes and made a short film based on them. Or a graphic novel. Or start publishing them on the blog. They are hilarious.

I kept creative writing and reports. I realize now that I was (am still) insane. I have binders upon binders of fiction I wrote in my spare time. I thought this was normal behavior at the time. While most bored kids in suburbia turned to drugs, I turned to the computer and wrote epics of soap-opera-ian proportions for my friends. I'd stay up all night typing. Some of the stories I kept secret. Others I shared. They were episodic and overwrought and rich in melodrama and fantastic. I kept those. I didn't keep the similarly overwrought sketch books involving daily strips of my friends and I. Sometimes we were superheroes. Sometimes we were fighting crimes. Mostly we were dazed romantics with missions involving boys.

Dear god I was insane.

I miss this, though. I miss the free time. I miss the focus.

I am so glad that all of this insanity has been redirected to Blogger.

There were a lot of photos from high school that I tossed. Remembering the awkwardness doesn't require assistance from photographs. It's incorporated into my being as fierce insecurity. I don't ever need to be reminded of the dress I wore to the ring dance or the tight knit group of people that has completely disbanded or the hope I had back then.

Tossed at the dump.

I kept the yearbooks. I'll never look at them. I don't need to remember myself back then and I don't care to remember anyone I knew back them. I kept them, instead, because my progeny may someday want to see the unforgiveable outfit I wore when voted Most Artistic in 8th grade.

I also found my high school diploma!

And my 9th grade Introduction to Physical Science Lab Notebook, with experiments on "Calibrating the Equal Arm Balance" and "Distillation of Wood" and "Determining the Volume of a Solid." I had to keep that. That notebook represents the moment at which everything went wrong.

College is another story. I didn't keep all of the notes. It seems that I, at some point, went through this process and kept only the notes of cool classes. I still had all of my Neuro notebooks. I got rid of them. I kept my Molecular and Cellular Biology Class Note Companion in case I ever forget what RNA is. I kept the hundreds of papers I read for my Honors Thesis. I kept the Thesis presentation itself. I threw away a lot of journal articles that I'd love to read again that I'll never look at even though I am distressed that I've forgotten their content.

I can't believe I ever knew all of this.

It's so sad.

The memories themselves aren't sad. It's the change that has occurred that is depressing. Loss of innocence, loss of intelligence, loss of free time blah blah blah.

I apparently printed out every email I received freshman year, saved every letter and card in a binder, and kept every note that a boy left me in my room.

I think I took photos three times in college. I threw them away. I don't need to have a visual of First College Boyfriend. I only need the feeling of excitement about its starting and the pain of how I ended it. I don't need to see his face.

I do, however, need to keep his letters and cards and notes. I am a lover of love letters. Every serious boyfriend I've had up until D has supplied me with piles upon piles of love letters. I adore them. I love actual writing. I love notes on paper. I love silly drawings and desperate attempts at reconciliation and written expressions of longing and adoration.

On Saturday afternoon, reading a summer break letter from First College Boyfriend actually made me giddy. It felt good. I found a letter written by High School Boyfriend, that I received in college, that said "I miss how it feels when you touch me" and I actually felt it. Ridiculous! These things are ancient and sappy and completely juvenile, but they were written for me and they are mine and they mean something for a reason I can't understand.

I found letters from Sister and Brother that they'd written to me while I was in college. Sister read, out loud, a letter she wrote to me when she was about 13 and she said "Leah, why did you even like me back then?" I said "I liked you because you wrote me letters. I'm not throwing this away." "You should," she said. "I won't," I responded, "because it still means something to me."

I threw away all of the drawings given to me by my little cousins, who are now in college themselves.

I threw away my acceptance letter and admittance packet from Harvard's Ph.D. program in Neuroscience because I'm now certain I'll never be going there. That was difficult.

I kept my college diploma and graduation cap and gown, because D wants to dress up as college graduates for Halloween and march in the parade.

I kept sticker books and Busy Bears and my deranged eraser collection and not everything Star Wars related.

I got an email from Father this morning saying:

"I was at the dump yesterday and was throwing away stuff and noticed that I was throwing away full photo albums with pics of your prom, Billy Joel..etc. It was very sad to be throwing away your past...I asked mom if that was what I was supposed to be doing and she said yes...it was sad..very."

I wrote back and told him he wasn't throwing away my past. There doesn't need to be a record of things to remember them.

I think I value words more than photos. Photos are oftentimes set up, redundant, reflecting outlier events such as proms and vacations. They're not representative of certain times or phases. Writing is accurate. It reflects what's important to people at a certain point in time. It has mood, depth, honesty.

Photos aren't honest because they are contrived. This is why I love candids. Candids are how things actually are.

I have much reading awaiting me in the future. I'm very excited to remember how I was as a college freshman. When I read them, I'll throw away letters from people I no longer know. I'll keep the ones that still make me feel something. I'll laugh at the drama and at what seemed important back then. Hopefully I'll go from 5 3-inch-binders to one. I'll add that binder to the piles of journals I keep for no apparent reason.

I wonder if, when I am 40, I'll find a binder with this blog in it and wonder if I should throw it away. I don't think I will. I'll probably read it and start crying and say "You know, when I was younger I used to live in New York City and it was an amazing time," but I'll only have my account because nobody writes letters anymore. I save emails from D but it's not the same. They say things like "I bought the lamp!" and "love you." They're not loaded because I am not hopeful. I don't write love letters because I know they'll only hurt some day. They'll hurt until there's someone else writing me love letters, when I could then look back on the old ones and smile. But I don't really want there to be anyone else writing me love letters, so better that I not write down how much I love him and scare him away.

It's a weird way to spend a day - looking at who and how you used to be.

People

Now. I'm not one to hate people in general, or think that people are generally incompetent, or to think that people are undeserving of chances. I ususally give people the benefit of the doubt.

Nor am I an aggressive consumer. I try to be nice, patient, understanding. Nobody likes working. Nobody loves being at their job.

Last night, however, I lost my shit for the first time as a consumer.

The scenario was as follows:

Me. Trying to pick up some photos I'd ordered online through Kodak Gallery, which I'd had shipped to the CVS around the corner from work. I've done this many times. You select the photos you want developed online, they send you an email telling you when they've arrived at CVS. Easy.

I received the email on Wednesday, but waited until Thursday to pick the photos up just to make sure that they'd actually be there.

I got to CVS and walked upstairs to the photo desk. There was not an employee. I looked around but saw noone. I waited patiently for a few minutes and still nobody appeared. I walked downstairs and asked the CVS employee who uselessly stands near the door "Do you know if anyone's working at the photo desk?"

He asked someone behind a cash register. They shook their head. "No," he said.

"Oh."

"Did you need something?"

"Yes."

"What do you need?"

"Well, I just wanted to pick up my film that I had developed."

"Huh."

"Do you think you could get them for me?"

I was already frustrated at this point, because I should have just snuck behind the counter and taken them myself. They were prepaid, so I'd have had no guilt. I was also annoyed that he didn't immediately say "I'll get them for you!" because finding photos doesn't really require a skill. The only thing you need to know is the alphabet.

And so it began.

You know the story. There are a bunch of baskets. Each represents a letter or two. There were about 20 envelopes in the "L" basket.

He looked at three of them and was absolutely dumbfounded.

He kept looking at me and then back to the three envelopes.

"How do you spell your name again?"

"L-A-R..." I kept repeating.

He kept looking at the same three envelopes.

"I don't think they're here..."

"No, they're here. I got the email stating that they are here."

He looked, then, at two more envelopes.

"It would be a rather large envelope. 100 or so photos."

"I don't think they're here. How do you spell your last name again?"

"L-A-R..." I said instead of screaming "HOW ABOUT YOU LOOK AT ALL OF THE FREAKING ENVELOPES INSTEAD OF THE FIRST THREE YOU IDIOT!?"

"They're not here."

"Yes, they are. Look. They would be in a yellow envelope. I ordered them online so they won't be in those blue envelopes you're looking at."

He grabbed a yellow envelope from "R" and said "Like this?"

"Yes, like that," I said, as he returned it and then looked at the blue and red envelopes in the L basket. "No, just look at the yellow ones."

"It's not here."

"Yes, it is. I've done this a million times. They're here."

He didn't look at the yellow envelopes.

"Do you want to come back tomorrow and see if they're here?"

"No, I need them TONIGHT" I said, lying. What I should have said was "Are you saying that when I come back tomorrow there will be someone who will actually look at the envelopes and give me my photos?"

"Well, they're not here."

I said "Listen, if they're not here tonight, they're not going to be here tomorrow."

"They're not here."

"Do you think maybe you could look at all of the envelopes, please?"

He looked at four or five of them.

"They're not here."

"Yes, they are."

"No," and then ask the person behind me if they need help.

This is when I got insane. "Listen, how about I just go back there and look through the envelopes? I'm sure they're there."

"They're not."

I said "Listen, how about you do me a favor and look at that giant yellow envelope on the side of the L basket and see what it says." There was a huge yellow envelope separated out from the other envelopes, on its own, on its side on the side of the basket with a smaller envelope attached to it.

He grabbed it and said "No, this isn't you."

I said "Can I just look at it?"

And it was, of course, mine. With a big freaking L-A-R on it. I said "You know what? These ARE MINE! See? This is my name." I threw the other envelope at him and ran out of there.

***

Incompetent. This job is not hard. This job requires zero skills. Zero! Literacy at most. Maybe I am being a snob, but I feel like CVS employees should be able to read.

***

I almost lost it.

***

This morning I was sort of out of it after having been up later than I should have been. I needed to get money for the weekend, so walked into the Bank of America ATM on 34th Street in a daze. I approached the "All Transactions" machine and a guy groaned. I hadn't seen him. He was finishing his deposit slip. I said "Oh! I'm sorry!" as I backed away from the ATM. He said "I just have to do this really quickly..." and I was like "No, really, totally my fault. Go nuts. I'm sorry..."

As he made his deposit, the other ATM opened up and I withdrew my cash. On the street after I'd finished, he came up to me and said "You have yourself a nice day, ok?"

Which, of course, guaranteed that I had a nice day, because how nice of him! I'd had such a bad night, and I was happy to have someone be kind to me.

***

I was in a daze on Wednesday after having been sick on Tuesday. I really shouldn't have been at work. I wasn't at my most functional.

I didn't have much time for lunch as I was trying to finish Tuesday's and Wednesday's work in one day while delirious. I decided to grab a quick slice of pizza at the pizza place downstairs.

After ordering my pizza, I went grab a coke from the cooler, which was three steps away from the cashier to my right, behind me. Three steps!

I turned around, slowly (since I was delirious), when this giant woman, who'd been at the cooler, turned around in the opposite direction and slammed right into me. She nearly knocked me over.

I lost my footing because I was in a daze.

In slooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww motion I almost fell onto two men seated next to the scene. It was one of those cartoon moments - where a building is about to topple but doesn't quite - and I was looking at them hoping that I wouldn't end up in one of their laps with my pizza on the other's lap.

When I didn't fall over, the woman said "Girl, I'm so sorry!"

"No, no, my fault, I'm really out of it right now."

"No, no, I weigh a hundred pounds more than you."

"No, really, its ok."

"Girl, you need to put some MEAT. ON. YOU." She laughed. So did I.

Heh.

I smiled and sat with some strangers since there wasn't really anywhere to sit, and everyone was all "Are you ok?" "Are you alright?" "That was crazy!" and it made me really happy, because everyone was nice.

***

So yeah. Incompetent people. Nice people.

I've been here a year and my assessment of the people in NYC is as follows:

Strangers are nice. People are much more talkative with strangers on the street. People are approachable. You can walk into any bar or restaurant or movie by yourself and find someone to talk to.

Incompetence level, however, is high. Since moving here, I've had to deal with the bitchiest, most incompetent, most impatient people in the world.

I don't know what any of this means.

I do know, however, that I am still a bit delirious and not fully recovered from the flu-ish thing.

***

I am off to The Parents' this weekend to go through old toys and notebooks and goodies so that they will throw away and save what is appropriate. They may actually be moving after 10 years of threating to do so! Very exciting. I am hoping to make a killing on EBay with all of the nostalgia I dig up. Wish me luck! I'm sure I will have more photos of He-Man action figures than you can stand next week.

Anniversary

Today is my one year anniversary of moving to NYC.

I still feel like I just got here. I don't feel like I've accomplished much in this amount of time, I don't feel like I've made any friends, I don't feel at all settled. People say it takes two years. I'll let you know in 2006.

More later when I am not about to go to a meeting...

Show Me That Smile Again....

I got the Growing Pains theme song in everyone's head this morning.

They were much annoyed.

I bet you are too.

Heh.

Did you even know that you remembered it?

Sick Day!

It's not as fun to be at home sick when you can't watch The Price Is Right.

***

I stayed home sick from work yesterday. Some sort of flu thing. Not entirely debilitating, but enough to render me completely ineffective at work.

***

I was semi-productive. I organized my clothes and found some more things to sell at Beacon's Closet - it was an agonizing process of trying on former favorite shirts and dresses that no longer fit, and just admitting to myself that they will never again fit. I think, though, that since these things were favorites and therefore are awesome, I will make some money from selling them. On Monday night I forced D to engage in a farewell vigil to the clothes during which we said things like "Damn that was cute back when I was thinner!" and "If only this still fit!" and "Farewell, fabulous purple suede skirt from 1996, may you find a better home on a smaller ass."

***

I organized paperwork. I went to The Container Store this past weekend and instead of buying little drawers and containers for things like makeup and toiletries, I bought cool bright red expanding folders for the years of paperwork I save for no reason. Old health insurance forms from four jobs ago, offer letters, bank statements from college. My next sick-day project will be to actually go through the paperwork and get rid of it instead of merely transferring it to a more aesthetically pleasing and functional containter.

***

I ate, which was apparently not the best idea.

***

I watched an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm from season 4 and laughed out loud when Larry David made mention of Party of Five.

***

I tried to nap.

***

I dropped off laundry.

***

I met E to see The Baxter. We saw it at the newly opened IFC Film Center, where I'd also seen Me, You and Everyone We Know. It costs $10.75 to see a movie there, but do I care? No. Why? Because there is an obscene amount of leg room. It's as though they forgot to install every other row. And, you get to sit in gigantic purple fuzzy chairs that you might have in your living room if you were stylish and mod and rich.

You must see this movie. Hilarious. Subtle. Michelle Williams is adorable. I am most enamored with the film's sentiment that everyone, at some point in their life, thinks of themselves as a baxter.

***

I took a cab home afterwards as I was feeling ill post-eating again. I thought rice would be ok, but no! Made some phone calls, felt delirious, tried to watch Crash with D but passed out about halfway through.

***

I am at work today and probably shouldn't be, but there is much work to do and not many sick days remaining. I used up my "sick event" with the kidney stone fiasco so now I can't be sick for more than two days for the remainder of the year.

***

In other news, I saw Oldboy this weekend and it was super awesome.

***

I am still a bit delirious so I am going to stop writing now.

***

Hope you are all well.

Less Than Zero

D and I got Less Than Zero from Netflix last week.

D put it in the queue because he decided, a few weeks ago, that he thought Bret Easton Ellis was a good writer because American Psycho , the movie, is so very awesome.

He read Less Than Zero, and when he finished, handed it to me and said "Do you want to read it?"

"Should I?"

"Well..."

"I guess I should, since it's in the queue."

"Yeah, I guess you should."

"Was it good?"

"Well..."

I decided that I'd read half of it, given its very short length, and would decide at that point if I would continue.

D and I had a fight on the night that I started reading it, which resulted in my accidentally read more than half of it as I tried to distract myself from my mood and his snoring.

I had to continue on. After all, the book is short and not much of a time or emotional commitment.

I finished it in a day, and decided that I hated it.

I hated the characters, the story, the lack of plot, the coincidences, the style, the blah. It did nothing for me.

D said "Should we watch the movie?"

We decided that we would, if only to determine what character Robert Downey Jr. was playing. We both admitted that we'd been under the impression that he was the main character, but after reading the book were both convinced he'd be playing Julian.

Turned out Robert Downey Jr. played Julian in the adaptation.

OK.

So the movie was infinitely worse than the book. It was an abomination. Worst. Movie. Ever.

Why?

Because it was a terrible adaptation of a book that I thought I'd hated.

As I watched the movie, I realized that I didn't hate the book at all.

I felt so betrayed by the adaptation. I kept yelling "Did anyone involved in this movie even read the book!?!?!" "They are missing the whole fucking point!" "If James Spader and Robert Downey Jr. don't make out right now, I am going to throw something through your TV!" "Where is the bisexuality?" "Andrew McCarthey is fucking RIDICULOUS! He's not even doing drugs! What book did these people read for the love of god this is the worst movie I have ever seen!"

D said "Where is the ennui?" "This isn't jaded at all!" "Can you explain why Jamie Gertz ever had a career?"

I said "They need to remake this movie."

It was then that I realized that, despite not liking the book, the book is good. The book is damn good. It's the vibe and the theme and the culture. Seeing that culture betrayed drove me insane. It made me laugh. It disgusted me. Reading the book is torture, and I think that's the point.

I don't know what the point of this entry is.

Oh - right - I think I mentioned in a previous entry that reading Less Than Zero made me feel dirty and I would like to retract that statement.

Watching Less Than Zero made me feel dirty.

The book, in contrast, is amazing.

A-D-U-L-T Spelling Bee

On Wednesday night D and I attended and participated in an adult spelling bee!

I've been psyched about this for months. I basically made D go, and said "You are going to be in this spelling bee, and you are going to win!"

I went with the intention of drinking and laughing lots, and taking photos. I'd envisioned it taking place in the club where the horrid open mics occurred (it was at the same center near Central Park West), with hundreds of people, and a lottery determining who got to enter the spelling bee.

D and I hadn't had time to practice our drunk spelling beforehand, so en route to the spelling bee we spelled everything we spoke about.

When we arrived, we were slightly shocked to see that the spelling bee would be held in a very tiny conference room, and that there only about 20 people involved.

This, of course, meant that I had to be in the spelling bee.

Horror of horrors. My fear of public speaking/performance is more of a fear of public anything. And if a microphone is involved, forget it! The setup for this was a small stage on which was only a microphone. Luckily we didn't have to sit on the stage. We were all seated in the audience, drinks in hand, and would be called up when it was our turn.



There were two different types of rounds - the first was just words picked from the official spelling bee list. The second, and far more fun, was a roll-the-dice round, where the number you rolled determined the word category from which you'd have to spell a word. The categories were alcohol, things that are uncomfortable, band names, characters from mythology, and former child stars.





I did pretty well for a while. I got "sandpaper duvet" and "luau" and "gwar" and "streptococcus." I can't believe I got "streptococcus" correct. I feel like sober me would have tripped all over it, but drunk me spelled it with the utmost of confidence.

The beauty of this spelling bee was that you weren't out until you got two incorrect. D faltered early as he was unable to spell "Bonaduce" in "Danny Bonaduce."

When one girl had to spell "Hennessey" and jokingly asked for it to be used in a sentence, I said "Or, how about a hip hop lyric instead?" and a bunch of people, myself included, busted out with Digital Underground's "Humpty Dance." Best spelling bee of all time, folks.



Another girl had to spell "Snoop Doggy Dogg," and spelled it incorrectly. She spelled the final "Dogg" with only one "g." It was funny, given that earlier on I'd been joking about my inability to spell in public, and how my first word would most likely be "dog" and how I'd spell it "D-O-double-G." Heh. The MC was all "Dude, haven't you ever heard any of his songs? He always spells his name in them."



The MC's brother participated in the spelling bee and was hilarious. Seriously. This guy was the ultimate in comic relief. He got up and rolled "Former Child Stars" and got "Mayim Bialik." He said "If I don't spell that right in this place I'm going to get killed," which was funny given that the spelling bee was being held in a Jewish Cultural Center. He had no idea how to spell it, but we decided that if he could reenact the opening credits, complete with singing of the theme song and doing the Blossom dance, he could stay in. He unfortunately didn't do the dance very well, so got eliminated. Luckily, there were two girls there who could do the dance, so we were very entertained.

When it was down to five people remaining, we had to stand on the stage.



I had one wrong at this point. I'd misspelled "meticulosity" because, thinking of my friend Kris' made-up word "awesomenocity," I misspelled it as "M-E-T-I-C-U-L-O-C-I-T-Y." When the MC gave me the word, I said "You totally made that up! It's meticulousness!" Everyone agreed with me, but whatever. It is, however, a word. I just looked it up.

The second word I went out on I can't even remember, because I, and everyone else in there, had never heard of it. Never! I had him repeat it like 10 times and had him use it in a sentence and give me the definition and still nothing. No idea. Out. I think the MC had it in for me. I could have spelled any other word in the whole bee. Damn, son.

The finalists were D and this older woman who was an amazing speller.



D, drunker than I've ever seen him, spelled amazingly!



He was also doing The D Show, and I think it psyched the lady out. He was rolling around on the stage and being nuts. The crowd loved him.



When the lady got her first word wrong, D ran to the side of the stage and gave me a huge kiss, Rocky-style. It was awesome.

And then D won!!!

We had an awesome time, even though winning didn't actually involve a prize. I made a new friend, and D and I hung out with the MC, his funny brother, and the bartender afterwards. We got to drink the remaining wine, and had some cool conversations. Hopefully we'll see these people again. And hopefully there will be more spelling bees!!!

Florida... Again

I went to Florida this weekend.

We departed on Friday morning, thus having an extra day off! My boss said "No, no, I'm cool with this..." when I asked him to sign the paperwork for the vacation day, so it ended up being a free day off! Woo hoo!!!

The flights went as planned. We connected in Atlanta and were in Orlando by 1pm. We picked up the rental car and headed straight for the beach.

We were met by torrential downpours. Rainy season. Drat. Who knew?

We grabbed lunch at a diner right near the beach, where we were told "Don't even try to go to the beach. It's gon' rain for in en hourrr', fer an hourrr." The waitstaff were overly friendly. D said "Why do you think they're so friendly? What do they want from us?" I said "I think they're just friendly. Scary, huh?"

We decided to ignore their warnings and headed to the beach.



There were a few people there.



D frolicked in the ocean while I attempted to sleep.



While attempting to sleep, I overheard a girl near me say the following:

"You know, well, they called me into HR." When asked why she continued "Well, you know, you know how when you're at work you touch people on the butt? Yeah, well, you know how it is. So I go in there and I'm like 'Look, the person who you should be talking to is not me, it's that girl. I mean, you know, the one who has a problem with this. She is the one with the issues. You know. She's a mess.'"



I got some decent sleep.



I also took some photos, including this one which was, I swear, an accident.



I sat on the beach for a while, not swimming because it was actually quite cold out. D came out of the water right before it started to pour. We leisurely walked back to the car (is there anything better than being in a rain storm while wearing a bathing suit?) and headed to his folks' house.

They were happy to see D. We freshened up post-beach, chatted with the parents for a bit, and then headed out for a date. I'd said "Dude, I really want to find the cheesiest restaurant possible and eat at it. You know. People in costumes, animatronics, ultimate tourist trap type of place. I want drinks with cute names and a dinner show." We unfortunately missed the pirate dinner show and all other dinner shows because we didn't make a plan, so we drove around randomly looking for something after D's parents said "All of the restaurants around here are cheesy."

What they did not tell us was that all of the restaurants around there were bad. Bad bad bad. We ended up at a Mexican restaurant with the worst food imagineable. It was a quiet date. D seemed a little moody. He is different around his family. I tried to be light and happy, but I am different around his family as well. Feeling invisible will do that to a person.

We headed back to his parents' house, where they were waiting up for us to make sure we got into the garage ok with the code. They talked for a bit, while I remained quiet because of sangria and invisibility. I also really wanted a cold glass of water, but D's parents are adorable in that both of them have teeth that are hypersensitive to cold. They keep their Brita at room temperature, and there is literally no ice in the house. At all. His father even goes so far as to microwave apple juice that's been stored in the refrigerator prior to his drinking it.

The following morning we got a late start - D got up well before me and disappeared. I felt awkward and didn't want to just appear, so stayed in bed. He got coerced into doing yardwork. I was slightly cross because there was all of this urgency to "get to the beach before the rain - get UP - HURRY UP!" when he returned after the initial disappearing, and then I waited around for a couple of hours. This delay, however, gave me time to watch the news.

I hadn't seen any live footage of the hurricane up until that point. I'd read plenty and listened to the radio, but I hadn't seen a moving image since I do not have TV.

I cried a bit and compiled the statistics and became annoyed and distressed and angry and devastated and decided, instead, to read the paper.

D, finished with yardwork, organized a cooler of goodies for us and we hit the road about half an hour later.

And, of course, we hit torrential downpours on our way to the beach.

We went to the beach anyway, and again, nobody on it. Bliss! It was sunny by the time we arrived. I applied sunscreen and lied down in just enough time for it to start raining. It only rained for a few seconds. I feel asleep.



And then I woke up. And fell asleep again. And then it rained. And I fell asleep as it was raining. And then I woke up and D was gone and I thought "What if he never comes back? I am fucked," and then fell asleep while cold rain droplets hit my burning skin.

Bliss, folks, bliss.

D woke me up eventually and said "Come frolick!" I rain into the ocean, which was warmer than the air. Heaven! The waves were intense, and every time one hit the beach, I could feel the sand under my toes being dragged away by the current and I felt like I was floating and would fall and then be sucked under.

I frolicked for about three seconds before I decided that the current was freaking me out and that the waves being taller than me was unsettling, so I ran onto the beach and wrote "Leah Lar Hearts D" with my toes. D added "4-EVER" and then it, of course, started to pour, erasing out artwork.

We quickly gathered up the food and camera and glasses and ran to the car.

We were soaked. We decided to find a movie theater. We found one, but the movie times were not good. D wanted to eat at Steak and Shake, where the service was bad but the salad dressing was delicious.

We headed back to D's parents' house, where D engaged in further yardwork while I watched the news for about three minutes, thought better of it, and instead watched Alive on The History Channel.

D returned and instantly fell asleep on the living room floor. I decided that I too would take a nap, so went to our room and fell asleep within two seconds.

Naps galore, folks. Does life get any better?

D's mother made manicotti for dinner. We ate and drank champagne and I said little other than "This is so good."

After dinner, we played cards with the parents. D's father cheated. I knew he was cheating and tried to explain this, but neither D nor I are assertive enough. His father wasn't doing it on purpose. He didn't know. He hasn't enough experience with cards. He slaughtered all of us, but he cheated! I love his father, though, so I'll let it go.

D wanted to play scrabble, but I wanted to read. My goals for the trip were Beach, Books, and Naps. I needed some Book time, and needed some time away from The D Show.

Plus, I imagine D's mother wanted some time alone with her son.

The following day, I read more in the morning because D, again, disappeared.

We then went to a pizza buffet. All-you-can-eat pizza, breadsticks, salad, and dessert for $3.99!!!!

We headed back to his parents' house. D mowed the lawn while I sat with his parents, reading, while they said nothing as they read the newspaper.



I finished Atonement by Ian McKewen and started Less than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis.

Finishing a good book, like Atonement, is like amazing sex. The buildup is blissful, you want it to go on forever, and when it does end, YEAH! And then the exhaustion sets in.

Terrible books like Less Than Zero just make you feel dirty.

When D returned from mowing the lawn, The D Show was on again and his parents perked up, got chatty, put out food.

We socialized for a bit and were then off to the airport.

We got on an earlier flight than that scheduled, and this one was direct! We had lofty expectations for all of our bonus time in NYC, but of course we ended up just falling asleep.

On Monday I saw Century of the Self Parts 1 and 2, which were both letdowns. This was good, though, because now there is no pressure to see parts 3 and 4.

After the movie, we walked around the city and enjoyed the lack of people. If New York was always as barren as it was on Labor Day, I'd be a much happier person. We walked around the Bowery in search of a floor lamp for D's grownup apartment, did some other shopping, took a nap, read, went out on a date for dinner, and then watched Kontroll back at my apartment. I think I liked it but I feel stupid because I don't think I get it.

And that, folks, was the Long Weekend.

Wish I could say that I still feel rested and unwound. Oh well. Hopefully sleep will be had this weekend.

Serious

I went on a nearly blind friend date with N last night.

She really wanted to see The Constant Gardener. I had no desire to see it, but since I think that City of God is one of the best movies I've ever seen, I figured I'd give it a shot. Plus, the reviews were in and the reviews were good.

While we were in line I said "You know, yet another reason why Loew's 34th Street is such a great theater, in addition to their having real food and being the cheapest theater in the city and being around the corner from my apartment, is the fact that the previews start 10 minutes prior to the movie start time on moviefone, so getting to a movie early is actually rewarded!" I didn't mention the long list of reasons why Loew's 34th Street sucks, which includes the reliably unruly crowds and the fact the bathroom is on a separate floor from the theater and is, without fail, grotesque.

N said "My friends all think I am a nerd because I like the previews. The previews are my favorite part!"

"I know," I said, realizing that N and I might actually become friends.

OK.

So.

The Constant Gardener. Intense. Artful. Ralph Fiennes in a t-shirt - the second best thing ever. The romance was believable and adorable. The conspiracy got boring after a while.

I'd recommend it because its beautiful to look at, but its more of a rental. And be prepared to suffer from motion sickness - the camera work is brilliant - I'd compare it to more of a series of gorgeous still art photography, so it jumps around a lot. But man is it gorgeous. It's organic and grainy and lush and wonderful.

Ralph Fiennes. He is always so. Serious. The man never smiles. I want Ralph Fiennes to be in, like, 45 Year Old Virgin next year. I want to see him laugh!

So, back to the point of this entry.

The point is: the previews, in this care, were the best part because they showed a preview for Brokeback Mountain and I'm not kidding when I say that I gasped a few times while watching it.

Can you think of anything better than Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger being involved in a secret gay love affair as cowboys?!?!?!

Gasp. I practically burst into tears just watching the preview.

I cannot wait for this movie. I seriously can't wait. I can't. I love Jake Gyllenhaal much more than I should given that he is like 14.

I also love tragic men. Ralph Fiennes was very tragic in The Constant Gardener and I enjoyed it. I think male tears work so well on screen because women would probably like to see more of male tears in real life.

Well, maybe not. I guess nobody wants to see more tears. Tears suck.

But. Jake Gyllenhaal crying? It's like I'm in middle school all over again watching Dead Poets Society and all of my friends and I fall in love with Ethan Hawke because he flips out at the end because Robert Sean Leonard has killed himself.

I can't wait!!!!

Strong Teeth

I went to the dentist this morning.

What better way to ease back into life after being away, relaxed, for a long weekend? How I love being welcomed back into Normal Life by bloody gloves in your face and the Steve Martin remake of Cheaper By the Dozen!

My dentist shows movies in the waiting room, and then while you're having your teeth cleaned, they show that same movie without sound.

I am ashamed to admit that I was starting to get into Cheaper by the Dozen in the waiting room, and was annoyed when I didn't know what was going on whilst having my mouth excavated. Bizarre, no? Bizarre that I couldn't really tell what was going on without the sound. I'd imagined it to be far more predictable. There was something with Hillary Duff, in a towel, being mortified after stepping out of the shower only to find that the high school football team was in her house. I have no idea.

At any rate, while I was having my teeth cleaned, I was thinking about two things:

1. My original NYC Dentist Experience. I found out today that those bastards didn't send my x-rays to the new dentist. Bastards!!!

2. How in the future going to the dentist will be like something out of Star Wars, with a cute robot dentist that is programmed to say things like "Fabulous lack of plaque!" and "This isn't the worst thing ever, you know" and will then list all of the more torturous things you could be doing prior to work on a Tuesday. This will be helpful in avoiding the awkwardness of staring into your hygenist's pretty eyes and being observed by a human being while you choke on your own spit.

Could the dentist suck any more?

The hygenist with pretty eyes said "Your face is going to get really wet but don't worry. I'll wipe it for you." She wasn't kidding! I'd never experienced having water shot up my nose during a dentist appointment. As if it wasn't already bad enough!

When the dentist came in to look things over, she said "Did you ever have braces?" "No." "You have remarkably straight teeth!" Awww, shucks. I finally admitted that I'd had a retainer. I try so desperately to block out those years.

She then said "Your teeth are so strong. You have solid teeth. Good for you."

Do people have non-solid teeth?

She said "But don't let that stop you from taking care of them. Sometimes people with teeth like yours stop taking care of things. You still have to floss, and brush well."

What?

First of all, how do people with solid teeth know that their teeth are unusual? Is this unusual? Solid teeth? What? And second of all, why would that prevent one from brushing one's teeth well? Do solid teeth imply some sort of immunity? Am I gifted in having solid teeth?

I don't know.

I do love the sensation of smooth, polished teeth.

I do, however, hate dentists.

But I hate the thought of a root canal more, so I force myself to go.

OK. This dentist talk is boring.

I'll write more later.

Dude.

Gilligan died.

Sad.

Foiled Again... and again... and then again

I wanted to go to the movies last night.

There's a documentary on William Eggelston playing at the theater around the corner. It opened last night, and the director was going to be there for discussion after the first two showings. I went to the theater the night before to buy tickets because purchasing them online cost at extra $1 per ticket which seemed assinine given I could save $2 by walking for one minute, and was told that the 6:20 showing was already sold out but that there were still tickets to the 8:20 available. I said "Can I buy them now?" to which they responded with "Day of show only."

D was sick that night, so we talked briefly about the possibility of going. He said "Well, I think I'll probably feel better tomorrow so I'll probably want to ride. But maybe not."

Cool.

I emailed him yesterday morning and said "Are you going to ride? Should I get you a ticket?" I checked online to verify that the 8:20 hadn't sold out, and it had not.

I hadn't heard from him by 1:30. I checked again to make sure there were still tickets. There were. As I walked by the theater at lunch, I thought "I should just get two tickets. Worst case scenario I have an extra ticket and I can sell it because there will probably be people standing by."

I didn't get the tickets. I don't know why. I think it's the nerdiness I feel about planning ahead, being cautious, worrying about such things.

At 3:00 he wrote back and said he'd like to go. I went online and, of course, sold out.

Fuck.

No director present when I will see this movie, if I see this movie because its playing for a little over a week and I have plans most nights.

I decided that, instead, I'd go to see The Baxter. Originally I'd intended to see both The Baxter and the Eggleston documentary. I'd mentioned to D that I might see The Baxter and just meet him at the Eggleston documentary when I'd thought there were tickets.

There was more "Maybe I'll ride" or "Maybe I'll paint" or "Maybe I'll go for a run" or "Maybe we will go on a date!"

At around 4:30 I realized that I'd finished my work for the day, so I totally had time to see The Baxter. I called D to see if he wanted to join me and if he didn't, if he wanted to do something after his ride/run/painting.

He said "Are you done? Why don't we go see Century of the Self at 5:45 instead?"

"YES! BRILLIANT!" I said, because I've been wanting to see Century of the Self for a really long time and its been oh-so-challenging. It's a four-part documentary on Freud. Parts 1 and 2 show at 5:25 and 10:05, whereas parts 3 and 4 show at 7:45, which is manageable. But - you can't see 3 and 4 without having seen 1 and 2, but seeing 1 and 2 is nearly impossible.

I was psyched, because this was like the first time ever I'd gotten out of work in enough time to see it! YAY!

We left work at about 5:15 and started walking to the theater. D was like "Do you mind if I stop home and freshen up?" He changed and meandered and ate some chewy Chips Ahoy while I watched people walking by, hoping that they'd steal the company-logo-bag I'd left on the street. Fascinating. As we walked to the theater, I began to panic because it was 5:45 and we still had about another 5 minutes' walk remaining.

We got to the window and I was like "Motherfuckerfuckitwasatfucking5:25!!!"

Now. I knew this. I knew it was earlier than 5:45, because 5:45 seems manageable. I can, in theory, get out of work by 5:00. Going to a 5:25 movie requires getting
out before 5:00, which is difficult.

I was like "I can't believe I didn't see the Eggleston documentary OR The Baxter OR Century of the Self."

D is not to blame. Not at all. I can only blame myself for not sticking to my original plan, which was to see both the Eggleston documentary and The Baxter by myself. By involving someone else, I effectively didn't get to do any of the things I wanted to do. I also knew the movie was at 5:25. I knew it, because I am anal and know things like that. But I doubted myself, and I shouldn't have.

D was like "Let's see something else!" and suggested just walking around the city to various theaters to see what was playing. It was 100 degrees last night and I didn't want to walk around anymore and I had raging PMS and didn't want to not see any other movies I really wanted to see. I was like "Can't we just call? Please!?!?" I finally convinced him to look in the paper.

He said "Let's see Pretty Persuasion!" This is last on my list (top of his), but it was on the list so I was like "Cool, yeah!"

We saw the movie.

My review:

Pretty Persuasion = Least Subtle Movie of All Time

D said "I feel dirty."

"Me too!" I said, but apparently we said this for different reasons.

I have this history of viscerally loathing movies that other people love. I hate them so very much and it is therefore completely out of the realm of possibility that other people could like them. It's not possible. It is obvious that the movie is bad and there is no way anyone could ever find something redeeming about it.

This is how I felt about 25th Hour. After the movie, PD was like "What did you think?" and I was like "I think it goes without saying." "Yeah." "Like I had no idea a movie could be that bad." "What? Oh. Um. I really liked it."

Awkward.

This was how it went last night as well. D said "Do you want to find someone with a ticket stub?" (Long story - I save ticket stubs for movies for some yet-to-be-determined movie-ticket-stub future project; I don't like going to the Sunshine because D insists on buying tickets from the machine which gives receipts instead of tickets and also charges you like 4 times for one transaction).

I said "No way, man, I just want to forget that this ever happened."

"Me too."

"Man. I think that could be on the list of the top 10 worst films I've ever seen!"

"What? You didn't like it?"

Awkward.

He tried to convince me that it had some redeeming qualities but the only good thing about it was a certain scene with Ron Livingston.

I can't be convinced to like something that I hated. With 25th Hour, I didn't completely hate it. When PD, MS and I talked about it, I came around a bit and didn't hate it as much by the time we'd finished talking.

But man. Pretty Persuasion. I felt a little bad because I was nothing but raging negativity and D really liked it, so we just stopped talking about it.

I won't write a review of it because I might be wrong about this one. Hard to tell. You should just see it for yourself if you have any interest because there must be good things that I, for whatever reason, cannot see.

I think it's because I've seen it all before, but better.

OK. Must work a bit. More later.

Life Out of Balance - Part 2

There was a lot to digest last night. A weird night. Weird. Am feeling a bit old, a bit ineffective, a bit insecure, a bit mortal. I'll write more on this later. Nevertheless...

In my attempt to blaze through Netflixes prior to leaving for Orlando, I decided to watch The Sea Inside. Not the best movie to watch when one is feeling bizarre, but man. Javier Bardem. I completely forgot that he wasn't a 60-year-old quadripalegic, which is pretty hard given that he's one of the most beautiful people to have ever graced the planet. Good movie.

The plan was to then go to D's to watch Koyaanisqatsi, which we decided would be really really amazing or trite. My vote leaned towards pretentious, but I said I'd give it a chance.

First of all, the opening song. OK. Do I like Philip Glass? I can't decide. It depends on my mood. I can't get the goddamn song out of my head. Male voices chanting Koyaanisqatsi really lowly, really slowly, really monotonously. I can't get them to stop!!! It's infuriating.

Second of all, it is possible that I've seen it before! This boy I knew shortly after graduating college, who I did not kiss although I really wanted to, took me to see a Philip Glass scored film at the Wang Center. I was dragged, but I'd have done anything to spend time with him. All I remembered was the Philip Glass music and people moving around really frenetically in a city. Weird.

Third of all, the reason that I didn't remember having seen it was because I had terrible violent food poisoning during my viewing it! Crazy! I kept saying "I think I have seen this but its so foggy because I had food poisoning... I was so delirious... and I kept having to run out... and this might actually be why I hold slight animosity towards Philip Glass for no reason at all!"

Therefore, Koyaanisqatsi is to blame for D's food poisoning.

Palm Pilot

I am trying to sell my palm pilot on Craigslist.

Yes, folks, I have a palm pilot.

And no, I don't ever use it. I used it in Boston - in Boston I had a social life to manage. In New York City, where I know few people and where people tend not to make plans in advance, the palm pilot is useless. It would come in handy, however, to keep track of all of the goings-on in NYC - shows, exhibits, openings, etc., but I have no time to look at it. Ever.

In Boston I also used it for things like lists - lists of things I wanted to buy (ah! I long for the days when there was extra money to manage and when I could make lists of stereo components I eventually wanted to own, CD's I wanted to purchase, etc.), trips I wanted to take, phone calls that needed to be returned, boys I'd kissed...

Yes, folks, I kept a list, in my palm pilot, of all the boys I've ever kissed.

I am a sentimental idiot. They all mean something to me, for varied reasons. I always liked to be "Oh my god I totally forgot about so-and-so that was such a cute time!" or "Oh my god I totally forgot about so-and-so thank god because that was weird and awful." But I am a sentimental fool for the good and the bad.

Or I am a dork. Yeah. I am a dork.

I digress...

I also used it for the backlog of songs that needed to be recorded, and what had already been recorded and what remained to recorded. I had a few addresses in there. I never bothered to sync it with a computer. I never bought a memory card for it. I never put photos on it. I never tried to beam something through thin air from someone else's palm to my own.

Basically, my palm pilot was a giant post-it note.

And now I want to sell it.

On Saturday I decided to delete all of the information it contained prior to selling it. I turned it on and thought "Well, I should look one last time at the list of boys, because hopefully the list is now complete."

The list, and everything else, was gone. I guess it had decharged or whatever and everything is gone. Tragic. Now I'll never know how many boys I've kissed!

The palm pilot is now on Craigslist, and I got one response from a guy who wants me to ship it to him and another from a guy who offered me less than I want. I'll take less just to get rid of it. I responded to him and am now anxiously awaiting his response. This is like dating - will he write back? When? I can't wait! He hasn't written back and its been over an hour. Man. I want to be rid of the palm pilot. And what's with the guy who wants me to ship it? No way. That defeats the point of Craigslist. If I was going to ship it I'd have put it on EBay. Craigslist should involve no effort by me, especially my waiting in line at a post office.

I am feeling a little guilty because the palm pilot was a gift. My parents gave it to me for Christmas. But I never use it! Plus, do they have to know? They'll never know. Father would be proud. Right. I have to keep telling myself that.

So wish my luck. I've had good luck with Craigslist. Hopefully I'll be rid of the palm pilot by week's end, and I'll have money to put towards the list of things that I will now never be able to buy!

Life Out of Balance - Part 1

It amazes me that D can still remain cute when sick.

D was very ill last night. The current theory is food poisoning. My feeling is that a tomato left at room temperature for a little less than a week in a very hot apartment is the likely culprit. He blames "weird cheeses put in an omelette."

Either way, it was a rough night.

I am consumed with feelings of both sympathy and helplessness. I realize that there is nothing I can do. I just want him to be better. I don't want him to suffer. Ever. I can't stand it.

I am fairly convinced that I should never, ever have children.

I woke up at about 5am after having gone to sleep at about 1am, and remained awake listening to D sigh loudly while he tossed and turned and fidgeted and moaned and said "Is it hot in here? I'm hot" and then two minutes later "I'm freezing. Where are the blankets?" Awful. I couldn't sleep at all. He was suffering and I couldn't get that, as well as other things, off my mind.

I am dead tired.

I am wondering if D is ok. I think I will stop by after lunch to see how he is doing. I asked him if he wanted me to (he was so delirious) and he was all smiley and "Yes, I would like you to take care of me." In the same situation, I'd have said "No, don't worry about it" even though I meant "Yes, please, I need you. And bring apple sauce with you!"

I also can't help thinking "I wish I were sick." Some deranged part of my psyche is hoping that D has a one day flu and that I will catch it. Why? Because I want to stay home. I want to sleep late. I want to watch movies and not feel guilty about it and not feel that I am wasting time. Yes, I realize that being sick is terrible. I never get sick. Ever. I never miss work for something like a cold or flu or infection. I miss work for things like kidney stones and minor surgeries. I never have allergies or transient flus. I had an ear infection earlier in the year, and I may have missed like half a day.

I had food poisoning earlier in the year. It was bad. It was when D and I were first dating. I'd spent the night at his house - it was maybe the fourth or fifth time ever - and I was mortified, embarrassed, pale, pouting. I stayed home from work that day, and you know what? It was awesome! Granted, I couldn't eat and my bowels were ripping themselves to shreds, but I got to do the dishes! And I watched TV! And read blogs! And made a mix CD for D! And I slept. Lots.

So yeah. I'm tired and worried and lame today. It's weird because I am used to D being around and he's not and that makes me sad. Lame lame lame.

I also don't have much work to do, which makes things worse. Plenty of time for my mind to wander and think things like "What if it isn't the flu? What if there's something wrong with him again? What if it's like last time?"

My stomach churns just thinking about last time.

I am such a zombie right now.

I should work a bit.

More later.

MOMA Field Trip - 8.27.05

A Weekend in New York - How Novel!

The weekend was lovely.

On Friday night, I left work early to meet my friends JV and L who were in town from Boston. L ultimately had to show me her engagement ring because I did not see it, despite the fact that she was basically thrusting it in my face! How very exciting - they'd chosen not to call me to inform me of the engagement because they thought it would be cuter to surprise me when I noticed the ring. Of course I didn't notice, which is predictable. I am thrilled for JV and L. I am voting for a theme wedding at Sturbridge Village, but I have a feeling my vote doesn't really count.

JV and L were in town to see JV's friend M's musical, which was showing as part of the NYC Fringe Festival, a two-week-long theater festival of off-off-off Broadway plays. I liked it more than I expected to. The musical definitely has potential - M wrote the story, lyrics, and dialogue, but it was apparent that he'd lost creative control. It must be so difficult to completely surrender one's vision to a director. I was disappointed by the lead - apparently the lead was in Alias (which I've never seen) and was therefore not entirely comfortable singing or with being on stage. Disappointing. I didn't believe anything about him. It's hard to get wrapped up in something with a drippy protagonist. The remainder of the cast, however, was exceptional. It was much better than I expected, and hopefully, with better staging, this musical will go somewhere. Congrats M!

Afterwards we headed to Rissoteria, where we had, of course, risotto, and pizza! I've been to Rissoteria a million times but it had never occurred to me to have pizza. It was very, very, very good. We then met up with D at his apartment and had some drinks, and finally headed out for desserts.

******************

On Saturday I met up with my friends JW and BS from college, who were also in town to see M's musical. We met on Bleeker and had brunch, caught up (I haven't seen JW in nearly two years!), reminisced, longed for the college days.

******************

After brunch I walked through a street fair on Bleeker, where I bought a new satchel to replace Decaying Satchel. I've had Decaying Satchel since like 1998. It's a mess, but for some reason I am extremely attached to it. I've been trying to replace it for over a year and just haven't found anything better.

I found a black one on Saturday that I didn't think was better, but for $14 on the street can you really go wrong?

I picked it up, posed with it and thought "This could do... this is doable..." I decided to buy it, but upon closer inspection realized that there was a blemish on the front. If I were a more assertive person, I'd have said "Look, this is imperfect... what if I give you $10 for it instead of $14?" but instead I said:

Me: Hey, look, there's something on this.

Woman: Oh, that's just from sticker.

Me: Yes, well, I don't know. Umm... you don't have another one somewhere, do you?

Woman: No.

Me: Oh, well, yeah. See, I want this but there's this stuff on it.

Woman: Oh, that's just from the sticker. See? (scrapes it a bit, nothing happens)

Me: Oh, yeah, that's too bad. I'm not sure I want it if its got the sticker.

Woman: You can just take it off with water.

Me: Oh. Well, I'm not sure that will work. (because water never removes the gooey sticker residue from things, as much as you'd like it to)

Woman: No, water. Just use water.

Me: (silence, confused look, waiting for her to say "Just take it for $10")

Woman: You can just use water.

Me: I don't think water will work, actually.

Woman: It will.

Me: It's sticky, though.

Woman: Want me try to take it off? I have water.

Me: Go nuts.

Woman: (puts Poland Springs onto a tissue and starts scrubbing and nothing, of course, happens, other than small little pieces of tissue being stuck to the bag)

Me: Yeah, see?

Woman: I meant oil. You use oil to get off.

Me: Oil?

Woman: You know, oil.

Me: Right. (lying)

Woman: I mean alcohol. Use alcohol. You know. Rubbing alcohol.

Oil, the opposite of water. Yes. And alcohol, right.

I bought the bag for $14 because I was getting nowhere.

The bag is miraculous. It's like Mary Poppins' bag. It's the same size as Decaying Satchel but holds 10x the amount of stuff. YES! I am thrilled, and am experiencing zero remorse about the retirement of Decaying Satchel.

******************

I then headed uptown to the MOMA, where I walked around and took pictures and tried very hard to remember the names of artists and paintings and sculptures that I like. I was there mainly to see the Lee Friendlander exhibit, which was amazing. It was so amazing that I ended up buying the book.

My original intention was to head down to the HOWL Festival in the East Village after the MOMA, but instead I went back to my apartment because the Lee Friendlander book weighed about 30 pounds.

Photos of MOMA Outing forthcoming...

******************

I went back to my apartment where I downloaded some photos, did some music-related projects, cooked a lavish dinner, and actually relaxed!

I then met D to see Brothers Grimm, which you should not see.

It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't good either. It was basically a two hour shout out to fairy tales. It was more in the Style of Terry Gilliam than a Terry Gilliam movie. It was nice visually, but otherwise completely flat. And it didn't make a lot of sense, but I guess that's not the point.

In addition, the French characters all had French accents, the Italian character had an Italian accent, and the German characters were all...British.

Such a pet peeve of mine.

******************

On Sunday D and I went to D's friend's house on Long Island. She and her husband have a huge house that's nicely decorated. They have a cottage in their back yard. And a pool. I said "D, let's be rich!" The purpose for the visit was swimming, but it was overcast and not terribly warm, so the pool wasn't swimmable. It didn't matter, because we sat around and ate and chatted and I enjoyed the sounds of birds and insects. I forget how comforting that can be. It was so nice to be barefoot walking on grass!

D's friend's husband works in television, and on one of their shelves were many Emmy Awards. I didn't even ask if I could touch one. Instead I just picked one up and started delivering a speech, thanking my mother for all of her support and encouragement when nobody else believed in me.

A note on Emmy's: They are huge. I am wondering if everyone who's ever received an Emmy is a giant. Seriously. They are humongous. Not as heavy as I'd anticipated, but definitely taller. D wanted to take my picture with it, but I thought that was a little excessive. Not that giving a speech in someone's house isn't excessive, but you have to draw the line somewhere! I said "No, D, no, really, don't bother" but now I really regret it. I'm sure we'll be back, at which point I will have hundreds of photos taken of my acceptance speech.

******************

Upon returning from Long Island (and after a really bizarre nap - you know the kind -when you don't even realize you've fallen asleep and then suddenly someone is tapping your shoulder saying "We're at Penn Station" and you don't believe them because you just left Long Island! and then you walk up the stairs but your whole leg is asleep and you don't get reoriented for another two hours or so), we went to D's apartment and set it up in Furniture Conformation 2, which might end up being the winner. This new arrangement, while not as aesthetically pleasing as Furniture Conformation 1, has the advantage of the Bed-In-Nook concept, which is awesome for sleeping.

******************

We hung out there for a bit, and then headed to this adorable little bar called Cooper 35 for E's non-surprise surprise birthday party!

Despite being on detox, D and I fell prey to the 4 mixed drinks for $12 ticket scheme and actually ended up drinking way more than that! Yum. There was all sorts of food and new people. E has nice friends - people I'd actually like to see again! I think this could be my best Experience with Strangers in New York thus far. It seems that they were mostly film students or significant others of film students. And then there was French Roommate. And some other people. All lovely. When we arrived, I was like "Wait! How will we know who's here for the party? I don't know any of E's friends!" but they were nice and welcoming and it was like we were all old friends.

We had much fun.

******************

And now its Monday and I am tired, because detox did not occur.

I have little planned for the week, though, and D and I are headed to Orlando on Friday to force ourselves not to do anything on Labor Day. Spending time with parents and beaches guarantees relaxation. We are going to scramble to watch all of our Netflixes tonight so we can get three new ones for the trip. We will watch movies and swim in the ocean and eat well and read lots of books and there will be no Labor.

It's going to be awshummmmm.

People You Were Never Meant to See Again

There are certain people in your life who you know only briefly, and who you will never see again.

You get an email one day, and you think "Well, that's that. Fuck him. Yeah. Right. I totally don't care. Not one bit. What a dick. Whatever. Fuck him. He's an idiot anyway, who doesn't know a good thing when its right in front of him. Asshole. He's such a mess and will always be. I couldn't care less, but still. Why am I sad about this when I always knew this was temporary? I knew it was going to end. But still."

People come and go, and with some people, you don't care. But every now and then you feel that last sentiment - it's not despair or actual sadness, it's more like disappointment.

I saw one of these people last night, one of these people I shouldn't have ever seen again. One of these people who, in my mind, has become fiction. He's a story, a song, a sadness. I don't feel sad about him, or us, but I feel sad about that time in my life. I feel sad not to have a specific feeling anymore. I feel sad because I know how things turned out.

It was weird, because this person was secret in my life when I knew him. He didn't know any of my friends, I knew none of his, it was this little side project that I enjoyed for a while and told virtually nobody about. I didn't tell anyone how I really felt. I said "Yeah, there's this guy whatever its something to do." But that's not how I felt. I felt "Dear god this guy is so awesome and I can't comprehend at all why he is hanging out with me and I know there is no chance so whatever but this is fun anyway." I introduced him to my friends last night and it was awkward, because I realized that I donn't know (or maybe I just don't remember) much about him other than what and where his tatoo is and how much I enjoyed hiding in his room spying on his neighbors in Somerville.

We didn't last long - I think I saw him a total of six times - and I haven't really thought of him since I received that email over a year and a half ago.

I hadn't realized, until last night, however, what a profound impact this person had on my life, on my personality, on who I am now. I had no idea.

I think this is the source of sadness. It's the intangibles. I now listen to and love certain bands because he said "I think you might like this..." This boy had a profound influence over my musical taste. He made my mind explode. My songs are a certain way because I listened to his songs. I am aware of things I wasn't aware of until I met him. Like the fact that I can apparently date and be cute with and about someone I've just met. I guess these things mean something in the longterm, even though they mean nothing at the time.

I listened to his CD over and over when I met him. We talked about collaborating. I knew we never would.

Last night I saw him play and I couldn't stop thinking "I shouldn't be here. I'm not supposed to know him anymore. He's not supposed to actually exist. He's an awkward memory. A regret. He's a neuron I no longer want."

Coupled with the weirdness was this sense of serenity. It was so very lovely. I felt like I got to experience something I wasn't supposed to get to experience. It was one of those things - you know, the things you wanted to do with someone but never got to because things ended too soon. The trips you were planning! The furniture you'd buy! The kids' names! I'd never seen him play until last night in my new life in New York City, where he now lives as well.

I don't know him at all, but I know that hearing him play last night meant something to me. I don't really know what. I guess maybe it was closure. Or acknowledgment. Or just really good, beautiful music.

High Maintenance

D bought a new, grown-up couch. He is very cute when excited about these sorts of things. He said "I am suddenly aware of my aging... now that I have a couch."

His apartment is small, and there are a limited number of conformations in which the furniture can be. He arranged the furniture into Scheme 1 and declared "We will try this for a week and see what we think."

The new conformation involves sleeping against a wall, underneath two bikes and alongside the area where his paintings are stored.

We hung out for a bit last night, talked, caught up, and then started to fall asleep. I closed my eyes and rolled over. About five minutes later I opened my eyes and yelled "Dear god holy shit that is the scariest thing ever you have to move this RIGHT NOW!" because I found my head right next to a painting of George Bush's head. This is a giant painting with a bunch of public figures, and the Dubya face is slightly bigger than an actual human head.

"It's not that its a bad painting but... I just don't want to... I can't sleep next to Dubya! It's awful to open your eyes and see... well, see HIM!"

D was all put it out and huffy and "Fine" and moved the painting to behind the new couch.

I am high maintenance.

Gridlock

While I was in Medway this weekend, I ended up playing Checkers with Sister's Boyfriend SS while Sister engaged in a heated Battleship competition with D.

I'd originally hoped we'd play Connect Four, but when I opened the box and also found a Checker Board, I was tempted. I said "SS, would you prefer Checkers or Connect Four?"

He thought long and hard, and finally said "Checkers."

I was excited but concerned, as I haven't played Checkers in nearly two decades.

We set up the board and started to play. It was uneventful for a while. No close calls, no jumps, no suspense, nothing.

We played for about 10 minutes, and then it happened: GRIDLOCK.

I played Checkers a lot as a kid and this never happened. I've never even heard of this happening. It makes sense, but man. Bizarre! Basically, we moved all the pieces in the perfect order such that my three rows shifted one row forward and SS' three rows shifted one forward and the game ended.

There was nowhere to go. Nobody jumped anyone. We were just stuck. It's as though we'd set up the board wrong, or the board had been missing two rows.

I am trying to figure out if this means that we are both really good, that we are both really bad, or that we think alike.

I am also trying to figure out why this doesn't happen more often.

Bizarre, though.

In other news, The Temp has started and I am fairly certain I know him from somewhere. He looks and seems really familiar. He also said that I seem familiar to him. I think we must have just seen each other on the T or something (he spent the same 7 years in Boston that I did). Maybe we commuted at similar times for a few years. I don't know. It's driving me a bit crazy, though.

The weekend was good, although I am exhausted, as usual.

I went to see 40 Year Old Virgin on Friday night, and it was awesome. It was nearly perfect. It was sweet and funny and I was so pleased by the reverence the film showed for its lead character. Rather than poke fun of him and his lack of experience, they made him into a completely believable and sympathetic hero. You almost rooted for him not to lose his virginity. Freaking adorable. You must all see it immediately.

The night was not without its drama. One of the reasons I moved away from Boston was to escape drama. I wanted to be completely in control of my life, my decisions, and to surround myself with sane, grounded, drama-free relationships. I experienced my first moment of drama on Friday night and it did not feel good. I don't like when I am made to feel bad for being a good person and for doing the right thing, for not being psychic, for being mature and grownup and inclusive.

The drama made me feel dirty during the movie. Additionally, before the movie even began, the iniator of said drama thrust a $20 bill in D's face and forcefully demanded "Get me a large popcorn and a diet coke." D said "OK" and ran off to purchase a large popcorn and diet coke despite the fact that he'd purposefully bought food beforehand so as not to have to wait in line at a movie concession stand on a crowded Friday night.

Who does that? First of all, get your own damn popcorn! I can understand if he'd said "I'm getting a popcorn" and then the bill was handed to him. Second of all, if you are really so put out by getting your own damn popcorn, say "Hey, would you mind getting me a popcorn? Thanks!" instead of throwing money at someone and forcing them to. Third of all, if you are there with a friend of yours, force him to get it instead of someone else's boyfriend.

Weird power maneuver. I said nothing until the following day, when I said "D, do you think its a little rude of someone to force someone to get them popcorn when they are completely capable of getting it themselves?" and he said "That's just how it is." I said "Well, I don't think that's cool. Why can't she just ask you nicely?" "That's how she is. It's easier to just get the popcorn than say something about it." Understandable, given the high drama quotient of this individual. I guess I want D to be treated nicely and appreciated. Not that getting someone a popcorn is such a big deal, but man. Say "Please" and "Thank you." I would never say "D, get me a popcorn!" and if I ever did, I would want him to be like "Excuse me?" and then I could say "Oh, sorry, would you mind? I'm really tired and I don't feel like waiting in line." Except that I would never do that, because I'd wait in line for my own popcorn no matter what unless someone was already going. This conversation snowballed into D thinking that I was mad at him for getting the popcorn, that I was uncomfortable with his relationship with her, that he has to do something different, etc. I said "No, I think I am uncomfortable with this person's very existence. Like if a male friend of yours had done that, I'd still be like 'Dude, rude!' and if she had done it to the friend she brought, I'd have been like 'Dude, rude!'" I also said "I just don't get her. I don't like how she is with you when I am around, and I don't like how she is to me when you are around. She can't deal with us together, you know? This would be like my being at a movie with like you, A and her boyfriend M, and then turning to A's boyfriend and declaring 'Get me a popcorn!' Isn't that weird?" He realized it was and said he understood and we have decided that we will never hang out all together again.

He said "But you should totally hang out with her separately still," and I said "Dude, why would I want to hang out with someone who indirectly antagonizes me when you are around? What kind of friend is that?" Drama. Don't need it. Unfortunate evening. Oh well.

Should I play nice? If she won't, why should I? I think what got to me most is her failure to play nice with people who aren't even D and I. This is messy, and I don't want the drama. I probably wouldn't have been upset about the popcorn if I wasn't already seething about the previous 7th grade lunchroom behavior I had to suffer.

After 40 Year Old Virgin we went for drinks and I wanted to strangle people. I had one glass of wine and was drunk, thank god. We left and packed and didn't get enough sleep before departing for Boston.

The bus ride took less than three hours, and we headed to Somerville for a burrito! We then walked to Hall Street, where we lounged and engaged in the rare pleasure of watching TV. We then headed to Harvard Square, where we shopped and frolicked and where I felt like I missed things. We met up with a bunch of people for dinner at Cambridge One, then headed to Finale for desserts, where we obsessed about old candy from the 80's. We then sought out said candy at CVS. We sat outside because the weather was perfect and because it was quiet and there was grass to sit on, and because I don't have these things anymore. We then had more drinks outside. I laughed too much about things I'd completely forgotten and enjoyed hearing Brother's honesty about his summer.

On Sunday we had breakfast at Rosebud and then headed to Medway for Brother's going-away party. It was overwhelming and crazy. Coming home from afar is not easy. It was nice to see everyone, but all I wanted to do was hide in the cool basement with Sister, SS, LBF, and D. I wanted to play Candyland and have an uninterrupted conversation. I wanted to relax and not say the same things over and over. "New York is good," "I think things are going well between us?," "Buenos Aires was awesome," "Yes, my apartment is as small as my father claims it is but you don't need 1200 square feet to live stop making fun of my apartment because at least I don't have 40 zillion knicknacks that require 1000 square feet for themselves there are other ways to live why can't you just be happy for me?!?"

It wasn't that bad. It was just a prime example of the feeling-14-again-phenomenon and I don't like it. Not one bit. I don't like people laughing at my apartment. I feel like I should then start laughing at how long it takes them to mow their lawns or something. I'm exaggerating. I was just in a bad mood because Mother made copies of a photo of "the family" and in it was the five of us and our three significant others, which made me feel like I couldn't breathe because all I could think about was 3 sets of this photograph on people's refrigerators with D's head cut out or and one with D's head replaced with a cutout of Christian Bale's face. Mother said "Please, don't worry, this is just now. You're happy now. This doesn't need to be up forever, honey" but this was after her speech about how happy she is that we've all found amazing significant others and that we're all together for Brother's special day and that we're all finally so happy! Ah, the pressure.

I had a good time, though. It was nice to see everyone.

We got in at about 2am last night and despite sleeping on the train and getting a good five hours' sleep here, I am still fried. Too much getting up early and getting to sleep too late.

I will, however, be doing nothing tomorrow night! Yeah! Watch out, Duane Reade and Gristedes. I am going to run errands! HAH! It's been ages since I purchased groceries.

I am going to buy eggs! And milk! And I may even buy vegetables! Whoa. Take it easy.

Until tomorrow...