People You Were Never Meant to See Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

High Maintenance

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am high maintenance.

Gridlock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bizarre, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until tomorrow...

Cops Are Different in Buenos Aires

OK. Actually, this is the last post about the trip to Buenos Aires.

And, for your reading enjoyment, we have a guest writer... Mo!

I was foggy about this story since I was tired and emo when it happened. After visiting P's parents' fabulous house, P's mother was quite considerate and called a car service to pick us up.

This is what happened:

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"Cops Are Different in Buenos Aires"

an Essay by Mo

We had to go through a set of tolls in order to get on the highway,
and there was a broken-down car in line and another car was sort of
swerving around. Our driver made a "tsk" sound as he maneuvered around
the broken-down car and the swerver, but we made it onto the highway
without incident.

On the highway, we found ourselves following a cop car. Sure, the cop
car was driving kind of slowly for a highway, but that did not seem a
good reason for our cab driver to start tailgating and flashing his
lights. Let me repeat: The cab driver started tailgating and flashing
his lights at a cop. A very painful hush fell over the cab as we
Americans began to pray that we were not about to be tossed into a
South American jail.

The cop pulled over,we pulled behind him, and the cab driver got out
of the car. That's when the panicked whispering began. "What the hell
is he doing?" we said to each other. "Did he just pull over a cop?"
Meanwhile, the cab driver and cop held a very calm conversation that,
to our surprise, did not in any way involve the cop throwing the
cabbie up against the car and cuffing him. So that was a good sign
right there.

After a few minutes, the cop returned to his car and drove merrily
away. The cabbie returned to our car and started up the engine. After
a bit of a stunned silence, D, our heroic Spanish speaker, asked the
driver what just happened. There was some explaining in Spanish, and
then D turned around to us and said, "Oh! He just wanted to get the
cop's attention so that he could report that driver back at the
tollbooth who was swerving. He looked like a drunk driver. I guess
that here, it's OK to get a cop's attention by flashing your lights at
him."

"D," I said, "Tell him that in America, flashing your lights at the
cops evokes a very different response."

Been Caught Cheatin'

When I looked up briefly while eating a slice of white pizza at lunch today, I saw... gasp... my NYC hairdresser!

I quickly looked down, worried about being seen.

She meandered around the pizza place for a few minutes, chatted with someone, and then noticed me.

"Shit," I thought.

She walked over and screeched "You put streaks in your hair?"

"Well, yeah, um, you know, I went to Argentina and it was only $10 so I thought 'Why not?'"

"Yeah, why not," she said.

"Yeah. Well. You look cute," I said, referring to her adorable dress.

"Thanks. How are things with your boyfriend?"

"Oh, good, thanks, better, yeah, our parents met this weekend."

"And things are still good?"

"Amazingly."

She touched my hair. "You got a hair cut too," she said, unamused.

"Yeah, well, again, it was only $10 and... how's your apartment?"

"Good, good, I'm getting it together. Your hair is shorter," she smiled a bit.

"Yeah, the front was getting kind of out of control and I asked for a straight haircut and now I can't wear it curly which is weird, you know? Can't have it both ways, right?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"OK, well, good to see you!" and she walked away.

Caught red-handed with the new haircut. I hope she didn't feel betrayed.

The irony is that I won't go to her again anyway. I had the Buenos Aires excuse this time, but what will I say next time? As much as I love her haircuts and conversation, things have gotten too expensive. I have to save money for things like trips and martinis. Can't be dropping $100 every time I get my hair cut. No way.

She never said it looked good, and I am having one of the best hair days ever.

Oh well.

Freaky

There is news breaking all over the blogosphere that somebody was murdered this morning outside of Moby's Teany in the Lower East Side.

Sad.

And freaky.

Why is this more freaky than your average NYC murder? Because (a) as of right now data suggest that it was random and (b) it happened in broad daylight and (c) it may or may not involve Moby.

People are dropping like flies down there from random murders and bad batches of heroine. I myself will be dining down there this evening, enjoying vegetarian food that has nothing at all to do with Moby.

Crazy, crazy city.

Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 3

We parted from D's parents, not quite relieved. D said "I won't be relaxed until I have your father's car back at your parents' house."

I said "I won't be relaxed until we are on the train back to NYC."

"Don't worry," he said. He was right - I was worried about time, but realistically we had plenty of time to drive back, grab a quick bite to eat, pack, and leave again in two hours. Plenty of time!

We stopped quickly at the Rosewood, one of my favorite spots in all the world. It's less than a mile from my parents' house. It's this nautical themed restaurant not-on-the-coast that has amazing ice cream and apparently amazing seafood that people go nuts for. I customarily get a grilled cheese and the best onion rings on the planet. I'd been craving them all weekend and every attempt to eat them had been foiled up until this point, so I decided it was worth the time risk to hopefully get some onion rings.

We pulled up frantically. I asked the girl how long it would take for onion rings, a grilled cheese, and two ice creams, and she said "Five minutes!" YES!

I devoured a watermelon sherbet cone during those five minutes. We jumped back into the car and drove back to my parents' house. When we arrived, Father said "Did you guys call about getting on the train?" "No," we both said. "Well, maybe you should. You know. Just so we don't drive all the way there in the rain and then you can't get on the train."

"I don't think we have anything to worry about," D said.

"Well, I you should call," Father said.

"You know, there's really no reason not to call," I said to D.

He called.

And, of course, the train was sold out.

Stranded.

And the MVP of the weekend is... Father!

We spent the night sleeping on the basement floor, since Brother and his girlfriend AM were sleeping in his room. Before we went to sleep, we played Battleship and I was filled with nostalgia for Former Boyfriends with whom I hid in the basement in years past. I miss the days of being 18 and rabid, unable to help myself and finding any way to find time alone with Boy and to escape the family. Whatever Boyfriend would be banished to the basement and I'd be "sleeping" upstairs in my bedroom. I'd sneak down to the basement after my parents had gone to sleep and I'd creep back into my bed before they awoke. We'd hide in the basement, the lights dimly glowing, having those all night conversations that we thought were oh-so-deep in college and I'd think things like "Is he my soulmate?" and "There's nothing that matters in this world beyond this basement" and "This is so beautiful."

I had these sorts of feelings with D as we laughed on our pile of comforters and vintage Return of the Jedi bedding in my parents' basement. Except this time I was thinking things like "I don't believe in a soulmate" and "The world beyond this basement is ugly and antagonistic" and "He is so beautiful."

We slept surprisingly well and woke up happy and with back pain. We had a nice breakfast with my Mother, hopped on the train and headed back to NYC.

It makes me sad that I am no longer impressed by the view of the city skyline from the train. When I was visiting Certain Someone last summer, every time I saw it I was filled with excitement and couldn't think anything other than "I must live here!"

We got off the train and headed back to my apartment, where I read mail, quickly unpacked and then repacked for the night. We headed to a furniture store where D intended to buy a couch. I'd made a to-scale floorplan of his apartment prior to our leaving for the weekend, along with to-scale little pieces of furniture that we cut out and arranged to see if the two-seat or three-seat couch would be optimal in his extremely small studio. (Incidentally, Mother played with this to-scale floor plan toy and said "You realize your father did this exact thing when we moved into this house, right?" I have so become my parents and there is no use resisting!) He'd decided on the three-seat, but on our way to the furniture store he started doubting himself and decided to go for the two-seat, which they no longer had in stock.

Drat!

Suffering from an intense nacho craving, I said that I'd like something involving nachos prior to our seeing Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man. We had a nice date at a cheesy Mexican place on Broadway. You know the one - with the giant neon Mexican hat. Yeah. That one. Awesome.

There were a million people in line at the Angelika (weird for a Monday night - is everyone seeing Broken Flowers?) so we decided to sit down early instead of dropping off D's suit at his apartment.

Weird movie. I don't know what to think. I thought it was a bit judgmental. Whereas White Diamond was a love letter, this movie used the character of Timothy Treadwill to bring up issues at the expense of the deceased. It felt weird to me that people in the theater were laughing at him. It was cut so that would happen, and that made me feel uneasy. I feel like Timothy Treadwill's sexuality played a big part in the movie, and that wasn't necessary. I don't know. It was interesting, and it's definitely on my mind, so I guess that means it was a good movie. But don't run out and see it. Rent it if you are curious.

And now I am back at work and trying to enjoy being sedentary until next weekend, when I go to MA again.

Until tomorrow...

Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 2

D and I walked to the only restaurant that is walking distance from my parent's house for breakfast on Sunday. While we were there, the power went out. We had been getting anxious about the Parent Summit prior to this, but ohmygod! "Oh my god," I said. "It's going to be 12,000 degrees in my parents' house. This is going to be suck! Now it will be psychologically AND physically uncomfortable!" It was 12,000 degrees in MA on Sunday morning. I was beginning to panic. D called his parents, and nonchalantly asked if they had power. They did.

"But what if there's no power in Boston!?" I yelled. "What if this is statewide? What are going to do?!?!"

"What if this is the entire Northeast!?!?" D asked.

"Oh, well, that would be awesome!"

"Yeah! The trains wouldn't run!"

"Wait - the trains are electric?"

"I think so."

"Awesome! So there will be no Amtrak trains which means we can't possibly get back to NYC, which means days off! WOO HOO!!!!"

And then "But wait. Does that mean the T won't be running? Wait! What will we do with your parents if the T ISN'T RUNNING!?!??!"

I called Sister to verify that Boston did, indeed, have power. They did. Relief.

D called his friend in NYC to verify that NYC didn't have power. Unfortunately, they did. Drat.

We walked back to my parents' house, sweating, since we'd been sitting in the absence of air conditioning and fan during breakfast.

When we got there, we were greeted by the pleasant sound of a vacuum cleaner.

Thank god.

Mother was freaking out, of course, vacuuming like a lunatic. While she vacuumed, I started to reduce clutter by putting things in neat, little piles. This was a technique utilized by Mother when we were little. She would say "So and so is coming over tonight. If you don't move your stuff and get it out of here, I am going to move it for you." She would put things in piles - we wouldn't be able to find anything. The piles would sometimes remain in the common areas, or would be moved to bedrooms behind closed doors. Either way, you could never find anything because she would just move it.

As I started to put things in piles, I realized that apparently my mother no longer subscribes to the anti-clutter policy. Man. She had so much stuff lying around! Perhaps she just hates non-self clutter. I don't know. I started moving her stuff around and said "Do you want me to move this stuff to your room?" and she was like "No, its fine."

It's hilarious, actually, that I live my life as a homage to my Mother, who no longer exists in the form I remember. I can't stand clutter and I blame her. If I have one piece of mail lying around I go nuts.

Since she wouldn't let me remove the clutter, I condensed it. She had her like nail-kit out in the living room - you know, nail files, other weird nail-related devices that are mysterious to me because I don't do my nails with such flare. I said "Ma, do you want to move this?" and she was like "No, why?"

So now it is I who am anal! I don't know. I just thought "It's weird to have your nail file just, like, out when your daughter's boyfriend's parents are over, isn't it?"

I said "Well, look, I'll just put this over here on the couch and when you go up to your room you can just bring it up with you."

Verbatim. I said verbatim what she used to say to us.

Absurd.

I assumed the vacuum activities so she could calm down, all the while trying to understand how my Mother went from an organized, anal, obsessed-with-cleanliness person to this. The house was a mess, and I was slightly concerned, but moreso with the change in my folks. They don't even have food in the house anymore. I imagine this is some sort of side effect from wanting-to-move.

I cleaned, put things in piles, drank 40 glasses of water, had nervous fits, and couldn't unlock the door when the doorbell rang.

They walked in and exchanged introductions.

While my Mother talked to various aunts about her doll collections (who knew they had this in common?) and with D's Mother about his not eating enough vegetables, Father showed software to D's Father and they exchanged business cards and were both thrilled to learn that they were both PE's! Wow! I showed the aunts and D's Mother some photos. I had, on a whim, brought two photo albums - one with photos from Buenos Aires and another with a random collection of photos I've taken during the last six months, complete with photos from my trip to Orlando.

D's Mother was happy to see photos I'd taken of her granddaughters, and I was peeved to learn that D had not sent the photos to her or to his brother. I had been slightly distressed that they never commented on them or thanked me for them. I have to admit that the photos are good - so I was surprised that they had nothing to say. Well, they had nothing to say because they'd never seen them. Hmph.

The Aunts and D's Mother loved the photos of the grandchildren, and thought my photography was good. Sweet!

Then came the awkward but necessary portion of the visit when my parents volunteer me to play piano for the guests!

This always reminds me of period pieces in which visitors arrive and the eldest daughter, who is shy and spinsterly but who plays lovely piano, has to sit down and play piano while the women gossip and the men smoke and talk business. Of course she is then noticed by the young gentleman visitor who is in town tidying up his deceased grandmother's estate or something.

Nevertheless... throughout history, this has been me, and throughout history I have resisted and thrown fits because I, as you all know, can't play piano in front of people. I can't really do anything in front of people. Insecure, nervous, worried.

I said "I'd love to, but I have no sheet music here," which was actually the truth.

My Mother said "No! Play 'Lullaby!' I heard you playing it this morning and it was lovely." Yes, I'd been playing it but I don't actually know it. I was just improvising when I noticed that D had fallen asleep while listening to me play. You can't improvise in front of two sets of parents and three aunts when you have heart-attack-inducing-fear-of-public-anything.

"What about Chopin's 'Etude'?" D's eldest aunt said, and then she hummed a bit.

"I don't know... I knew it once... but I haven't played it in years and there is no sheet music here."

I said I'd see what I could find, and voila! The only sheet music I had remaining at my parents' house was Chopin's "Etude." What are the odds?

I played it. I shook the whole time and butchered it. I don't think the audience noticed. I think D was proud.

Surreal, I tell you. Surreal.

We headed into Boston after our parents exchanged enthusiastic farewells, where we ate a late lunch at Fire and Ice. We were joined by Sister (so nice to see her!) and then walked around the Harvard campus, where D's Mother and Aunts took pictures with the statue of John Harvard. We headed into the city via the Red Line and walked through the Common and Public Gardens. We then headed to the Esplanade to walk along the river but ended up running to the T because it was pouring. The temperature had dropped about 20 degrees since the morning and the family wanted to "see Boston" but what do you do in one hour in annoying weather? I had no idea. I kept saying "What do you want to do?" and they were like "We don't know. We've never been here." I said "You really need, like, a day." D's father kept saying "They just want to take pictures" which is why I decided on the Common because - The State House! Cheers! Pretty flowers! The Hatch! I said "You really should come back and walk the Freedom Trail. That would be nice."

Yeah. I think they hated Boston. But its not my fault, because how can you see a city in two hours on a gross day? Not my fault!

Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 1

I had to make an unexpected trip to MA this weekend.

D and I headed up on Friday night, hoping to engage in some fabulous meteor gazing in my parents' backyard. Our plan was foiled by blocked skies, but we were still able to enjoy the country air and silence. I miss crickets. I really need to find a white noise radio thing that sounds like crickets, with the occasional lawn mower at around 8:30am that plays only on Sundays.

We borrowed my father's car on Saturday morning and headed down to RI, where we attended a memorial service. It was nice to see D's family, and it was even more nice to see D be human. D is perfectly put together, never flustered, never bothered, never compromised. I shouldn't say that it was nice to see him sad, but it was nice, for me, to feel like we have something in common. It was nice to experience this sort of thing together. It made me feel close to him when his voice cracked, and it made me feel like I mattered to him when he held my hand tightly.

After the service, D's mother said "We were thinking of going into Boston tomorrow. We were thinking you could show us around. We were thinking of stopping in Medway first to see your parents."

Whoa.

I had many thoughts about this in the following order:

1. They want to meet my parents? It's too soon!
2. Why do they want to meet my parents!?
3. I don't feel like this is the right time! It's too soon!
4. That's so freaking serious!
5. Aren't parents supposed to meet when things are serious?
6. Don't parents meet after some sort of engagement?
7. Wait - they want to meet MY parents?
8. Why do they want to meet MY parents?
9. Wait! Maybe they want to meet my parents because they actually like me and want to know my family!
10. Wait! This is a sign of acceptance, isn't it? Like they are admitting that I am dating their son and that perhaps I am a permanent fixture!
11. Wait! This is wicked awesome!
12. Wow! I am so moved that they want to meet my parents! This is actually really sweet of them!
13. Although slightly bizarre because they just declared that they are dropping by my parents' house.
14. This is great! I can't believe they want to meet my parents!
15. Now. How am I going to tell my mother, who cannot be at all spontaneous and who freaks out about the idea of anyone at all, even D, coming by the house, that D's parents and three aunts are coming over tomorrow?

After many secret meetings at the after-service-reception, we came up with an overly complicated plan for them to meet us in Medway after they went to church, after my parents had returned from church, after which they would follow us, by car, to Harvard Square to see Harvard, which they were really excited about. As D's father said "It's not so much that they want to experience Boston, they just want to take pictures. They want to say 'Look! Here I am at Harvard!' or 'This is me with the State House in the back of the photo.'"

When I called my mother and said "We are all going to Boston tomorrow! You should come!" she immediately responded with "NO!"

It wasn't planned and therefore it cannot occur. Plus, it involves the city. Ewww.

I then said "Oh, well, in that case, well, um, D's parents would like to, umm... well, see, they'd like to drop by the house to meet you."

"They want to meet us? Why?"

I tried to brush it off as extremely casual and mostly a drop-by (which is what it was - it was more of an organizational tactic than something dramatic and full of pressure), and said "Yeah, no food or anything. They're just going to stop by for a few minutes."

My mother, of course, got nervous. I said "I'll call you later" and then did just that on our way back from RI.

I said "Look, ma, I know this is sort of strange and unexpected and you don't need to freak out and this really means a lot to me and realistically there's never going to be an opportunity for you to meet them again and I really think its a nice thing that they want to meet you so nobody is going to worry about this."

She was, predictably, worried about the state of the house. She hadn't vacuumed! The sink is a mess! There's stuff everywhere! M and AM's stuff is all over the place! She doesn't want them to think that the house is a mess!

What entertained me was the extent to which D was worried. After I came to the realization that they wanted to meet my parents because they now acknowledge my existence, I couldn't be anything but blissful about it.

D, however, was nervous! This was new too. I kept asking him what he was nervous about. I kept saying "They're going to like each other. Our parents are exactly the same people! My mom is adorable, your mother is adorable. Yeah, Father is weird but you know, they're both engineers. They'll probably start calling each other on the phone and will eventually become best friends and then we'll feel weird about that." I decided, after watching him be nervous, that what was worrying him was being exposed. D values his privacy, values his mystery, and now my parents would know his parents. Too much information. Too invasive. This could, gasp, led to his being understood.

We grabbed dinner with my parents on Saturday night and retreated to my brother's room after the sad day. We discussed the plan for the following day and discussed ways to minimize parent-related stress. We decided that instead of rushing through the Boston photo tour, we'd take the 10:00pm train from 128 that would have us back in NYC by 2am. We had tickets for the 6:55pm train. I said "D, we should probably call just to make sure we can use the 6:55 tickets on the 10:00 train." "I'm sure we can." "I'm sure we can, too, but we should call just to make sure we get a spot." "It's a 10:00 train. It's not going to be sold out." "Yeah, but maybe we should just call. You know. Just to make sure. I just want to, you know, know that we have a way home." "Don't worry about it," he said.

Because D is chill and composed and because things work out for him, I trusted him and didn't worry.

We fell asleep instantly, drained from the day's activities.

Engaged

Hope you didn't get too excited. It is not I who am engaged!

Far from it, actually.

This girl in the bay across from mine got engaged whilst on her camping vacation earlier this week.

She returned, giddy, with a huge rock and a perma-smile. She claims she cried for an hour when he asked her.

I, for some reason, nearly cried when she told me.

I am emo today. Real emo.

As soon as I got the opportunity, I said "Congratulations!" and then wondered what, exactly, I was congratulating her for.

I've been thinking about it, and I think what I meant to say was "Congratulations on finding someone who likes you enough to spend the rest of his life with you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who doesn't think your emotions are stupid!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who has emotions!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who respects you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who will put up with you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who likes you enough to stick with you through good and bad!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who can handle you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who actually wants to handle you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who makes you cry because you are happy and not because you are sad because you feel like he doesn't like you all that much sometimes."

Man. I said "Bench buddy, why does someone's getting engaged make me feel emo?"

He said "That's surprising. It doesn't seem like you since you're not really into the institution."

"I know, that's why I'm asking for you opinion. I don't get it."

He said "I think its hard-wired. I think that's just how girls are. You know how girls get when their friends get engaged. They just get crazy. That's just how girls are."

That's just how girls are.

I wish someone would explain this to boys.

D, apparently, is still mad at me for being uncomfortable about his ex-girlfriends. I said, recently, after defining "ex girlfriend" and making him tell me who they are and what the circumstances were and forcing him to just give me personal information, "Look, I don't mind if you hang out with them, and in turn, you can't mind that it makes me uncomfortable" but he refuses to allow me to be uncomfortable. Because he doesn't agree with it. He thinks its stupid to feel that way, and therefore so am I. He says "You don't trust me" and "It's ridiculous to be insecure" and "I am not going to cheat on you" and "Stop acting like you know stuff about how people are because your circumstances are just unusual."

I just want to scream "Some people are just like this! A lot of girls are like this! I am not abnormal!!!"

That's just how girls are.

That's just how I am and he won't accept it.

Emo, kids, emo.

D is allowed to be emo right now. I am being patient and supportive and there for him but it's not easy. He refuses to ask for help and gets overwhelmed and the result is consuming negativity about and frustration with everything. He is allowed to feel negative. He is not allowed, however, to ruin us because of things that have nothing to do with us. I won't let him. I am trying to be positive and patient and understanding, but it hurts.

It hurts when I feel that we could end and he wouldn't care, and that makes me think that maybe it should end. But I don't want it to.

EMO!!!! I hate being emo.

D hates that I am emo.

But I think its weirder not to be.

Ulcer Averted

Hi kids.

I saw the most sparkly movie last night.

In my efforts to kill time post-work and pre-scouting-out-of-open-mic, I dropped by the recently opened IFC theater around the corner from work and watched You and Me and Everyone We Know.

This movie was... effervescent. Amazing. Beautiful. Sweet. Heartbreaking.

I don't even know what to say, other than I know that it will be stuck to me for the rest of my life.

Dare I say this... top 10?

Possibly.

I think I need to see it again. And again. And then again. And probably 100 more times after that.

It's difficult to see a movie that has a profound effect on you and to then have nobody to share it with. I went by myself. Usually I love going to movies by myself, but I was just ruined emotionally by this movie - and its not even sad - its just so... much... beautiful... and I had nowhere to put it.

D, ever indulging the Dawson's Creek moments, met me at the theater to force me to check out the open mic. I was completely unprepared, even to speak. I couldn't say anything. He had cut his own hair and I wanted to say "You cut your hair! It looks good!" but I had no words. We walked for a bit and he was talking and finally I just cut him off and screamed "I think that was one of the best movies I have ever seen! I am deeply moved. OK. Onto other things..."

We rounded the corner and briefly walked by the open mic. It was very crowded. He said "Let's go in." I said "The talent level no longer matters because even if everyone sucks as badly as I do, there's way too many people there. I couldn't play in front of that many people, even if they are all terrible. I'm getting an ulcer just standing here looking through the window."

So that's that. The demise of the Open Mic Dream.

Interestingly, the cute-ish boy from two open mics ago, the one who gave me the fabulous compliment, was sitting at the bar by himself.

I think that I may try to get to the open mic on time next week (well, not next week, because next Monday is the Madonna-thon!) just to get a seat and to listen and make friends yeah right, without any intention of playing.

Question, readers - I imagine, were I to ever play an open mic, that I'd be more comfortable playing something silly - a la Ethan Hawke or something of that nature rather than a more personal, better composed, more emo selection. Thoughts?

After the walk-by, we went on an-almost-date to an Indian restaurant and then back to D's house to watch Brain Candy, which I'd never seen.

I was plagued by nightmares last night. I don't know why. Glass of wine perhaps? Indian food? Open mic residual panic? The movie?

I kept having dreams about my mother being antagonistic towards me (don't know why - I adore my mother), about D cheating on me, about D being a general dickhead, about D's family being mean to me.

But get this! I had a dream in which I died!

Now. You're saying one of two things. You are saying:

1. You can't die in your dreams! or
2. What's the big deal? People say you can't die in your dreams but you totally can.

I always thought I'd had dreams in which I'd died, but man. I have never had a dream like this before.

I don't remember anything other that what happened right before I woke up.

I was at a party or something - a going away party? For me? I was hanging out with RR, and we were just talking, and I was backing up for some reason, and I looked at her and she had this look of horror come across her face.

Because it was a dream, I knew exactly what was going on. I was about to die. I looked at her and she mouthed "Don't..." and I mouthed "I can't..." and then my entire back went up in flames.

I could feel the heat. I felt my back getting warm and knew it was coming.

I felt pre-death emotions in a millisecond.

Like "Fuck, I can't believe this is how its happening" and "I can't believe its happening now" and "I can't believe its happening like this" and "How embarrassing for RR to see me die like this" and "I am worried that RR will be traumatized" and "How could I have been so stupid?" and "What was I supposed to do with life?" and "Did I do enough?" and "My poor parents" and "What was the point of it all anyway?" and "Did I say everything I needed to say?" and "I wish D was here with me" and "Would he even care?" and "Do I even care?"

And then it went to black and I woke up and I swear my heart had stopped. Like I shot up in bed and couldn't breathe and was gasping and afraid and surprised that I still existed.

When I woke up this morning, I said to D "Dude, I had crazy nightmares all night last night" to which he responded "Is that why you were sleeping like right here?" as he pointed to his side of the bed.

"Write them down so you don't forget," he said.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to forget."

It was really weird. I have never experienced that in a dream before. I think I've died - or at least death has been assumed or inferred - but I've never had the death-associated thoughts before. I never actually considered it beyond "Shit, I'm drowning - this is scary" or "Being buried in snow really sucks!"

This was entirely different.

I think because it was out of nowhere. No being chased, no falling off a boat, no terrorists, no giant dinosaurs lurking about waiting to devour my family. Everything was fine in the dream and then bam! Taken by surprise and its all gone.

Today I am thinking about death and thinking "What's the big deal?" Like if I walked outside and someone held a gun to my head and I had a millisecond in real life, what would I think? I'd probably think "That sort of sucks," but beyond that, really, is it that scary to not exist?

This is so morbid. I'm not even in a bad mood. I'm just thinking about it, because I never thought I'd be afraid to die until this dream last night. I guess I've just had death on the brain lately. People dying. People responding or not responding to people dying. Grief is such a personal thing. Nobody experiences it the same way, and I bet actually dying is the same way.

OK. Stop being morbid!!!

I'm going to clean my apartment tonight. I was hoping to do it this weekend, but I am not going to be in NYC this weekend. So now I have only one night at home to do everything I wanted to do tonight, Friday night, and Saturday and Sunday. Slightly stressed. Sometimes I think I am not very good at living my life, but whatever. It's not going to kill me to stay up really late mopping.

It's just that I need sleep. Lots of it. To compensate for nightmares.

Incidentally - this really weird but funny thing happened this morning.

At like 6am I awoke and D was smothering me! He totally was! I was like "Dude! WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!" and he was like "To block out the light... to block out the light..." and I was like "What are you doing?" and he was trying to put this like blindfold on me. I'm not kidding. One of those blindfoldmaskthings people use to sleep with, to block out light. "No, wear it..." he kept saying and I was like "Stop! PLEASE!" because I had woken up from a dead sleep and really thought he was trying to kill me with it.

When I woke up, I was convinced that it hadn't happened and that it had been another nightmare, until I saw the mask on the floor.

He was like "Dude, what was that all about?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the one who was trying to kill me with that mask for no reason."

He said "You were complaining about the light."

"Me? What?"

"You were complaining about the light so I was trying to help."

"No I wasn't."

"You were."

"No I wasn't. You woke me up out of a dead sleep. I thought you were trying to kill me."

"I was trying to help you."

"If you say so. You're the one who talks in your sleep. Are you sure I was actually talking and you didn't just imagine it?"

"You were talking."

I should have said "Why didn't you just hand it to me if I was asking for help?" or "Why didn't you ask me if I wanted it?" or "Why on earth do you even have that?"

I don't know. I was having a lot of nightmares and didn't sleep soundly, but data suggest that it is D and not yours truly who experiences insanity while sleeping - he'll be having an entire conversation with me while he sleeps. And he'll insist I said something.

For example, the other morning I got up to get a glass of water and when I returned he said "What's theoretical?" I was like "What?" He said "You just said it was theoretical. What is?" "No, I just got here." "No, you just said..." "No, dude, I wasn't even here. Just go back to sleep" and then he'll be asleep instantly.

So I sort of think he imagined the whole thing.

But seriously. Weird.

Which is why I need to get lots of sleep tonight and possibly not mop because mopping is probably not more important than that extra 20 minutes of sleeping.

OK.

Until tomorrow...

Shout Out Louds at the Mercury Lounge - 8.7.05

I was at the Mercury Lounge again last night, this time seeing the Shout Out Louds who are my favorite band du jour.



I can't get enough of them. I really can't. I can't stop listening to the album. When I first got it, I listened to it, on average, four times a day for about a month straight. I was really excited about the show, and kept thinking "There's no way its going to live up to my expectations. It's just impossible. There's no way." I haven't been this excited about something in a long time. One two many bad shows, I guess, or one too many experiences of New Yorkers Not Dancing.

At any rate, The Redwalls opened and I think I like them. I'd downloaded a few of their songs about a month ago after hearing bits and pieces of their new album at a listening station at the, ahem, Virgin Megastore. They were quite adorable.



They look no older than 12 and appear British although they are not. I'd describe them as a cross between The Black Crowes, the Beatles, with maybe a moment or two of Buddy Holly? They rocked. Nothing you haven't heard before, but well executed by unbearably cute boys.



The Shout Out Louds. Yes. Fucking amazing. First of all, the lead singer was wearing suspenders. Marvelous! Second of all, the bassist looks like Jim Hensen. Third of all, they rocked. There's nothing I like more than a performance that builds off of what you hear on a record. Oftentimes we say "They're good live - they sound just like the album." That's tough to pull off, and admirable, but not nearly as entertaining as a band that can sound better than their albums. The live sound rocked much more than the recorded sound, which created this awesome energy at the Mercury Lounge.



There was a dude behind me who described the lead singer's voice as being a cross between "Robert Smith and that guy from Fine Young Cannibals." True, and brilliant.



They were so very good.



I danced like an idiot.



Did anyone else?

Nope.



Well, not true. There were a few enthusiastic people scattered throughout the audience, but mainly just a bunch of composed viewers standing completely still. It confuses me. How can you not dance?

I suppose I can understand not dancing. But how can you not move? At all?



I want to sell shirts outside of New York City music venues that say "Too Cool to Dance."



I was going nuts. This show could be Top 10, especially in the overall enjoyability category. It ranks quite high on the "If I had to go to the same show for the rest of time..." scale. I said to my friend "I'd like to go again tomorrow. And the next day. And really every night, if that was possible. This show is bliss."



It's interesting to see the way people experience shows. Instead of dancing people take photos.



I did both.

What Movie Is Ethan Hawke Going to See?

Genre: Waltz
Date: 8.7.05





Description:

Description:

Huge Euge asks, Huge Euge receives!

I'd originally envisioned My Mundane Life in Song as a challenge - for those of you were there at the beginning, my goal was "a song a day," no matter how awful.

It deteriorated to "a song a week," no matter how awful. Knowing I'd probably run out of ideas (really, a song a week is tough!) I'd hoped that the blog itself would generate potential song topics. Huge Euge, without knowing this, suggested a song via blog last week after The Ethan Hawke Encounter.

And here it is!

When telling people about The Ethan Hawke Encounter, I was surprised that nobody really cared. People said things like "But he's all weird now" and "He cheated on Uma!" and "But his book was so bad!"

I defended my stance on thinking this was a cool celebrity encounter, because (a) I loved Ethan Hawke - I loved him in "Dead Poets Society" and "Reality Bites." Who didn't? Admit it! Just admit it! And I loved the movie "Alive," which a lot of people don't realize that he was in.

One of my best (and worst) traits is my loyalty. In my mind, Ethan Hawke hasn't done anything on a professional level to make me dislike him. Yes, maybe he's less than appealing aesthetically these days and yes, maybe he's engaged in some morally questionable activities in his personal life, but this does not take away from his cinematic body of work. Plus, I thought he was amazing in "Hurly Burly."

So here's the song about The Ethan Hawke Encounter.

I hope you like it. Please forgive the roaring of the air conditioner in the background and the fact that this song sounds much like a bunch of old songs, namely "It Is Cool When Tons of Robots Climb on Things."

But My Mundane Life In Song should have songs, no matter how terrible they are.

And feel free to offer up suggestions for future songs.

Enjoy!


Lyrics:

What movie is Ethan Hawke going to see in Chelsea?
Why does Ethan Hawke insist on looking homeless and surly? Like a hillbilly?

Ever since the I moved to New York
I've developed an awful habit of being late to everything
It blows my mind that anyone even still makes plans with me

I bet Eugene was pleased
That I wasn't on time
Cuz if I was there wouldn't be blog entries to write

What movie is Ethan Hawke going to see in Chelsea?
Why does Ethan Hawke insist on looking homeless and surly? Like a hillbilly?

Of course I want to stalk Ethan Hawke
Even if he looks a little frightening
That doesn't make me not want to own Dead Poets Society

Yeah he looks real weird
But I don't care
Because he meant a lot to me when I was thirteen

Maybe he's getting a ticket to Wedding Crashers
Or Happy Endings
Or Mad Hot Ballroom, which I'm dying to see!
Which only proves that Ethan Hawke should be best friends with me

What movie is Ethan Hawke going to see in Chelsea?
Why does Ethan Hawke insist on looking homeless and surly? Like a hillbilly?

What movie is Ethan Hawke going to see in Chelsea?
Why does Ethan Hawke insist on looking homeless and surly? Like a hillbilly?

Half Day Fridays

It is Saturday and I feel like its Sunday because I had yesterday off. Life can be so lovely sometimes.

On Thursday night my fellow workmates and I went for half-priced drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat. I ordered two Fat Black Pussycats and, as usual, was ruined. In the good way, though, wherein drunkenness makes you honest and unable to walk in a straight line and somehow infinitely more charming than you are when sober. After much drinking and giggling and trying to fit our bodies inside a weird Egyptian sarcophagus that was near our couches at Fat Black, we headed East to grab some of the best pizza I've ever had before seeing The Cloud Room play at Mercury Lounge.

My friend SM from Boston is currently the keyboardist for the Cloud Room, which is a band that is currently approved of by Hipster Nation. It was nice to see SM and very exciting to see him play again:





We then went home because we are old, although I think I could have stayed out for many more hours.

Yesterday was mostly sloth and then a trip to Williamsburg:



I was afraid that I'd get nostalgic, but the combination of heat and my heavy bag prevented me from really experiencing anything other than discomfort.



I do, however, miss the view:



Gasp.

We walked around a bit and could have spent hours looking through books and CD's and for a couch for D, but instead ate dinner at Anytime, which I miss but not as much any more, and didn't get knishes at Pita Power because it has closed! Ridiculous.

We then headed to Rooftop Film's presentation of the Found Footage Festival. If you have the opportunity to see this where you live, please, do yourself a favor and see it.

It's found videos - from absurd promotional insurance videos to home movies to the Wendy's instructional rap video on how to properly cook hamburger patties. There was this really old Arnold Schwarzenagger video in which he goes to Carnevale and engages in all manner of gross womanizing. There were a bunch of silly exercise videos from the 80's (a Playgirl one and one featuring Patrick Swayze and his mother and another one with Angela Lansbury talking about post-menopause sexuality!), a, gasp, penis pump video, various local access type shows and this hilarious man who wrote songs about all of the zodiac signs and then performed them while wearing a tuxedo while some girl interpretative danced behind him while he sang "P...p...p...Pisces!." The best was a seamless edit of outtakes from a Winebago sales video in which the salesman curses nonstop that had me in tears. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time.

And now I am catching up on home projects like CD burning and blogging and nail painting. I love having an extra day.

Until the week...

Drosophila

I rented Laurel Canyon from Netflix last week.

I rented it to have further time to gaze upon the beauty that is Christian Bale.

The movie is about the relationship between an aging record producer and her extremely uptight son.

To illustrate that her son and his fiance are smart and uptight, the writer decided to have Christian Bale be a doctor, and in the case of the fiance, played by Kate Beckinsale, an MD/PhD student!

There are many examples of Kate's being "smart" in the film, such as when she beats Christian Bale at Scrabble and how she looks orgasmically at some Drosophila codons and then chrystal structures as she writes her dissertation.

She may be the smartest girl in her class, but when asked in what she is getting her PhD, she responded with:

"Gene-aw-mics."

If she's so damn smart, why can't she pronounce "Genomics?"

And more importantly, if she is studying the Drosophila gene-awm, why does she say "Dros-oh-FEEL-a?"

Yeah.

Also, Natalie Portman is going to be in "V for Vendetta," and she's apparently British. I am already horrified. I am even more horrified that there were petri dishes in the preview.

OK.

I'm not working tomorrow.

Have great weekends!

YEAH!

Bills

I awoke from a dream last night at 4:30 am. In the dream, I was living in this really sweet, gigantic apartment, to which I'd just had delivered three new refrigerators and two new bookshelves. I was distressed, in the dream, because I'd just lost my wallet and there was no way I was going to be able to pay for the refrigerators. "I only need one of these!" I declared to my friends (fictional), who'd been angry with me earlier in the dream for not telling them I'd moved to such a grandiose apartment.

As the dream wore on, I started organizing things rather minimalistly, and made my apartment be about 10x the size I thought it was. I was very, very excited!

Then the maid showed up.

The maid?

What?

I was like "Excuse me... what are you doing here?"

"I'm the maid for the apartment complex."

"What?"

"I clean everyone's apartment."

"What? You've been cleaning my apartment?"

"Yes," she chuckled snidely.

"Really? It doesn't look like anyone's been cleaning it."

"Well, I haven't been doing a very good job."

"Am I supposed to leave you tips? I swear I didn't know there was a maid."

"Yes. You are supposed to leave me a tip. This is why I've been doing a bad job."

"Shit. I'm sorry. I swear I didn't know. How much am I supposed to leave?"

"Well, on average, people tip $30 a week, but usually more."

"$30 a week!?!? WHAT? That's $120 a month! I can't afford that! Is this maid service optional?"

"No."

"So you've been coming in here and not cleaning... what have you been doing?"

She insinuated that she'd been doing sketchy things, and I was livid.

"I can't afford to pay you not to mess with my apartment! If I'd have known that this place was going to be $120 more a month than I thought, I'd never have taken it! This is absurd! How dare they? Especially given that I have to pay insane money in health expenses..."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I jolted awake then, reminded of the "health expenses."

Earlier that evening I'd received an extremely distressing notice from my insurance company indicating that I owe an obscene amount of money to someone. Obscene. Obscene obscene obscene.

I guess I didn't allow myself to think about it when I opened the mail. It's far to upsetting.

At 4:30 am, I was thinking things like "With that amount of money, I could have:"

- taken 16 photography classes
- bought 4 or more really nice new cameras
- taken 2 really awesome and exotic vacations
- bought 20 keyboards off of Craigslist
- paid rent and all other bills for two months
- have divided the money up over a year and have gotten a huge gigantic apartment
- bought 15 pairs of new glasses

I was up until about 6:00 am, tossing and turning and doing math.

I can't stand the thought of seeing my savings torn apart because of health insurance.

I hate that its basically like losing money. Like you wake up one day and boom! It's all gone.

I hate that, here, if you spend that amount of money, you can't ever make it back. It's literally gone. No amount of lifestyle altering could get that money back in even 5 years of living in New York City. Yes, I have it, but the only reason I have it because I was able to save it in Boston. And I didn't save it for this.

The good news is that my money is most likely not going to vanish. I called the health insurance people today and pointed out the issue, and they were like "We have no idea - we will look into it - it looks like we billed it incorrectly, so you most likely won't owe anything."

I am going to operate under the assumption that I won't owe anything and will live as normal and will go to MA and Philly and VT in the next month and not worry. I may take buses instead of trains, though. I was thinking "I can't go home! I can't afford it! I can't go to VT! I refuse to go to Philly for the baby shower! I am going to have to move out of my apartment! Maybe out of New York City! I will definitely have to leave my job because how can I work for a company with such an absurd insurance plan? What if something else happens to me? I will be screwed! For the love of god why do I pay for health insurance if they won't cover anything!?"

Yeah.

So I'm a little tired.

But relieved.

And suddenly feeling like I have options.

Buenos Aires - Saturday - The End

This is my last Buenos Aires post. I swear.

You don't need to read this. These posts are really for me and my future most likely nonexistent children and grandchildren who will say things like "What were you like?" and I'll be all "I wonder if my blog is still floating around out there...you can read it... and see pictures!"

Or, maybe I'll still be writing My Mundane Life in Song when I am a retiree, when I will have plenty of time to write songs to appease my readers.

I digress...

D and I awoke about four hours after we returned from the wedding, feeling ill and hungover and delirious and exhausted and sad. We'd had an argument the night (morning) before. All week I'd been saying "D, I really want to get room service. When will we ever be able to afford room service? This is a great opportunity!" M and A got room service and said it was good. D thought this was a great idea, so when we were filling out the room service card the night before he was all "What do you want?" and I was like "Scrambled eggs, toast, juice... everything!" He checked off everything I wanted and that was it. I was like "Aren't you going to get anything?" and he was like "I have stuff here. You know. I have the crackers and the cheese and candy I bought. I'll eat that."

We had a small fight, where I yelled "Why do you have to be so cheap?" and he yelled "Why do you have to be so judgmental? I'm just being efficient! And not wasteful!" and I yelled "It's like 30 cents of waste! And it's the last time we will ever be in Buenos Aires! I think it would be nice to have the last meal together here and have it not be crackers!" We went to bed not-mad, and I still have never ordered room service in my life.

I decided, instead, that I'd get lunch with M and A that afternoon after we checked out, because getting room service alone while there someone else in your room is depressing.

After packing, we headed down to the lobby and checked out at noon.

The four of us deliriously headed down to the Recoleta in search of a restaurant, and ended up at the Design Mall. Again. I was so hungover and dehydrated and tired and insane. I said "Dudes, all I want is some scrambled eggs. I would kill for some scrambled eggs. How awesome would scrambled eggs be?"

M agreed. There was a Hard Rock Cafe in the Design Mall that we'd made fun of earlier in the week, but it now seemed really appealing. "Dudes," I said, "I'd eat at Hard Rock right now. I bet they have greasy fabulous American brunch. What do you say?"

On our way to the Hard Rock, M noticed that this cafe that we'd eaten at earlier in the week (where we had an amazing dessert) had a sign claiming to have eggs. We decided to eat there, since eating at Hard Rock is cheesy, even when you're starving to death.

It was freezing out (freezing! so not only was I hungover with a headache and starving and dehydrated and delirious, I was shivering) so walking into the restaurant was a relief. The hostess, however, sat us outside. I have no idea. Everyone else was sitting inside the restaurant. We were literally the only people sitting outside in this shelter thing that was allegedly heated but wasn't really warm. Because it was winter. We sat for a while, wondering why she'd put us out there. I was really cold, and trying not to be bitchy about it, but kept saying "Why are we out here? Why us? Why did she make us sit here? Why does everyone else get to sit inside? I'M COLD!" D talked to her and she was apologetic and brought us back into the restaurant. We still don't know why she made us sit out there.

Inside, we were served bread with a nice cheese spread that we inhaled.

M and I both ordered scrambled eggs, and D and A ordered the same omelette. I asked for a diet coke, and the others ordered coffee and orange juice. D also asked for more of the cheese spread.

The coke and orange juices arrived, but no coffee. No cheese spread.

Half an hour later the waitress appeared and we asked for water, which never came.

In the middle of this, some guy yelled at A in Spanish about leaving his camera on the floor and put it on a chair at the end of our table.

Half an hour later the food came and we were psyched! They brought it out, covered, and placed it behind D and A. We were even more hungry than we'd been. When they opened the first platter, M and I were like "Man, they really messed up your omelettes!" It was a pile of mystery food - maybe there was a total of one egg in it - and ham and peas and potatoes or something. When they placed it in front of M, we were confused. They opened the second platter, which looked more like an omelette, and gave that to A. And then the second omelette to D. And then the second order of "scrambled eggs" to me.

OK, folks. Scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs should HAVE EGGS. Scrambled eggs is not a pile of stuff involving ham and vegetables and no eggs.

I was livid. Not only did we not have cheese spread or water or coffee, not only had we waited for hours for our food, not only was I starving to death and dehydrated and about to lose my mind before this even happened, they served me MEAT!

A traded his omelette with M, because M really had her heart set on eggs.

I just sat there, pile o' meat in front of me, trying not to explode. I'd have ordered something else, except that it would have taken another hour and I really didn't want to be there for another minute.

M ended up being My Hero, because she, for whatever reason, had a yogurt with her in her purse.

No good. Moral? Please do not order scrambled eggs if you ever visit Buenos Aires.

We waited for what seemed like eternity for the waitress to reappear and asked for the bill. She seemed unphased by the fact that none of us had eaten much of what we ordered. D explained to her that "scrambled eggs" had obviously been mistranslated, but she didn't care. We asked for the check. It didn't come.

Someone else finally brought it to us a hundred years later, and it wasn't our check.

So yeah. Mind almost lost, but all was remedied by our finding a cute little cafe about an hour later with the sweetest waitress of all time. I had a sandwich and felt sane.



We went back to the hotel, grabbed our luggage, and hopped a car to the airport.

I slept through take off because I was so tired. I literally woke up, mid-flight, having no idea what had happened.

I think I slept for 8 hours on the flight home.

My feet were swollen again, but I didn't care.

We hopped a shuttle back to Manhattan, I said "good-bye" to D after my super buzzed us in (she is too cute - being awake at 7am on a Sunday looking out her window), and I fell asleep for another three hours.

At work I was met with "You look great!," so I guess it was a good vacation.

And now I am here, and now you will never have to read another post about Buenos Aires again!

Finis.

Singles Gang

In celebration of the one year birthday of My Mundane Life In Song (yes, folks, I've been so scattered lately that I forgot my blog's birthday!!!), I am going to resurrent some really old songs that I never finished because I ended up moving to NYC and not having any time to do anything.

Please pardon the quality - this song is a MESS. I don't have time to really make them good, but whatever. It's the best I can do right now, so deal! ;)





Title: Singles Gang
Genre: No idea - this one is an anomoly
Date: Last June-ish

Description:

True story - shortly before I moved, a couple of friends and myself went to Redline to get some drinks and realized... gasp... there was dancing! RR and I, of course, were game for dancing, but we had to coerce our other friends to join us. MS (aka "Brad") had just gotten out of a relationship, and wasn't quite ready for anything, but then this bachelorette party showed up and... well... it's easy. That's what this song is about. It *should have* been easy.

There are some awesome quotes from RR in the song.

Also - the mix - HORRENDOUS. There are like 14 different piano tracks on this for some reason and I can't redo them because I am sans keyboard. So the levels go up and down and I don't have the patience to fix them. There are all sorts of other problems - its very dry, but it will have to do.

You asked for music, so here's some really BAD MUSIC! YEAH!

Lyrics:

Brad's back in the game
For a long time he's been away from things
Yeah I prefer it this way
Selfish, yes
But I like my friends
Welcome back to the singles gang

The girls from the ugly sorority are celebrating
The marriage of Sister Muffy
The memo said "pink!"
Yeah, Brad have a drink
These bachelorettes are ripe
Things couldn't be easier tonight

Brad's amidst the bunch of girls
Inspired by Bel Biv Devoe
The chicks are in a frenzy
Brad's feeling elation
His white man's dance effective
Suddenly Buffy's on the ground

She's wailing, she's freaking out!
She's screaming "fuck!" at the top of her lungs
The sisters swarm
The dancing stops
Brad's 30 seconds of confidence are up

She's stealing Muffy's thunder
the sisters begin to wonder what to do

They disappear
Brad feels responsible
He's sullen so he steps aside
It's all so traumatic
I feel bad for him
And that girls' knee
but not for me
Cuz now there's more room on the dance floior
And a noticeable lack of pink

Brad's back in the game
For a long time he's been away from things
Yeah I prefer it this way
Selfish, yes
But I like my friends
Welcome back to the singles gang

And Yet Another Weekend Has Passed and I Still Haven't Worked on Music

But that is ok, because it was a really good weekend.

Because I really feel like I live in NYC.

D and I went on a date on Friday night. We went to this pretty lame exhibit at the Spanish American Society, but luckily followed it with a trip to the Whitney, which has the most amazing exhibit ever. It blew my mind. I feel as though I am suddenly into art. Maybe I was just waiting for my world to be shaken. When I saw these paintings, I literally gasped.

The Whitney rules. You should all go there. Often.

After a small break in Central Park, we headed back to my apartment where we cooked dinner and watched "Thelma and Louise," which neither of us had seen before. Overrated, but cute anyway.

On Saturday I went to see "The Aristrocrats" with E after playing piano for a bit and not making any phone calls. That movie is fun-neeee. I highly recommend it. It was vulgar and profane and original and entertaining and a fabulous laugh. Go see it!

I then headed to D's for dinner. He made Vietnamese crepes. We then went for a walk along the river and then started watching "Short Cuts," which is one of my favorite movies of all time. Needless to say we didn't make it through the entirety of the film, given that its very very very long.

On Sunday I met R for brunch at Cafe Juanita, which serves brunch and FOUR ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES for a mere $15! It was good. We got good and drunk (readers, I had only one peach margherita and I was ALL SET) and had a fabulous conversation about how we will be better New Yorkers from now on and force one another to live the lives we thought we'd always have here. R and I have much in common and it makes me very happy. We then met up with D, who was selling and buying CD's. D and I were supposed to go to P.S.1 for more art, but instead D invited us over to R's for a cold beverage.

We ended up drinking lemoncello (yes!) and getting more drunk, while we waited for R's girlfriend J to turn up.

D and I then headed to The Bronx to have dinner with LL and some of her friends at an Italian restaurant.

It was a busy weekend, and I accomplished nothing, but I don't really care, because it was much fun.

And here are some photos from this weekend:

Buenos Aires - Friday - THE WEDDING!!!

When we arrived, people were already drinking and eating.

A few moments after we arrived, music started playing and N and P arrived by boat! So cute.

The ceremony followed. I was very honored to be part of it, even though all I did was stand there. M and I had the easiest bridesmaid job of all time. When N arrived, P's mother gave us flowers and said "Go stand there now!" so we did. N had to be like "Umm... guys? Can you fix my dress?" "Right. Yes. OK..." and we did. And then we were done with our bridesmaidsly duties. M and I looked adorable in our coincidentally matching dresses. Despite the fact that my feet were absolutely killing and I thought I was going to fall over onto my face during the ceremony, it was lovely:



After the ceremony, there was more food and drink. Sushi, breads, cheeses, appetizers, etc. M and I sat down for a bit to nurse our aching feet, and then quickly hit the wine.



We socialized, ate, drank, and soon it was time for the salad course. The tables were in a room separate from the dance floor, which is where the appetizers were served.



The salad was delicious, and I was pleased and grateful that they had a vegetarian version for me! When the salad was finished, music started to play and that was our signal to regroup in the other room.

A waltz started to play, and N and P danced with each other and then their parents, and then with each other's parents, and soon everyone was dancing. It was adorable.

When the waltz ended, we were stunned to find out that there were tango dancers there to entertain us! This was the best wedding moment of all time. We'd been sad that we'd been unable to go to a tango show or take tango lessons as planned, but we no longer cared, because how much better was this?:







We then had the main course, which for the others was apparently lovely meat and for me was awesome pumpkin-filled ravioli with all sorts of vegetables on top. So freaking good.

After the main course, we recongregated on the dance floor where we were treated to a photo montage of pictures from N and P's first wedding. This was nice for those attendees who hadn't been able to be at the wedding in Gloucester, and was awesome for me because they set the montage to "Everything I Do, I Do It For You." That's right - Bryan Adams, from the Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves soundtrack, in case you forgot. AWESOME! Even better was that the second song was "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins, which isn't the, ahem, most appropriate song, but whatever. It was still very cute.

Following the movie were more dancers! These dancers engaged the entire crowd in group dances and got everybody onto the dance floor. It was great fun to both participate in and to watch!!!

We then returned for to the dining room for the ice cream course, which was followed by MORE DANCING!!!

The dancing was so much fun. It was nuts. N's parents were going nuts. P's friends were lifting him up and parading him around the dancefloor. People were being spun around. It was pure bliss.

As the dancing progressed, everyone was given a felt hat to wear:



I have no idea. Apparently this is something that happens at weddings in Argentina.

I danced like crazy. I was glad that I'd decided to bring a change of shoes with me to guarantee that I could dance like crazy for hours upon hours upon hours: (photo credit: M)



More dancing:



This is what dancing feels like at 2:30 am while drunk and wearing a hat:



We danced to Spanish dance music - ska, dancehall, and club type stuff, as well as some American songs and wedding standards such as "Y.M.C.A," "It's Raining Men" and "Celebration." Apparently you cannot escape the Village People. They will be played at every wedding, in each hemisphere, everywhere, for the remainder of time.



Everyone, American and Argentine, was distressed at around 3:00 am when the "Grease" medley was cut short to cut the cake.

The cake was served, along with billions of other desserts - strawberry shortcakes, lemon squares, chocolate volcanoes, and every other dessert imagineable. We ate what we could, and started to fade. As did the rest of the crowd.

We left and got back to the hotel after 5am, when a bunch of people were checking out. Weird.

Amazing wedding.

Congratulations, again, N and P!