OK. Getting caught up. Ugh. Work is still crazy, apartment is still unrented, life is still stressful but normalcy will return eventually.
Here are some things I meant to blog about but didn't because I have been too busy calling strangers and working like a maniac and, well, yeah. Breathe.
1. I saw Kinky Boots, which is a film in my favorite genre, that being feel-good but not-too-sappy wacky based-on-a-true-story British film with British or Scottish people doing weird things in a very cute way. I loved it, and it was just what my mood needed this weekend. Thanks, PW, for coming out in the rain and giving me a hug.
2. The Boss was mean to me and I was all upset, especially given the mood as of late. I know that he, too, is stressed. I vow if I ever am The Boss that I will not allow stress to trickle down. I wanted to cry, to look for a new job, to crawl into a hole. The following day he apologized and said it wasn't fair of him and that he is going through family drama and he took out his anger towards his brother on me. Oh, The Boss. He's a good guy. We all handle stress differently.
3. I started a new class last week. It was terrible. I knew too much. The teacher was also terrible. She sat down to teach and used notecards. If you have to use notecards to teach the class, you probably shouldn't be teaching the class.
4. I transferred into an entirely different class. When the TA (who looks just like young Cher) told us that the real teacher would be out sick and that we'd be having a substitute, I had a panic attack because I was nearly certain that the teacher from the previous class would be the sub. Luckily she was not, and intead we had this gigantic Austrian guy whose catch phrase was "as such."
5. When you are cohabitating you end up watching things that you wouldn't ordinarily watch. D was given a copy of MTV's Wonder Showzen on DVD for his birthday. It's ok. Funny at times. Mostly tasteless. In case you don't know what it is (neither D nor I had ever heard of it - I guess this is the sort of thing you know about if you have cable), it is basically Sesame Street for adults, and in incredibly bad taste with kids saying things that they don't understand. I guess its pretty funny. Anyway, one of the puppets (green) was distressed and was trying to convince another puppet to let her do something, so she was like "I will put on a puppet show to convince you!" So the green puppet put on a puppet show with mini puppet-versions of her and the other puppet. And then the mini puppet version of the green puppet put on a smaller puppet show of the same thing. And then the even smaller puppet put on yet another smaller puppet show of the same thing. It was so freaking funny.
6. The new stove sucks. Hard. D tried to make crepes and it was a disaster.
7. We tried to make potato pancakes last night and they too were a disaster.
8. Luckily the fried ravioli were good.
9. I have yet to locate a superball-selling machine in this city! Where are kids getting superballs!?
10. It's hard to write songs when you live with someone else. While D was running I wrote the song. When he went out to grab milk I quickly recorded it. While he was in the shower I did vocals. I haven't mixed it down yet, though. Hopefully I will have time to do that tonight after showing my apartment and selling bookshelves and watching The Gilmore Girls. I think D will be mortified that I watch that show, but he can deal.
11. It's also hard to call your girlfriends to flip out about living with someone when you live with someone.
12. I didn't sleep very much this weekend. I think things are settling in, and it's not that I'm distressed. I am just aware of the seriousness of such decisions and about the amount of effort that living together will require. I think living together requires a new level of dialogue that I am not immediately comfortable with. We have to find sweet ways of saying "I need to be alone now" and "I need you to be with me now while I cry."
13. I said both of those things this weekend. The first was remarkably easy to say. The second was extremely difficult.
14. I went grocery shopping this weekend with D for food for our apartment. Utterly insane.
15. The apartment is looking good. I am trying to decide if it's worth it to buy new bedding. We both went nuts about this set we saw in SoHo and we've been obsessed ever since. Do we need it? No. Do either of us have real grownup bedding? No. My sheets are lame, I am in no way attached to them. I bought them because they were purple and because they were cheap. My blankets are equally lame, and I've had them for even longer. His sheets used to be navy but are now faded. I think grownup bedding is a worthwhile investment, but every time we get tempted with such things I say "Hold off... we will wait for a time when someone will give them to us" and then we both giggle and freak out and then get excited. I think if I rent my apartment before 5/1 I will buy them for us, because new fancy luscious sheets are a good investment and it will be something for us, which I think is important. When I said "I really think we should just get them" he said "So do I, but we're not leaving many things for people to give to us..."
16. I haven't talked to anyone in ages. I haven't even talked to my parents. I'm so cut off. I haven't read the news. I have no idea what's going on in the world outside of my two apartments and my bench. It's terrible.
17. I slept on the couch on Saturday night because I was sad.
18. I have to learn that informing someone of your sadness can actually make you happier.
19. At what point in a relationship will I be comfortable and not rendered incapacitated with insecurity when my boyfriend talks about some girl he met at a party who he talked to all night and who was so cool because she's an industrial designer and then looks up her line on the web and then says that he has invited us to visit her in Philadelphia because not only is she an industrial designer how awesome is that but she is also an artist and painter and we can see her studio? Luckily I knew of the line he was talking about and said "You will hate it" before he looked it up and realized that he hated it. And yes, he invited us to her studio but no, I do not want to go to her studio and be all third wheel while they talk art and while he hangs on her every word and brushstroke. I said "Actually, I'll just hang out with NR when we go to Philly since that's why we're going to Philly and you can be smitten on your own." Ouch. Bitchy. But moreso because of other things non-related to industrial designing girls. This is all but forgotten, but will be a sore subject when Philly happens.
20. Am feeling more positive today because the sun is shining and the boss has apologized and people were nice to my apartment last night and I don't care about girls in Philadelphia because I like living with D now and I think everything will be fine. Right. It will.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Craigslist People
I've met so many people in the past two weeks its absurd.
On top of meeting a bunch of people every day who do not want to live in my apartment, I've engaged in the "sell everything I own using Craigslist" portion of moving.
Not that I'm selling everything I own. I am selling things that are duplicates of D's things. Included: VCR, 5-disc CD changer, and ancient AIWA stereo from college with a non-functional CD player but decent enough speakers and double tape deck! Woop! I am also selling things that are no longer required, such as my adorable kitchen cart with drawers. Without items in the drawers, lovely. With Hershey Bars and Macaroni and Cheese rations, eye sore. I am trying to sell the wall mounting shelves that saved me in midtown. I am trying to sell the bookshelf I bought for $7 when I moved into my first ever apartment post-college.
D and I agreed that the kitchen cart would sell first and that the AIWA stereo wouldn't sell at all given its age and the fact that it is hideous to behold. D said "Please promise me that if nobody wants that in a week we will remove it from the household." "Well... I want to try to give it away for free before we do that... but yes... I understand, and yes, it will be removed."
We argued about the VCR. D wants me to convert all of my VHS tapes to DVD because "Who watches VHS tapes anymore? We don't need a VCR at all. Nobody uses VCR's. Who uses VCR's?" "I bet it will sell. I'm only selling it for $10." "But why would people be watching VHS?" "I don't know... old home movies, maybe they still tape things because not everyone can afford a TiVo, I don't know. It will sell."
The items were sold in this order:
Kitchen cart (stampede for this; sold to a frantic girl who had just moved into a new place and who was trying to buy D's IKEA dresser which was not for sale, sadly she did not want any electronics)
VCR (hah!; to an equally frantic girl who said "Mine just broke and I'm going away for a week and have to find one before I leave!")
AIWA Stereo (inconceivable!; sold to a DJ who has turntables but no money left, he will use it as a receiver since it is black and in his opinion decent looking and was thrilled about the tape deck because he will be able to tape his music; his friends gushed about our apartment and D and I were ever so proud)
Someone is coming to pick up the book shelf tonight, and hopefully the white sort-of-floating shelves. That leaves only the 5-disc changer, which I thought would sell rather quickly.
You can't predict these things. You can't predict what people will need.
I have no idea how we existed pre-Craig.
On top of meeting a bunch of people every day who do not want to live in my apartment, I've engaged in the "sell everything I own using Craigslist" portion of moving.
Not that I'm selling everything I own. I am selling things that are duplicates of D's things. Included: VCR, 5-disc CD changer, and ancient AIWA stereo from college with a non-functional CD player but decent enough speakers and double tape deck! Woop! I am also selling things that are no longer required, such as my adorable kitchen cart with drawers. Without items in the drawers, lovely. With Hershey Bars and Macaroni and Cheese rations, eye sore. I am trying to sell the wall mounting shelves that saved me in midtown. I am trying to sell the bookshelf I bought for $7 when I moved into my first ever apartment post-college.
D and I agreed that the kitchen cart would sell first and that the AIWA stereo wouldn't sell at all given its age and the fact that it is hideous to behold. D said "Please promise me that if nobody wants that in a week we will remove it from the household." "Well... I want to try to give it away for free before we do that... but yes... I understand, and yes, it will be removed."
We argued about the VCR. D wants me to convert all of my VHS tapes to DVD because "Who watches VHS tapes anymore? We don't need a VCR at all. Nobody uses VCR's. Who uses VCR's?" "I bet it will sell. I'm only selling it for $10." "But why would people be watching VHS?" "I don't know... old home movies, maybe they still tape things because not everyone can afford a TiVo, I don't know. It will sell."
The items were sold in this order:
Kitchen cart (stampede for this; sold to a frantic girl who had just moved into a new place and who was trying to buy D's IKEA dresser which was not for sale, sadly she did not want any electronics)
VCR (hah!; to an equally frantic girl who said "Mine just broke and I'm going away for a week and have to find one before I leave!")
AIWA Stereo (inconceivable!; sold to a DJ who has turntables but no money left, he will use it as a receiver since it is black and in his opinion decent looking and was thrilled about the tape deck because he will be able to tape his music; his friends gushed about our apartment and D and I were ever so proud)
Someone is coming to pick up the book shelf tonight, and hopefully the white sort-of-floating shelves. That leaves only the 5-disc changer, which I thought would sell rather quickly.
You can't predict these things. You can't predict what people will need.
I have no idea how we existed pre-Craig.
Lame People
Some other lame people I've encountered whilst trying to rent my apartment:
"Well, seeing this apartment just confirms that I need to increase my budget for rent."
"Ummm... I actually just walked by your apartment and decided I'm not even going to come up because... well... the area."
"No, no, this just won't do. To tell you the truth, I wasn't even interested in this place. It's just on my way home. I don't think you'll have a hard time renting it, though. I just couldn't live here. Why not? Well, I want my friends to visit me and nobody would visit here. I mean, this area just isn't cool enough. I mean, how would I convince my friends to hang out here? I have to live in the East Village or something. And really, money is no object for me so why would I live here?"
(Note: this guy was totally a smug business tool aged approximately 25, to whom I wanted to say "You and your friends suck, and they clearly don't like you very much, since they won't visit you unless your apartment meets certain criteria, but then again, I don't see how anyone could actually like you for you, so I guess I understand where they're coming from.")
"NO! TOO SMALL!" said the girl in her pointy high heels and too-much makeup and impeccable hair, in just enough time before I tackled her and her pointy-heeled friend for fear of their leaving small bitchy little dents in my spotless apartment.
(Note: literally, that's all she said after saying "hello.")
Ugh. It is nice that none of these people liked my apartment, because if they had I'd have been conflicted as I don't want any of these types of people to live there.
Not everyone has been this lame. There have been lukewarm people and charming people and people I'd love to befriend.
But not these people. These people suck, and not because they don't like my apartment. They just suck, and they don't deserve to live in my apartment anyway. Hmph.
"Well, seeing this apartment just confirms that I need to increase my budget for rent."
"Ummm... I actually just walked by your apartment and decided I'm not even going to come up because... well... the area."
"No, no, this just won't do. To tell you the truth, I wasn't even interested in this place. It's just on my way home. I don't think you'll have a hard time renting it, though. I just couldn't live here. Why not? Well, I want my friends to visit me and nobody would visit here. I mean, this area just isn't cool enough. I mean, how would I convince my friends to hang out here? I have to live in the East Village or something. And really, money is no object for me so why would I live here?"
(Note: this guy was totally a smug business tool aged approximately 25, to whom I wanted to say "You and your friends suck, and they clearly don't like you very much, since they won't visit you unless your apartment meets certain criteria, but then again, I don't see how anyone could actually like you for you, so I guess I understand where they're coming from.")
"NO! TOO SMALL!" said the girl in her pointy high heels and too-much makeup and impeccable hair, in just enough time before I tackled her and her pointy-heeled friend for fear of their leaving small bitchy little dents in my spotless apartment.
(Note: literally, that's all she said after saying "hello.")
Ugh. It is nice that none of these people liked my apartment, because if they had I'd have been conflicted as I don't want any of these types of people to live there.
Not everyone has been this lame. There have been lukewarm people and charming people and people I'd love to befriend.
But not these people. These people suck, and not because they don't like my apartment. They just suck, and they don't deserve to live in my apartment anyway. Hmph.
Words
I am trying to figure out what to do with some spinach I have in the refrigerator.
It will soon go bad.
I went to recipesource.com and typed in "spinach," and have been staring at the word "spinach" for the past half an hour and it's tripping me out.
"Spinach" is a really weird looking word, when you stare at it for too long.
SPINACH.
I just typed in "spinach quiche" and I think my brain is about to explode.
It will soon go bad.
I went to recipesource.com and typed in "spinach," and have been staring at the word "spinach" for the past half an hour and it's tripping me out.
"Spinach" is a really weird looking word, when you stare at it for too long.
SPINACH.
I just typed in "spinach quiche" and I think my brain is about to explode.
Nice People
Four viewings of the apartment were scheduled last evening.
I asked D to accompany me, as spending time alone in that place has really been getting to me. He obliged, of course, because he is good-natured and because he's been desperately trying to come up with ways "to help" and "to make things easier" and "to not feel so helpless."
As we approached the apartment, D said "Oh no! I think those two girls are waiting to see your apartment!" We were over a block away. I said "How can you tell?" He said "I can just tell."
I suffered a mild panic, but on the behalf of the girls, because how awkward must it be to look at an apartment you might potentially adore at the same time as someone else? It must be like interviewing for a job at the same exact time as another potential candidate.
I said "Hey, are you guys here to look at the apartment?"
They were both there to look at the apartment.
I fell in love with both of them immediately. I desperately want one of them to live there.
And, bizarrely, they both liked it!
Of course I can't count on strangers to have good credit and to get their acts together enough to fill out an application and woo The Landlord's Lackey (although, I must state on the record that The Landlord's Lackey has metamorphosed into a sickly sweet care-giving woman who said, on the phone yesterday, "I know, this must be so stressful for you, I completely understand and please let me know if there's anything I can do to help"), so hopes are not up.
Nevertheless...
It was slightly awkward when the first girl, more of a go-getter and assured of herself to the point that I was made jealous, declared "I will apply for it. Please give me the information."
The second girl was adorable and I want her to liver there only so I can give her my old shelves and become her new best friend.
A guy came third, and he too was enamored with the place but isn't looking to move until July. But he was flexible. He'd mentioned his salary in my original screening email and yes, he can most certainly be flexible. He had a friend with him, and, again, I immediately fell in love with them both.
Which brings me to the fourth guy, and the fourth guy will be the first in a story of ill-mannered potential tenants about whom I will blog when things are less frantic at work.
OK. First of all, I should have known better as he is "a student." Not that I have anything against students, but students can be, well, flaky, and are therefore less than appealing as potential tenants.
Second of all, he had a name that annoyed me.
He did not show up. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, and because I am organized to a fault, I had his name and phone number and appointment time written down on the neverending list of people-who-will-look-at-and-criticize my apartment.
I called him.
This is what happened:
Me: Hello?
Boy: Hello?
Me: Is this Boy?
Boy: Yes.
Me: Hi, this is Leah Lar, I'm wondering if you still wanted to take a look at the apartment tonight.
Boy: Hello?
Me: Hi.
Boy: Hello?
Me: Hello.
Boy: I can't hear you...
Me: (checking phone, having 5 bars)
Boy: I can't hear you...
Me: Hello? Can you hear me?
Boy: I can't hear you.
Hangs up.
I call back. Phone rings. He does not pick up. At all.
Tool.
I asked D to accompany me, as spending time alone in that place has really been getting to me. He obliged, of course, because he is good-natured and because he's been desperately trying to come up with ways "to help" and "to make things easier" and "to not feel so helpless."
As we approached the apartment, D said "Oh no! I think those two girls are waiting to see your apartment!" We were over a block away. I said "How can you tell?" He said "I can just tell."
I suffered a mild panic, but on the behalf of the girls, because how awkward must it be to look at an apartment you might potentially adore at the same time as someone else? It must be like interviewing for a job at the same exact time as another potential candidate.
I said "Hey, are you guys here to look at the apartment?"
They were both there to look at the apartment.
I fell in love with both of them immediately. I desperately want one of them to live there.
And, bizarrely, they both liked it!
Of course I can't count on strangers to have good credit and to get their acts together enough to fill out an application and woo The Landlord's Lackey (although, I must state on the record that The Landlord's Lackey has metamorphosed into a sickly sweet care-giving woman who said, on the phone yesterday, "I know, this must be so stressful for you, I completely understand and please let me know if there's anything I can do to help"), so hopes are not up.
Nevertheless...
It was slightly awkward when the first girl, more of a go-getter and assured of herself to the point that I was made jealous, declared "I will apply for it. Please give me the information."
The second girl was adorable and I want her to liver there only so I can give her my old shelves and become her new best friend.
A guy came third, and he too was enamored with the place but isn't looking to move until July. But he was flexible. He'd mentioned his salary in my original screening email and yes, he can most certainly be flexible. He had a friend with him, and, again, I immediately fell in love with them both.
Which brings me to the fourth guy, and the fourth guy will be the first in a story of ill-mannered potential tenants about whom I will blog when things are less frantic at work.
OK. First of all, I should have known better as he is "a student." Not that I have anything against students, but students can be, well, flaky, and are therefore less than appealing as potential tenants.
Second of all, he had a name that annoyed me.
He did not show up. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, and because I am organized to a fault, I had his name and phone number and appointment time written down on the neverending list of people-who-will-look-at-and-criticize my apartment.
I called him.
This is what happened:
Me: Hello?
Boy: Hello?
Me: Is this Boy?
Boy: Yes.
Me: Hi, this is Leah Lar, I'm wondering if you still wanted to take a look at the apartment tonight.
Boy: Hello?
Me: Hi.
Boy: Hello?
Me: Hello.
Boy: I can't hear you...
Me: (checking phone, having 5 bars)
Boy: I can't hear you...
Me: Hello? Can you hear me?
Boy: I can't hear you.
Hangs up.
I call back. Phone rings. He does not pick up. At all.
Tool.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Rain, Please, Go Away
I hate that my mood is directly correlated with the weather.
I hate even more that I walk in a bizarre fashion wherein rain water accumulates on my legs below my knees and moreso in my pant cuffs. I decided to conduct a scientific study this morning and deduced that this phenomenon does not plague everyone, and seems only to affect approximately 1 in 10 people.
And as much as I hate the prominence of scaffoling in this fair city, I adore it above all else on days like today.
I hate even more that I walk in a bizarre fashion wherein rain water accumulates on my legs below my knees and moreso in my pant cuffs. I decided to conduct a scientific study this morning and deduced that this phenomenon does not plague everyone, and seems only to affect approximately 1 in 10 people.
And as much as I hate the prominence of scaffoling in this fair city, I adore it above all else on days like today.
Rain, Please, Go Away
I hate that my mood is directly correlated with the weather.
I hate even more that I walk in a bizarre fashion wherein rain water accumulates on my legs below my knees and moreso in my pant cuffs. I decided to conduct a scientific study this morning and deduced that this phenomenon does not plague everyone, and seems only to affect approximately 1 in 10 people.
And as much as I hate the prominence of scaffoling in this fair city, I adore it above all else on days like today.
I hate even more that I walk in a bizarre fashion wherein rain water accumulates on my legs below my knees and moreso in my pant cuffs. I decided to conduct a scientific study this morning and deduced that this phenomenon does not plague everyone, and seems only to affect approximately 1 in 10 people.
And as much as I hate the prominence of scaffoling in this fair city, I adore it above all else on days like today.
Please, Rain, Go Away
I hate that my mood is directly correlated with the weather.
I also hate that I walk in some bizarre way that causes rain water to accumulate on my legs below my knees, and especially in my pant cuffs. This morning I conducted a study in which I stared at the legs of other people, and deduced that this phenomenon seems not to plague others. I think maybe 1 in 10 people I looked at had wet cuffs.
And as much as I hate the prominence of scaffolding in NYC, I love it above all else on days like this.
I also hate that I walk in some bizarre way that causes rain water to accumulate on my legs below my knees, and especially in my pant cuffs. This morning I conducted a study in which I stared at the legs of other people, and deduced that this phenomenon seems not to plague others. I think maybe 1 in 10 people I looked at had wet cuffs.
And as much as I hate the prominence of scaffolding in NYC, I love it above all else on days like this.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Black and White
I watched "Good Night and Good Luck" last night, which was mostly boring aside from, of course, George Clooney.
In addition, I couldn't stop marvelling over how much David Straithairn resembles Sam The Eagle. It's uncanny.
In addition, I couldn't stop marvelling over how much David Straithairn resembles Sam The Eagle. It's uncanny.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Fatigue and Nothing More
So.
I've been terrible at blogging as of late for two reasons.
The first reason is that I haven't really had time. I generally blog from work, and work has been at its most insane as of late.
The second reason is that I am boring right now. My brain and body have disconnected, I travel through life in a general haze, not sure of what I am doing or supposed to be doing or what would be best to be doing at any given time. My life right now is:
- posting ads
- calling people to respond to the ads
- trying to convince them that they absolutely must live in my former apartment
- feeling guilty for acting so smarmy
- hoping that people actually show up for their appointments to view the apartment
- telling people that the neighborhood is really really quiet followed by feeling guilty for acting so smarmy
- sitting on hardwood floors reading a book while waiting for people to show up and tell me that my apartment is "too small" or that "the area is terrible" or that the landlords are "asking too much"
- fantasize about yelling at the landlords and telling them that they're making it virtually impossible for me to find a replacement tenant and then hopefully suing them or throwing a fit in their office or something because I hate this more than anything I have ever done in my life
- getting up early to show the apartment
- getting into work early to leave early to show the apartment
- going to class and hating it
- getting home from class really late and doing things around the apartment while detesting the class
- transferring into another class and going to it and liking it but not being entirely sure that I like it since I am in a zombie state
- not sleeping enough
- not sleeping well
- not eating enough
- not eating well
- not enjoying anything because all I can think about is renting my stupid apartment
- experiencing great anxiety about money
- supporting D in ordering a CD cabinet
- spending too much money on awesome modular shelves from DWR
- wishing I had more money
- wishing I had more job security
- wishing I had more time time time and then also more time
- wishing I had a minute to myself
- daydreaming about not having to deal with this apartment situation
- daydreaming about pictures hung on the walls
- daydreaming about air conditioners already installed
- daydreaming about cabinets and shelves already delivered
- daydreaming about being settled
- daydreaming about a functional stove
Life is so very boring right now. I want desperately to enjoy living with D, but I have barely been in the apartment since we moved. And when I am, I'm irritable and short and not wanting to paint or unpack or organize or whatever. I do these things because they mean a lot to D, but man, I just want to watch a movie or read a book or something.
We are supposed to go to a comedy show with D's friends tonight but little does he know that I am not going. If I have to interact with people after showing my apartment to like 8 people (well, probably 3 of them will show up and I'll be sitting there on the floor for an hour and a half clinging to false hopes) I think I will kill someone. I need desperately to do laundry and file my nails (still distressed from moving tons of boxes) and stare at something and not be in transit.
I feel like I've walked three thousand miles this week.
Ugh. Last week there was lots of walking, lots of going back and forth between old and new apartment, up and down stairs, into and out of trucks, etc. Last weekend was walking to Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond and the grocery store and back and forth between old and new apartments and carrying stuff all the time.
And this week:
Monday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to Joe's Pub from work, walked from Joe's Pub to D's old apartment, from D's old apartment to train, from train to new apartment. Home by 10:30 and curtain rod project.
Tuesday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to train, walked from train to class, walked from class to apartment. Home by 10:00 and sanding and painting and vacuuming and what else I can't even remember.
Wednesday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to train, walked from train to old apartment, walked from old apartment to meet C for dinner, walked from dinner to apartment. Home, drunk, yes!, by 10:00 after eating the best gnocchi ever which happens to be on my new street! Woo. Then unpacking and cramming things into closets and rearranging closets and hampers and shoes and I don't know what else because I was drunk.
Thursday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked from work to and then through SoHo which involved walking for about an hour and a half staring at lovely furniture and bedding that we will never be able to have, walked back to work, walked to train, took train to class, walked to class, walked to apartment from class. Home by 10:00 and in good mood because class was better. Ate popcorn and made phone calls about old apartment and did nothing house related other than look online at potential shelving and cabinet schemes.
Friday: Walked to old apartment from new apartment, walked from old apartment to train, walked from train to work, walked around SoHo again for an hour, and will soon be taking train to old apartment where I will hang out for an hour and a half, then I will walk to CVS, then I will walk with bundles home, then I will walk to the laundromat and then and only then will I be sedentary.
And I'm not going anywhere because dammit I want to just be in the new apartment. I want to eat a meal there. I want to know what it's like to live there. I want D to come home to me instead of the other way around. Of course I will be asleep when he comes home but this is not the point! I feel a lot like I'm staying at his place because he's spent far more time there this week than I have.
Granted this is not how it will be always, but it will be like this until I unload that accursed apartment, and until then I will be there every night and morning.
Oh my god I am so boring.
I swear I will be less boring next week.
Have good weekends!
I've been terrible at blogging as of late for two reasons.
The first reason is that I haven't really had time. I generally blog from work, and work has been at its most insane as of late.
The second reason is that I am boring right now. My brain and body have disconnected, I travel through life in a general haze, not sure of what I am doing or supposed to be doing or what would be best to be doing at any given time. My life right now is:
- posting ads
- calling people to respond to the ads
- trying to convince them that they absolutely must live in my former apartment
- feeling guilty for acting so smarmy
- hoping that people actually show up for their appointments to view the apartment
- telling people that the neighborhood is really really quiet followed by feeling guilty for acting so smarmy
- sitting on hardwood floors reading a book while waiting for people to show up and tell me that my apartment is "too small" or that "the area is terrible" or that the landlords are "asking too much"
- fantasize about yelling at the landlords and telling them that they're making it virtually impossible for me to find a replacement tenant and then hopefully suing them or throwing a fit in their office or something because I hate this more than anything I have ever done in my life
- getting up early to show the apartment
- getting into work early to leave early to show the apartment
- going to class and hating it
- getting home from class really late and doing things around the apartment while detesting the class
- transferring into another class and going to it and liking it but not being entirely sure that I like it since I am in a zombie state
- not sleeping enough
- not sleeping well
- not eating enough
- not eating well
- not enjoying anything because all I can think about is renting my stupid apartment
- experiencing great anxiety about money
- supporting D in ordering a CD cabinet
- spending too much money on awesome modular shelves from DWR
- wishing I had more money
- wishing I had more job security
- wishing I had more time time time and then also more time
- wishing I had a minute to myself
- daydreaming about not having to deal with this apartment situation
- daydreaming about pictures hung on the walls
- daydreaming about air conditioners already installed
- daydreaming about cabinets and shelves already delivered
- daydreaming about being settled
- daydreaming about a functional stove
Life is so very boring right now. I want desperately to enjoy living with D, but I have barely been in the apartment since we moved. And when I am, I'm irritable and short and not wanting to paint or unpack or organize or whatever. I do these things because they mean a lot to D, but man, I just want to watch a movie or read a book or something.
We are supposed to go to a comedy show with D's friends tonight but little does he know that I am not going. If I have to interact with people after showing my apartment to like 8 people (well, probably 3 of them will show up and I'll be sitting there on the floor for an hour and a half clinging to false hopes) I think I will kill someone. I need desperately to do laundry and file my nails (still distressed from moving tons of boxes) and stare at something and not be in transit.
I feel like I've walked three thousand miles this week.
Ugh. Last week there was lots of walking, lots of going back and forth between old and new apartment, up and down stairs, into and out of trucks, etc. Last weekend was walking to Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond and the grocery store and back and forth between old and new apartments and carrying stuff all the time.
And this week:
Monday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to Joe's Pub from work, walked from Joe's Pub to D's old apartment, from D's old apartment to train, from train to new apartment. Home by 10:30 and curtain rod project.
Tuesday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to train, walked from train to class, walked from class to apartment. Home by 10:00 and sanding and painting and vacuuming and what else I can't even remember.
Wednesday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked to train, walked from train to old apartment, walked from old apartment to meet C for dinner, walked from dinner to apartment. Home, drunk, yes!, by 10:00 after eating the best gnocchi ever which happens to be on my new street! Woo. Then unpacking and cramming things into closets and rearranging closets and hampers and shoes and I don't know what else because I was drunk.
Thursday: Walked to train from apartment, walked to work from train, walked from work to and then through SoHo which involved walking for about an hour and a half staring at lovely furniture and bedding that we will never be able to have, walked back to work, walked to train, took train to class, walked to class, walked to apartment from class. Home by 10:00 and in good mood because class was better. Ate popcorn and made phone calls about old apartment and did nothing house related other than look online at potential shelving and cabinet schemes.
Friday: Walked to old apartment from new apartment, walked from old apartment to train, walked from train to work, walked around SoHo again for an hour, and will soon be taking train to old apartment where I will hang out for an hour and a half, then I will walk to CVS, then I will walk with bundles home, then I will walk to the laundromat and then and only then will I be sedentary.
And I'm not going anywhere because dammit I want to just be in the new apartment. I want to eat a meal there. I want to know what it's like to live there. I want D to come home to me instead of the other way around. Of course I will be asleep when he comes home but this is not the point! I feel a lot like I'm staying at his place because he's spent far more time there this week than I have.
Granted this is not how it will be always, but it will be like this until I unload that accursed apartment, and until then I will be there every night and morning.
Oh my god I am so boring.
I swear I will be less boring next week.
Have good weekends!
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Another Curb Incident Wherein I am Not Larry David
D and I went to Joe's Pub on Monday night to see this musical/cartoon Mark Mulcahey/Ben Katchor thing that was good despite possessing the uncanny ability to turn people into zombies despite their actual interest in the piece.
Joe's Pub is simultaneously an awesome but horrific place to see a show.
They have tables, which is good. You can sit and eat or drink.
They also have couches, which is even better.
They also try to seat as many people as possible at the tables and on the couches. They do this because there is a $12 minimum per person if you are seated at a table or on a couch. This leads to far too many people crowded into small spaces, brushing up against one another, making it impossible for anyone to get up during the show. This also leads to rather obnoxious people causing problems regarding a $12 minimum per person.
I started the evening off a bit edgy as I was exhausted from the move and move-related things on Monday. When we got there, the host claimed to have no record of D's table reservation. D was in a mild panic, as it was he who was very excited about this show. I knew nothing about it (other than Ben Katchor's being a contributor of New Yorker art, which made me predisposed to dislike his work even though I had no reason to dislike it) and was basically just tagging along to keep D company. That, and it was a musical, and I love me a musical.
The host said "Well, we have this table here..." and pointed us to an unreserved table in the corner. D, excited, said "Yes!"
I was like "NO! We are NOT SITTING THERE. It's BEHIND the screen!"
It was behind the screen, and the whole reason we were there was so D could see the cartoons.
"I mean, D, if you want to sit there, we can, but I don't think you're going to be able to see."
D was glad that I'd pointed this out, so we opted to sit on a couch farther back but with a better view of the screen.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom after we were situated, and returned to find this older lady sitting in my seat and D just sitting there oblivious. Her feet were on my bag. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"Hey lady, move it."
"Lady, you're in my seat. Move."
"Look, lady, just because you read The New Yorker doesn't mean you can take my seat."
"Hey, boyfriend, could you please tell this lady to get out of my seat?"
"Hey, boyfriend, why didn't you tell this lady that I was sitting next to you?"
This woman was so very New Yorker. I hated her from the moment I saw her.
Luckily D said "Um, excuse me, my girlfriend was sitting there."
I smiled at her, but not sincerely.
She rolled her eyes and moved over so that I could sit down, but not enough so that there was actually room for me on the couch. When I sat down our legs were touching.
I edged closer to D so as not to have any more contact with this woman. She and her husband were clearly peeved, not happy to be there, etc.
When the waitress came to our area, she asked the couple what they wanted.
"Nothing," they said.
"Oh, well, you have to buy something. There's either a two drink minimum per person or $12 minimum."
"Oh, well, we don't want anything," they said, combative.
"It's our policy, I mean, you could buy like two bottles of water or maybe sodas? Or would you like a juice?"
"We are not buying anything."
"Well, it's the policy. It says on the ticket. They tell you when you buy your tickets."
"Nobody told us," they yelled.
"Well, I'm sorry, but it's the policy. You have to buy something if you want to sit at a table or on the couches."
"We're not going to," they said. "We didn't know, so we're not going to."
"Well, I'm really sorry, but you have to."
"No, we won't."
"Well, I'll go on to the back and get the manager, then, and he'll come out and talk to you."
Poor waitress. Lame New Yorker reading upper crust having-too-much-money complaining about $20 in drinks assholes.
Now.
First of all, I agree that the two drink minimum or the dollar minimum is ridiculous. If you've already paid for a ticket, why do you have to pay another $12 just to be there? It would be better if the tickets were just slightly more costly.
Second of all, it is indeed possible for someone not to have known about the minimum. This has happened to us all, and we're always annoyed when we find out that we have to buy drinks even though we're not thirsty.
But.
Where do these people get off thinking they're exempt from the rules?
Why do they just get to break the rules?
The waitress came back and said "Well, the manager said you don't have to buy anything this time, but just know that in the future there will be a two drink minimum."
Ahhh!
They got away with it.
And it's not even annoying that they got away with it. If they had been nice people who were taken aback by the minimum and apologetic for not knowing, fine.
But these people were mean. They made the waitress uncomofortable. They intimidated her into backing down. And the rest of us, a bunch of people who weren't hungry or thirsty, had to pay an extra $12 or more to see the same show.
These people could have just gotten up and stood, like the other people who didn't feel compelled to pay the two drink minimum, but no. They just decided to be jerks and be mean and be the squeakiest wheels and roll their eyes and sigh loudly and just be generally unpleasant.
Ugh.
I liked the show, though, even though I was irritable and falling asleep.
I swear I'll be in a better mood soon.
Joe's Pub is simultaneously an awesome but horrific place to see a show.
They have tables, which is good. You can sit and eat or drink.
They also have couches, which is even better.
They also try to seat as many people as possible at the tables and on the couches. They do this because there is a $12 minimum per person if you are seated at a table or on a couch. This leads to far too many people crowded into small spaces, brushing up against one another, making it impossible for anyone to get up during the show. This also leads to rather obnoxious people causing problems regarding a $12 minimum per person.
I started the evening off a bit edgy as I was exhausted from the move and move-related things on Monday. When we got there, the host claimed to have no record of D's table reservation. D was in a mild panic, as it was he who was very excited about this show. I knew nothing about it (other than Ben Katchor's being a contributor of New Yorker art, which made me predisposed to dislike his work even though I had no reason to dislike it) and was basically just tagging along to keep D company. That, and it was a musical, and I love me a musical.
The host said "Well, we have this table here..." and pointed us to an unreserved table in the corner. D, excited, said "Yes!"
I was like "NO! We are NOT SITTING THERE. It's BEHIND the screen!"
It was behind the screen, and the whole reason we were there was so D could see the cartoons.
"I mean, D, if you want to sit there, we can, but I don't think you're going to be able to see."
D was glad that I'd pointed this out, so we opted to sit on a couch farther back but with a better view of the screen.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom after we were situated, and returned to find this older lady sitting in my seat and D just sitting there oblivious. Her feet were on my bag. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"Hey lady, move it."
"Lady, you're in my seat. Move."
"Look, lady, just because you read The New Yorker doesn't mean you can take my seat."
"Hey, boyfriend, could you please tell this lady to get out of my seat?"
"Hey, boyfriend, why didn't you tell this lady that I was sitting next to you?"
This woman was so very New Yorker. I hated her from the moment I saw her.
Luckily D said "Um, excuse me, my girlfriend was sitting there."
I smiled at her, but not sincerely.
She rolled her eyes and moved over so that I could sit down, but not enough so that there was actually room for me on the couch. When I sat down our legs were touching.
I edged closer to D so as not to have any more contact with this woman. She and her husband were clearly peeved, not happy to be there, etc.
When the waitress came to our area, she asked the couple what they wanted.
"Nothing," they said.
"Oh, well, you have to buy something. There's either a two drink minimum per person or $12 minimum."
"Oh, well, we don't want anything," they said, combative.
"It's our policy, I mean, you could buy like two bottles of water or maybe sodas? Or would you like a juice?"
"We are not buying anything."
"Well, it's the policy. It says on the ticket. They tell you when you buy your tickets."
"Nobody told us," they yelled.
"Well, I'm sorry, but it's the policy. You have to buy something if you want to sit at a table or on the couches."
"We're not going to," they said. "We didn't know, so we're not going to."
"Well, I'm really sorry, but you have to."
"No, we won't."
"Well, I'll go on to the back and get the manager, then, and he'll come out and talk to you."
Poor waitress. Lame New Yorker reading upper crust having-too-much-money complaining about $20 in drinks assholes.
Now.
First of all, I agree that the two drink minimum or the dollar minimum is ridiculous. If you've already paid for a ticket, why do you have to pay another $12 just to be there? It would be better if the tickets were just slightly more costly.
Second of all, it is indeed possible for someone not to have known about the minimum. This has happened to us all, and we're always annoyed when we find out that we have to buy drinks even though we're not thirsty.
But.
Where do these people get off thinking they're exempt from the rules?
Why do they just get to break the rules?
The waitress came back and said "Well, the manager said you don't have to buy anything this time, but just know that in the future there will be a two drink minimum."
Ahhh!
They got away with it.
And it's not even annoying that they got away with it. If they had been nice people who were taken aback by the minimum and apologetic for not knowing, fine.
But these people were mean. They made the waitress uncomofortable. They intimidated her into backing down. And the rest of us, a bunch of people who weren't hungry or thirsty, had to pay an extra $12 or more to see the same show.
These people could have just gotten up and stood, like the other people who didn't feel compelled to pay the two drink minimum, but no. They just decided to be jerks and be mean and be the squeakiest wheels and roll their eyes and sigh loudly and just be generally unpleasant.
Ugh.
I liked the show, though, even though I was irritable and falling asleep.
I swear I'll be in a better mood soon.
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
I Am Craving...
... Domino's Twisty Bread. Or Crazy Bread. Or whatever it's called.
Oh my god I must have some.
Oh my god I must have some.
Monday, April 17, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, April 10, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, April 07, 2006
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, April 03, 2006
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.
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!
Friday, March 31, 2006
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...
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
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
Thursday, March 30, 2006
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.
Ridiculous.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
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...
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...
Monday, March 27, 2006
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
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
Thursday, March 23, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, March 20, 2006
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.
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.
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