Too Good To Be True

OK.

Disposing of my former apartment has become, of course, a saga.

D said "Everything will work out. Don't worry."

I said "Look, D, there's something you may not realize about me. Things tend not to work out for me. Whenever there's a chance for something to go wrong, especially financially, things will not work out. Weird health insurance charges? Me. Weird rental situations? Me. Getting laid off almost twice? Me. Crappy stock options? Me. Piano movers not showing up to move the piano? Me. It won't work out."

Something divine happened with the former apartment last week. The Landlord's Right Hand Woman has been uncooperative and has been making things extremely difficult for me. The management entrusted the rental of the apartment to a realtor, who failed to show the apartment. Nobody has been communicating with me. When I attempt to communicate, I am met with shortness and judgment. Fine. I broke a lease. Be mean about it, but it is in everyone's best interest to get the apartment rented as soon as possible.

I decided to post an ad on Craigslist and hoped that a random, good potential tenant would present him/herself.

I got a zillion responses, narrowed the search down to three potential tenants, and showed the apartment to two of them.

Both were interested. The first girl was cool and said she'd like to apply, but only if there wasn't a fee involved. At that point in time, I'd been unable to get a straight answer from The Landlord's Right Hand Woman as to whether the potential tenant would have to go through the realtor even though the realtor would have done absolutely nothing to secure the tenant.

The second guy was even cooler, and it turned out that one of his best friends lived in the apartment upstairs from me! Small world. I love that stuff. We decided that he should apply for the apartment as a friend of my upstairs neighbor's instead of as a friend of Leah Lar, Lease-Breaker. He was giddy with enthusiasm about the apartment, and I was thrilled to find someone who was as excited about my apartment as I was.

I doubted it, of course. It seemed too good to be true.

D said "I think this is going to work out for both of us!"

D, of course, only showed his former apartment to one person, who happened to be a friend of a friend of mine. Did any of my friends find tenants for me? Of course not. Did they try? They did, but they all came up empty-handed. Of course. Because things don't work out neatly on my planet.

I said "I don't know. I'm not getting my hopes up until the papers are signed and he's living there."

I fretted all weekend. D said "There's no way something will go wrong. It's going to work out!"

"OK. I think you're right. I think this might actually have been... easy for me."

On Monday everything seemed fine. He called and said he was going to call The Landlord that afternoon. He called, which was more than I expected. I expected to hear nothing and to succomb to immense anxiety.

And then, of course, disaster. Bad credit.

He offered to have a guarantor.

They wouldn't have it.

He called again today and said "My guarantor, who is a Rockefeller, will put a year's rent aside, and will come to a meeting with me. Please give me the apartment. Please reconsider. I will do anything for this apartment." He basically begged.

They wouldn't have that either.

And of course the original girl who wanted it found another place over the weekend.

This morning I posted an ad nearly identical to the one I posted last week and I've gotten three responses, from students or subletters or other people who have no concept of what is required to get this apartment.

I called some people from last week and two of them are going to look at it tonight.

I will be sitting there in the empty apartment, reading my Village Voice, praying for good credit and stable jobs and people who appreciate the value of a sparkly renovation.

Of course they will both hate the apartment, and I will post an ad tomorrow but won't be able to show the apartment because I have class. So, best case scenario, if these people tonight don't like it, I show the place on Monday and someone falls madly in love with it and can get the paperwork squared away next week and can move in next weekend, thus sparing me May's rent.

But what will actually happen is that I'll end up renting it for the second weekend in May but will be legally obliged to pay for the entirety of May, because that's how NYC is, and that's how things are for me.

Ergh.

I am trying not to scream.

I Am Craving...

... Domino's Twisty Bread. Or Crazy Bread. Or whatever it's called.

Oh my god I must have some.

It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp

Hey kids.

Back to normal... sort of.

I am now officially cohabitating. I don't think it has sunk in yet. Right now it feels like large-scale playing house. Instead of contemplating what it means to be living with D, I am searching endlessly for the perfect bookcase and slickly-designed alarm clock that also indicates the weather outside. These are things that only a true adult should own. Suddenly I feel like a grown up, and I don't seem to mind at all.

D is taking things to a whole separate level, the level on which one wants to purchase new knobs for the kitchen and bathroom sinks, re-tile bathrooms, and buy a surround sound system for the apartment. "Go nuts, honey," I keep saying, "but I'm not sure we really need to dismantle the non-functioning filter system under the sink just because there's a random thing sticking up from the sink that I hadn't even noticed until you mentioned it."

The move went smoothly.

We woke up early on Saturday morning. I finished the little last-minute packing that remained while D emptied his apartment with the help of his friend S and The Boss (yes, folks, my boss helped us move - I think I am the luckiest employee of all time). They arrived at my apartment at around 10:00, discombobulated, saying "We don't think it's all going to fit. We may have to do two trips..." But The Boss said "No! I will make it fit!" And make it fit he did! It was miraculous. My friends M and J showed up to help, and we all decided that if/when we get laid off, we should start a moving business. I will pack (I know, I hate to pack my own things, but I am actually quite good at packing boxes), The Boss will coordinate all goings-on within the truck, and the science-boys will provide the labor.

(Sidenote: I was having agita the entire time the truck packing was going on as I did not want The Boss to see my, ahem, unmentionables. D had said "We'll lift the dresser with all of the drawers in it since your clothes are so light..." so I hadn't emptied the drawers of their contents. The boys, of course, decided to remove the drawers and thus my, ahem, unmentionables were sitting there on the sidewalk for all to see, including The Boss, which is just, well, weird. Luckily M took charge [although still weird for your coworker to be in charge of your, ahem, unmentionables, but not as weird as having your boss see them!!!] and made sure The Boss never saw them.)

The move in took about 20 minutes, as our friends T and T had shown up by then. Everyone was gone by noon. D went to help M move a TV from his apartment, while I stayed behind and did fun things like putting up the shower curtain and arranging my shirts by color in my closet.

When D returned, we ordered burritos and then put the bed together. We did not take a nap. We arranged the bedroom and got giddy and excited and frustrated and tired and thrilled. We hooked up the TV. We went back to my old apartment and rendered it immaculate. We started to organize the kitchen but I got irritable at around 8:30 after having eaten only a burrito that day and begged that we take a break for food. We got wraps and watched a bit of Andromeda Strain before falling asleep.

D went for dim sum on Sunday morning while I unpacked. When he asked if I minded, I explained that I love unpacking just as much as I hate packing. I put more clothes in closets and consolidated and threw things away and did jumping jacks in the shower because its a reasonable size and has very hot water and very fierce pressure!

I went to the grocery store to fill the refrigerator with goodies like juices and cheeses. I watched the entirety of Hustle and Flow despite meaning to watch only the beginning.

D returned and I had my first awareness of actually living together.

Normally, when D would be coming over, I'd know he was coming over. I'd be prepared. I would know that we would be hanging out. I wouldn't be doing anything else.

When you live together, it's not like that! I didn't know if I should drop what I was doing in order to hang out with him, or if I should be unphased by his arrival, or do some combination of those two things.

Weird, folks.

It ended up being a combination.

We unpacked more. We went into super-productive mode and sanded the bathroom and relocated the medicine cabinet and put things into closets and marvelled at how our combined belongings seem to be greater than the sum of the individual parts. "Everything fit in our old apartments where we each had only one closet... how is it that the things won't fit here in three closets?"

We made piles of books because we have nothing to put them on. We oriented the couch. We established that we cannot steal cable (although we seem to be able to transmit better network reception when the cable is plugged in). We ate delicious Thai food right on our street. We looked online for CD storage options. While watching the rest of Andromeda Strain, we ate cookies in bed because we can.

I fell asleep before the movie ended because I was watching TV from my bed, something I've not been able to do in my adult life.

I am at work today feeling slightly normal (last week was a daze) and only slightly worried about the status of the old apartment. I keep wishing, though, that I was at the apartment. D feels the same way. We are both very happy.

The only thing that is making me slightly unhappy is the fact that D's mother is not happy. He hadn't told her we were living together because he hadn't had time. She was apparently not surprised, but was disappointed. D said "She needs some sort of approval from your parents."

"What do you mean?"

"About us living together. She asked me if they approve."

"Oh."

"I told her that your brother and sister are already living in sin, so they already had time to deal with it."

"True."

"I don't know. I don't think she'll approve of anything I do unless I go to medical school."

"I'm so lucky," I said.

"Me too, because I have you and the support of your parents."

Awwww.

I am lucky, though. I'm sure my parents are less than thrilled about my living with someone, but because they are thrilled that I have found someone that makes me so happy (and because they adore D), they can't be anything but happy. I appreciate that about them. I really do appreciate that they haven't said anything about it. And I appreciate their enduring the fallout that they will receive from The Grandparents when The Grandparents find out. And I appreciate Father asking to talk to D on Saturday to tell him that he's happy for us.

Yes. This is good. I have no doubts about this at all, which is a new feeling for me. Yes, this is good.

Ulcer

My head is going to explode.

Readers, I ask you this. When faced with the prospect of paying double rent for eternity, is it ridiculous to discriminate against a potential apartment-inhabitant because her name is "Barbie?" Do I really want someone named "Barbie" living in my apartment? I think not, but I called her anyway.

I am trying to be multi-tasker extraordinaire, and I want to crumble.

I was being address-changer of super ability, until we (we! both our names on the envelope!) received a copy of our lease in the mail yesterday, only to learn that the realtors had given us the incorrect zip code. When D left, I yelled "Motherfu*****ers!" at the top of my lungs and threw the lease across the room, then sat down and quietly re-changed whatever addresses could be re-changed without arousing suspicion.

Today I've been making calls to change addresses. Again.

I am also trying to be super-realtor, and to rent my apartment on my own. This is difficult when you have a landlord who is prone to yelling at you and prone to wanting to f*ck you over as much as possible for breaking your lease. Which I guess is understandable, because it is not nice to break a lease.

The thing that irks me most about this (and there are so many things of irksome nature) is that they stand to profit by my leaving. They are going to charge the new tenant $220 a month more than I pay, so by my breaking the lease a year early they will make an extra $2640 for doing absolutely nothing. And then they're charging me on top of that to break the lease.

Also irksome is the fact that "the management" wants to go through a realtor, and if I find a tenant, the tenant still has to go through the realtor and pay an exorbitant fee even though the realtors didn't do anything.

I am also trying to be master-coordinator, coordinating multiple moves (we did Move 1 last night) and have the godforsaken piano moved, which is causing me no end of agita. I wanted to hire the same guys who moved it before, because they were awesome and friendly and trustworthy and, most importantly, accomodating.

I emailed them last week and they wrote back saying "We can move your apartment on Saturday! If not Saturday, then Tuesday. Give us a call on Saturday."

I called on Saturday and there was no response.

I emailed and said "Let's do Tuesday."

No response.

I called on Monday:

Me: Can we still do it tomorrow?
Him: Yes, oh, yes, sorry I didn't call you back this weekend. I didn't forget. We can do it Tuesday. What time works for you?

I listed the times. He said he'd call back Monday afternoon to confirm.

Guess what? You guessed it! He didn't call.

I called on Tuesday morning.

Him: Oh... right...You said after 5:30?
Me: Yes, after 5:30. Tonight.
Him: OK, yes, we'll do it tonight. I'll call you later to tell you the time.

No call.

I called at 5:30.

Him: Oh... well... we're still tooling around in NJ. Moving pianos. I'll call you later to let you know what time. What's the latest we can do it?
Me: 8:00.

He called (miracle!) at 7:30.

Him: We're still in NJ. Can we do it at 9:00?
Me: No.

Absolutely not! Because you know it would have been more like 10:00, and I think its horribly impolite to move anything at that hour, especially a giant piano that involves many men grunting etc.

Him: How about tomorrow?"
Me: When?
Him: Morning?
Me: What time?
Him: Well, before work. What time you need to be in work at?
Me: 10:00, at the latest.
Him: So we could move it at 9:30?
Me: No. Start moving it at 8:30 at the latest so I can leave the new place by 9:30.
Him: Oh... well... I'll give you a call tonight to let you know if we can do that. That way we can do it first thing tomorrow.

Did he call? OF COURSE NOT!!!!

He did call this afternoon "confirming" to move it tonight, but again he didn't know what time because he has a job in The Bronx and blah blah blah. I already hired another company, that committed to a window of time, and that's that. I left him a message and said "No, sorry, I called another company because you didn't call last night to confirm."

It makes me sad, because they were so very awesome before, and I really liked them, but whatever. Run your business like a business. Don't blow people off. Don't be noncomittal about my piano!!!

OK. I need to go to the post office to get a change-of-address correction form and eat some lunch and work work work and then get out of here to show my apartment to Barbie.

To Be Of the Planet Nice

Sometimes I feel like my boyfriend and I are from different planets, and not in the Mars and Venus sense. It's as though we were born and raised in differerent societies, him in a society of nice, understanding people wherein legal documents are not actually binding and where, if you're a nice person, it doesn't matter where you signed your name.

When we started all of this moving in together stuff, I said "Look, I have a two year lease that I am going to have to break."

"So what?" he said. "No big deal!"

"Well, it will cost $350 for me to break the lease."

"No it won't."

"Yes, it will."

"Why would it?"

"Because that is what they said when I signed the lease."

"Oh no, don't worry. If you're a good tenant and you always pay your rent, they won't charge you."

"I think they will."

"No, I don't think they really meant it."

"But why would they have said it if they didn't mean it?"

"They don't really mean it. You'll be rewarded for being a good tenant."

Well, they meant it. That doesn't bother me so much.

What bothers me is that D pushed me to move immediately, saying "Look, if they rent your place out, they'll give you the money for half the month. This way we can start saving money sooner."

"But what if they don't rent the place out?"

"They will rent the place out."

"But I already paid for April."

"They'll give you the money back."

"But I already gave it to them. I'm breaking the lease. I don't think they have to give it back. Why would they give it back?"

"Because they just will."

"I don't think they will."

"They will, don't worry."

Well, they won't.

And now I'm paying double rent, and who knows for how long? Because apparently when you sign a lease, you mean it, and you're responsible for all the rent until someone else rents your apartment. I wish I was from D's planet, where you don't actually have to pay rent or fees or do what you agreed to do because you are a nice person, surrounded by equally nice people.

This is not getting off to a good start. I feel like he pushed too much to move us in this quickly because he was so certain we'd get half the month's rent back, but now I'm not going to. And he is, and that's not fair, especially since he makes more money. So I have to pay double rent for an unknown duration, pay a lease-breaking fee, and also pay to move the freaking piano.

Aren't we doing this to save money?

I wish I was from D's planet.

Pressure

The facts:

The new apartment is thankfully as large as remembered.

This week is going to suck hard. This week will be packing, packing, walking eleven blocks north with bags, packing, ulcers, packing, walking up stairs with boxes, lifting things, ulcers, packing and packing.

My most loathed thing in the world, packing under pressure, is even more loathsome when combined with relocating under pressure. I hope hope hope that I don't have to move for another five years, which means that I hope hope hope I don't lose my job ever.

I don't have any boxes yet.

I will have boxes tomorrow, but I want them now. And I want to put sheet music and books and DVD's and unbreakable wine glasses and candles and other nonessentials in them now.

The piano movers didn't call me back.

Moving from a small apartment is pure insanity because where on earth am I supposed to put packed boxes as they accumulate? Where?! And how will the piano be moved out when there are boxes in its way? How!?

I am extremely skilled, apparently, at hiding things. Thus far I have packed only what was hidden underneath the bed and behind things and in one shelved corner of the closet and already there is a gigantic pile of things to be moved. Apparently I am more of a hider than a minimalist. I do have many, many, many pairs of shoes.

I haven't had a good night's sleep in two weeks. I most certainly won't have one this week.

I cannot wait until next Sunday.

I have to call my landlord tomorrow and figure out just how this is going to work.

I can't find my collection of Super Balls and I really need them now.

Exposing brick isn't as easy as he said it would be.

I'm glad that they didn't have pretty contact paper.

I am suddenly obsessed with tiling.

I am thrilled that he's being flexible.

I am even more thrilled that he's listening and allowing me to experience stress.

I need sleep.

I feel immense guilt when I move, because I organize a bunch of people to move my things while I sit around being the small, useless director. Were I moving alone I'd hire those guys from Craigslist again, who were miracle-workers, but boys will be boys and think they can do everything by themselves so who am I to interfere and spend money when certain people want to torture themselves? "Not even you can carry a couch by yourself!" said I, to which he responsed "No, well, not couches..." "But 70 boxes? You want to carry 70 boxes yourself?" "I can do it." "But you don't have to." Not that he has to, because people will help, but damn it went smooth last time with those guys from Craigslist.

When he puts his screwdriver and other misc. tools in the pocket of his jeans I know that this is a great decision.

The last minute things are what cause the stress. You can't pack all your forks and plates and your toaster oven and microwave and toothbrush and hairdryer because you need them up until the last minute. I know, overnight bag, but still. I want it to be packed now and magically transported to the new apartment so I can start living there tomorrow. And if they're going to be magically transported, they might as well be magically packed as well or not packed at all and just teleported into well-designed spaces in the new apartment.

I am excited for the party on Friday but we are moving on Saturday morning! Is this not insane? Should we not be last-minute packing or, better yet, sleeping lots?

Did I mention I'm concerned about the piano?

And the double rent?

And the packing? Did I mention the packing?

Oh my poor, poor stomach.

NYC Apartment the Third

Holy growing up, Batman!

I am moving into an apartment with my boyfriend.

We are signing the lease in one hour's time.

We (we? we!) will soon be residents of Hell's Kitchen.

Funny. We hadn't ever talked about seriously living together until last weekend, which means that it took us precisely 5 days to make sure sure sure that we will be good at living together, find and then secure an apartment. We spent so much time discussing who would sell what, which was a waste of time because our new fabulous apartment is big enough to have everything! Our new fabulous apartment has enough cabinet space for me to finally inherit my mother's pasta maker! Our new fabulous apartment has enough living room space for us to have 30 people over! Our new fabulous apartment has a bedroom in the back that will allow me to, finally, sleep! Our new fabulous apartment has like four drawers in the kitchen! Two normal size closets and one double closet! A working fireplace! Laundry in the basement!

Now all we have to go is conjure up an obscene amount of money, get keys, sand brick, change addresses, collect boxes, move a piano, and voila! Grown ups.

It's funny. My main concern right now is that my tax refunds and Canon rebates will be sent to the wrong address. But I guess that makes sense when you're about to give thousands of dollars to sketchy realtors.

Oh man. D just called. We're off to sign a lease! I am going to throw up, but its awesome! Weeeee!

Peter Pan

Last night I was forced to say, in spite of my darling boyfriend's sudden wish to communicate all things, "D, can we please stop talking about this? I'm totally freaking out."

I said this because I was totally freaking out.

I felt like my chest was constricting, and when I wasn't focused on that, I felt like I was going to throw up. Earlier in the evening, D said "Look, this is serious for me. It's like getting married. Seriously. If we do this and we move in together, I want to keep doing it forever. This is a big deal for me."

"Dude, it's a big deal for me too. This is a big deal. This is a really big deal. I mean, this is the biggest deal thus far in life. It's a big deal. Really really big."

I then met up with some friends for tapas and girl talk. I explained how cute D was when he said "forever" and then one of the girls said "But aren't you freaking out?" "Of course I am freaking out!" I said. She responded with "I did this once, I lived with someone, and I ended up leaving. I was really freaked out."

I can't pinpoint the exact cause of my inability to eat today.

I think it is a combination of no longer living alone (and how I adore living alone!), no longer being independent, entering into a living situation involving oh so much compromise and particularity (we had a mini-debate about shower curtain rings last night! I said "The only way this can work out is if the shower in the new apartment has a sliding door" and I think I may have been serious), total and complete life change, geographic change, social change, change change change change and then there's the whole forever thing. Forever! Wtf!?

This has nothing to do with D, of course. I am wondering if I am just not the sort of person who can commit to things. Big decisions freak me out. Things without built-in exit clauses freak me out.

I ran into D at work and he said "Look, just so you know, I'm freaking out too. But just on the inside."

"Look," I said. "If we want to eventually be together with a... ahem... you know... like a kid or family or whatever... we have to live together. We can't live alone and have a baby together. We have to grow up. Why is this so scary? We have to figure out why this is scary and make it un-scary."

I wonder if this is one of the reasons D and I work so well together. Neither him nor I want to grow up. We both want to theoretically grow up and have property and a nice bed and fabulous cutlery and weird kids, but neither of us wants to do what it takes to have those things.

This is a big step for both of us. In theory we want to live together, and it seems like the right thing to do financially and in order for things to progress and in order to save time and to not plan and to not have to carry a bag around at all times and to be able to go home every day and read the mail, but living together!

And decorating together! Will this work?

I'm sort of thinking this is not a good idea but I'm not sure why. What if I never want to move in with anyone?

I had dreams all night about ex-boyfriends, especially the one who is most loathed, and in the dreams I was happy to see him.

D and I spend so much time together. We do things together. We basically live together, but it is more like having a summer and winter home and sometimes one of us is at the winter home in the summer.

What am I afraid of?

Will things really change?

Or will it basically be the same, but easier, with unexpected challenges like finding silence to talk on the phone or play piano? Is it worse than having any other roommate? Is it better?

Ugh. After D said he was freaking out and that he felt like he was going to throw up, he called to say that he made an appointment with a realtor tomorrow night.

Maybe it's the pacing. I just found out on Sunday that he thought we were moving in together. It's only Tuesday! Maybe I just need time to adjust.

I know that he won't care if I change my mind.

I'm just afraid that I'll care, because I'll start doubting everything.

OK.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

More later.

Spring! Not Here!

It is snowing. Lots.

That is all.

How To Make Fondue - A Photo Essay

Since you've been reading about the fondue saga non-stop, here are some photos from the fondue set's virgin run! Woooo!

Appeal

I was thinking about Clive Owen, as I tend to do, before falling asleep last night, and couldn't stop thinking about how appealing he is.

He is someone with mass and, I'd venture to guess, universal appeal. D, out of the blue on Sunday, said "Clive Owen is a class act. He's classy."

True.

The same is true with George Clooney. Everyone loves him. Men, women, gay, straight, everyone.

I started to think about the nature of appeal, and how certain men possess this sort of mass and universal appeal. I don't know what that means. What are the qualities that make someone attractive to everyone? Is it class? Looks? Vibe?

I then tried to come up with a similar female.

Is there a female figure right now who appeals equally, and universally, to both men and women?

I couldn't think of anyone.

The closest I got was Scarlett Johansson.

This theory is disproved, however, but D, who doens't like Scarlett Johansson, which annoys me, because she is awesome.

Perhaps Claire Danes? Parker Posey? Terri Hatcher?

A lot of men love Natalie Portman and most women hate her.

There's no common denominator for female appeal. It's much more subjective, I think, than masculine appeal. What men find attractive sometimes annoys women. A prime example is Natalie Portman. And don't get me wrong - there are plenty of thoughtful men out there who dislike Natalie Portman (incidentally, a FIGHT broke out about this at my party on Saturday night), but I think that most of her fans are men.

So - can anyone think of the female version of George Clooney or Clive Owen? Is my failure to come up with anyone a sign that there are just no good, "classy" roles for women? Can a woman not be considered hot and classy at the same time?

I don't know.

I should just stop thinking and fall asleep after I've thought about Clive Owen.

Spring Forward (Alternate Title: I Am A Tool)

The weekend was good. Real good. So good, in fact, that I am a zombie today. I am the sort of zombie today who drops and then breaks things. People will say "Why did you drop it?" "Because I was holding it." "Did you bump into something?" "No, I was just sitting there, holding it in my hand, and I guess I forgot I was holding it or something so I dropped it. And it shattered. Because I'm a tool."

It started off splendidly, with Friday night designated as make-up-sleep night. After Willem Dafoe saw me, I headed home and wrote a song (that I did not record yet), ate some cavatelli (yay new supermarket!), watched Junebug (why didn't anyone tell me it would make me cry?), read for a spell, closed my eyes and was asleep by 11:15.

I spent Saturday morning at the galleries with a friend from my old photography class and her current photography class, and decided that I should never go to galleries with other people. We saw some interesting stuff, but we could have seen 10x the amount of stuff had the pace of viewing been more accelerated. I hope to go back this weekend to check out some stuff that looked rather splendid through windows.

Because of the slow pace, I dismissed myself before they had finished their tour and begin wandering aimlessly around in search of a birthday cake for D. I was defeated by my own hunger, and settled for canolis.

D came over and after I gave him the remainder of his birthday gift, we headed over to Port Authority to meet the kids for his bowling birthday party! We had a lovely time and then headed over to my apartment for a party.

Party! At my microscopic apartment!

I volunteered to host the party because (a) I have more seating and (b) I have a bigger apartment and (c) I have wine glasses and (d) I live near bowling so I figured we'd have more momentum going to my apartment than we would going to D's and (e) I don't think it is ideal for someone like D, who is very neat and clean and organized etc., to deal with the stress of having people over to his apartment on his birthday.

I think there were 11 people there, and apparently 11 people fit in my apartment! Armed with this knowledge, I want to have parties all the time. I'm sure I could cram 20 in, although there would not be room for another dance party to break out.

I danced on the couch. My calves hurt the next day.

Aside from R's fingerprints on my camera lens and the breaking of one wine glass that somehow resulted in my entire apartment becoming sticky and littered with grimey footprints, the party was a raging success. People were very drunk but only slightly misbehaved. We played silly songs on the piano and rocked the old school hip hop. We drank tequila (well, I stayed away from the tequila and drank some fruity Smirnoff thing instead) and told and then reenacted lame jokes.

People left at around midnight and I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned some more. I didn't want there to be a single footprint remaining.

I didn't sleep well. Drunk sleep doesn't count. It's as though I didn't sleep at all. I woke up too early, hung over, head pounding and stomach distressed.

I tried to read but couldn't concentrate. I got out my computer to look for apartments and was confused when the time on the computer didn't match the clock in my living room. I immediately blamed R, who was a mess at the party, so somehow changing the clock. Then I thought "Wait a second... when is daylight saving?"

In the past I've been confused as to how people could not know about daylight saving. How out of touch could people be? How could you not know?

Well, yeah, I didn't know. At all. I had no idea. Hadn't heard even a rumbling. Hadn't read about it. No clue. So embarrassing.

D and I scrambled to make it to the movies, since we were running later than we thought. As we ran, I said "Umm... hey...D... you know how you keep talking about the new apartment that I'm looking for? And how you keep saying where you'd like to live and is it going to be enough space for both of us and... well... are we moving in together?" "Well, yeah." "Like this summer?" "Well, yes, that's what I thought." "Oh." "Are you nervous?" "No, actually, I'm really excited."

I love how boys assume the best.

We ran to see Inside Man, which was amazing. Where has Clive Owen been all my life? I like Spike Lee. D does not. D finds him to overt, but I like the theatricality of his movies. And Willem Dafoe, my new best friend, was in it.

I walked home through the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market but didn't look at anything because it was too sunny. Awesome!

At home, I alternated nap time with cleaning-off-my-hard-drive time. I only have a few gig left and my computer is freaking out. It might be time for an external hard drive. All of these photos really add up.

I then headed to D's, where cheese fondue was being cooked.

It tasted like real, restaurant fondue. Now we just have to figure out how not to burn it.

We watched History of Violence after staring at a for-sale Galaxie 500 on the street and fantasizing about its becoming "the family car."

Before falling asleep, we talked more about the car and money and big, scary purchases and big, scary decisions.

I woke up this morning feeling, again, like I hadn't slept at all. Springing forward is a pain, especially when you are hung over and delirious and turning into a zombie. I am going to go home tonight and continue with the hard drive project, after which I will go to bed at 9:00, which will actually be like 8:00! Woo!!!!

Willem Dafoe Saw Me!

I snuck out of work early on Friday night to accompany D on his mission to find burner gel whatever for the new fondue set.

As we walked down Wooster Street, I told D about our coworker who was visiting his girlfriend's brother in Boston this weekend. With animation, I ranted on behalf of our colleague who was going to be forced to sleep on an air mattress in a separate room from his girlfriend because of her brother's religious tendencies.

Mid-rant, I saw someone walking towards us who I thought I recognized.

It was Willem Dafoe! What a great sighting!

I continued my story so as not to seem too obvious, but couldn't help staring at him. As we crossed paths, I continued to stare at him and HE STARED BACK AT ME, in scary Willem Dafoe style. His eyes got small and he snarled, and he stared me down! He won as I looked away.

Scary! But awesome.

I heart Willem Dafoe, but he apparently hates me.

I don't hold it against him. I went to see Inside Man yesterday and was happy to find that my friend Willem was in it.

I think this was my favorite being-sighted-by-a-celebrity thus far.

Spring!

I know that spring is here because the cheap fresh fruit stand has re-materialized outside the building. Woo! Cheap bananas! Spring is here!

Warm

I've been not-very-busy lately with nothing but busy work at work, so when not working I have been feeling a bit incoherent and therefore unable to write.

Nevertheless, it was a good week in spite of the newly realized inability to sleep continuously for more than one hour at a time. This being said, the phenomenon was not an issue last night and I am feeling well rested and ready for the weekend.

Here are some things from the week that I meant to blog about but never did.

I saw Lonesome Jim at the IFC. I don't know what is going on with Liv Tyler's face but it is not good. I liked the movie, though, and felt all sorts of MA pride for Casey Affleck, who looks startingly like Ben these days, who is the shame of MA. I liked the movie. There will, of course, be comparisons to Garden State, which I didn't like. Lonesome Jim was understated and not at all overwrought, which is why it was charming. It also addressed the issue of having somewhere to go home to and not necessarily feeling good about that, even though it (unconditional love) is good.

I ran into someone I know after seeing Lonesome Jim, which made me happy. I think running into people in a city this large is a sign of belonging.

I met D for Subway after seeing Lonesome Jim. He was late because he does not check text messages. I said "It might be a good idea to check your text messages, especially when you are supposed to be meeting someone." Bitchy, I am.

We then ran to the Pioneer (literally, ran, since he does not check text messages) and watched Puzzlehead, which was not awesome but still good. The format was a bit challenging and required that you ignore reality and not want explanations. The filmmaker was candid and interesting. It was an instance of the Q & A actually making you like a movie more.

D and I went on a double date (double date! woooo!) with D's friends M and A to see a preview of Brick, which I was very very very excited about. My friend E got us free passes. The movie is good, and will no doubt spawn imitations. I still have a sick crush on Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who was the little kid in Third Rock From The Sun and who is a great actor and really cute.

Even though I liked the movie, I spent a great deal of the viewing fighting to stay awake, as I haven't been sleeping well. It was also freezing in the theater.

We went for drinks at a place that has a zillion beers (irrelevant) and martinis listed by color. The Incredible Hulk was listed under blue, so of course I had to order it to see if it was a mistake. When I ordered it the waitress was like "What?" "I'll have the incredible hulk." "Wait - what?" "The incredible hulk?" "What?" "It's a martini..." She had to look at the menu. It arrived, bizarrely, as a blue drink, and was completely and utterly disgusting.

Went to bed irritable after a moral argument about stealing jelly beans.

Thought about memoire as a genre (thanks, AA, for making my brain and heart explode!) after receiving some disturbing news about a famous memoire that I happened to have read prior to knowing this news. I have been turned off to memoire in the past few years. I was once a fan of David Sedaris, but I started to feel bad for his family. Is it acceptable to use real people as characters to tell your own life story more effectively? I worried about this when Brother was drawing his memoire of sorts, but his work is stretched truth. He makes no claims about veracity. It's loosely based on real people, but the events themselves aren't real. This being said, when he was writing it, I often worried about how I'd be portrayed. What is my function in the telling of another person's story?

Then I think about the blog, and the blog as memoire. I feel like a blog is different, in that it's not-for-profit. The writer isn't selling his family. The writer uses a blog for a different purpose. It's more journal than cohesive tale involving others.

I suppose, though, that it should still be handled delicately.

And with blogs, nobody is making bold claims of honesty, right? It's voyeuristic to read blogs, but there's really no way to know if an anonymous writer is writing the truth. And does it really matter?

Are people's lives affected negatively?

Delicate.

D said "I think one of my shirts is missing!" "Really? Which one?" "I don't know!" "Then how do you know its missing?" "Because I have exactly the same amount of hangers as I have shirts, and there is an extra hanger in my closet!" "Really?" "Yes! Can you look at my shirts to see if you can tell which one is missing?" "Sure, but I won't be able to tell." I was certain I wouldn't be able to tell because, as you all know, D has a very particular wardrobe and all of his shirts look similar. I would only have known if the shirt I gave to him was missing. I was quite impressed with myself when looked in his closet and immediately knew which one was missing.

I don't know if that's impressive or sad.

Now we have no idea where the shirt could be. It's a mystery that I am obsessed with solving.

I was taking a short nap at D's yesterday when I heard the sound of summer - Mr. Softee!!! I nearly broke through his apartment's wall to get myself my first taste of the year.

I have been enjoying this weather. It's perfect right now. Were it like this year round I'd be the happiest girl in the world.

We went to the opera last night and left during intermission. We are terribly unrefined and uncivilized. It was, I'm sorry, just boring. We were both falling asleep and craving cookies.

We found a new supermarket on our way home! A real, actual supermarket! I am thrilled. I meant only to buy milk for the cookies but left with over $50 worth of reasonably-priced food. I bought raspberries, which is a thrill since Gristedes does not reliably have them.

Another thing apartment listings should indicate is proximity to actual real supermarket and likelihood of being able to successfully fulfill your grocery list at one place.

My super's brother is still alive, which is good since we haven't seen him in months. We were worried. He was coming out of the building last night as we returned with bags upon bags of groceries.

I don't have much planned this weekend other than hanging out with NR and bowling and sleeping too much. Rumor has it there will be rain tomorrow. If there is not, I may go to some photo galleries in Chelsea. If there is, I will be reading a book and/or watching a movie. And then buying a birthday cake at my new favorite supermarket. The weekend is long overdue. We all felt like it was Friday on Wednesday and so the last two days have been torture.

Until Monday...

How To Survive A Robot Uprising

That's the name of a book that I really want to read, but since I am poor, I have to wait for it to become available on Paperback Swap, which it never will.

I went to see this film called Puzzlehead at The Pioneer this week. I actually saw many movies this week (more on that later). Puzzlehead has been nearly a decade in the making by a former Columbia film student. It deals with a post-apocalyptic world (Brooklyn) in which robot-making, for a reason left, has been banned. A rogue scientist decides, in spite of this, to create an android in his likeness. The scientist originally starts teaching the robot, but ultimately decides to use the robot as a slave for chores around the house, etc. As you might predict, the robot evolves conscienceness and feelings and even memories, and, well, it's not a good scene.

The movie was good. The filmmaker (who was at the screening) made some interesting choices that were difficult to get used to at first, but that really contributed to the overall vibe of the movie.

Instead of going to the Whitney Biennial tonight, I am going to go home and work on a song about Puzzlehead as a companion piece to My Mundane Life In Song's early hit It Is Cool When Tons of Robots Climb on Things.

And for your re-listening pleasure, here it is!




Name: It Is Cool When Tons of Robots Climb On Things
Genre: Robot-inspired electronic waltz
Date: 7.16.04 (the Somerville era!)

Description:

Briefly, I went to see I, Robot and really liked it even though I didn't want to. But I'm a sucker for robots! And I love this song. Love it love it love it. I almost played it at the open mic because I love it that much.

Lyrics:
Will Smith is flexing his robotic arm
Will Smith is gratuitously showering
And placing products such as Converse
But I liked the movie anyway

Cuz robots rule
And it is cool
When tons of robots climb on things
And take over
The people who made them

What's with the robot detsroying that guy's house
And why the kid? Oh - Viki did it
And is Will Smith really flexing his robotic arm again?

Robots rule
And it is cool
When robots fight and robots feel
Despite bad one liners
And bad acting and a bad screenplay
"I, Robot" was fun anyway
I'll take a robot story anyway
But only if they revolt against people

Apartment Listings Part II

I also love it when there's an apartment listing that seems reasonable, and especially reasonable because there is an accompanying picture! And then you click on it... and you read it... and you're excited to see the photos... and then it's a picture of... the realtor.

Ridiculous.

Apartment Listings

I didn't sleep well again last night. I hate the sounds of the city. I hate the cabs and the screaming and the hip hop and the arguments. I still haven't gotten used to it.

I decided to look at apartment listings today, just for kicks. Park Slope, Astoria, anywhere where there isn't a gas station and where there is some sense of neighborhood.

Rental rates in and around the city have apparently increased drastically since I got my apartment a year ago. I can't believe how much studios are! And I don't even want a studio! I (we?) need at least a 1 br, with a closet or two, please.

I am surprised by the lack of photos accompanying postings.

I am also surprised that when there is a photo accompanying a posting, it is most likely a picture of the outside of the building in which your 120 square foot apartment will be found. As if people in NYC care what the outside of their building looks like! I'm not sure that I even know what the outside of my current building looks like.

What would be better would be photos of your potential neighbors, so you could know if you'd be surrounded by lunacy or not.

Or, better yet, photos of the actual apartment without the aid of a wide angle lens! And if that's too difficult, perhaps there could be actual words describing WHAT THE APARTMENT IS LIKE. Perhaps a mention of square footage? Closets? Floors? Location? Exposed brick please please please?

This apartment will not disappoint visiting parents!

This apartment has enough space for you to store more than five pairs of shoes!

This apartment has enough counter space to cut one vegetable at a time!

You can have two of your closest friends over in this apartment!

You will be able to steal wireless internet in one corner of this unit!

You will be able to shave your legs without having to be a contortionist!

I want to move, but I'm not looking forward to another round of showers in the kitchen and frantically trying to sell everything I own so as to be able to fit a bed and multiple dressers and a piano and gear and someday his bikes and his cycling accessories and his paintings and when I think of these things I think that NJ sounds really attractive.

On Hold

Oh my god. I have been on hold for 23 minutes waiting to see if the accursed fondue set has shipped. I want to know if it's on it's way. I want to be excited if it is. It's not like there's anything I can do if it hasn't been shipped, but I just need to know.

I know, I know, all of your agents are busy serving other customers! I KNOW!

Now that I have decided to stay in New York City, I am trying to figure out ways to guarantee my sanity. Basically, I want to stop being a New Yorker.

This place changes a person. I'm more uptight, stressed, frantic, unnerved, and suspicious than I was in Boston. I'm more judgmental. I'm more jaded, if that is even possible!

I need these things to go away in order for me to be a sane, productive, happy person.

Some things that I will do to be sane:

1. Blog while on hold.

2. Be better about keeping up with phone calls. I spent two hours on the phone with Mother last night and then another house on the phone with M. It was delightful to talk to both of them. Mother and I had profound discussions about parents and parenting style and The Depression and philosophy and happiness and not judging other people even though you just want them to be happy. M and I laughed about wedding insanity.

3. Avoid things that stress me out. For example, attempt to commute at non-peak times when possible. Avoid areas with high tourist concentration. Avoid restaurants in which snotty people eat.

4. Stop reading listings so as not to feel like I have to do everything.

5. Stop feeling guilty about not reading things like The New Yorker, The Onion, and other publications with information that I feel like I have to know just because other people do. Admit that I do not care about these things and that life is not necessarily better when there is more information in it. Realize that people will not think less of me if I am not on top of every type of media. Realize that these people are wasting their time reading things that do not actually enrich the quality of life. Realize there are other ways to be smart that don't involve being a master of trivia.

6. Stop comparing myself to other people. Live life like I used to. Do not feel pressured to be into art, music, fashion, politics, policies, etc. just because others are.

7. Play more piano. Practice. Record more songs. Make time for this.

8. Sign up for photography class (es).

9. Buy exercise videos. Abominable, yes, but cheaper than gym. Realize that flatter stomach will not lead to higher quality of life BUT will allow consumption of more cookie and ice cream products.

10. Move out of the city, preferably to area that permits regular sleep and does not carry with it the constant threat of fire/explosion.

11. Read more fiction. Do not feel guilty about reading fiction.

12. Watch more movies at home.

13. Avoid shopping when possible.

(Oh my god. It's been another 15 minutes on hold!)

(Oh my god again! Just as I wrote that, the woman got on the phone and said "The item you ordered has been discontinued!" Oh my god! When were they going to tell me this? I ordered it two weeks ago! Were they going to call? Or were they just waiting for me to call them? Bastards! This is my New York self rearing its ugly head. This is only a problem because I live in NYC, where I do not know where to even purchase a fondue pot, and even if I did, there would not be time to buy one and even if there was it would not be affordable! NO! No no no no no. NO!!!)

14. Avoid talking to customer service people when possible.

15. Do not have overambitious plans regarding birthday presents.

16. Do not have aspirations to actually be adequate girlfriend to superhuman boyfriend.

17. Do not shop. Ever.

18. Do not go to doctor's appointments. Ever. This will only result in evil treatment by others, wasting of insane amounts of time, and gigantic medical bills that your insurance will not cover.

19. Do not interact with people unless it is absolutely necessary.

20. Hang out with like-minded people so as not to feel inferior, stupid, ugly, poorly dressed, non-creative etc. Oh how I miss my Boston friends who were normal, reasonable, nice, wonderful, dependable, sweet, devoted, rational, deep, real people who possess the ability to discuss their feelings and fears and lives instead of hiding behind Pitchfork's latest review.

Ummmmmm.

Right.

I started this entry off in such a good mood and the blue, minimalist, tiny, perfect fondue set has ruined everything. I devoted 10 hours of my life to searching for this thing and it all turned out to be a lie. They never even had it to begin with! I am so disappointed.

Everything in this city is a project. Everything you do here requires 10x more effort than it does in normal places. You can't just go to one place to buy your groceries. No. You have to go to three different places to get 3/4 of your list, and you just give up on the rest of it. There are no gnocchi in this damn city, and I can't even make them myself because I don't have counter space.

OK. I'm done.

I am going to look for fondue sets in the city.

Until tomorrow...

20 Wonderful (Unexpected) Things From the Weekend

1. "How to Hypnotize a Girl Into Sleeping With You" video in Found Footage Festival

2. Possible new friend post-Found who likes pickles!

3. Wonderously funny chemsitry of strangers post-Found and resultant feelings of comfort and belonging and finally, finally, finally thinking that everything WILL turn out just rosey

4. Another newish friend saying she's relieved and glad that I have decided to stay in NYC

5. Easy shopping and cheap half-sweater-y item for wedding

6. Spontaneous snack date (churros! flan! milk cake!) with LL

7. D calling just to say "hi"

8. Wheeling around little wine cart in fancy wine store and resultant feeling of being a giant (and then nostalgia for Boston Children's Museum induced by prancing around wine store - remember the fake child-sized grocery store? you'd blissfully run around and pretend to buy groceries? or, in this case, run around pretending to know anything about wine with your miniature cart?)

9. D wearing a sweater

10. D's fabulous cousin and her fabulous cousin and her cousin's fabulous husband (more new people!) taking us out for dinner

11. Olive oil flavored gelato

12. Making up rules, later determined to be completely incorrect, to shovel board (and more new people!)

13. Norah Jones playing guitar incognito

14. Getting home early but staying up late

15. Having enough time to make my hair look good, two days in a row!

16. Tarentella!

17. Moustaches!!

18. Meeting another scientist (and another new friend with whom we are having diner soon!) from NYC! C'est impossible!

19. Dessert spread involving 15 different flavors of cake (one with canolis ON THE CAKE), cheese, fruit, jello, pastries, cookies, chocolate fondue, ice cream sundae bar, make your own sno cones, cotton candy and popcorn

20. Getting a ride home

Mr. Darcy

I shall be extremely delighted to discuss the virtous nature of the British miniseries version of Pride and Prejudice.

I had occasion to view the Keira Knightley version in theaters earlier this year. While I am not a fan of Keira and her little mouth and flat but perky cheek bones, I really enjoyed the movie, because girls are genetically predisposed to adore Pride and Prejudice.

This is because all women identify with Elizabeth Bennet, a woman who, while not the prettiest, possesses other virtues including the ability to comprehend books and converse while taking a turn about the room.

More importantly, all women want their non-obvious and rarely-recognized virtues to result in the obsessive and debilitating adoration of one handsome, brooding, and rich stranger, who silently falls in love with her. They also want the normally confident stranger to articulate his affection for her in an insecure but tender fashion, wherein he declares that he cannot stand being apart from her for any longer and that he wants nothing else but to love her with unending devotion for eternity.

Jane Austen shows us how romance can be.

I digress...

Overall I like the most recent version better, but I have two words: Colin Firth. Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy ruins things for woman-kind.

Every time he was on-screen I gasped. I, like Eliza Bennet, looked forward to seeing him, and was much distressed by his being away.

Girls, if you ever have slightly less than 6 hours to spare, you must watch it.

I want so much to gush endlessly about Colin Firth but I will not, as I have other things to tend to such as a doctor's appointment, lunch, fretting about stupid new health insurance that seems to have caused a slight accumulation in bills at a time when I really can't be spending money, lamenting not being able to go to the bowling world championship, performing damage-control on D's new haircut (more later), and staring at my face in fabulous new glasses in any possible reflective surface.

Snakes On A Plane

There's a movie coming out called Snakes On A Plane.

I wonder what it's about.

Hockey

This past weekend was nice, aside from the three episodes of crying.

After Round 1 of Shopping for the dress for the last-minute wedding (during which I wished for a different job or body so as to be able to wear delicious clothes from SoHo, although I did buy an amazing coat marked down from $148 to $38 - yeah!), I decided that I needed to have a calm conversation with D about some things that have been bothering me. The things were not new, but hadn't been articulated as well as they should have been. The things were fresh after I was being tortured by last-minute shopping for his last-minute wedding invite while D went to the gym and frolicked and enjoyed free time. He'd planned to go to the movies by himself, but I wanted to talk to him before he left as I was afraid lunacy would prevail through the weekend if I didn't voice my concerns.

It started off the normal way - defensive, angry, etc. that causes me to cry etc. - but resulted in D turning into Super Boyfriend. It's as though the relationship has been completely transformed! He implicated my suggestions by Saturday afternoon. I was flabbergasted. He even suggested going out for dinner on Saturday night to "follow up on" what had been discussed the previous night. Miraculous! And the good news is that the wonderful, nice, supportive, normal-boyfriend things have continued into the week. Weee!

I spent Saturday morning still feeling a bit beat down by our conversation. I wasn't sure how we left things, I wasn't sure where his head was, and was therefore fantasizing about moving out of NYC even before I talked to R who told me he is definitely moving out west by the summer. Sniff.

I met PW by the fountain. He'd procured sweet free seats to the New York Philharmonic. We were seated in the row behind his coworker, whose real name is the fake name that I use for various things I sign up for! I said "Your name is my alias!" and I think I scared her. Seeing PW is always a treat. My mood was much improved, especially after eating cherry pie.

Round 2 of shopping followed, this time at Macy's where the accursed One Day Sale was happening. The horror, the horror. Normally the Macy's in Herald Square is manageable, but on Saturday night it was gridlock. I tried on a couple of things but didn't want to wait in line to buy them.

At home I talked to D, who was being Super Boyfriend and trying to include me in the planmaking instead of just declaring what was going on. He suggested dinner, but the plan ultimately didn't allow for any time for the two of us. We met up at his friend T's show (where we were all cute and not at all awkward), and then went out for scrumptious vegetarian dinner with our friend T and her friend G.

We spent the entirety of Sunday together (yay! we are a good couple! yay!), during which D, as promised, accompanied me on Round 3 of Shopping for the Last-Minute wedding. We devoured a huge brunch Chez Leah Lar, and then hit Bleecker Street.

I bought a dress that I thought I loved. Relieved that I only had to go into four stores before finding it, and therefore faced with a ton of extra time, D and I went back to his apartment, re-grouped, and then met up with R at the Donut Plant to reward our shopping efforts. D and I then went to see Brokeback Mountain (my second time - I cried even more this time!) and then back to my apartment for a fashion show and dinner.

At my apartment was shoe-throwing and wanting to tear clothes to shreds and being disappointed in myself and wondering how could I be so irresponsible? And "This is inappropriate for a mysterious Sunday afternoon wedding!" And "I am not spending any more money on this wedding - I will not buy other shoes and other accessories when I've already spent so much!" And "This sort of thing can't happen because of going back to school and $800 a class! and going on the trip for your birthday in two weeks! and and and it's such a pain to live in this ridiculous city and you don't have to worry about this sort of thing in Boston and I am such an idiot and I don't want anything else from that obnoxious store and I can't believe I did this because I want to look pretty who do I think I am going over my dress budget like that when classes and trips and rent and bills?"

Thankfully, the Friday evening conversation with D made everything fine, because he was perfect. I don't think I'd ever cried about anything non-relationship-related in front of him before. He was awesome and did everything right. He let me cry instead of explaining to me why I was being ridiculous and how a perfect person should be, and tried to (successfully) cheer me up only when I was finished acting mental. I don't think I've ever felt more loved, and that's what I'd hoped to accomplish by talking about things on Friday.

Ah, communication.

I calmed down, we danced like idiots, I cooked dinner, we tried to watch this lame movie called World, and then read and continued to enjoy each other's company even though we'd been together for over 24 hours.

Work has been stressful, uncertainty aside. I had to throw together a presentation yesterday with only a few hour's notice. I decided to make it funny to help myself get through it, and it was met with much laughter and clapping. I wish I could make funny powerpoint presentations as a job.

I went to my first-ever hockey game last night!!!! The Boss, a season-ticket holder, gave me two tickets to see The Rangers play The Bruins as a Christmas gift. D and I, both completely ignorant hockey viewers, had a great time.

Neither of us had any idea what was going on - we could follow the game but didn't understand any of the penalties, didn't understand why people boo-ed when they did, didn't understand why the players and refs were unphased by dropped and broken sticks. There was one awesome fight. I wondered if a ref had ever been killed in the line of duty. The Bruins got demolished. I pretended not to care so as not to ignite the anger of any crazed Rangers fans.

The best thing about the game, though, was the email that The Boss sent me yesterday afternoon. It was a hockey cheat-sheet with information about some of the most common penalties (fouls?) as well as some pointers for enjoying the game.

For example:

"So and so, #X, skates really fast."

"You can't get a puck away from so and so."

"So and so, who used to play for The Rangers and was adored by New York fans, now plays for The Bruins."

I think I may be a hockey fan.

Does This Seem Illegal?

Say, for example, a person suffers from buyer's remorse and wants to return something to a store that issues only exchanges or store credits. In this scenario, the person doesn't really want anything else from the store.

Since the credit is for a lot of money, is it illegal (or morally questionable) to:

Post an ad online that says "If you shop at X, I will meet you there and buy your items in the amount of $X in exchange for $X-40 in cash."

This way, a person would only be out $X-40 instead of $X, and the person who responded to the ad would be making $40. It's like giving away money. The only person who loses is the person who placed the ad, but that person is going to lose anyway because if they don't place the ad, they will be stuck taking, because of the credit, overly priced pants and belts and possibly shoes that they don't really want in a self-financed shopping spree at a place they don't really like because of overly aggressive obnoxious salespeople that brainwash shoppers into buying things that they don't really want for insane amounts of money.

For example.

Templeton

D and I went to another taping of Inside the Actor's Studio last night. The guest was Don Cheadle! Sorry, kids, I am still gushing with love for James Lipton.

Some thoughts:

Don Cheadle looks exactly like my friend PE from Boston. It's uncanny.

I want Don Cheadle to be my friend. He's just... nice.

For the entire taping, I had Mos Def's Do It Now in my head, because in it Mos says "I'm black like Don Cheadle shoutin' 'power to the people!'"

Don Cheadle has apparently been a serious actor since he was in, like, 5th grade, when he played Templeton in his elementary school's production of Charlotte's Web. He said he actually researched rat psychology so that he could play the part convincingly. In typical fashion, Lipton asked Don Cheadle if he remembered any of the songs from the musical and if so, he was then required to sing them. I've never seen the show on stage, but I was quite fond of the cartoon as a child. When Don Cheadle started singing "A fair is a veritable smorgasbord orgasbord orgasbord.... after the crowds have ceased" I totally tripped out. I had completely forgotten that there were songs in the cartoon! And so I had that in my head all night.

Nobody can convince me that Crash was a good movie, not even Don Cheadle himself. They showed clips and I wanted to stage a revolt.

Don Cheadle's performance in Hotel Rwaanda is one of the best performances I've ever seen. I got goose bumps watching the clips. The man is good.

Yeah. It was good. When we got home we made cookies and watched The Tenants, which was not good aside from Snoop Dogg, who was, as always, awesome.

And then I fell asleep, without the aid of ear plugs, which is a big deal folks. I think I've been able to sleep a total of 5 times in my current apartment without them. I was thrilled.

The weekend is nearly upon us. And I'm here this weekend. Yes! Although I have to shop for a stupid dress for a wedding, which I am not happy about, but whatever. There will be fun intermingled with stupid shopping, although I am planning my wardrobe overhaul (long story) so am hoping to get a start this weekend, which could be fun. OK. Time for lunch. Later!

Food Glorious Food

Trader Joe's opens in Manhattan today!!!

Yes!

Or, rather, oh well, as I probably won't ever be able to tolerate shopping there as it will constantly be a mob scence since it is (a) one of the only real grocery stores in the city and (b) it is the best grocery store ever.

But a girl can dream.

Horshack

I just read that there will be a remake of Welcome Back Kotter! I loved that show. Allegedly Ice Cube will assume the role of Mr. Kott-air. Nuts.

***

I also watched the news last night for about two seconds and learned that the host of Press Your Luck, another one of my favorite shows, died while piloting a plane! My heart is broken. It's bizarre that I mentioned Wammy's yesterday.

(Sidenote: does it seem like the likelihood of dying in a plane crash is higher if you are a celebrity? Is this because celebrities are prone to flying in smaller, non-commercial crafts that are likely to crash?)

***

I went to the dentist this morning (I love that my dentist shows movies in the waiting room - I managed to watch about half of Mission Impossible, which was cool except that I constantly made aware of how late the appointment was), and kept obsessing over how many masochists get aroused by being at the dentist. They gave me another lifetime supply of satin floss, which I distributed to my coworkers.

***

I bought more glasses last week. I know what you're thinking - you addict! STOP! STOP IT!!!

No, I will not stop it, because why not? First of all, insurance gives me $200 a year for eyewear, so I might as well spend it! Second of all, there was a sample sale in my building! They said "Sunglasses and reading glasses - $5 and up."

Since reading glasses can function as regular frames, and are much cheaper, I figured I had nothing to lose by checking.

I left with two pairs.

Guess how much? No, just guess. Seriously - guess.

$2. For both. One dollar each.

Heh.

And they are both awesome.

I'd intended to go to Chinatown this afternoon for a looooong lunch to drop them off for lenses, but it is so freaking windy. I don't know if I want to be out there for half an hour. Of course I am rabid to wear my new glasses, though. I'll have to check the weather to see what its going to be like later in the week.

***

Thanks for your advice about fondue! I spent the entirety of yesterday trying to find the perfect set, and gave up. There is no brushed stainless steel sterno-fueled minimalist-looking fondue set that is good enough for my boy.

So, instead, he will be getting this one:



This one is good because (a) it is blue and we all know how the boy likes blue and (b) it is simple in design and (c) it is small, which was another criteria (I failed to mention this) since space in these here parts is limited.

I'm sure he'll hate it and I will have to return it (which will be annoying since I will have to ship it back to who-knows-where), but, as M said, I should not talk it personally and not have a broken heart because this is just how he is and it has nothing to do with my gift-giving ability.

The ironic thing is that his perfectionism is contagious and I therefore looked at fondue sets for no less than four hours yesterday.

Once I settled on this blue set, I was distressed to learn that it was only available in England or from one US website that didn't get good reviews. Rather than settle for the second best fondue set, I spent an hour last night searching and searching and searching for it somewhere else, which is such a D thing to do.

***

D is coming back tonight and therefore my single days are over. I got a lot done - wrote a song, did my taxes (refund! woop!), cleaned my apartment, washed sheets/towels, watched 24 Hour Party People, and, most importantly, figured out "the future."

I ran the new plan by D last night and he was thrilled.

Happiness all around.

We will have to discuss things more in-depth, but I am feeling good and optimistic and actually hopeful.

Hopefully, if all goes well, we (we?!) can get a big, real fondue set some time in the near future.

The Baxter

I went to Heeb Magazine's American Schmidol last night at the Bowery Ballroom with E and M. It was being held in celebration of Purim, and was basically an American Idol-style karaoke challenge being judged by Michael Ian Black, Michael Showalter, and the other guy from Stella.

Because I was sick and therefore unable to drink and therefore super intimidated by the amount of people at the show, I didn't sign up to sing. I spent the entire time wishing I was feeling better, because singing at The Bowery would have been a fantasy come true. Oh well. Maybe next year.

The guys from Stella were super funny, and the karaoke was refreshing in that it wasn't all good. This is a rarity in NYC, where everyone is a star. There were some really good singers, but there were some terribly atrocious singers as well. Unlike Super Mecca Karaoke Smackdown, there was no gong or person dressed up as a Whammy to stop the bad performances.

I had to leave early as I thought that my left ear was going to explode. I don't know if there's an ear infection brewing or if the karaoke just felt like daggers in my already sick head. E stayed behind and said that I didn't miss much.

Anyway.

Onto more important things, namely Michael Showalter. I apparently have (and probably always will have) a crush on him after seeing The Baxter. I was standing far back in the audience, but I swear that he was staring at me from the stage. He was probably thinking "That girl is Punjabi, not Jewish" or "That girl looks ill" or "That girl's glasses are too big for her face," but in my mind I was certain that he fancied me.

I was trying to decide if I should wave or smile or do something just to verify that he was, indeed, staring at me.

But then I thought "Why would I do that? So what if he is? Who cares?"

Or worse, "What if he is?"

If I'd confirmed that he was looking at me, and he responded to whatever I did, I'd be forced to stay all night despite sickness and boyfriend so that I could talk to him after the show.

But why? Why would I do that?

I decided not to smile at him, because there would be no point.

It got me to thinking, though, about couples who make fantasy arrangements with their signficant others. For example, I would allow D to sleep with Michelle Williams because that would be awesome. I imagine D would allow me to sleep with Clive Owen or George Clooney if the opportunity presented itself.

This is all null and void if you live in NYC, where these sorts of things are actually possible. Let's say, for instance, that I did stay last night and that I talked to Michael Showalter and that I got drunk etc. etc. This is not allowed.

I guess when you're fantasizing about these sorts of things you just imagine that the celebrity shows up in your significant other's room and says "I would like to sleep with you now" and that's it. Your signficiant other is powerless because Michelle Williams is in his room, as are you, because George Clooney has just appeared in your bed! Who wouldn't sleep with him?

But in the real world, in NYC, it wouldn't be like that. You'd talk and you'd make the decision to do it and it would ruin everything.

Gifts

D's birthday is coming.

This means that I am faced, again, with the task of finding a gift for someone who is extremely particular, who has extremely rigid and specific taste, who spends his entire life looking for just the perfect knife and won't rest until he finds it.

I have decided on the following:

One batch navy blue M&M's.
One batch white M&M's.
One batch grey M&M's.

These are to match his apartment decor.

In addition:

One fondue set.
One book on fondue.

The M&M's will not be challenging. I'm not sure what to put them in, but anything I choose will not be acceptable so I think it is fine to just give them to him in bags. He will find (or make) some sort of wonderful candy dispersal unit.

The fondue book will be fun. I can't wait to order it.

It is the fondue set that is causing me agita. There exists the option to purchase a navy blue fondue pot, but I'm not sure how he'll feel about that. I think he might find it too cute. I think stainless steel is the way to go, as it is classy and minimalist. But what about shape? I feel like I have to find something as shapeless as possible. And D hates shiny things - he prefers matte finish - do they make matte finish fondue pots?

Anyway, readers, if any of you are bored at work and have a moment to look online for a matte-finish fondue set that is roughly the shape of a cylinder (no frills!) that isn't lit by a tealight, send me an email and let me know what you find.

Thanks!

Insecure

I went to MA this weekend and came back to NYC not having any idea what I want to do with my life. I thought I'd figured it all out. Was I just missing what I couldn't have?

When I arrived in NYC, I was thrilled! I was so glad to be back. Alone. Was I glad because I know I won't have this for much longer? Or is this what I really want?

While we were walking around Boston I said "D, I'm not sure that I want to live here."

I *know* I don't want to live in Boston.

I *know* I miss my friends and family, but that's all that I miss about Boston. It's not Boston itself. It's smallness and comfort and security.

If I could take all of my friends and family and transplant them here and also have a job and also live with my boyfriend and also go to school at night, I'd be the happiest person ever.

I am a miserable person right now because I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do when I get there. D bought a camera today and now I feel like I don't even have that anymore. I don't want to share everything. I'm not sure that I'm ready. I feel like that dream is gone (I am an irrational psycho, I know, but must I share everything? can't I have my own thing? can't I be the one who plays piano and takes pictures? can't I be allowed to shine even just a little bit?), and so is Boston, and what am I doing?!

I am making a list of pros and cons. I just don't know if I'm ready. I don't like having all of these huge decisions forced on me. I want to be in control of my life. I don't want some corporate douchebag who wants another million dollars in his bank account to make me uproot my entire life when I'm not ready.

I want to be able to share this with D. I want to be like "Dude, I'm freaking the fuck out right now!" and I want him to somehow say the right thing. Not that I know what the right thing is. I don't know what's right. I don't know what to do. I'm feeling a bit hopeless right now, which is assinine given that there's probably the most hope now. I can do anything I want, but what do I want? What if I mess up? Again? What if what if what if what if....

Ergh.

The problem is this: I am not ready to move, at all. Yes, I have my issues with NYC, and it's frustrating. There are things I hate. But I've been here for less than two years, and I don't feel like I'm finished. I ultimately want to move back to Boston, be close to my family, raise my own. Just not now. There are things I need to do here, I have to grow, and if I move back, I think I'm done.

I have been toying with the idea of San Francisco, but D says it's the individual, not the city, that makes one unhappy. I don't know if I agree. I think circumstances do contribute to happiness or despair. I think D sees the ability to be unhappy as the ultimate weakness.

"What if I hate it there again?"
"You have to make the best of wherever you are."

"What if I'm bored?"
"Then that's your fault. How can you be bored? I can't even remeber the last time I was bored."

"I was bored there before."
"How could you possibly be bored? Even if you're living somewhere boring, there is always literature to read!"

"What if I'm the sort of person who needs newness?"
"Then that's your problem and you need to find a way to deal with it, and make the best out of the old."

"What if I go back to school and I'm uninspired?"
"If you're a real artist, it shouldn't matter where you are."

"But I didn't even pick up a camera until I got to New York. I didn't think I had anything to say, anything to show, anything to offer."
"You could feel like that in San Francisco too."

"What should I do?"
"I think only you can answer that."

"What do you think I should do?"
"I'm not you."

"If you were me, what would you do?"
"I would try to identify what's really freaking you out. Like figure out what a therapist would say. It's not Boston or San Francisco or New York that's the issue. It has nothing to do with where you are. It's something about YOU."

"What do you think it is?"
"You're commitment-phobic."

"True. I don't want to settle down. Boston is it, man."
"Why?"

"Well, we're moving there to be grownups. I'm not ready to be responsible."
"Why can't we move somewhere else later?"

"Why can't we move somewhere else now?"

"I'm scared shitless. I'm scared of school. I'm scared about not having any money. I don't know if I should go full-time. I don't know if I should go to school here. I think its best to go to photography school in NYC."
"The money..."

"But if I go to school full-time in Boston you will have to pay the rent... what do you think about that?"
"I haven't thought about that."

"Of course you haven't. Have you thought about these things at all?"
"I've only thought of your happiness. I just want you to be happy. Pennies don't matter. I thought you were going to be happy in Boston. That's why I would move there. I wouldn't move there on my own, and don't read into that."

"Awww shucks."
"Just be happy. Figure out a way to be happy."

I felt better after we talked, but I still feel like I just have to make a decision for us without actually involving him, which is an additional stress.

What if I can't ever be happy?

Ugh.

I'm useless right now.

Chicago - Day 3

Woke up and ooh-ed and ahhh-ed over the city again:





After eating lunch, I decided to take some photos of this construction site across from our hotel:





The pictures, unfortunately, don't do justice to the colors.



D later found out that its going to be a Trump building, so now I'm not as excited. Oh well.



We then headed over to see The Bean, a mirrored sculpture in Millennium Park.

There was a cool amphitheater there that we checked out first:







There were also lovely, clean bubblers (I haven't said that in forever!):





Here's The Bean:



The Bean rules. You can see the entire city in it.





I have a billion pictures of us looking at ourselves in The Bean. When you get close to it, it just seems like a regular mirror. It is as though its not curved.

After The Bean, we tried to go to the Chicago Cultural Center.

It was, of course, closed. Some local city holiday.

We decided to go to the Marshall Field's to warm up.



It's way better than the Macy's in Herald Square. I never would have thought it possible.



We walked around the city a bit more.



We walked to the river.





We ended up at Union Station, as D is a lover of train stations.



We grabbed a cab back to the hotel, picked up our bags, took the train back to the airport and were in NYC a few hours later.

The minute we arrived at Penn Station we were saddened by the ugliness. I guess Chicago is sterile, but it is also beautiful. It is planned. It is vast. The streets are wide, the terrain is flat, you can appreciate the city as a whole from wherever you are standing. The beauty of New York if often obscured by its thin streets and tall facades. To truly appreciate New York you have to look at it from the sky or from New Jersey. Or maybe you just have to be a tourist.

Chicago - Day 2

We awoke on Day 2 to overcast skies. D watched the weather and said "It's going to snow." "When?" "I don't know. Tonight. Later."

I decided not to believe him, so wore snow-appropriate shoes (be proud, readers) and tights and over-the-knee nearly thigh-high socks and three layers of shirt.

It so snowed the second we left the hotel.

Reason #3 That Chicago Is Best: The architecture. ZOWIE. Everything there is so new, sparkly, well-spaced, well-crafted. Delicious.

Here are my favorite buildings again:



And again:



We headed to Wicker Park, the hipster-central of Chicago, where we wanted to eat at this cool place that seemed very vegetarian-friendly, funky, trendy, etc. I also wanted to go to this place called Eye Want to buy hopefully cheap frames. There was an hour and a half wait at the diner. Eye Want was closed. Hmph.

We ended up eating at this REALLY cool and REALLY cheap place down the street from our original destination. I had huevos rancheros with chips! Yeah! Then D and I split a breakfast rice pudding thing with cinammon and every imagineable fruit.

We split up because D wanted to go to a record store. I wandered through the snow and drooled over Fluevogs I will never have.



We then took the train to the Intuit Museum.



It was, of course, closed.

We hopped a bus to the Museum of Contemporary Art.

This was in the lobby:



(Maurizio Cattelan)

Amazing.



The whole museum was wonderful. Perfect size. Perfect way to enjoy a snow day.



Here is a photo of footprints in the snow, taken from the museum. So cute.



We checked out a little Chicago-themed photo exhibit in this cute building (waterworks?) after the museum, then headed back in the direction of the hotel. We stopped by this candy shop, which was the shop that supplied the candy for The Oscars:



We then stopped by Walgreen's and then a little market to buy wine and cheese and snacks for the Oscar marathon viewing.

Back at the hotel, we ordered food and then couldn't open the stupid wine with the stupid $1.59 corkscrew we bought at the market because the cork was one of those lame plastic corks. Ergh. D ended up having to bring the bottle down to the lobby to ask for help. The horror.

We drank the wine and ate too much and passed out right after The Oscars.