Chicago - Day 3

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





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





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



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



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

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







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





Here's The Bean:



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





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

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

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

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



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



We walked around the city a bit more.



We walked to the river.





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



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

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

Chicago - Day 2

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

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

It so snowed the second we left the hotel.

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

Here are my favorite buildings again:



And again:



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

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

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



We then took the train to the Intuit Museum.



It was, of course, closed.

We hopped a bus to the Museum of Contemporary Art.

This was in the lobby:



(Maurizio Cattelan)

Amazing.



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



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



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



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

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

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

Romance

Scene 1 from The Company Party:

Guy 1: I am moving in with my girlfriend in June.

Guys: (looks of horror, recoiling, etc.)

Guy 2: It's all over, man.

Guy 3: Yeah, man, are you sure? What are you thinking?

Guy 2: I'm really drunk now, so I have to be honest. My wife is psychotic.

Guy 3: All women are psychotic.

Guy 2: Since I'm really drunk, you can't hold this against me, but I just married my wife for the sex. I'm serious.

Me: (look of horror, recoiling, etc.)

Guy 1 and 3: Awww yeah....

Guy 3: Seriously, though, all women are psychotic. Once you live with someone, say good-bye to your balls.

Guy 2: I know.

Guy 3: Dude, I lived with my girlfriend and it was the worst thing ever.

Me: You guys suck. You know, not all girls are psychotic! People like you make it impossible for women to even have a shot, you know? You guys are all propaganda. I'm going to get some crudite, idiots.

***

Scene 2 from The Company Party:

Me: Aw man, I just need to tell you, I am so jealous of your relationship with your wife.

Best Guy Ever: Why?

Me: It seems like you guys still have passion, you know?

Best Guy Ever: I'm still so in love with her.

Me: (sigh)

Best Guy Ever: Like there's nothing I look forward to more than spending the weekends with her, watching movies, ordering Chinese food, just staying in.

Me: (sigh)

Best Guy Ever: What?

Me: I don't know. It just seems like you guys still have it. You have romance and love. That's so rare.

Best Guy Ever: Well, I think it helped that we met in college.

Me: Definitely.

Best Guy Ever: We were young and crazy and you let yourself be more vulnerable and let yourself be swept away when you're in collge.

Me: I know, but I felt that way in college and the real world ruined us. You guys didn't get ruined. You still have it.

Best Guy Ever: I'm so in love with her. Still. You know when people say that they would die for someone? I would endure a world of pain, for eternity, for her.

Me: (sigh, sigh, more sighing)

***

Scene 3 From Company Party:

Me: Remember last week when we were talking about Brokeback Mountain?

Best Guy Ever: Yes.

Me: Remember how you were talking about that scene where he's watching him walk away, and how it was true love?

Best Guy Ever: Yes.

Me: Remember how you then told us about how you were watching your wife walk away in college? You said that you were watching her leave, walking towards her dorm, and you were simultaneously sad to see her go but elated to have her in your life, and that's when you realized "I am in love with this woman."

Best Guy Ever: I did. I realized I was in love with her at that moment.

Me: Yeah, well, I think your saying that ruined things for all men. That was so beautiful. Nobody says that about me.

Married Woman (entering conversation): Are you guys talking about Brokeback Mountain again?

Me: Yes, of course, he talks about Brokeback Mountain at all times.

Married Woman: Dude, what you said last week, about watching your wife walk away, that really f*cked me up!

Best Guy Ever: Why?

Married Woman: It was so romantic and beautiful and...

Me: Remember how he said that he used to sleep under his wife's desk when she first started at the law firm because he just wanted to spend time with her and because she was working the long hours and she was so stressed out and he would bring her dinner and then sleep there oh my god why aren't there more men like this?

Woman: (sigh)

***

Scene 4 from Company Party:

R: Leah Lar, I love you.

Me: Awww, R, I love you too.

R: There's nothing I want more than to be your neighbor when you move to Bossshhhton....

Me: That would be awesome.

R: Serioushly, I love you. And D. I love you and D. I want us to be neighborsssshhhhh.

Me: You should move to Boston. Seriously. I really want you to. Please. Yes. Move to Boston.

(hugging, kisses, etc.)

R: No, I say thisssshhh because I luf hanging out with you guys. Serioushly. I just luf you, Leah Lar.

***

It felt more like a going away party than a quarterly function. When R hugged me I wanted to cry because I apparently do have something to lose. He hugged me harder than I've been hugged since I moved here. It was the hug of actual affection, not just casual friendship. He hugged me harder than D's ever hugged me, and I thought "I don't like the idea of not knowing him anymore." I wanted to cry and have R understand. I think he would. I really think he would. I just wanted to be there all night and hear someone say over and over again that he loves me, even if he didn't mean it.

When confronted with something like this, when you know that you and your friends are going to scatter, you don't really know how to react. I found out last night through drunken confessions that 3 of my really good friends here are making plans, and I hadn't previously considered what it would be like to work without them. I hadn't thought that in order to see them ever again, I'd have to take a 6 hour plane ride. You take so many things for granted.

I wanted to make Best Guy Ever-like declarations to R, but I hesitated because I knew he'd forget and you don't want those sorts of things to be forgotten.

I think romance prevents people from feeling like they are being taken for granted. It's nice to know that someone thinks that they're lucky to have you in their life. I suppose one just assumes these things, but its nice every now and then to have someone look at you intensely and tell you. It's nice to be held onto tightly, sharing that feeling of "I don't ever want to let you go." It's nice to be able to look into someone's eyes and see it. It's nice to catch someone looking at you from across the room, their face saying "I am so lucky to have that girl." Best Guy Ever still looks at his wife that way (they've been together for over 10 years).

Sigh.

Life is so weird right now. Being insecure makes people crazy.

Chicago - Day 1

D and I arrived in Chicago after an issue with the plane's "battery" (oy) that caused a two hour delay. I didn't mind. I was out cold despite the Dramamine's being non-drowsy. Plus, I needed some sleep after not really getting any that week (stress, fighting, sad, etc.) and after having woken up at 6:00 to get to Neward on time for the flight.

When we landed we experienced a bit of travelling-with-someone-else stress when we couldn't decide if we should take a cab, take a shuttle, take the train, etc. I'd assumed that D, who was in charge of the plan, knew where the hotel was and could therefore predict what would be best, but he didn't know where it was. He called, and we determined that taking the train would be best, although we couldn't tell how far a walk it would be from the train station to the hotel.

I was getting a bit crazy because my bag was heavy and because I hadn't eaten and it was 1:00, Chicago-time. Not knowing when I'd be able to get some food was enough to drive me nuts, but I tried to hold it together. I want D to be happy, and his happiness has been revealed to be completely dependent on my own.

We hopped on the train.

Reason #1 Chicago is Awesome: Public transit. WOW. So easy and cheap to get a visitor's pass. So clearly marked. So few crazy people.

We soon realized that Chicago is very compact. If you looked at the map you'd think that it was pretty huge, but I guess we are New Yorkers and now attribute New York Scale to all things.

D asked if we could be moved to a high floor once we arrived at the hotel.

Reason #2 Chicago is Awesome: The girl at the desk said "Well, I have something on the 35th floor if you'd like." Easy.

We ran upstairs, dropped our bags, gasped, ooh-ed, ahh-ed, "I can't wait to take photos when we get back AFTER WE EAT SOMETHING."

We devoured some Chicago deep-dish and stopped over at the Museum of Contemporary Photography where, coincidentally, my favorite photographer had some photos showing! Woo!!! We tried to get tickets to Wicked (I knew there was no chance), then to the symphony (I didn't know the pieces so I exercised my veto power), then got super super ridiculously awfully cold, so we headed back to the hotel. The room was small, but we didn't care, because:







These buildings are apartment complexes. I adore them:





D cleaned the windows on the other side of the room so I could take more photos:



We walked even higher up the stairwells:





We just stared and stared and stared:



The sun went down:



We'd read in Time Out Chicago that there were going to be fireworks along The Magnificent Mile (magnificent for its shopping!), but we didn't know where they would be. I was feeling a little sluggish after flying and starving and being generally disoriented, so I said "Maybe can we just stay here and hope to see them from the hotel?"

This turned out to be the best option possible, as the fireworks were right outside the hotel:



We were literally right on top of them:



I've never been on top of fireworks before. The whole hotel was shaking:



After the fireworks and after my nap (woo!), we set out in search of steak and cheese. Steak for D, and cheese involving Mike Ditka's bar. Heh. We found an amazing restaurant that had an entire section of its menu devoted to potato! Super fancy, super good, super worth the many many many dollars we spent. We then went to Ditka's because we figured it was the most tourist-y thing to do, where they did not have ciders so D said "Let's get out of here." We ended up at a bar on the 96th floor of the Hancock Tower, where the best view, I must admit, was from the ladies' room.

Then we went back to the hotel, stared out the windows some more, and completely passed out.

They Went to Chicago To Feel Better...

... and it worked.

My time in Chicago was spent:

Continuously marvelling at my boyfriend's uncanny sense of direction. The man cannot be lost. It is impossible. He has superpowers.

Marvelling, then, at the fact that D is afraid only of the one thing that I am not afraid of, which is heights.

Looking out windows and saying "I could do this all day."

Discussing what makes a city a good city. Then, of course, debating what traits the perfect city would have, discussing ease and method of public transportation (above ground trains are the bestest), use of space, cleanliness, brightness, homogeneity of architecture (he said "I prefer gritty, this is too sterile"), kindness of people (he said "Sometimes it's not good for people to sugar coat things. At least New Yorkers tell it like it is" to which I responded "Why do I need to be told how it is by a complete stranger behind a cash register?"), proximity to water and mountains, diversity, etc.

Saying "This is my favorite city" to one another, over and over again.

Saying "I'm having so much fun!" to one another, over and over again.

Remarking that this was the first time we'd ever gone away, just us, and how it's actually quite nice, isn't it?

Declaring "We should do this more often!" and then listing various cities in the middle that we've never been to that need to be seen to compile data about the perfect city, such as Detroit, Indianapolis, we should perhaps visit Wisconsin, etc. etc. etc. "We will take more long weekends!" "We should visit every city that has a Cereality!" "We have to go to Europe soon soon soon please could we maybe just plan to?!"

Looking up and whispering "This is so beautiful." He kept saying "How do they keep it so clean?" and then "It's because in New York City there's SO MUCH corruption."

Having my guard be down, noticing that I live now with my guard up and wanting to be a person who has the capacity to be friendly to strangers.

Realizing that a Friendly City is not a place I've ever lived.

Not missing New York City at all.

Wanting to live somewhere entirely new.

Wanting to share entirely new things with D all the time. There's something sweet about experiencing something for the first time at the same time, even if I'm always confused and he always knows exactly what's going on. I love sharing the awe and the panic and the newness.

Gasping at how little natives of Chicago wear when its ridiculously cold outside. "Open jackets in the snow? Are these people insane?" "They are not even wearing hats!" "It's not actually that windy... but damn is it cold."

Etc.

Photos forthcoming...

Crash? NO!

Speaking of Paceys and Joeys, is it not the best thing ever that a Dawson's Creek alum was nominated for an Oscar? How adorable did Michelle Williams look post-baby in her yellow dress? Sigh. I thought she was prettiest.

And yes, I did in fact watch The Oscars while in Chicago. When D proposed going away for the weekend, I said "Only if I am able to watch The Oscars from our hotel room in the sky."

D, who has never seen The Oscars, agreed. Bless him.

Some thoughts:

1. Michelle Williams = prettiest.

2. John Stewart was great. I thought he was irreverent and wonderful. Others seem to disagree, but I don't care. He had me laughing out loud.

3. Naomi Watts looked awful.

4. Selma Hayek is ridiculously gorgeous and I therefore hate her.

5. I was psyched that Phillip Seymour-Hoffman won, although I felt bad for Heath Ledger. He really did do a great job. It was an amazing year for movies.

6. Which is probably why Good Night and Good Luck didn't win anything.

7. But that is ok because they gave The Oscar to The Cloone to make up for it. I have nothing to say about George Clooney other than sigh. And more sighing. I love that straight men have crushes on George Clooney. I love that Oscar Winner George Clooney used to be on The Facts of Life.

8. Reese Witherspoon never fails to cute me to death.

9. Crash!? WTF?!?!? I am still in denial about this. Not even Don Cheadle could save that one. That was actually one of my most-hated movies of the year. It was so obvious. It beat the audience over the head with every little thing. It has been done. It's nothing new. It's nothing!!! I hated that movie! I am so so so so very very very very upset.

10. At least Ang Lee won. He, too, is too cute to handle.

11. The short film I wanted to win did not win, but I understand why the Irish one did (the one with the bloody bunny).

12. Keanu Reeves. Oscar presenter. I have no idea. I think its safe to say that we will never be saying something like "I love that Oscar Winner Keanu Reeves starred in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure."

13. I feel bad for Munich. It was such a good movie, and in any other year it would have cleaned up.

14. I will always be in love with the guys from The WETA Workshop.

15. Felicity Huffman has obscenely straight teeth.

16. On the topic of makeup - how do these women (or, how do these women's makeup artists) apply makeup so as to look like they are not wearing any makeup? Miraculous and beautiful.

17. Dolly Parton - whoa! She's so difficult to look at yet her personality is adorable. I just don't know what to make of her. I also don't know what to make of movie interpretive dance. I thought they weren't doing that anymore!

18. Rachel McAdams is so irrelevant. Why did she get to host the science/technology pre-Oscar ceremony!?

19. The guys who made Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Were Rabbit won, and they were wearing matching absurd ties, and came prepared with little matching absurd ties to put on their Oscars!

20. Random movie genre montages. Right.

21. I think Crash only won because it is set in LA. Hmph. Stupid academy.

22. Watching The Oscars in Central Time is way easier than watching them on the east coast. They ended early! I never once thought "Oh my god I have to work tomorrow will this ever end?" Then again, I didn't have to work the following day so perhaps that's why I didn't care.

Regardless, it was a lackluster evening. Lots of lame-ish not-quite-celebrities like Jessica Alba. I wasn't as interested in the show as I was in the cheese and crackers and wine I consumed while watching from bed. Ah, hotels and your large beds and TVs without static.

Talking

I read Talking It Over by Julian Barnes on planes this weekend. It is the same story told from the perspectives of the three characters involved. It, as literature tends to, revolves around fidelities and infidelities and pain and things changing. It was agony. I think it resulted in the many nightmares I had while in Chicago.

There were two points I found particularly interesting.

The first was located during one of the male character's accounts. He said that people are part of one of two groups - entertainers and audience. He said that members of the audience don't appreciate how hard it is for the entertainers to entertain. He said that it broke his heart a bit when he couldn't make his wife laugh, and how he resented her since she had no idea how difficult it is to entertain.

I had two thoughts about this:

1. Does it break D's heart when I don't laugh at his jokes? (a rare occasion) Sometimes he tries too hard, and trying to me is not funny. Natural and witty humor is, to me, the best kind. I think D is really, really, obscenely, wonderfully funny. This is one of the things I love most about him. I love that he is silly. He once asked "Do you still think I'm funny? It seems like you don't anymore." I said "I don't think you're as funny when you try to be. I think you're funny when you're not rehearsed. When you're just being yourself." "You probably, then, don't support my stand-up comedy aspirations." "I do," I said, "Because I support you and everything you want to do. I just don't always, well, support people who want to be noticed."

2. Which brings me to the second part. If the entertainer has chosen to entertain, or the entertainer so desperately wants to be noticed, why is he/she being a martyr about it? Those of us in the audience are perfectly fine being here, disappearing into the masses, not being seen. There's no reason entertainers have to entertain, other than their needing some sort of affirmation from the rest of the world. I guess, then, that's sort of sad, and maybe what the character meant was that it's hard for him to get his worth from the reaction of his wife?

I don't know. I love funny people. People in the audience are drawn to this sort of person because we are not funny, we are not noticed, and we are in awe that people can possess this sort of desireable personality. Most of my friends are clever, witty, effortlessly hilarious people. I just don't want to be responsible for someone's self esteem that is based on joke-telling ability. Not that I think D's feelings are hurt. And I pretty much always laugh. But the book got me to thinking - is he being funny for me?

Point the second: the female character discusses love, and said that there is being loved (which is secure and fabulous) and there is being adored (which is passionate and being truly known and being truly understood). Passion can never last, but it is so hard to walk away from.

I wrestle with this. I am a person that has given into passion and I have to admit that it was the most wonderful thing. I miss it, often want it again, and know I'm never going to have it again. I know that this is the right thing, though, because I know that it only results in disaster, heartbreak, and utter ruin.

Which is why the Joeys will always end up with the Paceys of the world, because ultimately safe love is what can be sustained.

No Longer Exists

I called Mother from a cab on Friday night, after visiting a coworker who is in the hospital. I was calling to tell her that D and I had spontaneously decided to go to Chicago, and that I'd be leaving the following morning at the crack of dawn.

I don't know why I was calling. I guess I wanted to make sure that she had ample opportunity to worry about the flight. Additionally, it would be weird to talk to her this week and to tell her about my weekend. I think she would feel left out not knowing that I was taking an unplanned vacation.

While we were talking, she said "Oh, I keep forgetting to ask you, did you know this guy MF?"

"Yes."

MF was somebody I went to middle and high schools with. He was a nice guy. He wore a baseball cap all the time. He had small eyes. He wasn't in my classes or in my group of friends, but he was around. I knew him. You know everyone in a small town, especially when your class size is 108 people. I hadn't thought about him since high school.

"He died."

"WHAT!?!?"

"They mentioned it in church and then I read his obituary in the paper. He apparently was living in Franklin, alone, his parents still live in Medway, and he lost his battle with a long illness."

I thought about MF all night.

It is weird to hear your Mother mention the obituary of someone your own age, who you knew, who was part of your life every single day for seven years, who no longer exists.

It is weird because I didn't even realize I had any neurons associated with MF, but the minute she said "he died" I crumbled.

Freak accidents are one thing, but illnesses? I kept thinking of MF battling cancer all by himself in his condo, unable to marry or have a girlfriend because he felt too bad about it. I thought of him with some sort of weird blood disease, painful and isolating. I thought of him decaying. What kind of illnesses do 30 year old people die from other than cancer? I don't even know.

I told D about it. I said "Someone from my class died. This is so weird. My heart is broken and I don't know why." I told him that Mother read his obituary in the newspaper.

"Does your mother make a habit of reading obituaries?"

"No, she probably just saw it because it said Medway or because it said he was 30 years old. She probably thought of me, because I'm 30 years old." And I'd just called to tell her I was getting on a plane which, of course, freaks Mother out.

"I wonder if he's a 'beloved c-nt,'" D said, referencing my favorite episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm wherein Larry David's friend prints an obituary for Cheryl's aunt, and accidentally mispells "aunt." Ah, such a good episode, but being mentioned at such an inappropriate time.

"Dude, he's dead," I said. "This is serious," I said, evoking our new relationship policy wherein I say "this is serious" when I want D to take what I am saying seriously and not make jokes or deflect the topic.

I appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood, and it's not like MF was a good friend of mine. D had no reason to think that I was traumatized.

But I was, of course, because I am me, and have too many feelings.

Wierd, though. I keep thinking about it every now and then, and I just can't even grasp what I'm thinking. Obituary for someone I went to middle school with. Weird.

The Guiltiest Pleasure of All....

... is Smallville.

Blunt

Father is obsessed with the pop singer James Blunt.

Obsessed, I tell you.

When we were in Princeton for my birthday celebration, Father said "Leah, have you heard of the pop singer James Blunt?"

"No."

"You haven't?"

"No."

"I find that weird."

"Whatever."

"He's really good."

"If you say so."

Pause.

"Wait, Dad, how do you even know about this guy? Since when do you listen to pop music?"

Someone at work told him about him, said he was amazing and you gotta hear this etc., lent him the CD, and the man is now obsessed.

He said "I'll play him for you in the car."

I didn't throw a fit, only because I was curious as to whether I'd actually heard of or heard James Blunt without realizing that I had. When the introduction to "You're Beautiful" started, D said "Ooh, this music is sort of pretty... oh my god MAKE IT STOP!"

I, of course, had heard the song before.

I was sitting at lunch, eating my bagel, trying desperately to concentrate on whatever nonsense I was reading in the Entertainment section of AM New York when I heard the worst song I'd ever heard. I gave up trying to read and allowed myself to concentrate on the trite and ridiculous lyrics that were slamming against my brain.

I thought "Oh my god, as soon as I get back to work I am going to make fun of these lyrics on my blog!" I recited the words over and over in my head so I wouldn't forget them, and so I could look up the song title on the reversible lyrics database thing so I could find out who sang it. Why I just didn't assume that the song was called "You're Beautiful" is beyond me. Sometimes I give people too much credit.

By the time I got back to work I'd blocked the entire experience out, and didn't ever blog about it. Until now!

My siblings and I proceeded to make fun of Father and of the song for the entire weekend, doing rap versions of the song and making pot references to James "Blunt." Believe me, it was funny at the time.

Father said "It's so weird that you haven't heard of him."

"It's so weird that you have," I said. "Don't you think it's weird that you're into modern music all of a sudden? And don't you think its even weirder that you're into someone who should be in a boy band? Really, Father, I expect more from you."

"But how could you not have heard of him?"

I didn't want to explain to him that I don't listen to the radio because I am hyper critical. I'm always talking to Mother en route to shows and she'll say "Where are you off to?" and I'll say "To a show..." and she'll say "Should I even ask?" "No, you haven't heard of them." We always laugh.

I think the only time they knew anything about someone I was going to see was one of the times I went to see Ben Folds, but this was only because I'd given Father a copy of one of his CDs because I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd like is because of the piano. I once caught him singing "Give my money back, you bitch..." Heh.

It is weird when your parents have no idea what you like and what you do with your time. Do my parents even know that I'm into music? Probably not. Does it matter? Not at all. It's not that important.

But imagine if the situation were reversed. Imagine if I was like "Father, have you heard of 'The Magnetic Fields?' No? Well, I am going to make you listen to them while you are trapped in the car with me."

Sister had to be in the car with The Parents for over five hours on their way to New Jersey. She had to listen to the entire James Blunt CD. At high volume.

She did, however, make my parents listen to "Interpol" and apparently Father actually liked it! Awesome. He is capable of liking interesting-sounding things.

One of the things I love about Father is his ability to laugh at himself. We beat the James Blunt jokes to death that weekend. We brought him up at least once every three minutes, and many of the jokes involved Father. He laughed every time.

My siblings and I often criticize Father for not having any feelings, but it is precisely this that makes him fun to be around. Because he doesn't take himself seriously, he is an easy and fun target. He will laugh at anything, even if it is at his expense. He has a good sense of humor. Yes, he can be insensitive, but we never have to worry about saying the wrong thing or hurting his feelings.

I know that sounds brutal, but it is nice to have mechanisms in place for keeping the mood light around parents. Things can often turn stressful when families spend time together. We are lucky that we can be honest and playful and silly around Father without having to watch our words.

The joke is still ongoing, with Father (and today, Brother's girlfriend!) sending the occasional James Blunt related web-article to cause a stir. When I write back to him, he replies with "You're beautiful."

Hehehe.

Certified Mail is Certified Scary

Worst. title. ever.

Nevertheless...

I met up with former department head from former company from which we were both laid off ages ago. These days, he is a big wig at a big company. He was in NJ visiting one of their sites, and suggested we meet for dinner in the big city. I owe him everything (I'd not be here were it not for him, but I earned his recommendation so I don't feel bad about it) so it was the least I could do. In addition, another former employee of his recently relocated to NYC without knowing a soul other than her brother, and he asked if I'd be her friend.

"Of course," I said. "I know what that's like."

Plus, I love a good friend set-up.

When I met Former Boss on the street, he yelled "I can't believe you live and work in this jungle!"

Being in the industry he, of course, knew about the nonsense that is going on. He can empathize with the trauma of the potential layoff, and the desire to avoid the actual trauma of the actual layoff.

He did not, however, offer me a job on the spot.

The friend set-up was cool. She is a young whippersnapper with absurdly high expectations of herself and for her life. She thought I was Punjabi. "I get that a lot," I said, "And don't understand." "It's your complexion." Apparently being as-white-as-possible means you are Punjabi?

Because the big company was picking up the bill (woop!), we drank too much and kept forgetting to order food. I needed martinis (many, many martinis) after the day's work-related and personal-life related news. What I hadn't anticipated needing was the support of someone who understands. This dinner couldn't have come at a better time. It was nice to reminisce about the carnage of lay-offs with someone who experienced it with me. I was never close to Former Boss, but experiencing something like that with someone bonds you for life.

D called mid-dinner. Taken a back, I was like "What do you want?" "Where are you?" "Mirchi?" I said. "Still?" "We haven't even ordered yet."

I invited him to join us after he said he was calling to see if he could come over. I didn't expect him to, as I figured he was trying to come over in order to break up with me for having the audacity to suggest having a conversation about living together. "Awesome!" he said, and appeared ten minutes later.

Of course he was a big hit. Former Boss told glowing stories about my insanely productive years, and how working with me was such a treat. Aw, shucks. We drank more and I left with the spins.

We small talked in the cab back to mon apartement. No mention of the "Moving In Together" speech. He was completely normal. It was as though nothing had happened.

I realized, then, that he has no idea.

Which is not surprising. All data suggested that this would be the result.

Starting from scratch, folks. Starting from scratch.

I made a list this time, because the list is already out of control and I am afraid of bringing up old things that are not relevant to the topic(s) at hand, among which are being ignored, the future, the future being ignored, inability to talk about the future, inability to talk about the relationship, inability to engage in normal couply dialogue such as "Are you looking for a new job and therefore moving away?" "Why yes, I am!" and "Wow, am I stressed about being laid off!"

I passed out with the spins, and endured the fabulous drunk sleeping pattern of feeling like you are waking up every three minutes. Each time you think "Dear god I need some water," but then think "But I might fall asleep! I can't take the chance!" Repeat three minutes later.

I woke up with headache and other wonderful pains, but didn't care because the sun was out and D was in my bed.

When I was gathering my things together to bring to work, I found a little note indicating that I had certified mail! (this whole episode from the night before was foggy) No! Certified mail freaks me out. I am afraid that I am being sued or that I owe some insane quantity of money to an unknown service that I've totally forgotten and that they are coming to take my camera away next week because I've been negligent. I am also annoyed that I will have to go to the post office to find out about whatever this unsolicited certifiedness is!

Today I am in a bad mood again because D and I were supposed to go to the movies but he asked if he could "invite M and A."

I paused.

I was thinking "Remember how last week on my birthday I was crying like a lunatic and how you didn't respond and how the following day I sent you an email about how I wanted to talk about what was making me upset and could we set aside some time and how you ignored it and also never asked me what that was all about or if I was feeling better or if there was anything you could do and how that was a week ago? Well I was thinking maybe I was going to force some time to talk about it after the movie tonight but you want to invite your friends so FINE! I don't care!"

I said "Well, I feel like we haven't had any good alone time lately."

Which meant "I feel like I haven't said anything to you in the last two weeks that I wouldn't say to a complete stranger on the street."

(Although, I should mention, that this is progress. In the past, I have thought that we are going on a date and then he'll inform me that he's invited everyone he knows to join us. Not that I mind, but I am the sort of person who likes to know what I've signed on for.)

He understood. I was like "But, I don't mind. If you want to, that's cool," because I could really use another night to cool off.

But he didn't invite them because I think, subconsciously, he knows that there are things to talk about. Especially given that I've talked about yesterday's work news with all of my coworkers, many friends, the friend set-up last night, pretty much everyone I know except for him. He must know there's some anxiety somewhere.

So hopefully it will go well. I just need information. Whatever it is. I just need to know what he's doing so I can know what to do.

It will be fine. It always is. It just takes time with us, and right now we have no idea how much time we actually have.

Regressed

I regressed at the departmental meeting this morning as I focused on avoiding any D-related emotions while I tried not to listen to any of the words regarding possible future maybe we-know-nothing and we-understand-how-you-feel joblessness. In so doing, I found myself drawing on my sneakers!

First of all, I'd completely forgotten that we once did this in elementary school when not listening to the teacher. Oh, the elaborate patterns we'd create with fluorescent highlighters and putrid smelling sharpies!

Second of all, I can't believe my parents ever allowed this.

Third of all, I can't believe I found myself writing on a sneaker at age 30! I haven't thought about this since I was, like, 11. I found myself drawing lines and then outlining cute little geometrical patterns before I actually committed to them with pen.

Luckily I only have a few pen lines on my right shoe. I was doing it and then all of a sudden I was like "What am I doing!?! What's going on? Am I writing on my shoe? Am I suddenly eight years old?"

I looked around, horrified that someone may have noticed, and then imagined little drawings on the shoes of the real adults at the meeting.

I want to doodle right now to help me forget that I have neither heard from nor seen D all day, and am afraid he is busy practicing his speech which will begin with something like "Look, I know we've been talking about the future in the abstract, but that was pretend. The idea of actually having an actual future that I actually have to plan for with you horrifies me, so I'm afraid that you will have to remove your hair straightener and toothbrush from my apartment at your earliest convenience, or, now. And how dare you ask me about moving in together without warning? How dare you?"

Nothing like avoiding a person when she's rendered herself completely vulnerable. That's mature.

I hate the status of my life right now. Nothing is certain. There's nothing to hold onto. At times like these your relationship is supposed to be a source of security and solace, not mystery and angst. I feel like the living together issue is secondary to the inability to communicate issue.

Ugh. In six months I will be homeless without a job and without a boyfriend and without the beautiful future we were able to discuss only in the abstract.

I could cry, but instead I shall draw on my sneakers.

I Should Have Known Better

The Czars last night were too big a sound in too small a space. While we wrestled thumbs, I realized that the discussion of the serious is not something that we have in our relationship repertoire.

Consideration of the serious was precipitated by a conversation with MF. There are two other company couples. One was initiated circa the same time as D and I. They moved in together within a few months and are now engaged. MF, a friend, has been dating T for about five months, and yesterday he told me that they are planning to move in together.

"Already?" I said.

"Well, not quite yet, but the discussions are on the table."

"Really? How did they come up?"

He said "Well, basically, she told me that she's on the other side of the bridge and is ready and waiting for me to cross it."

"Huh. How did that come up?"

"Well, I don't know, we haven't talked about it officially, but it's been mentioned. And it just makes sense."

There was then discussion of leases ending, money saving, being too old to carry clothes around when you want to stay at the other person's apartment, not wanting to buy duplicates of things, wanting all of your books around when there might be time to read, etc.

"Man. You guys just talk about these things?"

I was jealous.

In addition, these feelings have been precipitated by multiple people, including friends and family and my boss, saying "I was expecting you to get a ring on your birthday!" Each time I responded with an awkward "Ha.. hahah... hah? No way! D? Are you kidding? HAH!"

But why is that so absurd? Is it really that inconceivable that a man in his 30's could make up his mind about someone he's been with for over a year?

Clearly this has not been an issue for the other girls in the company. Why is it so far-fetched for me?

It's not that I want or need him to propose, but I wish I didn't feel like it was a complete impossibility. I wish I didn't think "D? Want to marry me!? Are you INSANE? Please!"

I talked to Mother, who told me about a waiter at Uno's who was young but married. When asked why he married young, he said "Well, a friend of ours got cancer, and it just got me to thinking that there just isn't all the time in the world, you know? If you know you love someone, and you both want to be together, why wait?"

Preach on, Pizzeria Uno waiter.

I tried to think of ways to bring up The Future all night. Sitting on the couch at the show, silent, I lost a million opportunities because I couldn't find the right words. The mere contemplation of his response or non-response (more likely) made me angry with him and made me say nothing.

I didn't bring things up after the show because I hesitate to start potentially grand discussions late at night when people (me) may be tired (irritable). And we never have over two ours of undesignated time before 10 pm.

I didn't even want to bring up living together. I meant to talk about what he wants with his career, where he wants to be, if he really wants to move or if he just feels like he has to, if he's stressed out about things and what we can do about it, my career, photography classes, changes, exciting things in the future, babies, etc.

When we awoke this morning, he looked very cute and I thought "Why would it be so unpalatable for this to happen every day? It pretty much does anyway, so why do we need to pay for two places? Plus, sometimes I don't like to plan ahead what I am going to wear! What if I really want to wear my purple chucks one day and I don't have them because I didn't think of them the day before!? I can't take this anymore! I'm 30!!!"

He loudly ate cereal and mashed around in the kitchen for a bit while I stayed in bed, listening to NPR. I motioned for him to come over. Temporary insanity prompted me to take the direct route, because with D, being blunt tends to work best. I can't expect him to figure things out on his own, and my attempts at flowery exposition about the relationship are generally met with an "aww shucks" instead of dialogue or reciprocation.

And now, for your reading pleasure (with no embellishment), the transcript of the first time I have ever proposed living with someone. And yes, I realize I sprung this on him without warning, that he was caught off guard, and really, what was he to say? I didn't preface it with anything sappy, like "I'm really happy with our relationship right now, I like spending time with you, we're together all the time, we're both neat, and it would be lovely to build shelves with you." I guess I just didn't expect it to go down like this.

---

Me: So, ummmm, D, do you think that, um, if we don't get laid off, that we could talk about living together?

D: (hesitatingly, but not unenthusiastically) Yes.

Me: (smiling, beaming, glowing, ecstatic)

D: But we are going to get laid off.

Me: How do you know?

D: I know.

Me: But how? I don't think we are.

D: (stressed) Everybody thinks we are!

Me: You can't be sure.

D: I'm sure.

Me: Oh.

D: So what do you think?

Me: (not knowing if he meant the impending lay offs or the living together situation) About what?

D: About Anna Nicole?

Me: What?

D: About Anne Nicole Smith.

Me: What?

D: Anna Nicole Smith.

It took me a minute to realize that NPR had just mentioned Anna Nicole Smith. I didn't know this because I was not listening to the radio when we were having our first ever real, concrete discussion about living together.

I also realized that my boyfriend had (a) been listening to the radio while we were having this discussion and (b) was deflecting the topic at hand by making reference to Anna Nicole Smith instead of (c) being at all honest and saying something like "It's too soon" or "I like my apartment and commute and don't want to leave" or "I want to break up" or "STOP PRESSURING ME!" or "I like living alone too much" or "Let me think about it" or "Can we talk about this later please?" or "Cool, I'm happy you brought it up, I have been thinking about it too" or "I have to go to work."

No.

Anna Nicole.

I said nothing about Anna Nicole, although I was thinking "She's a terrible mother" or "She's a crackhead" or "She's pretty now but it doesn't count" as I stormed into the bathroom and shut the door. I wasn't being dramatic, I just needed to look at myself in the mirror and laugh at the absurdity of the boyfriend who is incapable of discussing or responding to real things involving the actual future.

He burst into the bathroom and said "What are you doing?"

"Staring at the bags under my eyes," I said, which was actually what I was doing.

"Did you mean you wanted to talk about it now?" he said.

"No," I said, and he left.

---

So that's that, folks.

I wish he'd just said "No."

Then I could be mad instead of disappointed.

Now I am entertaining the idea of being single soon and I having to do it with this ridiculous haircut.

Awshummmmm.

Bowl Cut

Ah, the weekend. How quickly they pass even when nothing is happening.

I didn't change out of my pajamas until 5pm on Saturday, and that was only to get the mail. I ate a breakfast burrito (thanks, D!), scrambled up some eggs for PW, heard LBF's weekend news, squealed at MG's news, watched the end of The Island which I'd slept through the previous weekend at Brother's (and oh how I wish I hadn't wasted those precious minutes on chase scene after chase scene - it started off so promising with the torturous exploration of the status of the soul in clones!), played piano, wrote and recorded a song, watched the bonus features of Strangers With Candy and was therefore giddy beyond comprehension.

On Sunday I watched Far From Heaven (gorgeous), ate oatmeal, spent entirely too much money on makeup at Duane Reade (why why why must it be so costly to be pretty?) after freaking out about my appearance (I loathe you, PMS, for making me insane), replenished supplies of milk and eggs and apple juice and orange soda and butter and havarti dill cheese, talked to JQ and learned that I am still confused that he is a father and was even more confused when my mostly-joking suggestion that he buy my parents' house was met with the enthusiastic sigh of possibility, went to D's house after demanding that he cut my hair (more on this later), went for family style heaping plate of pasta with E (more later), saw death-obsessed Oscar-nominated live action shorts at Cinema Village (more later), had rainbow sherbet in a red cone and then devoured D's uncharacteristic candid words of affirmation/affection.

---

Re: my hair. I got my hair cut two weeks ago at the Aveda Institute. I was pleased with my $18 haircut for about a week, but the centimeter that has grown since made the haircut completely unworkable. I had the sort of day yesterday when I would look in the mirror and think "How can others even dare behold a sight as hideous as you?!" I was pulling on my hair and trying to put it up, put it down, put it somewhat up, etc., and there was nothing that could be done. I called D hysterical and said "Can you cut my hair tonight?"

He agreed. I know what you're saying. You allowed a BOY to cut your hair? I was desperate, folks. Desperate! I needed it OFF MY HEAD that instant. Were it not for him, I'd probably have cut it all myself and would have cut my face in the process given how urgent things seemed.

For the entirety of our relationship, D has offered to cut my hair. He cuts his own hair, and does quite a lovely job. He is great with his hands. He paints, he builds, he makes lamps and candleholders (that ignite), he puts things on walls, he makes furniture, he is to be trusted with all things aesthetic.

Of course I've been reluctant. I'd rather spend money (not tons) to know that I will look pretty for a couple of weeks.

He took the scissor and began to cut and I was like "What are you DOING!?" and it occurred to us then that D has never even SEEN a woman's hair being cut. He just cut it in a straight line. It looked like a shelf.

"No, you're supposed to cut at angles, like this," I said, and cut some of the front, but even when I cut it at an angle, it still looked like a shelf. "And don't do such big chunks at once! You're supposed to do small portions!"

"No, I know what to do," he said, "And I don't understand what you're talking about. I'll just give you the standard bowl cut. It will look good!"

"No, please, just TRY angles."

"Trust me."

It's not terrible, but it looks like a four year old cut my hair because it is straight lines. Combined with the pre-existing shorter layers. No angle, no body, just pilgrim-bowl cut on the bottom and fun, nice-looking layers on the top. People at work were like "So... you... um... you got a hair cut?" When I told them that D cut it they were enthusiastic, but nobody said "Oh my god your hair looks amazing did you get it cut?"

Sister suggests that I cut it with a razor, but D said "I have no confidence with the razor" unlike his confidence with the scissors. I think I may try to razor the underside just to see what happens and if it messes up so be it. It can't be worse than this.

---

Re: garlic bread. At the family style dinner last night, E and I ordered the individual serving of garlic bread. When it arrived, it was burnt.

What do you do in this situation? Clearly whoever prepared the garlic bread (in addition to the waiter) knew that it was burnt and still decided to serve it to us. This leads me to think that perhaps it is supposed to be burnt. But why?

It's a weird situation, because basically in order to get edible bread, I'd have to be like "I don't know if you've noticed, but, um, this is totally wrong."

So of course I said nothing.

---

Re: Oscar-nominated Live Action Shorts, alternatively known as four shorts involving death and one involving a supermarket with naked women.

Short 1: A psychologist, who finds out he has brain cancer and therefore six months to live, decides to start telling his nutty patients the truth about their problems.

Short 2: An old man, aftering discovering that his wife is dead, makes preparations for her burial on their old, secluded farm.

Short 3: Annoying people work in a supermarket and there is nudity. Lame lame LAME.

Short 4: A little boy appears to a young man, claiming to be his son. (There is a dead wife in this one as well).

Short 5: After his wife dies, a man has to journey home by train, where he encounters a woman whose son has just died and an obnoxious young man whose mother has been murdered. There is a suicide in this one, as well as an exploding cow and a bunny that gets its head blown off with a shotgun.

Right.

Bizarrely, only one of these was actually sad. Go figure.

---

Now I should work.

Until tomorrow...

A Successful New York Event Organized By Me, At Last!

Bench Buddy said "I think you secretly hope that nobody shows up to your birthday party so that you can be emo about it."

"No! I want people to come to my birthday party! My fears are based on last year's party, when most people I invited from NYC did not come, and did not even bother to tell me so!" My fears are also based on various birthday parties throughout time being snowed out or foiled by things such as chicken pox.

Last year's birthday party was a bit of a disappointment. Yes, my real friends came (a friend from Boston, a friend from Philly, a few friends from NYC) but most of the people I invited, who were merely good acquaintances since I hadn't yet settled in, failed to even mention the invitation.

I didn't invite those acquaintances this year, as I removed myself from any and all activities involving these people after the birthday party last year.

This year, unlike last year, was a raucous success. It was so much fun that I successfully forgot that I had turned, ahem, 30.

Brother arrived from Princeton at around 6:00 pm. I tried to sneak in a nap beforehand at D's, but D, believing himself to be locked out of his apartment (long story), woke me up about three minutes after I'd finally fallen asleep with doorbell rings and frantic banging on windows. The three of us ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant on 6th Avenue where the waitress was a Jedi in training.

Brother: I'll have the blah blah blah salad.
Waitress: Do you want chicken on that salad?
Brother: I'll have chicken on that salad.
D: I'll have blah blah blah meal involving steak.
Waitress: OK, but wouldn't you rather have the special?
D: I'll have the special.
Me: I'll have the blah blah blah potato thing.
Waitress: That's small. Wouldn't you rather have the blah blah blah?
Me: No, thanks, that'll be fine. And I'll have plantains on the side.
Waitress: Do you want a drink?
Me: No.
Waitress: You want a margerita?
Me: No.
Waitress: The margaritas are very good.
Me: No.

Jedi is the nice way of saying "pushy." She is not good for the weak of mind, or, in this case, male.

D brought some sort of vitamin-C energy boosting powder thing to put in our waters at the restaurant. This stuff is a miracle concoction. Neither D nor I, despite having had a mere three hours sleep the night before, were at all tired.

Brother was feeling flu-ish, and wasn't sure that he'd make it to the party. We went back and forth, trying to decide if he should nap at D's, nap at my place, just go back to my place, or go back to Princeton. He was finally convinced to come to HiFi. I hoped that our journey through the frigid air of New York would provide a miracle cure. If it didn't, I was nearly certain that karaoke would heal.

We were 20 minutes late to HiFi (traffic!) but it didn't matter, because nobody was there! The party threatened to be a repeat of last year, but I repressed my emotions so as not to disturb Brother. He didn't need to, in his ill state, see his 30-year old sibling crumble.

Four people showed up to the bar. R was not one of these people, which was confusing as R picked HiFi was the pre-karaoke meetup location.

At 9:00, I decided that I'd go to Sing Sing to see what was going on. Maybe people were there? Were they already charging us for the room even though we weren't in it? Birthday anxiety, yeah!

When I got there, I found only one more member of the party. I convinced the people at Sing Sing to let us start at 9:30. By 9:30, there were about ten people, including R, JG, and Bench Buddy, who were essential karaoke personnel.

By 10:30, there were 20 of us in a room that could fit 10, and we were all going nuts, including Brother, because karaoke heals all.

It was So. Much. Fun. I can't believe I haven't done this before! Sing Sing has something like 30,000 songs. Anything you can imagine.

Newfound respect for Sebastian Bach after destroying my vocal chords on "I Remember You." And newfound respect for yours truly, whose "flow" was ON on Friday night.

Seriously. I destroyed every hip hop song attempted. I don't know what got into me. Maybe turning 30 has awakened some sort of previously latent ability to rap. Like my mutant power's onset was the third decade of life.

I tore apart:

"Drop It Like It's Hot" (Snooooooop.... it's been too long since I mentioned him)
"Me, Myself and I" (De La)
"Nuthin' But A G Thang" (Dre and Snooooooop!)
"Can I Get A..." (Jay-Z et. al)
"Work It" (Missy)
"Jump" (Kris Kross, the best performance of the night)

Additionally, they had at least 200 songs from musicals, including songs from The Pajama Game! Wtf? Does life get any better? How is there Pajama Game karaoke? I sang "Hey There" a la Harry, and it was one of the best moments of my life. I felt like a stage diva! PW and I performed a duet of "Sixteen Going on Seventeen," while Brother and I sang a song from Little Shop of Horrors, with which we were obsessed as children.

I also got to try songs I've been too nervous to try on stage, although I forgot to try "Bandages" by Hot Hot Heat. I did, however, sing songs by The Gorillaz song, Blur, The Foo Fighters , and, of course, Miss Liz Phair.

I was a bit too overwhelmed to deal with monitoring the selections (I figured as birthday girl I'd have ultimate veto power), so 80's were a bit over-represented. But people like it, so who am I to censor?

The bill came out to, drum roll, $567.48!!! This seemed like a lot at the time, , but it's actually not when you consider that we were there for four hours and that's not a lot to pay for four hours of entertainment in the city. It was crazy, though, having that much money in my hands. We came remarkably close to the total by just estimating what everyone owed. I think we ended up being about $30 short, so D put in the rest and I have been making it up to him with movie tickets and dinners. I payed with exact change, which was awesome.

Brother, D and I got back to my apartment at around 3 am and passed out.

Happy!

Twent...er... 30

Heavens to Betsy!

I just called to respond for this movie-viewing focus group thing that's happening on Wednesday night. You have to answer demographic-related questions, and when asked my age I said "Twenty-ni... oh man. I mean 30."

Ugh.

I'll Wear Chucks for the Rest Of My Life

Date: 2.25.06
Genre: Musical-esque



Description:

It's been a long time since I've wrote a song. My intention with My Mundane Life In Song was to have a song blog. The only text would be related to the songs, and everything I thought blog-worthy would be in song form.

Needless to say that didn't happen, and since the selling of my beloved keyboard (yet another reason to resent NYC - darn you rents and space constraints!), I've been less inclined to record. My piano is out of tune, the audio I get with my internal mic is atrocious, and piano alone isn't very appealing when the artist sucks at arranging.

On top of this, I have been feeling, well, mundane lately. Nothing exciting has been happening. When I first moved here there were zany things happening on a daily basis. Now that I am settled (in NYC and with life in general), I feel like I have little to say, little inspiration. I must admit that I secretly hope for bad moods to help me with ideas.

As you well know, my one-track mind has lately been devoted to age.

Hence the song.

Notes: piano is so. out. of. tune. I think this is due to the fluctuation in temperature in the apartment. Second, I think this song would be much better on guitar (hint hint hint!). Third, this song is actually a re-make of a song I wrote for my ill-fated musical. The original version is a more up-tempo bickering scene between a boy and a girl in a vintage clothing store. Fourth, I love the bridge oh-so-much-more than the rest of the song. I may actually take the bridge and make a separate song out of it.

Lyrics:

All girls reach an age when they start to compare
The size of their ass and the greys in their hair
To girls who are younger than them
To girls who remind them of when
Time didn't matter and the fellas came callin'
When ultra low rise didn't make them start ballin'
Those were the days
I could have my way

The clock is ticking, I can't relax
Options are scarce, I'm afraid that's a fact
I cringe when I ponder short hair
I know I need an adult coat to wear
The era of Converse must draw to a close
It's not terribly mature to postpone
Growing up
I hate it but

The thoughts of karaoke that once danced in my head
Have been replaced by baby shoes
And closet space
And stackable washers and dryers
And mortgage rates
And pots and pans
And plans
And indie bands
There are so many red shoes to buy
There are so many restaurants to try
There are so many nights left to cry

I'll keep my hair long even when its
Crazy white wires that are prone to fits
I'll go to shows 'til I'm 85
I'll wear Chucks for the rest of my life
Changing careers, having a husband and offspring
If these things all happen they will be frightening
But I won't crumble
Because the 30's are fun!

Cornichons

Prior to my complete and utter meltdown last night, D and I went to Artisinal for fondue, fondue, and more fondue. When we told the waiter that we wanted fondue for dinnner, he seemed perplexed. "It's usually an appetizer." He suggested we order two different ones, which seemed a good idea. After he left, D and I looked around the restaurant (which, incidentally, was obscenely loud) to see how big the fondue would be, and were surprised to see that not many people were eating fondue.

"How could you come here and not eat fondue?" we each wondered aloud.

We ordered the fondue with fingerling potatos, crudite, and apples. It is ordinarily served with a bread basket/person, which we, of course, didn't know when we ordered.

Our two fondues and multiple plates of dipping options did not fit on the table, but we did not care, because WOW! I preferred the Muenster special fondue while D preferred the Artisanal Blend.

The crudite was amazing - perfectly sized pieces of broccoil, red and yellow bell pepper chips, fancy carrots, and best of all, cornichons! Are cornichons not the best thing ever? I could eat 1000 of them in one sitting. We both ignored the cauliflower.

We then rushed to the 6 train to head downtown to see Measure for Pleasure, which was D's birthday gift to me, at The Public Theater. Of course the 6 didn't come forever, so we ended up running into the theater with about 30 seconds until showtime which explains why I think Philip Seymour Hoffman probably saw me. I didn't have time to gawk.

I knew little about the play aside from D's mentioning it offhandedly last week, when I responded with "That could be cool," and that one of the actors from The Pillowman had a prominent role.

It was, basically, a modern play written in the style of Shakespeare that takes place back then but is ripe with modern tendencies, such as "Talk to the fan." There were women dressed as men, men dressed as women, unknown parentage, etc. My only complaint was that it did not shy away from sentimentality.

Wayne Knight was in it. It was weird to be seated three feet away from Newman. His body is looking weird these days - he is no longer skinny (someone said he had gastric bypass surgery that did not take?) but his legs are.

Michael Stuhlbarg, the actor from The Pillowman , was amazing.

We rushed home to see the end of skating, just in time to see Sasha Cohen (not to be confused with Sasha Baron Cohen of Ali G) fall on her ass twice. I have to admit that I was perversely pleased as she is not my favorite. I was hopeful for the other American skaters, because they have better attitudes.

I spent the remainder of the night freaking out about being 30. Tears, angst, distress, and disgust prevented me from getting to sleep until 5:00 am. I even, gasped, wrote down thoughts with a pen! I haven't done that in three years or more. I am hoping to find some lyrics buried somewhere in the incoherent 4:00 am hysteria. I can barely function today. I am going to have to drink some Red Bull to make it through the party tonight. I will also have to nap, which I will do shortly, because I am 30 and am an old lady and need my sleep!

Until Monday...

My Very Own Postage

I have discovered the purchase-your-own stamp of any value machine at the post office. Bliss, folks.

You walk up to the machine, put your reasonably sized package on its scale, press some buttons and voila! A sticker stamp shoots out at you that you have paid for with your credit card.

I am going to become a package-mailing fiend!

Conventions

I like to play this game with The Javitz Center.

Since I live mere blocks away from the popular convention center, I am priveleged to see conventioners en route to and from whatever convention is being held. In my mind I play "Guess the Convention!" and try to deduce people's professions/interests based on their outfits, demeanors, group behavior, etc.

"International Ninja convention!"

"Pastry Chefs Of the World!"

"Human Resources." (That one comes up a lot)

"Sororities of the South!"

Etc.

Today, however, I knew about the convention before even seeing the Fanboys and Fanchicks walking boisterously to The Javitz Center. This weekend is the giant, exciting, zowie New York Comic Convention! I wanted to stop the conventioners and say "Are those graphic novels in your giant briefcase?"

I was also, of course, fantasizing that I would see Kevin Smith outside of my building.

Oops. I mean, I was fantasizing that Kevin Smith would see me outside of my building.