Speaking of passing on bad vibes from person to person in the city...
Maybe something like this happened to the girl in the laundromat before I walked in and got upset about my dress being ruined...
A strange man got on the train this morning at 42nd Street. I noticed him immediately because of the way he was walking. There was just something weird about him. I don't usually notice people in the city. D always says "Did you see that guy with the *insert weird accessory or behavior here*?" and I will have no idea what he's talking about. But this guy creeped me out from the moment I saw him. There was just something... off. He was carrying a duffle bag and then three department store bags (the big plastic ones with the nice handles) full of clothes and sneakers. On his right forearm was a giant tatoo of the grim reaper that read "El Muerte."
He seemed discombobulated. Unable to deal with his many bags, he deposited three of them near the train door from which he entered. People looked at the bags, but nobody did anything. I'm sure everyone was thinking "What if there's a bomb..." but nobody wants to be the dork to say something.
Rather than sit on a seat, he decided to sit on his duffle bag, on the floor, in the middle of the train, right at the base of my feet, facing me.
I didn't have a newspaper (damn you AM New York, for being out only once and on this particular day!), so I was sitting there with my headphones on looking at this guy. I looked away, looked around, but he was right in front of me, just sitting on the train floor.
About thirty seconds later, he started grabbing his face. I don't know what he was doing. My guess is that he was popping his jaw back into place or something, but he was doing it viciously.
Then he started staring at me. Just staring. Intensely. He was kind of smirking, as though he was trying to get my attention. I didn't look at him. I tried not to make eye contact. I looked around and tried to stare at other people on the train. I looked up. I looked at my hands. I tried not to think about the FreakFest that was seated in front of me.
When the man seated next to me got up, FreakFest gathered up his belongings (his duffle bag and the three bags he just left at the door) and sat next to me. He turned around and stared at me again.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see that he was stretching into the neighboring seats. And then I felt it. His hand touched my leg. I didn't respond because I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. We're always bumping into people, brushing against people, invading people's personal space in this city. He most likely just stretched and accidentally brushed against me and would withdraw his hand as soon as he realized what happened.
He did. And then I felt it again. And again.
I didn't know what to do.
I looked around at the other people on the train and noticed a guy who seemed to sense what was going on. I felt safe, because I was certain this guy would do something. But really, what would he do? What was I going to do?
When the train stopped at 14th Street, I decided to get off, as FreakFest didn't seem to be getting off at that stop. I decided to wait for as long as possible to get out of my seat, on the off chance that we would try to follow me. Not that he was going to follow me. I paused, and then quickly got up.
FreakFest didn't motion to leave until he realized that I was getting off. He then quickly and chaotically gathered his many bags and got off the train with me. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't expected him to do that. He didn't seem to be getting off at that stop!
My original plan was to just wait for the next train but I didn't want to be on the platform with him. I considered running up to the L train, but what if he followed me? And what would I have done on the L, anyway?
I decided, instead, to run up to another car and squeeze myself into it as the doors were closing.
My heart was about to come out of my chest. I didn't know where he was, I didn't know if he would make his way through the train, I didn't know if he was on the train, I didn't know if he could see me from another train.
I didn't see him again. Phew.
At work I tried to concentrate but couldn't. I was spooked.
I encountered JG in the lunchroom and told him the story, because I knew I could count on him to be horrified on my behalf.
I didn't call D for about three hours. I wanted to calm down a bit, stop shaking, and get through my morning experiments before I talked to him. I was afraid that he would not respond and that I would explode if I didn't give myself time to process what had happened, and, well, order my dress, because I knew that would make me feel better.
I called him and said "Guess what happened to me this morning!"
"You were groped?"
I paused. "Um... well... yes, sort of, I guess, yes, I was."
Not funny. It just wasn't funny. It wouldn't have been funny under any circumstances. I guess he said it because he'd read an article discussing how the police have been cracking down on subway gropers and have been apprehending record numbers of them. What kind of world do we live in?
I told him the story and he was sympathetic, but not in the protective I-Want-To-Kick-That-Guy's-Ass sort of way I wanted him to be. I expected as much. I expected rational. He said "Did he seem crazy? Did he seem insane? How old was he? Was he homeless?" and I explained what the guy was wearing and how I was freaking out and how I was glad to see that there were cops at Spring Street (specifically the Vandam exit) because there have never been cops before.
Of course I wanted to explain how disgusting it is to be touched on your leg by a complete stranger and how violated you feel and how scary it is to be followed and how awful this stupid city is. But I guess I don't want to have to explain these things at all, because some things should go without saying.
I hate men. Who does this guy on the train think he is!? There's an entire website devoted to exposing street harassers called Holla Back New York City, which is awesome except why do we have to live in a world where people are harrassed?
This reminds me of the time when someone at a former job kissed me on the job. I was, of course, horrified, and I called my boyfriend at the time and he was all "Why would he do that? Do you think he meant it? He must be crazy. Did you do anything to make him think it was ok? There must be something wrong with him," etc., and I so wanted him to say "That motherfucker! If I ever see that douchebag I will destroy him."
I think that men don't get it. Because they are men and because they are in a position of physical power, they don't see these sorts of acts against us as distressing. They don't see how a woman could have a response to a stranger's hand on her leg, or a coworker's lips on her face. I was amazed that my former boyfriend could make excuses for my coworker.
I guess men really don't react to anything. I guess men aren't capable of saying "Oh my god HOW DARE HE!?"
And men are capable of inflicting their physical presence on complete strangers, because for some reason they think that this is acceptable.
Ugh.
Happy Friday.
Friday, June 23, 2006
So Remember How My Dress Caught on Fire?
It didn't leave a terrible mess. Maybe a few ashen streaks, but because the stress is striped the streaks were not terribly noticeable. I could have worn the dress without anyone knowing that it had ever been on fire, but I would obsess over the dark streaks.
I decided to have it dry cleaned, just in case the ashen marks could be removed by some heavy duty cleaning process.
I dropped it off on Monday, and they told me it would be ready on Thursday, which was fine given that I need it for next week for LondonandValencia! but not until Tuesday night, when I will be spending three hours packing.
In spite of the three bags of groceries I was carrying and the fact that I kept dropping my hoodie on the ground every three steps, I opted to pick up the dress last night.
I dropped my groceries on the floor and handed the girl my ticket.
She presented the dress, and I looked at the problem area only to find that...
THE DRESS HAD BEEN RUINED.
I maintained my composure. "Um, I'm sorry, but this wasn't here when I dropped the dress off."
The original ashen marks had been replaced by GIANT STAIN MARKS. You know how when you spill water on a piece of clothing the entire area looks darker than the rest of the garment? Yeah, that's what it looked like. Giant splotches of darker-than-the-rest dress, and in a perfect pattern.
"Yes, it was."
"No, actually, it wasn't," I said. I took the dress out and touched the stains. The stains were a bit sticky, as though they had put stain remover on the dress and had forgotten then to wash it.
"It was like that when you brought it in."
"No, it wasn't."
"It was."
"Listen, the dress had small ashen marks... very small... and no stains. This has stains, big ones, and this was $100 dress."
"It was like that when you brought it in."
Now, I can't even be sure that this was the same girl to whom I'd dropped the dress off. And even if she was, like she remembers! And even if she was, the customer is always right!
"No, it wasn't. I'm not paying for this and I'd like you to clean it again."
"But it was like that when you brought it in."
"Listen, the dress was not ruined when I brought it in and now I can't wear it ever again. Please try to clean it again."
She took it back, exasperated, and gave me the evil eye.
I left, fuming.
I am mad for a variety of reasons.
1. I love that dress. Madly. It's probably my favorite dress of all time. It fit, it's comfortable, it's wonderfully summer-y and perfect for my upcoming travels. I have matching shoes that are also comfortable. I love it love love it. It is hard for me to find clothes that fit and that dress fit. It fit perfectly. I love it.
2. They destroyed my perfectly wearable dress.
3. They blamed me and called me a liar.
4. They were unremorseful. Completely and utterly unremorseful. No "Oh, my! We're so sorry! Let us see what we can do to fix it!" Instead "It's your fault, you're insane, you brought it in this way and are blaming us."
5. They didn't make any suggestions. None. They just want my $6 and want to be rid of me. I maintained my composure the whole time but man did I want to slap this girl accross the face. I didn't throw a fit. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't cry when I saw my ruined dress. I calmly explained myself and then asserted myself until they took the dress back.
I walked home, lugging my groceries in the insane heat and tried not to cry. I was so angry, not about the dress but about the way I was treated.
I called MG immediately so that I could hear someone say "How dare they!" and she did.
MG was in traffic and had to get off the phone, so I called Mother. Mother didn't even know that my dress had caught on fire. "That's not the point of this story!" I said and told her about my dress. She empathized, and soon I was wailing about how much New York City sucks and how this city and this intolerable heat make people irritable and insane and how people pass tension on from one person to another. Mother suggested that I call the store or try to buy the dress again, so I did.
I called one of the stores and described my dress. They had none left. This girl, however, was a nice employee and called all of the other stores on my behalf and none of them had the dress. She suggested I order it by phone, and suggested that I could have it shipped overnight. I decided to do this, because the most I would be out (should the dry cleaner salvage the dress) would be the cost of shipping, which would be like $20 since it was from NYC. And, it was worth it to me to buy another dress because I love the dress and that's that. The sad thing was that it was such a deal at $100 in a fancy SoHo shop and I'd also bought the original tax-free. But whatever. I must have the dress.
When D came home, I snapped at him because he bought mayonnaise. We'd had this long conversation earlier in the day during which I said I'd go grocery shopping after work since he was sick, and that he was not to buy anything, including mayonnaise. He walked in, chipper, and said "I got the mayo!" and I was like "BRING IT BACK!" Awful. I apologized moments later for transferring my irritability onto him, and explained the saga.
He empathized and tolerated my swearing and he even hit the wall on my behalf, I think to encourage me to do so. I didn't. I just said "I hate people," and he said "I think it might be time to move."
I gave him a big kiss. "I could move tomorrow and not even look back," he said.
"Let's move in nine months when the lease is up."
"To Boulder?"
"I don't care. Anywhere but here."
I called to order the dress this morning, and the man on the phone was very sweet and helpful and is having the dress shipped today, with the inventory, to the store around the corner from where I work. I can pick it up at 6:00. No shipping. And I can return it to the store for a cash refund. Sweet.
In the meantime, I will pick up the original dress at the laundromat and if it still ruined I will indeed throw a fit and ask to speak to the manager as per MG's suggestion (I am so not a "Can I please speak to your manager" person) and present the receipt for my dress (which I bizarrely still have) and will ask them to reimburse me.
If they do not reimburse me, I will make a bunch of signs that say things like "THIS PLACE RUINS YOUR CLOTHES" AND "DO NOT DROP YOUR DRY CLEANING OFF AT THIS MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A LAUNDROMAT!" and will plaster them all over the outside of the laundromat. I will also stop people from going in there whenever I am walking by. There has to be some sense of justice.
I am learning, though, that there is no sense of justice in New York, and that is why everyone is antagonistic to everyone else and why people don't care at all that they've ruined people's clothes.
I decided to have it dry cleaned, just in case the ashen marks could be removed by some heavy duty cleaning process.
I dropped it off on Monday, and they told me it would be ready on Thursday, which was fine given that I need it for next week for LondonandValencia! but not until Tuesday night, when I will be spending three hours packing.
In spite of the three bags of groceries I was carrying and the fact that I kept dropping my hoodie on the ground every three steps, I opted to pick up the dress last night.
I dropped my groceries on the floor and handed the girl my ticket.
She presented the dress, and I looked at the problem area only to find that...
THE DRESS HAD BEEN RUINED.
I maintained my composure. "Um, I'm sorry, but this wasn't here when I dropped the dress off."
The original ashen marks had been replaced by GIANT STAIN MARKS. You know how when you spill water on a piece of clothing the entire area looks darker than the rest of the garment? Yeah, that's what it looked like. Giant splotches of darker-than-the-rest dress, and in a perfect pattern.
"Yes, it was."
"No, actually, it wasn't," I said. I took the dress out and touched the stains. The stains were a bit sticky, as though they had put stain remover on the dress and had forgotten then to wash it.
"It was like that when you brought it in."
"No, it wasn't."
"It was."
"Listen, the dress had small ashen marks... very small... and no stains. This has stains, big ones, and this was $100 dress."
"It was like that when you brought it in."
Now, I can't even be sure that this was the same girl to whom I'd dropped the dress off. And even if she was, like she remembers! And even if she was, the customer is always right!
"No, it wasn't. I'm not paying for this and I'd like you to clean it again."
"But it was like that when you brought it in."
"Listen, the dress was not ruined when I brought it in and now I can't wear it ever again. Please try to clean it again."
She took it back, exasperated, and gave me the evil eye.
I left, fuming.
I am mad for a variety of reasons.
1. I love that dress. Madly. It's probably my favorite dress of all time. It fit, it's comfortable, it's wonderfully summer-y and perfect for my upcoming travels. I have matching shoes that are also comfortable. I love it love love it. It is hard for me to find clothes that fit and that dress fit. It fit perfectly. I love it.
2. They destroyed my perfectly wearable dress.
3. They blamed me and called me a liar.
4. They were unremorseful. Completely and utterly unremorseful. No "Oh, my! We're so sorry! Let us see what we can do to fix it!" Instead "It's your fault, you're insane, you brought it in this way and are blaming us."
5. They didn't make any suggestions. None. They just want my $6 and want to be rid of me. I maintained my composure the whole time but man did I want to slap this girl accross the face. I didn't throw a fit. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't cry when I saw my ruined dress. I calmly explained myself and then asserted myself until they took the dress back.
I walked home, lugging my groceries in the insane heat and tried not to cry. I was so angry, not about the dress but about the way I was treated.
I called MG immediately so that I could hear someone say "How dare they!" and she did.
MG was in traffic and had to get off the phone, so I called Mother. Mother didn't even know that my dress had caught on fire. "That's not the point of this story!" I said and told her about my dress. She empathized, and soon I was wailing about how much New York City sucks and how this city and this intolerable heat make people irritable and insane and how people pass tension on from one person to another. Mother suggested that I call the store or try to buy the dress again, so I did.
I called one of the stores and described my dress. They had none left. This girl, however, was a nice employee and called all of the other stores on my behalf and none of them had the dress. She suggested I order it by phone, and suggested that I could have it shipped overnight. I decided to do this, because the most I would be out (should the dry cleaner salvage the dress) would be the cost of shipping, which would be like $20 since it was from NYC. And, it was worth it to me to buy another dress because I love the dress and that's that. The sad thing was that it was such a deal at $100 in a fancy SoHo shop and I'd also bought the original tax-free. But whatever. I must have the dress.
When D came home, I snapped at him because he bought mayonnaise. We'd had this long conversation earlier in the day during which I said I'd go grocery shopping after work since he was sick, and that he was not to buy anything, including mayonnaise. He walked in, chipper, and said "I got the mayo!" and I was like "BRING IT BACK!" Awful. I apologized moments later for transferring my irritability onto him, and explained the saga.
He empathized and tolerated my swearing and he even hit the wall on my behalf, I think to encourage me to do so. I didn't. I just said "I hate people," and he said "I think it might be time to move."
I gave him a big kiss. "I could move tomorrow and not even look back," he said.
"Let's move in nine months when the lease is up."
"To Boulder?"
"I don't care. Anywhere but here."
I called to order the dress this morning, and the man on the phone was very sweet and helpful and is having the dress shipped today, with the inventory, to the store around the corner from where I work. I can pick it up at 6:00. No shipping. And I can return it to the store for a cash refund. Sweet.
In the meantime, I will pick up the original dress at the laundromat and if it still ruined I will indeed throw a fit and ask to speak to the manager as per MG's suggestion (I am so not a "Can I please speak to your manager" person) and present the receipt for my dress (which I bizarrely still have) and will ask them to reimburse me.
If they do not reimburse me, I will make a bunch of signs that say things like "THIS PLACE RUINS YOUR CLOTHES" AND "DO NOT DROP YOUR DRY CLEANING OFF AT THIS MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A LAUNDROMAT!" and will plaster them all over the outside of the laundromat. I will also stop people from going in there whenever I am walking by. There has to be some sense of justice.
I am learning, though, that there is no sense of justice in New York, and that is why everyone is antagonistic to everyone else and why people don't care at all that they've ruined people's clothes.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Sympathy Sore Throat
I can't tell if I just have a sympathy (paranoid) sore throat or if I actually have the sickness from which D is currently ailing.
He's at home sick, watching cycling and lamenting not "being productive."
He stayed home yesterday and cleaned the apartment and went to the library to get books about London and CD's from which to learn Italian (bless him). I said "You should be relaxing! You can't stay sick! We are leaving for London in less than a week! You must take naps and drink fluids and do nothing and don't even think about going cycling!"
Today he is taking it easy, allowing the antbiotics to work. I am trying to be a good girlfriend and roommate and bring him things he needs like juices not from concentrate and bread so he doesn't have to just eat cheese rolled around meat. He keeps saying "I'll get it" and I have to be like "STAY IN BED GODDAMIT!"
My glands are swollen, definitely. I think I am starting to get sick but I will not allow it. I will go to bed early and take care of myself, because I am a woman and don't have pride when it comes to being sick. I admit that I am sick and will behave accordingly instead of going about business as usual and therefore ensuring a full-on illness.
Plus, I can't take a sick day. There is too much work to be done, and I literally won't have time to go to the doctor for antibiotics of my very own until Wednesday.
Ugh. I cannot get sick. I will not allow it!
He's at home sick, watching cycling and lamenting not "being productive."
He stayed home yesterday and cleaned the apartment and went to the library to get books about London and CD's from which to learn Italian (bless him). I said "You should be relaxing! You can't stay sick! We are leaving for London in less than a week! You must take naps and drink fluids and do nothing and don't even think about going cycling!"
Today he is taking it easy, allowing the antbiotics to work. I am trying to be a good girlfriend and roommate and bring him things he needs like juices not from concentrate and bread so he doesn't have to just eat cheese rolled around meat. He keeps saying "I'll get it" and I have to be like "STAY IN BED GODDAMIT!"
My glands are swollen, definitely. I think I am starting to get sick but I will not allow it. I will go to bed early and take care of myself, because I am a woman and don't have pride when it comes to being sick. I admit that I am sick and will behave accordingly instead of going about business as usual and therefore ensuring a full-on illness.
Plus, I can't take a sick day. There is too much work to be done, and I literally won't have time to go to the doctor for antibiotics of my very own until Wednesday.
Ugh. I cannot get sick. I will not allow it!
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Planning
For some reason I am thinking about Dance Party USA today.
Has anyone been to Stonehenge? Any recommendations for how to get there from London without draining your bank account? Curse the worthless American dollar!
And curse not being prepared for travels. I'm trying to compromise, really, I am. It was a compromise for him to get our tickets two weeks in advance. I appreciate that, I do. Would I have preferred to have gotten them months ago so as to be prepared for our travels? Yes. Would I have preferred to give our various hosts more than one day notice of when we'll be arriving and staying etc.? Surely. But I am a compromising person, and I can be spontaneous. I swear, I can!
But not with this. I really want to see Stonehenge. Ever since I built a to-scale model of Stonehenge out of Play-Doh for a school project, I have been obsessed. This may be my only opportunity, and I don't want to not go because the train schedule doesn't work for us or because it's too expensive or because we didn't book the tour 48 hours in advance as is required.
Otherwise, we have no plans. Because I can compromise! I have no idea what to do in London. We will read a book about London on the plane and will then deliriously discuss things we might like to do.
It's not like I want to compulsively plan the vacation. That's very stressful and leads to agendas and pressure and not enjoying oneself. I would just like to know if we are going to see Stonehenge, and when that might be so I can tell A and B, and what that might entail (such as staying a night in Bath, in which case I might like to look into hotels now to get an idea of whether or not that is feasible monetarily). I don't want to spend precious time in London surfing the internet in order to find a good hotel. No, I will not.
So yes. Advice, please, if you've got any on Stonehenge. Merci!
Has anyone been to Stonehenge? Any recommendations for how to get there from London without draining your bank account? Curse the worthless American dollar!
And curse not being prepared for travels. I'm trying to compromise, really, I am. It was a compromise for him to get our tickets two weeks in advance. I appreciate that, I do. Would I have preferred to have gotten them months ago so as to be prepared for our travels? Yes. Would I have preferred to give our various hosts more than one day notice of when we'll be arriving and staying etc.? Surely. But I am a compromising person, and I can be spontaneous. I swear, I can!
But not with this. I really want to see Stonehenge. Ever since I built a to-scale model of Stonehenge out of Play-Doh for a school project, I have been obsessed. This may be my only opportunity, and I don't want to not go because the train schedule doesn't work for us or because it's too expensive or because we didn't book the tour 48 hours in advance as is required.
Otherwise, we have no plans. Because I can compromise! I have no idea what to do in London. We will read a book about London on the plane and will then deliriously discuss things we might like to do.
It's not like I want to compulsively plan the vacation. That's very stressful and leads to agendas and pressure and not enjoying oneself. I would just like to know if we are going to see Stonehenge, and when that might be so I can tell A and B, and what that might entail (such as staying a night in Bath, in which case I might like to look into hotels now to get an idea of whether or not that is feasible monetarily). I don't want to spend precious time in London surfing the internet in order to find a good hotel. No, I will not.
So yes. Advice, please, if you've got any on Stonehenge. Merci!
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Dishes
The most bizarre thing happened last night post-dinner party.
D invited his friend S over after they dined together at one of the many many many Thai restaurants in Hell's Kitchen (D didn't want to be around for the "Estrofest") in an attempt to surreptitiously set S up with my friend M. S stayed after The Photography Gals left, and for some reason started to wash the dishes. I didn't stop him, but I kept asking him "Why are you doing the dishes? I didn't even make you dinner!" and he said "I don't know... I just feel like I should be doing something."
There were millions of dishes.
And S washed most of them.
Granted, he washed some of them with hand soap, but who am I to complain?
We had a great time. The Photography Gals loved the apartment. We ate breads and fruits and cheeses. The dinner itself was miraculous. They are now under the false impression that I can cook.
I went against my upbringing and heritage for this dinner party and made the appropriate amount of food, rather than defaulting to Italian and preparing enough food for 40 people when only 4 would be in attendance. I bought enough food for possibly five people so that D could have some. M's sister ended up coming at the last minute so I had to ask D and S to go out for dinner, which worked out well because I got to have quality time with The Gals. I am the worst girlfriend ever, however, as I completely forgot to save him food despite his actually asking.
D always asks what I could possibly be talking about for hours upon hours when I hang out with my girlfriends. He always jokes "Did you talk about your periods? Birth control? Boys?"
We were, of course, talking about birth control methods last night when D and S walked in after their boy dinner. We promptly changed the subject to Dawson's Creek when they appeared, and then went back to the wonders of the patch when they left to drink on the roof.
The Gals and I talked about assertiveness and drama and the future and career changes and the importance of communication and birth control and Orthodoxy and photography and travels and my dream about Al Gore and another dream I had last week about our photography teacher. Ew.
The Gals left at about 11:15. They weren't in the mood for drinking, for some reason, but I was. M and B each had about half a glass and I had the remainder of the bottle. I was drinking and giggly while S washed dishes. I out on a Method Man / Redman CD and hosted a mini Monday night dance party since S and I have only D and hip hop in common. I am a fan of S's but had never had the opportunity to really spend time with him until last night, so hopefully now we can be friends instead of just friendly.
I went to bed with the spins and woke up with a stomach ache. D brilliantly suggested that we both take preemptive Advils last night before going to bed so things could be much worse. I'm a bit tired but not as much as I should be after having gotten only five hours of drunk sleep.
Tonight I plan to, gasp, exercise and catch up on Netflix and catch up with Father, for whom I had to leave a message on Father's Day. And then I will blissfully go to bed early! Ooo! I can't wait for tonight!
D invited his friend S over after they dined together at one of the many many many Thai restaurants in Hell's Kitchen (D didn't want to be around for the "Estrofest") in an attempt to surreptitiously set S up with my friend M. S stayed after The Photography Gals left, and for some reason started to wash the dishes. I didn't stop him, but I kept asking him "Why are you doing the dishes? I didn't even make you dinner!" and he said "I don't know... I just feel like I should be doing something."
There were millions of dishes.
And S washed most of them.
Granted, he washed some of them with hand soap, but who am I to complain?
We had a great time. The Photography Gals loved the apartment. We ate breads and fruits and cheeses. The dinner itself was miraculous. They are now under the false impression that I can cook.
I went against my upbringing and heritage for this dinner party and made the appropriate amount of food, rather than defaulting to Italian and preparing enough food for 40 people when only 4 would be in attendance. I bought enough food for possibly five people so that D could have some. M's sister ended up coming at the last minute so I had to ask D and S to go out for dinner, which worked out well because I got to have quality time with The Gals. I am the worst girlfriend ever, however, as I completely forgot to save him food despite his actually asking.
D always asks what I could possibly be talking about for hours upon hours when I hang out with my girlfriends. He always jokes "Did you talk about your periods? Birth control? Boys?"
We were, of course, talking about birth control methods last night when D and S walked in after their boy dinner. We promptly changed the subject to Dawson's Creek when they appeared, and then went back to the wonders of the patch when they left to drink on the roof.
The Gals and I talked about assertiveness and drama and the future and career changes and the importance of communication and birth control and Orthodoxy and photography and travels and my dream about Al Gore and another dream I had last week about our photography teacher. Ew.
The Gals left at about 11:15. They weren't in the mood for drinking, for some reason, but I was. M and B each had about half a glass and I had the remainder of the bottle. I was drinking and giggly while S washed dishes. I out on a Method Man / Redman CD and hosted a mini Monday night dance party since S and I have only D and hip hop in common. I am a fan of S's but had never had the opportunity to really spend time with him until last night, so hopefully now we can be friends instead of just friendly.
I went to bed with the spins and woke up with a stomach ache. D brilliantly suggested that we both take preemptive Advils last night before going to bed so things could be much worse. I'm a bit tired but not as much as I should be after having gotten only five hours of drunk sleep.
Tonight I plan to, gasp, exercise and catch up on Netflix and catch up with Father, for whom I had to leave a message on Father's Day. And then I will blissfully go to bed early! Ooo! I can't wait for tonight!
Monday, June 19, 2006
The Reception Was Lovely Except For That Part Where My Dress Was On Fire
Another weekend away, this time in the fields of CT.
We didn't leave until Saturday afternoon. D and I had originally planned an elaborate night at home performing a cooking experiment wherein we would attempt to replicate the caramelized onion / goat cheese tart from Balthazar. While commuting home I decided that staying in would be a waste of my glamorously styled hair. D was easily convinced to go on a date. We ended up dining outside at a cute place with cute waiters on 10th. We ordered too much food and didn't have room for dessert, which was fine with me. We tried to watch Winter Passing when we got home but not even Will Farrell could save it.
I accomplished nothing on Saturday morning despite my lofty plans to clean and work out and read read read. We left at about 1:30 with PW. We picked up the car, had a snack and modern furniture detour, and were completely checked in by 4:10. I was worried about the new haircut and only having twenty minutes to deal with it, but it looked cute and done with only minimal invasiveness.
The reception was charming. It took place under tents in a vast field outside a bed and breakfast. We shared veggie burgers and salads. We drank wine. Most wore flip flops. I took photos and got a wonderful compliment. The speeches were precious and the support of the family was amazing. We square danced and had far more fun promenading than we ever could have imagined. The wedding is a model for the future imaginary wedding that may or may not happen. I've been accumulating so much data and think that I would like to, if it ever happens, celebrate my union casually in a loft or in a field. A big party with little fanfare.
It was lovely to see everyone. It was a reunion for many of us. Sometimes I forget how much I miss people until I see them again. D said that for him its the opposite. I caught up with people I haven't seen in nearly five years. I saw old, familiar faces and became acquainted with new ones.
There were anti-mosquito candles sticking out from the grass at random. Tall ones, about three feet high, that looked almost like fireworks. People were drunk, and weren't necessarily paying attention to this sort of thing. I saved someone from backing into it and lighting her dress on fire as she backed up to pose for a photo.
I was trying desperately to get a decent no-flash exposure of the square dancing. I backed up.
Suddenly I felt the inside of my thigh getting really, really, REALLY HOT.
I looked down and my dress was on fire!
I don't know what happened. I have no idea. Had I been more sober I imagine I would have freaked out more, but I guess I just put it out. I feel like what happened was that I moved the fire, because it was on my dress and then it was on the ground and people were stomping it in the grass.
I was only traumatized, at the time, about the dress. "My dress!" I exclaimed. People ran over to me with water and said "The dress will be fine..." "But it was on fire!" others said. "My dress!!! NO!"
A girl said "No, see? It's coming off... it's just ash."
Ash. My dress, folks, was apparently fire-proof.
Awesome.
It's a little charred but it mostly came off. I dropped it off to be dry cleaned this morning.
I didn't feel much like dancing after that. D said "Do you want to dance some more?" and I employed one of the techniques I am always forgetting and said "This is serious. I'm a bit traumatized and don't feel like dancing all that much."
We called a cab to go home and they said "Ummm... twenty minutes to an hour?"
Ugh.
We ended up getting a ride from AC, who used to live in my room in Somerville.
Our drive to the brunch was lovely as we got to really look at the area, which was rich in colors. There were trees and swans and water and grass and people fishing and yes! I want to go back some time when there is not a wedding reception and do some photography. The colors. Gasp.
Everyone was hung over at brunch because apparently everyone stayed until like 3 am. Kids! I took more photos and said sad good-byes, and "Hopefully I'll see you soon!" but really it was "Hopefully I'll see you ever again," because once something like this has finally happened you know there's no reason to ever see the friends of your friends again. It's one of the casualties of moving away. You lose the people you see because they're there, not because you make an effort to see them.
We drove back to NYC, and returned the car two minutes late in the stagnant and nasty city air. D's cousin was spontaneously in town so we hung out with her for a bit and then excused ourselves to do Sunday projects like cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping for dinner parties. She took us out for an expensed fancy dinner (woo! desserts for all!) and we watched The Producers after I made the beginnings of what will tonight become creamy pesto.
Which reminds me... I should get home so I can make creamy pesto!
Oooh! Monday night party!
Until tomorrow...
We didn't leave until Saturday afternoon. D and I had originally planned an elaborate night at home performing a cooking experiment wherein we would attempt to replicate the caramelized onion / goat cheese tart from Balthazar. While commuting home I decided that staying in would be a waste of my glamorously styled hair. D was easily convinced to go on a date. We ended up dining outside at a cute place with cute waiters on 10th. We ordered too much food and didn't have room for dessert, which was fine with me. We tried to watch Winter Passing when we got home but not even Will Farrell could save it.
I accomplished nothing on Saturday morning despite my lofty plans to clean and work out and read read read. We left at about 1:30 with PW. We picked up the car, had a snack and modern furniture detour, and were completely checked in by 4:10. I was worried about the new haircut and only having twenty minutes to deal with it, but it looked cute and done with only minimal invasiveness.
The reception was charming. It took place under tents in a vast field outside a bed and breakfast. We shared veggie burgers and salads. We drank wine. Most wore flip flops. I took photos and got a wonderful compliment. The speeches were precious and the support of the family was amazing. We square danced and had far more fun promenading than we ever could have imagined. The wedding is a model for the future imaginary wedding that may or may not happen. I've been accumulating so much data and think that I would like to, if it ever happens, celebrate my union casually in a loft or in a field. A big party with little fanfare.
It was lovely to see everyone. It was a reunion for many of us. Sometimes I forget how much I miss people until I see them again. D said that for him its the opposite. I caught up with people I haven't seen in nearly five years. I saw old, familiar faces and became acquainted with new ones.
There were anti-mosquito candles sticking out from the grass at random. Tall ones, about three feet high, that looked almost like fireworks. People were drunk, and weren't necessarily paying attention to this sort of thing. I saved someone from backing into it and lighting her dress on fire as she backed up to pose for a photo.
I was trying desperately to get a decent no-flash exposure of the square dancing. I backed up.
Suddenly I felt the inside of my thigh getting really, really, REALLY HOT.
I looked down and my dress was on fire!
I don't know what happened. I have no idea. Had I been more sober I imagine I would have freaked out more, but I guess I just put it out. I feel like what happened was that I moved the fire, because it was on my dress and then it was on the ground and people were stomping it in the grass.
I was only traumatized, at the time, about the dress. "My dress!" I exclaimed. People ran over to me with water and said "The dress will be fine..." "But it was on fire!" others said. "My dress!!! NO!"
A girl said "No, see? It's coming off... it's just ash."
Ash. My dress, folks, was apparently fire-proof.
Awesome.
It's a little charred but it mostly came off. I dropped it off to be dry cleaned this morning.
I didn't feel much like dancing after that. D said "Do you want to dance some more?" and I employed one of the techniques I am always forgetting and said "This is serious. I'm a bit traumatized and don't feel like dancing all that much."
We called a cab to go home and they said "Ummm... twenty minutes to an hour?"
Ugh.
We ended up getting a ride from AC, who used to live in my room in Somerville.
Our drive to the brunch was lovely as we got to really look at the area, which was rich in colors. There were trees and swans and water and grass and people fishing and yes! I want to go back some time when there is not a wedding reception and do some photography. The colors. Gasp.
Everyone was hung over at brunch because apparently everyone stayed until like 3 am. Kids! I took more photos and said sad good-byes, and "Hopefully I'll see you soon!" but really it was "Hopefully I'll see you ever again," because once something like this has finally happened you know there's no reason to ever see the friends of your friends again. It's one of the casualties of moving away. You lose the people you see because they're there, not because you make an effort to see them.
We drove back to NYC, and returned the car two minutes late in the stagnant and nasty city air. D's cousin was spontaneously in town so we hung out with her for a bit and then excused ourselves to do Sunday projects like cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping for dinner parties. She took us out for an expensed fancy dinner (woo! desserts for all!) and we watched The Producers after I made the beginnings of what will tonight become creamy pesto.
Which reminds me... I should get home so I can make creamy pesto!
Oooh! Monday night party!
Until tomorrow...
Bialyschtockkkk and Blooooommmmeeee.....
Yes, I watched The Producers last night (well, I started watching it) and it was amazing. I have decided that were life in musical form, we'd be far happier as a society.
The potential of My Mundane Life In Song has yet to be realized.
Soon, soon, so soon will I have K's keyboard and then inspiration will be mine again!
An alternative, however, is to soon have Matthew Broderick following me around, failing to age, singing with complete earnesty while providing the soundtrack to my life.
I love the scene where he's at his accounting firm and the accountants are all singing "Unhappy..."
Speaking of which: does anyone know why accountants wore visors?
I am thinking I may want to buy a visor as part of my complete wardrobe overhaul in preparation for my trip to London/Valencia, which is next week. How did that happen? I am unprepared. I have no weather-appropriate clothing, nor have I done any research as to what I might like to do while being in Europe for the first time ever.
The good news is that I am prepared hair-wise, as the new haircut, which is still the talk of the lab (which makes me happy as today it is back to its crazy and unpredictable normalcy), has withstood the weekend and looks good in a ponytail, buns, and down with or without barrettes. Woo hoo! All praise the fancy haircut that would be worth whatever they normally charge were someone to have enough money to pay for a normally charged haircut.
I am having The Photography Gals over for dinner tonight. I am feeling a bit uptight about the during-the-week dinner party. I am trying new things, including a creamy pesto sauce which couldn't possibly be more difficult than normal pesto, right? I am throwing together a salad with mixed greens, goat cheese, honeyed pecans, and pear. I don't see how that could go wrong aside from the dressing, which will be a balsamic vinegar/honey concoction suggested by D's cousin. I had every intention to make homemade ricotta gnocchi as I have been in the mood for a pasta pyramid as of late and miss gnocchi (I miss those stupid overly starchy potatoes in general!), but didn't because it was 12,000 degrees and also because D's cousin was spontaneously in town and expensed a fancy dinner for us last night. We will also be having brie and grapes and crackers and breads and wines and then... cupcakes. Hopefully this will all take place on the roof but the weather is looking bleak.
I dreamt about the dinner party last night, and pasta that wouldn't boil and pesto that wouldn't heat and not having enough seating and there being a zillion flights of stairs to navigate in order for people to get onto the roof which turned not to be a roof at all but a scary attic that everyone loathed, and, most importantly, being extremely anxious about the dinner because Al Gore was invited and was going to show up late and I wanted everyone to be on their best behavior but people would not cooperate nor would they understand that it was very exciting for me that Al Gore was coming to my dinner party!
It's been so long since I've had a dream about Al Gore. The crush apparently persists. I want D and I to go to a taping of Saturday Night Live because why not? We were discussing which guest we'd be most excited about, and I was like "Dude, if we attend an Al Gore episode I am. going. to. DIE."
And now I must eat lunch, a big lunch, to tide me over until tonight when I will have people over for a late dinner that will be delicious. Right? It will be. It will be. Yes, it will be.
The potential of My Mundane Life In Song has yet to be realized.
Soon, soon, so soon will I have K's keyboard and then inspiration will be mine again!
An alternative, however, is to soon have Matthew Broderick following me around, failing to age, singing with complete earnesty while providing the soundtrack to my life.
I love the scene where he's at his accounting firm and the accountants are all singing "Unhappy..."
Speaking of which: does anyone know why accountants wore visors?
I am thinking I may want to buy a visor as part of my complete wardrobe overhaul in preparation for my trip to London/Valencia, which is next week. How did that happen? I am unprepared. I have no weather-appropriate clothing, nor have I done any research as to what I might like to do while being in Europe for the first time ever.
The good news is that I am prepared hair-wise, as the new haircut, which is still the talk of the lab (which makes me happy as today it is back to its crazy and unpredictable normalcy), has withstood the weekend and looks good in a ponytail, buns, and down with or without barrettes. Woo hoo! All praise the fancy haircut that would be worth whatever they normally charge were someone to have enough money to pay for a normally charged haircut.
I am having The Photography Gals over for dinner tonight. I am feeling a bit uptight about the during-the-week dinner party. I am trying new things, including a creamy pesto sauce which couldn't possibly be more difficult than normal pesto, right? I am throwing together a salad with mixed greens, goat cheese, honeyed pecans, and pear. I don't see how that could go wrong aside from the dressing, which will be a balsamic vinegar/honey concoction suggested by D's cousin. I had every intention to make homemade ricotta gnocchi as I have been in the mood for a pasta pyramid as of late and miss gnocchi (I miss those stupid overly starchy potatoes in general!), but didn't because it was 12,000 degrees and also because D's cousin was spontaneously in town and expensed a fancy dinner for us last night. We will also be having brie and grapes and crackers and breads and wines and then... cupcakes. Hopefully this will all take place on the roof but the weather is looking bleak.
I dreamt about the dinner party last night, and pasta that wouldn't boil and pesto that wouldn't heat and not having enough seating and there being a zillion flights of stairs to navigate in order for people to get onto the roof which turned not to be a roof at all but a scary attic that everyone loathed, and, most importantly, being extremely anxious about the dinner because Al Gore was invited and was going to show up late and I wanted everyone to be on their best behavior but people would not cooperate nor would they understand that it was very exciting for me that Al Gore was coming to my dinner party!
It's been so long since I've had a dream about Al Gore. The crush apparently persists. I want D and I to go to a taping of Saturday Night Live because why not? We were discussing which guest we'd be most excited about, and I was like "Dude, if we attend an Al Gore episode I am. going. to. DIE."
And now I must eat lunch, a big lunch, to tide me over until tonight when I will have people over for a late dinner that will be delicious. Right? It will be. It will be. Yes, it will be.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Perty
The talk of the lab today is my fabulous new haircut. I decided to go back to S, for whom I was a hair model ages ago at the fancy schmancy salon downstairs and who gave me the best haircut I've ever had.
S cut my hair way back when - maybe in January? I needed to have it cut a few months later (too long), and went to the Aveda Academy and hated the haircut. That's when D "fixed it," thus resulting in my having to grow it out for a few more months (torture) and get another haircut at the Aveda Academy, which I also hated, but I can't really blame anyone because they didn't really have anything to work with but 4 zillion different lengths of hair.
I grew that one out a bit, and went to see S this morning to get a haircut with style. We're talking bangs, folks, which she and her teacher called "fringe."
I came back to work (two and a half hours later, which was good given that last time she cut my hair it took three and a half hours) and everyone was very excited. Even the men!
JG is a kid who used to work in my department. He was sadly re-structured into another department but thankfully still works only three bays away. He's a true New Yorker - born and raised in the hood in Queens, complete with uncle who is his own age. Despite having gone to college at BC, he retains his Queens accent and sensibilities but for some reason digs Phil Collins. JG, who performed karaoke for the first time in honor of my birthday despite being scared to death, is awesome on many levels, but is my new favorite person on the planet.
He said "Did you do something different with your hair?"
"I just got a haircut at the fancy schmancy salon downstairs."
"Oh, it looks pretty."
Pretty!!!
Who says that anymore!?
I think I blushed. I didn't know what to say. I said "Awww... shucks..." and truly meant it.
Words like those make the days of 30 year olds with insecurities about their hairstyles and their fading looks. The beauty of this sort of thing is that people like JG don't even know that they're making people's days. They're just honest and cute and unafraid.
Happy, I am.
Pretty! Weeee!
S cut my hair way back when - maybe in January? I needed to have it cut a few months later (too long), and went to the Aveda Academy and hated the haircut. That's when D "fixed it," thus resulting in my having to grow it out for a few more months (torture) and get another haircut at the Aveda Academy, which I also hated, but I can't really blame anyone because they didn't really have anything to work with but 4 zillion different lengths of hair.
I grew that one out a bit, and went to see S this morning to get a haircut with style. We're talking bangs, folks, which she and her teacher called "fringe."
I came back to work (two and a half hours later, which was good given that last time she cut my hair it took three and a half hours) and everyone was very excited. Even the men!
JG is a kid who used to work in my department. He was sadly re-structured into another department but thankfully still works only three bays away. He's a true New Yorker - born and raised in the hood in Queens, complete with uncle who is his own age. Despite having gone to college at BC, he retains his Queens accent and sensibilities but for some reason digs Phil Collins. JG, who performed karaoke for the first time in honor of my birthday despite being scared to death, is awesome on many levels, but is my new favorite person on the planet.
He said "Did you do something different with your hair?"
"I just got a haircut at the fancy schmancy salon downstairs."
"Oh, it looks pretty."
Pretty!!!
Who says that anymore!?
I think I blushed. I didn't know what to say. I said "Awww... shucks..." and truly meant it.
Words like those make the days of 30 year olds with insecurities about their hairstyles and their fading looks. The beauty of this sort of thing is that people like JG don't even know that they're making people's days. They're just honest and cute and unafraid.
Happy, I am.
Pretty! Weeee!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
I Think I Need A New Heart (For Real)
I couldn't sleep last night.
I experience phases of insomnia.
This isn't one of them. I couldn't sleep last night because we dined with D's cousins and her friends until midnight. I was a zombie by 11:00, and luckily D's astute cousin realized and was trying to extract for about half an hour before we made our escape.
I was still a zombie when we got home, and by the time my head hit the pillow at about 1:00 am I was, of course, wide awake, having missed my sleep window and also done myself a great injustice by eating post-10:00, which is something I try to avoid as I know I will not sleep.
Last night was particularly vexing as there was nothing I could do to combat the sleeplessness. Normally, when unable to sleep, I sneak out of the bedroom with pillow and alarm clock once D has fallen asleep, and watch TV or read until I pass out on the couch. This was not an option last night as D's cousin was sleeping on the couch. D was dead asleep as well, forcing me to sit with eyes wide open in the dark for an hour trying to figure out what to do.
I contemplated going for a walk, but I'm always afraid that will freak D out. I listened to my Learn Italian Podcast for a bit but have decided that I hate the guy and therefore was only more agitated.
Sometimes when I can't sleep I try to think of sweet, comforting, and relaxing things. My thoughts somehow turned to Former Favorite Ex-Boyfriend last night and I thought about how adorable he used to be when I couldn't sleep, and how he was always available when I was sad or distressed or stressed. I could call him at any hour and he would appear and stay up with me. He would talk to me or just be there or try to distract me until I fell asleep. He also used to squeeze my head when I had headaches until it felt better, and he would do this for eternity if that's what it took to make me feel better. I wasn't ready for him. I was too young and too critical and I didn't appreciate these things and instead focused on the bad.
Of course there were bad things. Really bad things.
I then got to thinking about Most Hated Ex-Boyfriend, and thought of how he always knew just what to say and how he'd call when he knew I was down and how he could cheer me up with a nickname. He would sing a silly song. He'd make up alternate lyrics. He always knew exactly what to say without my having to tell him. He was my biggest fan. I've never had more self esteem in my life than when I was with him and it was at that time that I should have had none.
Of course there were bad things. Really really bad things.
I've been thinking about these two men a lot lately, and I'm not quite sure why. I think in a lot of ways I was spoiled by having men who knew me effortlessly and who adored and satisfied me without my having to make demands. I never had to ask with these men. I've never had to ask anyone until now.
I've experienced extremes. I've been lucky to have been felt the sweetness and devotion and caring of which men are capable, and have been cursed to have experienced the supreme depravity to which they can succomb.
D wants us to just forget past relationships. "None of that matters," he says. "It's us now, and that's all that matters, right?"
I understand where he's coming from. Baggage is bad. I don't want baggage, but I have a ton. Seriously. Tons, even. The hurt still hurts (though not as much) but lately I can't seem to shake thoughts of the lovely things that I wish to still have.
I wanted to wake D up and to say "D, I can't sleep. Will you talk to me about something to take my mind off it?" but I didn't want to wake him. I also didn't want to have to ask, because I didn't use to have to ask. I used to call or look at him and he would know what was going on without my saying a word and know what to do and make me so very happy and make me feel so very loved.
How can I just forget that feeling?
And how do I ask for things? I'm not good at asking for things and I don't know why. Of course he would stay up and hang out with me. I'm sure he would be glad to. Maybe I just want him to want to, and having to ask makes me feel like he doesn't want to.
But that's not really the case, right?
He just needs to be told, and I need to learn how to tell him what I need.
I'm so too old for this.
OK. Off to class, and I don't know where to go for dinner because Pita Pit, my normal pre-class provider of meals, has been closed by the Department of Mental Health and Hygiene. Awesome.
I experience phases of insomnia.
This isn't one of them. I couldn't sleep last night because we dined with D's cousins and her friends until midnight. I was a zombie by 11:00, and luckily D's astute cousin realized and was trying to extract for about half an hour before we made our escape.
I was still a zombie when we got home, and by the time my head hit the pillow at about 1:00 am I was, of course, wide awake, having missed my sleep window and also done myself a great injustice by eating post-10:00, which is something I try to avoid as I know I will not sleep.
Last night was particularly vexing as there was nothing I could do to combat the sleeplessness. Normally, when unable to sleep, I sneak out of the bedroom with pillow and alarm clock once D has fallen asleep, and watch TV or read until I pass out on the couch. This was not an option last night as D's cousin was sleeping on the couch. D was dead asleep as well, forcing me to sit with eyes wide open in the dark for an hour trying to figure out what to do.
I contemplated going for a walk, but I'm always afraid that will freak D out. I listened to my Learn Italian Podcast for a bit but have decided that I hate the guy and therefore was only more agitated.
Sometimes when I can't sleep I try to think of sweet, comforting, and relaxing things. My thoughts somehow turned to Former Favorite Ex-Boyfriend last night and I thought about how adorable he used to be when I couldn't sleep, and how he was always available when I was sad or distressed or stressed. I could call him at any hour and he would appear and stay up with me. He would talk to me or just be there or try to distract me until I fell asleep. He also used to squeeze my head when I had headaches until it felt better, and he would do this for eternity if that's what it took to make me feel better. I wasn't ready for him. I was too young and too critical and I didn't appreciate these things and instead focused on the bad.
Of course there were bad things. Really bad things.
I then got to thinking about Most Hated Ex-Boyfriend, and thought of how he always knew just what to say and how he'd call when he knew I was down and how he could cheer me up with a nickname. He would sing a silly song. He'd make up alternate lyrics. He always knew exactly what to say without my having to tell him. He was my biggest fan. I've never had more self esteem in my life than when I was with him and it was at that time that I should have had none.
Of course there were bad things. Really really bad things.
I've been thinking about these two men a lot lately, and I'm not quite sure why. I think in a lot of ways I was spoiled by having men who knew me effortlessly and who adored and satisfied me without my having to make demands. I never had to ask with these men. I've never had to ask anyone until now.
I've experienced extremes. I've been lucky to have been felt the sweetness and devotion and caring of which men are capable, and have been cursed to have experienced the supreme depravity to which they can succomb.
D wants us to just forget past relationships. "None of that matters," he says. "It's us now, and that's all that matters, right?"
I understand where he's coming from. Baggage is bad. I don't want baggage, but I have a ton. Seriously. Tons, even. The hurt still hurts (though not as much) but lately I can't seem to shake thoughts of the lovely things that I wish to still have.
I wanted to wake D up and to say "D, I can't sleep. Will you talk to me about something to take my mind off it?" but I didn't want to wake him. I also didn't want to have to ask, because I didn't use to have to ask. I used to call or look at him and he would know what was going on without my saying a word and know what to do and make me so very happy and make me feel so very loved.
How can I just forget that feeling?
And how do I ask for things? I'm not good at asking for things and I don't know why. Of course he would stay up and hang out with me. I'm sure he would be glad to. Maybe I just want him to want to, and having to ask makes me feel like he doesn't want to.
But that's not really the case, right?
He just needs to be told, and I need to learn how to tell him what I need.
I'm so too old for this.
OK. Off to class, and I don't know where to go for dinner because Pita Pit, my normal pre-class provider of meals, has been closed by the Department of Mental Health and Hygiene. Awesome.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Routine
I have discovered that I don't like to do things that I have to do.
Yesterday I said "How is it that people work out? It's so boring."
D answered "Yes, it is, but once it becomes part of your routine it won't seem boring. It will just be part of the routine."
"But I don't want it to part of the routine! I don't want there to be a routine!" I said.
And I realized then that I don't want a routine.
I don't want anything to be predictable. I don't want anything to be expected. I don't want anything to be required unless, of course, I get paid for it.
I said "Wait! I think I've discovered the source of all my problems in life! I don't want a routine. Maybe this is why I change jobs every couple of years and why I get bored with things after two years! Like in college I wanted to transfer after two years! And I move into different apartments a lot! And I get crazy in relationships after a couple years."
D, sullen.
"Not that I will get bored of us, of course, because you are a source of endless excitement and unpredictability, always enriching my otherwise mundane life!"
D, smiling.
Seriously, though, I think I don't like routine. This is why I don't watch TV shows. This is why I have a hard time taking classes, because I hate having to go to them. I want to go when I want to go, not because I have to. I like flexibility. I like coming and going as I please. I like making plans when I want to and not making them when I feel like doing nothing.
I don't know what any of this means. I'm wondering if I'd be a more satisfied person if my life had some sort of structure or routine. Maybe I need a minor routine - like on Wednesdays I try new recipes for dinner but they will change from week to week and will therefore seem less routine-like. Or perhaps Thursday will be piano night when I will have to write a song. Perhaps I'll feel more accomplished and less aimless.
Or maybe I'll feel all claustrophobic and enslaved to the routine and as though I have no flexibility in my own life.
OK.
I'm insane.
Until tomorrow.
Yesterday I said "How is it that people work out? It's so boring."
D answered "Yes, it is, but once it becomes part of your routine it won't seem boring. It will just be part of the routine."
"But I don't want it to part of the routine! I don't want there to be a routine!" I said.
And I realized then that I don't want a routine.
I don't want anything to be predictable. I don't want anything to be expected. I don't want anything to be required unless, of course, I get paid for it.
I said "Wait! I think I've discovered the source of all my problems in life! I don't want a routine. Maybe this is why I change jobs every couple of years and why I get bored with things after two years! Like in college I wanted to transfer after two years! And I move into different apartments a lot! And I get crazy in relationships after a couple years."
D, sullen.
"Not that I will get bored of us, of course, because you are a source of endless excitement and unpredictability, always enriching my otherwise mundane life!"
D, smiling.
Seriously, though, I think I don't like routine. This is why I don't watch TV shows. This is why I have a hard time taking classes, because I hate having to go to them. I want to go when I want to go, not because I have to. I like flexibility. I like coming and going as I please. I like making plans when I want to and not making them when I feel like doing nothing.
I don't know what any of this means. I'm wondering if I'd be a more satisfied person if my life had some sort of structure or routine. Maybe I need a minor routine - like on Wednesdays I try new recipes for dinner but they will change from week to week and will therefore seem less routine-like. Or perhaps Thursday will be piano night when I will have to write a song. Perhaps I'll feel more accomplished and less aimless.
Or maybe I'll feel all claustrophobic and enslaved to the routine and as though I have no flexibility in my own life.
OK.
I'm insane.
Until tomorrow.
Pants
D and I are going to a party this weekend to celebrate a civil union. The attire will be "smart summer casual," or "no suits" but "not too casual."
D has one suit with pin-striped pants.
He has three pairs of non-jeans that are frayed at the bottom.
And one pair of jeans.
PW said "He could wear his suit pants with a funky shirt and flip flops!"
Ummmm.
D decided that it was time for new pants.
Knowing D, I expected this to be an ordeal - a neverending exercise in particulars. I agreed to meet him at H & M post-work last night at 6:45. We went back and forth for ages trying to agree on a time and place (Macy's? H & M? Gap?) to meet because he didn't bring his phone to work. We decided on H & M on 34th Street because it would be the cheapest and if we found something there, then we wouldn't need to bother with the other more expensive places at all.
I got there early at around 6:40. He'd said something about going inside to look on his own if he got there early, so I went in just to see if he was there. He wasn't, so I went back outside.
The last thing anyone wants to do is to stand on 34th Street, waiting. Two minutes of this will throw anyone into a murderous rage, directed at both tourists and commuters alike.
I stood outside for another five minutes, staring down the Mr. Softee that was on 7th Avenue. I was determined to overcome Softee, but decided that a soft serve cone would really help me survive the waiting process.
While I was eating the ice cream, a woman approached me, nearly drooling, and said "Where did you get that?" I said "Right there..." and pointed to Softee, who was a mere 15 feet from us. I smiled at her. She said nothing and walked away and didn't even stop at the truck. Wtf!? She had super powers. But why ask at all? I have no idea.
I waited until 6:59 and was starting to get cross. Where was he? I had no way to get in touch with him and decided that I would just leave at 7:00, because I think waiting for 15 minutes on 34th Street without the option of cell phone contact is more than enough.
At 7:00 my cell phone rang. It was D, calling from a pay phone.
"Where are you?"
"At H & M."
"Are you here?"
"Yes. Well, wait, where are you? Are you here?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"On the pay phone."
"Yes, but where?"
"Right outside H & M."
"Do you see me?"
"I'm looking for green. Are you wearing green? I thought you were wearing green."
"No, I'm wearing a baby blue hoodie over it, but nevertheless I don't see you. Are you here?"
"Yes, I'm outside."
"Where?"
"On the pay phone! Where are you?"
"Outside! I don't see you!"
"Wait! Are there two H & M's? Are we at the same one?"
"I'm at the one on 34th Street."
"Me too."
"I don't think you're here. Seriously. Do you see me? I've been here for like 20 minutes."
"Me too."
"Well, I don't think you're here."
"I went inside a couple times to look for you."
"Me too. I was looking for you but I didn't see you in there."
"34th and Broadway?"
"Yes... no... wait.... I'm at 34th and 7th."
"Oh."
Oh. So apparently there are two H & M's on 34th Street that are like a block and a half from one another. RIDICULOUS.
So the pants.
He tried on two pairs that didn't quite fit and bought them anyway and that was that.
Amazing.
He kept asking me what I thought and I said things like "They're too short" or "They seem too tight" and he agreed and bought them anyway because he didn't want to shop.
I don't really understand how men's pants are supposed to fit. The things we look for as women don't really apply at all. Men don't seem to have asses while wearing pants and the shape of the leg seems inconsequential. "These ones don't showcase what an awesome ass you have" and "I think you need a looser fit to showcase your shape" but what on earth do I know about men's pants?
We ended up going to Macy's anyway and he bought two more pairs, fashion show with non-non-flattering shirt pending. The lady at Macy's said he needed a "tapered leg" to give him some shape so we had to go to the, ahem, designer section.
We had fun but we were starving to death by the end of it.
I didn't get home until about 9:00 and didn't eat gnocchi with butter/sage/cheese sauce until 9:45. Praise Softee! I think I ate 3x the allowed carbs but whatever. I had to eat that many carbs because SM was supposed to come to dinner tonight and is not, and I had to use the ingredients. I was going to ignore the diet to dine with my rockstar pal who is "just back from australia" and "not touring for june" and breaking plans with old friends because he needs money, which is understandable.
And then we watched DeNiro... er... I mean, Godfather 2, and I fell asleep at 11:00. Wooo!
D has one suit with pin-striped pants.
He has three pairs of non-jeans that are frayed at the bottom.
And one pair of jeans.
PW said "He could wear his suit pants with a funky shirt and flip flops!"
Ummmm.
D decided that it was time for new pants.
Knowing D, I expected this to be an ordeal - a neverending exercise in particulars. I agreed to meet him at H & M post-work last night at 6:45. We went back and forth for ages trying to agree on a time and place (Macy's? H & M? Gap?) to meet because he didn't bring his phone to work. We decided on H & M on 34th Street because it would be the cheapest and if we found something there, then we wouldn't need to bother with the other more expensive places at all.
I got there early at around 6:40. He'd said something about going inside to look on his own if he got there early, so I went in just to see if he was there. He wasn't, so I went back outside.
The last thing anyone wants to do is to stand on 34th Street, waiting. Two minutes of this will throw anyone into a murderous rage, directed at both tourists and commuters alike.
I stood outside for another five minutes, staring down the Mr. Softee that was on 7th Avenue. I was determined to overcome Softee, but decided that a soft serve cone would really help me survive the waiting process.
While I was eating the ice cream, a woman approached me, nearly drooling, and said "Where did you get that?" I said "Right there..." and pointed to Softee, who was a mere 15 feet from us. I smiled at her. She said nothing and walked away and didn't even stop at the truck. Wtf!? She had super powers. But why ask at all? I have no idea.
I waited until 6:59 and was starting to get cross. Where was he? I had no way to get in touch with him and decided that I would just leave at 7:00, because I think waiting for 15 minutes on 34th Street without the option of cell phone contact is more than enough.
At 7:00 my cell phone rang. It was D, calling from a pay phone.
"Where are you?"
"At H & M."
"Are you here?"
"Yes. Well, wait, where are you? Are you here?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"On the pay phone."
"Yes, but where?"
"Right outside H & M."
"Do you see me?"
"I'm looking for green. Are you wearing green? I thought you were wearing green."
"No, I'm wearing a baby blue hoodie over it, but nevertheless I don't see you. Are you here?"
"Yes, I'm outside."
"Where?"
"On the pay phone! Where are you?"
"Outside! I don't see you!"
"Wait! Are there two H & M's? Are we at the same one?"
"I'm at the one on 34th Street."
"Me too."
"I don't think you're here. Seriously. Do you see me? I've been here for like 20 minutes."
"Me too."
"Well, I don't think you're here."
"I went inside a couple times to look for you."
"Me too. I was looking for you but I didn't see you in there."
"34th and Broadway?"
"Yes... no... wait.... I'm at 34th and 7th."
"Oh."
Oh. So apparently there are two H & M's on 34th Street that are like a block and a half from one another. RIDICULOUS.
So the pants.
He tried on two pairs that didn't quite fit and bought them anyway and that was that.
Amazing.
He kept asking me what I thought and I said things like "They're too short" or "They seem too tight" and he agreed and bought them anyway because he didn't want to shop.
I don't really understand how men's pants are supposed to fit. The things we look for as women don't really apply at all. Men don't seem to have asses while wearing pants and the shape of the leg seems inconsequential. "These ones don't showcase what an awesome ass you have" and "I think you need a looser fit to showcase your shape" but what on earth do I know about men's pants?
We ended up going to Macy's anyway and he bought two more pairs, fashion show with non-non-flattering shirt pending. The lady at Macy's said he needed a "tapered leg" to give him some shape so we had to go to the, ahem, designer section.
We had fun but we were starving to death by the end of it.
I didn't get home until about 9:00 and didn't eat gnocchi with butter/sage/cheese sauce until 9:45. Praise Softee! I think I ate 3x the allowed carbs but whatever. I had to eat that many carbs because SM was supposed to come to dinner tonight and is not, and I had to use the ingredients. I was going to ignore the diet to dine with my rockstar pal who is "just back from australia" and "not touring for june" and breaking plans with old friends because he needs money, which is understandable.
And then we watched DeNiro... er... I mean, Godfather 2, and I fell asleep at 11:00. Wooo!
Guilt Over Returns
Two members of my archless family have recommended to me that I purchase arch supports from a convenience store to help my flat-footedness. Father swears by them (after having converted to them from his custom-made ones that were apparently the source of all of his problems) and Brother bought some prior to coming to visit this past weekend to help him endure the seemingly endless walking in NYC.
I went to Duane Reade on Saturday night and decided to buy blue Dr. Scholl's liquid arch support things that looked really really super awesome.
I wore them for about 7 hours on Sunday (including about 3.5 hours of straight walking) and have never, ever experienced such pain in my feet in my entire life. Oh my god I thought I was going to die. I actually had to take a bus a few blocks just to get a rest! And then I had to go home, sit for like an hour, put on my old ones and then go grocery shopping.
I decided that I would try to return them. I don't know what I was worried about. They could always say "no" to my audacity. D said "You can return anything," which is true so why do I feel so guilty?
I went to Duane Reade last night and was all embarrassed and nervous and expecting some sort of ordeal.
I said "Do you take returns?"
"Yes, but I have no idea how."
She called The Manager.
"I'd like to return this," I said to him.
"OK."
And that was that!
The end.
I wanted to point out the broken packaging.
Or the fact that I'd used the product.
Or the fact that I'd used the product, under my feet, for hours upon hours in New York City.
But he just let me return them, no questions asked.
I feel so very guilty, but I have no idea why.
I went to Duane Reade on Saturday night and decided to buy blue Dr. Scholl's liquid arch support things that looked really really super awesome.
I wore them for about 7 hours on Sunday (including about 3.5 hours of straight walking) and have never, ever experienced such pain in my feet in my entire life. Oh my god I thought I was going to die. I actually had to take a bus a few blocks just to get a rest! And then I had to go home, sit for like an hour, put on my old ones and then go grocery shopping.
I decided that I would try to return them. I don't know what I was worried about. They could always say "no" to my audacity. D said "You can return anything," which is true so why do I feel so guilty?
I went to Duane Reade last night and was all embarrassed and nervous and expecting some sort of ordeal.
I said "Do you take returns?"
"Yes, but I have no idea how."
She called The Manager.
"I'd like to return this," I said to him.
"OK."
And that was that!
The end.
I wanted to point out the broken packaging.
Or the fact that I'd used the product.
Or the fact that I'd used the product, under my feet, for hours upon hours in New York City.
But he just let me return them, no questions asked.
I feel so very guilty, but I have no idea why.
Don Corleone
D saw The Godfather two weeks ago for the first time. He instantly became obsessed and adorably and constantly performed terrible impressions of Marlon Brando that eventually became quite good.
Last night he started watching The Godfather 2. I watched it with him, as The Godfather 2 is amazing and because I've seen it fewer times than The Godfather and still somehow have no idea what's going on.
D kept saying things like "You said The Lars were going to be legitimate in two weeks, and it's been three weeks since you said that! The Lars are ruining this family!" Hilarious.
Anyway, while watching the movie last night, I gasped when DeNiro appeared for the first on film. Seriously. I gasp every time. "Oh my god he's beautiful," I said, hypnotized.
"You really like the flashback scenes."
I think young DeNiro is my ultimate crush. My heart skipped a beat. Hmmmmm.
Last night he started watching The Godfather 2. I watched it with him, as The Godfather 2 is amazing and because I've seen it fewer times than The Godfather and still somehow have no idea what's going on.
D kept saying things like "You said The Lars were going to be legitimate in two weeks, and it's been three weeks since you said that! The Lars are ruining this family!" Hilarious.
Anyway, while watching the movie last night, I gasped when DeNiro appeared for the first on film. Seriously. I gasp every time. "Oh my god he's beautiful," I said, hypnotized.
"You really like the flashback scenes."
I think young DeNiro is my ultimate crush. My heart skipped a beat. Hmmmmm.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Pop!
Oh how I miss Bench Buddy, as I now have nobody with whom to make fun of whatever pop music is playing in the tissue culture room.
The Pop Channel was just running some contest where they played a "Vintage Clip" and if you knew the artist, you would win tickets to some pop event, I think involving Mary J. Blige.
I thought "Man, that's so easy. That's totally Phil Collins. Whatever."
But it wasn't Phil Collins.
It was Ricky Martin.
I don't know what this means.
I'm pretty sure Ricky Martin sounds absolutely nothing like Phil Collins, though.
So it must mean I'm going insane.
The Pop Channel was just running some contest where they played a "Vintage Clip" and if you knew the artist, you would win tickets to some pop event, I think involving Mary J. Blige.
I thought "Man, that's so easy. That's totally Phil Collins. Whatever."
But it wasn't Phil Collins.
It was Ricky Martin.
I don't know what this means.
I'm pretty sure Ricky Martin sounds absolutely nothing like Phil Collins, though.
So it must mean I'm going insane.
Alone in NYC Makes Me Happy
Ah, yes, an utterly fabulous weekend in NYC.
Shopping date on Friday night - tax free day! Shoes for all!
Met up with Brother for dinner at our favorite restaurant where I subsequently ignored the diet and ate a salad (good), pizza (very bad), and gnutella pizza for dessert (most terrible thing imagineable). Attended a party in Brooklyn where it became the smallest of worlds. I still can't get over it. I'll tell the story later, but it's good. I mostly successfully ignored VB who was drunk and hanging, but she is hard to ignore when her boobs are all over the place. Had nice conversations and made lovely plans that will probably never materialize.
Alone on Saturday morning! Cleaned, read, jumped around. Completed Attempt I of Photo-Project-du-Jour and failed, but it didn't matter because the sun was out and I was looking forward to the day.
Went to alleged "garage sale" on 44th Street that was more of a bizarro flea market.
I really wanted to buy this for D just to see how horrified he would be.
Yes, I would like your old hair products which you store atop your microwave.
Headed downtown on appropriate train after realizing that my first two strategies would be invalid due to weekend train nonsense. Snapped this photo and was then befriended by a boy who wanted to discuss my giant camera.
He turned out to be a photographer's assistant - coordinating logistics. Fantasy job, folks. I probed for information but soon determined that he was a bit flakey and just wanted company, which was fine with me, as I hadn't spoken yet that day.
Located Foley Square in order to view filming of Spiderman 3. My friend's son's high school marching band was to be featured in the scene, which is how I knew it was happening. I had no idea where Foley Square was, and wondered how ever I would find it, but knew I had found it when I saw this:
No ambiguity regarding what movie set this was, folks! They were staging some sort of pro-Spiderman rally at which people held signs that said things like "Spiderman for Mayor!" and "We love you Spiderman!" Little kids dressed up as Spidermen, adults wearing red hoodies, etc.
And no, I didn't see Tobey. He was there, though. As was loathesome Kirsten Dunst. I couldn't get close. Believe me, I tried. I tried to get in at every corner and was denied each time. I ended up standing on the stairs of The International Center for Trade of some such building.
I was there for about two hours and nothing happened, other than a camera sliding zip-line style between two really tall buildings. I'll recognize the scene in the movie just from the camera shot.
I had to leave. My coworker said that twenty minutes after I left Spiderman swung into the scene. Like 4000 times. Because they had to do 4000 takes. Hmph.
Her son was hanging out with Topher Grace who will be playing Venom. Her son's friend also said "Kirsten Dunst is uglier in person." Heh. Speaking of Kirsten Dunst... I was told this weekend that Jake Gylenhaal is dating Natalie Portman! What is wrong with that boy?
Headed to MoCCA convention from Spidey set to see Brother at his table. Met up with MF, E, PW+M and braved the crowds.
It was mayhem. I bought far more than I'd intended to buy. I can't wait to read everything! Brother tried to get me things for free by trading his book, but sadly he could not strike a deal. He did, however, buy me a book that I really wanted that I didn't have enough cash for. Awwwwww.
Falafel for MF, E, PW+M anf myself post MoCCA insanity. We talked about weddings and cruises and how did everyone know me? I love friends meeting friends.
Headed back uptown. Spent a fortune at Duane Reade (I need to make a return! how bizarre). Looked at dresses but didn't buy any.
Brother came back earlier than expected because the after-party was lame. We talked about relationships and how they are hard work. I am so impressed with the man Brother has become. I want to lock him in a room with D and force him to share his knowledge. He said "Relationships always take work. If you stop working at it, it will get boring, and if you stop wanting to work at it, then something is wrong." We watched Ellie Parker and then went to bed early.
Yoga in bed on Sunday morning. More cleaning, eating, reading, editing photos.
Met up with SK for carrot cake (bad!) outside in the sun where we met regulars and made new friends. "You can play here!" they said of the place, where there is live music at all times. "I don't know..." but they all want the CD. "You should hear so-and-so play!" of so-and-so who was adorable and British and sitting outside with us with his guitar. But then he played, and I thought "My music would destroy his folk!" and then decided not to drop a CD off ever.
Saw La Moustache which was amazing. Go see it immediately. Nothing better than a French mind-fuck movie on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The movie is the type that makes you disoriented in the real world. I picked up some photos at CVS. To decompress after the movie, we sat in Washington Square Park which is always so chill.
I think I am becoming a mentor to SK. She asked if it bothered her. I didn't tell her that I love assuming this role because it reminds me of how far I've come, of how much I do know. I always focus on what is missing or what I don't know yet or what I have yet to achieve, and lose sight of progress and what knowledge I do have, even if it is not as vast as I'd like. SK told me that she appreciates me and enjoys our friendship, and asked if I thought that was weird, and I said "No, because nobody in NY says things like that because so few people here actually realize that there are other people around them." I am so glad to have girlfriends now.
Headed to Whole Foods where I spent too much money but didn't particularly care.
Went home and realized I forgot many things at Whole Foods. Ugh. Put photos in photo albums and wanted to scream because how is it that I have already run out of space in the new albums? If I'd only known! I need to get a couple more as there will be many photos post-London-Valencia-possibly-Ireland-Barcelona-Italy-France.
Laundry. Amish Market to purchase forgotten food items. Fried tofu and broccoli and peppers and brown rice (I loathe brown rice and this will never change) with peanut sauce - not too bad! Tony Awards - neither Harry nor Ralph won, sniff, and I really need to see The Drowsey Chaperone but will now never be able to get tickets.
D came back at around 9:00 and it turned out that I missed him. I was very happy to see him and he was glad I made extra dinner for him just in case he hadn't eaten. He read art magazines while I yelled at Oprah on the Tony's - why must she be everywhere? just leave me alone! - and then we talked until too late about things that didn't get resolved last week and I think, gasp, progress was made. I said "I think the problem is that when we have issues I don't get the feeling that you actually understand what I'm saying. I know you feel differently about pretty much everything and I understand that and can therefore predict how you will feel about things. You are continuously baffled by the way I respond to things because you don't actually understand, because you don't take the time to understand because you just think I'm wrong in my responses to things in my own life" etc. and I think he actually understood.
Woo! We are happy today and I think, yes, that progress was made. I think. I am never to ask "Why did you do/say that?" and am instead to lovingly say "What you did/said just then really hurt my feelings" and then explain myself calmly, even though I think this sort of thing will prove impossible because, well, you know how boys can be and how baffled you become and how disrespected you can feel, even though they don't mean for these things to happen.
And now I am back at work and it's Monday and how much does work suck after such a wonderful weekend? Lots, that's how much.
OK. I should eat lunch.
Until tomorrow...
Shopping date on Friday night - tax free day! Shoes for all!
Met up with Brother for dinner at our favorite restaurant where I subsequently ignored the diet and ate a salad (good), pizza (very bad), and gnutella pizza for dessert (most terrible thing imagineable). Attended a party in Brooklyn where it became the smallest of worlds. I still can't get over it. I'll tell the story later, but it's good. I mostly successfully ignored VB who was drunk and hanging, but she is hard to ignore when her boobs are all over the place. Had nice conversations and made lovely plans that will probably never materialize.
Alone on Saturday morning! Cleaned, read, jumped around. Completed Attempt I of Photo-Project-du-Jour and failed, but it didn't matter because the sun was out and I was looking forward to the day.
Went to alleged "garage sale" on 44th Street that was more of a bizarro flea market.
I really wanted to buy this for D just to see how horrified he would be.
Yes, I would like your old hair products which you store atop your microwave.
Headed downtown on appropriate train after realizing that my first two strategies would be invalid due to weekend train nonsense. Snapped this photo and was then befriended by a boy who wanted to discuss my giant camera.
He turned out to be a photographer's assistant - coordinating logistics. Fantasy job, folks. I probed for information but soon determined that he was a bit flakey and just wanted company, which was fine with me, as I hadn't spoken yet that day.
Located Foley Square in order to view filming of Spiderman 3. My friend's son's high school marching band was to be featured in the scene, which is how I knew it was happening. I had no idea where Foley Square was, and wondered how ever I would find it, but knew I had found it when I saw this:
No ambiguity regarding what movie set this was, folks! They were staging some sort of pro-Spiderman rally at which people held signs that said things like "Spiderman for Mayor!" and "We love you Spiderman!" Little kids dressed up as Spidermen, adults wearing red hoodies, etc.
And no, I didn't see Tobey. He was there, though. As was loathesome Kirsten Dunst. I couldn't get close. Believe me, I tried. I tried to get in at every corner and was denied each time. I ended up standing on the stairs of The International Center for Trade of some such building.
I was there for about two hours and nothing happened, other than a camera sliding zip-line style between two really tall buildings. I'll recognize the scene in the movie just from the camera shot.
I had to leave. My coworker said that twenty minutes after I left Spiderman swung into the scene. Like 4000 times. Because they had to do 4000 takes. Hmph.
Her son was hanging out with Topher Grace who will be playing Venom. Her son's friend also said "Kirsten Dunst is uglier in person." Heh. Speaking of Kirsten Dunst... I was told this weekend that Jake Gylenhaal is dating Natalie Portman! What is wrong with that boy?
Headed to MoCCA convention from Spidey set to see Brother at his table. Met up with MF, E, PW+M and braved the crowds.
It was mayhem. I bought far more than I'd intended to buy. I can't wait to read everything! Brother tried to get me things for free by trading his book, but sadly he could not strike a deal. He did, however, buy me a book that I really wanted that I didn't have enough cash for. Awwwwww.
Falafel for MF, E, PW+M anf myself post MoCCA insanity. We talked about weddings and cruises and how did everyone know me? I love friends meeting friends.
Headed back uptown. Spent a fortune at Duane Reade (I need to make a return! how bizarre). Looked at dresses but didn't buy any.
Brother came back earlier than expected because the after-party was lame. We talked about relationships and how they are hard work. I am so impressed with the man Brother has become. I want to lock him in a room with D and force him to share his knowledge. He said "Relationships always take work. If you stop working at it, it will get boring, and if you stop wanting to work at it, then something is wrong." We watched Ellie Parker and then went to bed early.
Yoga in bed on Sunday morning. More cleaning, eating, reading, editing photos.
Met up with SK for carrot cake (bad!) outside in the sun where we met regulars and made new friends. "You can play here!" they said of the place, where there is live music at all times. "I don't know..." but they all want the CD. "You should hear so-and-so play!" of so-and-so who was adorable and British and sitting outside with us with his guitar. But then he played, and I thought "My music would destroy his folk!" and then decided not to drop a CD off ever.
Saw La Moustache which was amazing. Go see it immediately. Nothing better than a French mind-fuck movie on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The movie is the type that makes you disoriented in the real world. I picked up some photos at CVS. To decompress after the movie, we sat in Washington Square Park which is always so chill.
I think I am becoming a mentor to SK. She asked if it bothered her. I didn't tell her that I love assuming this role because it reminds me of how far I've come, of how much I do know. I always focus on what is missing or what I don't know yet or what I have yet to achieve, and lose sight of progress and what knowledge I do have, even if it is not as vast as I'd like. SK told me that she appreciates me and enjoys our friendship, and asked if I thought that was weird, and I said "No, because nobody in NY says things like that because so few people here actually realize that there are other people around them." I am so glad to have girlfriends now.
Headed to Whole Foods where I spent too much money but didn't particularly care.
Went home and realized I forgot many things at Whole Foods. Ugh. Put photos in photo albums and wanted to scream because how is it that I have already run out of space in the new albums? If I'd only known! I need to get a couple more as there will be many photos post-London-Valencia-possibly-Ireland-Barcelona-Italy-France.
Laundry. Amish Market to purchase forgotten food items. Fried tofu and broccoli and peppers and brown rice (I loathe brown rice and this will never change) with peanut sauce - not too bad! Tony Awards - neither Harry nor Ralph won, sniff, and I really need to see The Drowsey Chaperone but will now never be able to get tickets.
D came back at around 9:00 and it turned out that I missed him. I was very happy to see him and he was glad I made extra dinner for him just in case he hadn't eaten. He read art magazines while I yelled at Oprah on the Tony's - why must she be everywhere? just leave me alone! - and then we talked until too late about things that didn't get resolved last week and I think, gasp, progress was made. I said "I think the problem is that when we have issues I don't get the feeling that you actually understand what I'm saying. I know you feel differently about pretty much everything and I understand that and can therefore predict how you will feel about things. You are continuously baffled by the way I respond to things because you don't actually understand, because you don't take the time to understand because you just think I'm wrong in my responses to things in my own life" etc. and I think he actually understood.
Woo! We are happy today and I think, yes, that progress was made. I think. I am never to ask "Why did you do/say that?" and am instead to lovingly say "What you did/said just then really hurt my feelings" and then explain myself calmly, even though I think this sort of thing will prove impossible because, well, you know how boys can be and how baffled you become and how disrespected you can feel, even though they don't mean for these things to happen.
And now I am back at work and it's Monday and how much does work suck after such a wonderful weekend? Lots, that's how much.
OK. I should eat lunch.
Until tomorrow...
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Shopgirl - The Musical
Genre: Totally and Utterly Musical Inspired
Date: 6.8.06
Description:
I swear I have nothing against Steve Martin. I love him. I think he's funny. I just want more from him, dammit! 'Shopgirl' could have been good had it not been so shallow and emotionless.
I was thinking that perhaps, had it been a musical, there would have been much more feeling.
Hence 'Shopgirl - The Musical!'
I've been wanting to write a musical for a while, but I can never think of anything to write a musical about. I guess that's where the original idea for 'My Mundane Life in Song' came from, but life has gotten even more mundane as of late so I haven't been able to think of any song topics. Actually, this isn't true. I've recorded like 10 songs in the last few months but haven't finished any of them and now they're irrelevant.
I've had a few ideas here and there for full-fledged musicals, but the ideas are never as melodramatic as I'd like the music to be. So this song is ultradramatic, complete with me trying to do all the parts. It's overwrought, emo, dramatic. It's more 'Miss Saigon' than 'Pajama Game.' I'm such a drama queen. 'Shopgirl' itself should have been more of a drama queen.
Let's see. The recording is atrocious. I was too lazy to get out the mic on this one and everything you hear is first-take except for a couple times when I totally messed up the lyrics. It's so weird to me that I continually mess up the lyrics to my own songs, but I guess when you write a song in like one hour and then record it the next you're bound to forget how things go. The singing is totally melodramatic, but I must admit I enjoyed doing it. Recording it reminded me of this Danny Elfman recording I bought for my father that has Danny Elfman singing a demo for the entire score for 'Nightmare Before Christmas' by himself, doing all the characters, being totally nuts. It's a silly thing to do and is therefore awesome. I may have to do more of this.
You can also hear Hell's Kitchen traffic if you listen closely enough.
I doubt you'll make it through the whole thing, but if you don't I'd recommend at least getting through the bridge which starts with "I love Ray..." and ends with "Daddy, daddy..." etc.
Lyrics:
Mirabel:
I am a Shopgirl
I sell gloves by day and at night
I draw with charcoal to work out issues I have with my father
I am quite desperate for any type of affection
But only if the guy wears nice shoes and buys me dresses
Jeremy is very quirky
But we on't be able to take care of me monetarily
Ray:
I am an old man
I have become smitten with the Shopgirl
To whom I'll send a pair of gloves to get her attention
Shopgirl, I like you, but this is going nowhere
Cuz for work I must travel
But if you show your skin I'll pay the loans for your tuition
Let's shack up when I'm in town
Mirabel:
I'm so happy when you're around
I love Ray so I'll throw away my antidepressants
Now I'm a mess
But he will save me
Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy
Ray:
Here is a letter stating that I cheated on you
Mirabel:
I'm taking my things
I'm going to Vermont to see my family
Ray:
Please come to New York
I'm sorry that I'm such a dickhead
Mirabel:
OK, I'll do it,
I secretly love you so you're forgiven
Ray:
I'm thinking of getting a place in New York City
A three bedroom in case I meet someone and want a family
Oh shit
Mirabel:
I'm taking my things
I'll work in a gallery and I'll have my own show of drawings with the support of Jeremy
Thank you for coming
I want you to have the drawing of me in my bed
Ray:
I'm sorry for everything that I did
Mirabel:
I know, I know, I know
The Chorus:
She didn't like him the way he was
Now he's well dressed so she does
Jeremy:
Yes I may be hair but I have a personality
Unlike the other characters in this movie
Date: 6.8.06
Description:
I swear I have nothing against Steve Martin. I love him. I think he's funny. I just want more from him, dammit! 'Shopgirl' could have been good had it not been so shallow and emotionless.
I was thinking that perhaps, had it been a musical, there would have been much more feeling.
Hence 'Shopgirl - The Musical!'
I've been wanting to write a musical for a while, but I can never think of anything to write a musical about. I guess that's where the original idea for 'My Mundane Life in Song' came from, but life has gotten even more mundane as of late so I haven't been able to think of any song topics. Actually, this isn't true. I've recorded like 10 songs in the last few months but haven't finished any of them and now they're irrelevant.
I've had a few ideas here and there for full-fledged musicals, but the ideas are never as melodramatic as I'd like the music to be. So this song is ultradramatic, complete with me trying to do all the parts. It's overwrought, emo, dramatic. It's more 'Miss Saigon' than 'Pajama Game.' I'm such a drama queen. 'Shopgirl' itself should have been more of a drama queen.
Let's see. The recording is atrocious. I was too lazy to get out the mic on this one and everything you hear is first-take except for a couple times when I totally messed up the lyrics. It's so weird to me that I continually mess up the lyrics to my own songs, but I guess when you write a song in like one hour and then record it the next you're bound to forget how things go. The singing is totally melodramatic, but I must admit I enjoyed doing it. Recording it reminded me of this Danny Elfman recording I bought for my father that has Danny Elfman singing a demo for the entire score for 'Nightmare Before Christmas' by himself, doing all the characters, being totally nuts. It's a silly thing to do and is therefore awesome. I may have to do more of this.
You can also hear Hell's Kitchen traffic if you listen closely enough.
I doubt you'll make it through the whole thing, but if you don't I'd recommend at least getting through the bridge which starts with "I love Ray..." and ends with "Daddy, daddy..." etc.
Lyrics:
Mirabel:
I am a Shopgirl
I sell gloves by day and at night
I draw with charcoal to work out issues I have with my father
I am quite desperate for any type of affection
But only if the guy wears nice shoes and buys me dresses
Jeremy is very quirky
But we on't be able to take care of me monetarily
Ray:
I am an old man
I have become smitten with the Shopgirl
To whom I'll send a pair of gloves to get her attention
Shopgirl, I like you, but this is going nowhere
Cuz for work I must travel
But if you show your skin I'll pay the loans for your tuition
Let's shack up when I'm in town
Mirabel:
I'm so happy when you're around
I love Ray so I'll throw away my antidepressants
Now I'm a mess
But he will save me
Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy
Ray:
Here is a letter stating that I cheated on you
Mirabel:
I'm taking my things
I'm going to Vermont to see my family
Ray:
Please come to New York
I'm sorry that I'm such a dickhead
Mirabel:
OK, I'll do it,
I secretly love you so you're forgiven
Ray:
I'm thinking of getting a place in New York City
A three bedroom in case I meet someone and want a family
Oh shit
Mirabel:
I'm taking my things
I'll work in a gallery and I'll have my own show of drawings with the support of Jeremy
Thank you for coming
I want you to have the drawing of me in my bed
Ray:
I'm sorry for everything that I did
Mirabel:
I know, I know, I know
The Chorus:
She didn't like him the way he was
Now he's well dressed so she does
Jeremy:
Yes I may be hair but I have a personality
Unlike the other characters in this movie
Podcast
Even though I knew it would happen I'm not quite prepared. There are rumblings today, everyone's heard something, it's going down tomorrow, but it sounds like everything might be coming up roses. If nothing goes down I will be disappointed, but if something goes down I think I'll feel like I've been punched in the stomach no matter what it is. I'm not prepared even though I've considered every scenario 14,000 times.
***
I had Ethiopian food last night for the first time and am unsure of how I managed to live beforehand. The restaurant is right below my apartment! Woop!
***
I am trying to learn Italian via Podcast. I've been accused of being "wicked smaht" before, but not so when it comes to learning languages. I am completely incapable of speaking foreign languages. I can understand, but I fear the day when I should actually have to say something beyond "Ciao!" D, of course, has picked up the entirety of the Italian language in two days and keeps trying to talk to me, but I am helpless without my guidebook or Podcast. The Podcasts are awesome, though, because they allow me to speak Italian phrases out loud on the train and scare commuters. It's awesome. Actually, Podcasts are awesome. I've been staying away from them because I thought they were too high-tech, but dear god you can get anything as a Podcast!
***
Lately I have been absentminded. I exercised (!) the other night (!!) and afterwards decided that I should put the Italy cruise on my calendar so as not to make plans for those weeks. I flipped to September and realized, of course of course of course is it possible for me to suck any more?, that I will be on a boat in the Mediterranean the day of RP's wedding. I suck! What is wrong with me? I've been trying to understand the virtues of spontaneity and not planning and not thinking ahead so as to keep options open for wonderful things that might pop up and I've been trying ever-so-hard to adapt and now look what I've done! It would have been different had I made the active decision to miss RP's wedding in favor of the cruise, but this sucks. Hard. I hope she doesn't defriend me. She sent a save-the-date like 6 months ago and I did not save the date. I obsessed about it in the shower, trying to figure out what is wrong with my brain and how this can be happening to me, and realized when I got out that I had only shaved one leg. What is wrong with me!?
***
So yeah, exercise. I started one tape. Yes, a tape, to save money on a gym membership or whatever people do, and I like one of them. It's dance! Woo! It's still dorky enough that I will only do it when there is no risk of D's being at home, but it's acceptable. My body didn't hurt enough the following day, though, so I probably have to do more. I also bought a weight-lifting one but sat through it once and realized I cannot lift weights. Well, I can, but not the way SHE wanted me to. No way. I'll have to find a good beginning tape that doesn't require equipment other than weights. Seriously. Shouldn't they tell you this before you buy the tape?
***
Today I had to explain to D that the goal is not to cheat the diet. The goal is to adhere to the diet as best as possible so as to be a healthy person, and to cheat only when I absolutely cannot survive without five reverse fudge-striped cookies that are calling to me from the topmost shelf. I was ecstatic this morning when the dietician told me that if I had to eat ice cream, then Mr. Softee was "not so bad" since soft ice cream is mostly air and therefore less terrible than hard ice cream. I wanted to hug her.
***
I am not going to class tonight because I want to read about carbohydrates and maybe read some Italian verbs and also some fiction and possibly movie reviews. I want not to waste 3 hours of my life for the 20 minutes during which I will learn something. I've been slacking off on life because I've been being too social and need to just decompress and process what's coming tomorrow before the mayhem of the weekend begins. I think I am not going to the party tomorrow night because VB will be in attendance and I cannot (will not) cope with confrontation and eye rolling. Plus I need to buy a dress (would be so nice to get that over with and not have to wander around the city all weekend) and to finish writing my musical version of "Shopgirl" aka "Creepy Movie" for all ya'll.
***
The weekend will be good. D will be away. Brother will be in town hoping people will buy his book. There will be a movie shoot and I will be there, gawking and photographing and hoping for a glimpse of the superhero. Hopefully I'll have time to read things and record things and buy new foods. I hope to watch a movie at IFC and attend the convention, dine with friends, sleep late on Saturday and even later on Sunday. I think I'll have nothing to worry about this weekend.
***
***
I had Ethiopian food last night for the first time and am unsure of how I managed to live beforehand. The restaurant is right below my apartment! Woop!
***
I am trying to learn Italian via Podcast. I've been accused of being "wicked smaht" before, but not so when it comes to learning languages. I am completely incapable of speaking foreign languages. I can understand, but I fear the day when I should actually have to say something beyond "Ciao!" D, of course, has picked up the entirety of the Italian language in two days and keeps trying to talk to me, but I am helpless without my guidebook or Podcast. The Podcasts are awesome, though, because they allow me to speak Italian phrases out loud on the train and scare commuters. It's awesome. Actually, Podcasts are awesome. I've been staying away from them because I thought they were too high-tech, but dear god you can get anything as a Podcast!
***
Lately I have been absentminded. I exercised (!) the other night (!!) and afterwards decided that I should put the Italy cruise on my calendar so as not to make plans for those weeks. I flipped to September and realized, of course of course of course is it possible for me to suck any more?, that I will be on a boat in the Mediterranean the day of RP's wedding. I suck! What is wrong with me? I've been trying to understand the virtues of spontaneity and not planning and not thinking ahead so as to keep options open for wonderful things that might pop up and I've been trying ever-so-hard to adapt and now look what I've done! It would have been different had I made the active decision to miss RP's wedding in favor of the cruise, but this sucks. Hard. I hope she doesn't defriend me. She sent a save-the-date like 6 months ago and I did not save the date. I obsessed about it in the shower, trying to figure out what is wrong with my brain and how this can be happening to me, and realized when I got out that I had only shaved one leg. What is wrong with me!?
***
So yeah, exercise. I started one tape. Yes, a tape, to save money on a gym membership or whatever people do, and I like one of them. It's dance! Woo! It's still dorky enough that I will only do it when there is no risk of D's being at home, but it's acceptable. My body didn't hurt enough the following day, though, so I probably have to do more. I also bought a weight-lifting one but sat through it once and realized I cannot lift weights. Well, I can, but not the way SHE wanted me to. No way. I'll have to find a good beginning tape that doesn't require equipment other than weights. Seriously. Shouldn't they tell you this before you buy the tape?
***
Today I had to explain to D that the goal is not to cheat the diet. The goal is to adhere to the diet as best as possible so as to be a healthy person, and to cheat only when I absolutely cannot survive without five reverse fudge-striped cookies that are calling to me from the topmost shelf. I was ecstatic this morning when the dietician told me that if I had to eat ice cream, then Mr. Softee was "not so bad" since soft ice cream is mostly air and therefore less terrible than hard ice cream. I wanted to hug her.
***
I am not going to class tonight because I want to read about carbohydrates and maybe read some Italian verbs and also some fiction and possibly movie reviews. I want not to waste 3 hours of my life for the 20 minutes during which I will learn something. I've been slacking off on life because I've been being too social and need to just decompress and process what's coming tomorrow before the mayhem of the weekend begins. I think I am not going to the party tomorrow night because VB will be in attendance and I cannot (will not) cope with confrontation and eye rolling. Plus I need to buy a dress (would be so nice to get that over with and not have to wander around the city all weekend) and to finish writing my musical version of "Shopgirl" aka "Creepy Movie" for all ya'll.
***
The weekend will be good. D will be away. Brother will be in town hoping people will buy his book. There will be a movie shoot and I will be there, gawking and photographing and hoping for a glimpse of the superhero. Hopefully I'll have time to read things and record things and buy new foods. I hope to watch a movie at IFC and attend the convention, dine with friends, sleep late on Saturday and even later on Sunday. I think I'll have nothing to worry about this weekend.
***
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
WC Came to Visit and So I Experienced NYC - Part III
WC wanted to go to dim sum. I didn't want to, because from what I've been told dim sum isn't as awesome an experience for those of us with meatless diets. He finally coerced me into joining him. D and his friends go often, so we were scheduled to just tag along with them.
Except that Brother needed to drop some books off for the MoCCA convention next weekend, and we didn't plan it, so I had to wait for him instead of going to dim sum.
It was nice to see Brother. He made a sandwich and we talked about simple sugars and The Parents, and mused over how bizarre this whole cruise event is.
When he left, I waited on the 1 platform for ages and finally jumped on a train to head downtown to meet D and WC for a ride on the Staten Island Ferry. WC also wanted to go to Liberty Island, but no way. The lines, the tourists, etc. D suggested the Staten Island Ferry because it is free and provides a lovely view of The Statue. I have never been on the Ferry, so I was pretty psyched.
Until, of course, the 1 train started going backwards at 14th Street. I was sitting there listening to my Ipod, ho hum, when all of a sudden the train started going backwards. My instinct was that I was going completely insane. "Is it possible I just didn't realize in what direction the train was going?" I tried looking at other people on the train, and soon sensed global confusion. Some girls motioned to me and said "IS THIS TRAIN GOING UPTOWN!?" "Ummm..." I said. "I think so...."
So yeah. The 1 apparently stops at 14th Street on the weekends. Awesome. I took it back up to 23rd Street and called D. They had just missed the ferry. "When's the next one?" I asked. "In half an hour." I didn't know if I could make it. D suggested taking a cab, so I did and met them in Battery Park like three minutes before the ferry was leaving.
We hauled it to the ferry, only to hear the announcement that the ferry was cancelled.
Bastards!
We gave up and had Mr. Softee's and stared at buildings downtown for a bit. WC saw a store that sells fancy chocolates that he likes but it was closed. I google texted and found another one uptown that was allegedly open. We headed up and WC bought an assortment of allegedly yummy chocolates. Then we looked at Grand Central. We had planned to grab a drink at The Oyster Bar but of course it was closed.
WC, who is a bit of a foodie, wanted to go to Balthazar. It's very very very fancy and very very very good. Attentive and professional waiters, water constantly, amazing food. Actually, probably best meal ever. I had a carmelized onion/goat cheese tart with salad as an appetizer, fennel ravioli with garlic and pesto and pine nuts and tomatoes for dinner, meringue with warm berries for dessert, and a glass of wine. Fabulous experience. I love to have visitors.
Anyway, the culmination of the weekend occurred while dining at Balthazar.
Picture it:
Small table in the corner in the back of the restaurant, awesome because it was quiet. I am sitting against the wall on a booth bench that stretches three tables to me to the right. I'm looking out at the rest of the restaurant. D is sitting next to me on my left, in the corner. WC is sitting at a right angle to me (against the other wall) to D's left. So WC is facing the table across from us, which is empty.
Like ten minutes after we sit down Laura Dern comes in and sits directly across from WC at the table opposite us! So WC was basically staring at Laura Dern for the next two hours. And then we realized that Laura Dern was having dinner with Meg Ryan!!! I was sitting on the booth bench with Meg Ryan!!!!
We tried to play it cool. We tried to talk to each other. We tried not to gawk. But dear god WC was looking right at Laura Dern and I was basically sitting with Meg Ryan.
Every now and then D would mention how he was trying so hard not to look. "This is really difficult for me," I said, "since Laura Dern is in one of my favorite movies of all time... like seriously... she's had such an effect on me... I saw Jurassic Park like 7 times in the theater! How am I supposed to deal with this?" And then "Would it be inappropriate for me to fake an orgasm right now?"
I couldn't eavesdrop. The restaurant was too loud, and it also would have been extremely obvious if I was listening in. They sounded like two girls out for dinner. I think Meg Ryan said "Blah blah blah... and then he said blah blah blah and I couldn't believe it!" and Laura Dern was all shocked and horrified.
Laura Dern is gorgeous. Meg Ryan has had too much plastic surgery. They ate french fries. Awesome.
We left Balthazar, star-struck, and just headed home because, really, what could we have done that night to beat that?
I ate Cheez-It's while we watched the remainder of Shopgirl, which remained creepy but was also superficial and just generally detestable (bad). Yes, I read the novella and it was mostly forgettable, but I didn't feel dirty after reading it as I felt after watching the movie. There wasn't one flattering thing about women in that movie. It was gross. Jason Schwartzmann, however, was magnificent in it, so if you must see it, it won't be a complete waste.
D and I went to bed and WC somehow managed to make it to his 3:00 am shuttle. Bless him.
We had a good time and now I am looking forward to next weekend, when I will be alone at last. I am looking forward to quiet. I think I am going to be alone tonight as well for the first time in about three weeks. I am going to bust out the exer-DVD's and move my ass, and do laundry, and watch the rest of The King and I which I have been trying to watch for like two weeks. The rest of the week is mayhem. I ate lame pizza last night with MF but was buzzed from one glass of wine over conversation about how absolutely splendid therapy is. Tomorrow night will be my first experience with Etiopian food with TE. Thursday is class. And then... the weekend. Only three more days. Woo!
Except that Brother needed to drop some books off for the MoCCA convention next weekend, and we didn't plan it, so I had to wait for him instead of going to dim sum.
It was nice to see Brother. He made a sandwich and we talked about simple sugars and The Parents, and mused over how bizarre this whole cruise event is.
When he left, I waited on the 1 platform for ages and finally jumped on a train to head downtown to meet D and WC for a ride on the Staten Island Ferry. WC also wanted to go to Liberty Island, but no way. The lines, the tourists, etc. D suggested the Staten Island Ferry because it is free and provides a lovely view of The Statue. I have never been on the Ferry, so I was pretty psyched.
Until, of course, the 1 train started going backwards at 14th Street. I was sitting there listening to my Ipod, ho hum, when all of a sudden the train started going backwards. My instinct was that I was going completely insane. "Is it possible I just didn't realize in what direction the train was going?" I tried looking at other people on the train, and soon sensed global confusion. Some girls motioned to me and said "IS THIS TRAIN GOING UPTOWN!?" "Ummm..." I said. "I think so...."
So yeah. The 1 apparently stops at 14th Street on the weekends. Awesome. I took it back up to 23rd Street and called D. They had just missed the ferry. "When's the next one?" I asked. "In half an hour." I didn't know if I could make it. D suggested taking a cab, so I did and met them in Battery Park like three minutes before the ferry was leaving.
We hauled it to the ferry, only to hear the announcement that the ferry was cancelled.
Bastards!
We gave up and had Mr. Softee's and stared at buildings downtown for a bit. WC saw a store that sells fancy chocolates that he likes but it was closed. I google texted and found another one uptown that was allegedly open. We headed up and WC bought an assortment of allegedly yummy chocolates. Then we looked at Grand Central. We had planned to grab a drink at The Oyster Bar but of course it was closed.
WC, who is a bit of a foodie, wanted to go to Balthazar. It's very very very fancy and very very very good. Attentive and professional waiters, water constantly, amazing food. Actually, probably best meal ever. I had a carmelized onion/goat cheese tart with salad as an appetizer, fennel ravioli with garlic and pesto and pine nuts and tomatoes for dinner, meringue with warm berries for dessert, and a glass of wine. Fabulous experience. I love to have visitors.
Anyway, the culmination of the weekend occurred while dining at Balthazar.
Picture it:
Small table in the corner in the back of the restaurant, awesome because it was quiet. I am sitting against the wall on a booth bench that stretches three tables to me to the right. I'm looking out at the rest of the restaurant. D is sitting next to me on my left, in the corner. WC is sitting at a right angle to me (against the other wall) to D's left. So WC is facing the table across from us, which is empty.
Like ten minutes after we sit down Laura Dern comes in and sits directly across from WC at the table opposite us! So WC was basically staring at Laura Dern for the next two hours. And then we realized that Laura Dern was having dinner with Meg Ryan!!! I was sitting on the booth bench with Meg Ryan!!!!
We tried to play it cool. We tried to talk to each other. We tried not to gawk. But dear god WC was looking right at Laura Dern and I was basically sitting with Meg Ryan.
Every now and then D would mention how he was trying so hard not to look. "This is really difficult for me," I said, "since Laura Dern is in one of my favorite movies of all time... like seriously... she's had such an effect on me... I saw Jurassic Park like 7 times in the theater! How am I supposed to deal with this?" And then "Would it be inappropriate for me to fake an orgasm right now?"
I couldn't eavesdrop. The restaurant was too loud, and it also would have been extremely obvious if I was listening in. They sounded like two girls out for dinner. I think Meg Ryan said "Blah blah blah... and then he said blah blah blah and I couldn't believe it!" and Laura Dern was all shocked and horrified.
Laura Dern is gorgeous. Meg Ryan has had too much plastic surgery. They ate french fries. Awesome.
We left Balthazar, star-struck, and just headed home because, really, what could we have done that night to beat that?
I ate Cheez-It's while we watched the remainder of Shopgirl, which remained creepy but was also superficial and just generally detestable (bad). Yes, I read the novella and it was mostly forgettable, but I didn't feel dirty after reading it as I felt after watching the movie. There wasn't one flattering thing about women in that movie. It was gross. Jason Schwartzmann, however, was magnificent in it, so if you must see it, it won't be a complete waste.
D and I went to bed and WC somehow managed to make it to his 3:00 am shuttle. Bless him.
We had a good time and now I am looking forward to next weekend, when I will be alone at last. I am looking forward to quiet. I think I am going to be alone tonight as well for the first time in about three weeks. I am going to bust out the exer-DVD's and move my ass, and do laundry, and watch the rest of The King and I which I have been trying to watch for like two weeks. The rest of the week is mayhem. I ate lame pizza last night with MF but was buzzed from one glass of wine over conversation about how absolutely splendid therapy is. Tomorrow night will be my first experience with Etiopian food with TE. Thursday is class. And then... the weekend. Only three more days. Woo!
WC Came to Visit and So I Experienced NYC - Part II
We woke up on Saturday morning, ready for a full day of being tourists.
Since we left the apartment at a reasonable hour, I hoped that my quest for a breakfast burrito would lead us to Vynl, this cute new place near my apartment that is always mobbed. It was not mobbed (woo!) and they had a breakfast burrito! Bliss. Vynl is mod, funky, and music-themed and has all sorts of musician action figures throughout the restaurant.
So how jealous are all of you that we got to sit at the booth with the New Kids on the Block action figures? I knew you would be!
We then headed up to The Met where we saw armor and weaponry and sculptures (finally!) and not everything but seeing everything is impossible. We walked through Central Park. We stopped, again, due to stamina and had a snack before heading to the Museum of Natural History, but thought better of it and decided to rest our feet back at the apartment and possibly take naps.
I didn't feel good at all. I think I ate something wrong. Or didn't eat enough. Or my sugar was just weird. I totally passed out while WC wandered around Times Square. D woke me up and I still felt bizarre. I tried having a salad, but it didn't really help.
I tried to pick a restaurant for dinner but I had a hard time. I was determined to find tapas, in the East Village, for WC. I tried to make reservations, I looked at 438 menus on menupages.com. We finally decided on a Brazilian place on 1st or A. I can't remember. By the time we were seated it was 10:00. We had lovely conversation while drinking peach sangria. I had spinach/ricotta balls and then an endive salad with goat cheese and cocunut-rum-infused-bananas which tasted so much better than it sounds.
We were exhausted after dinner so headed back to the apartment and began watching Shopgirl, the creepiest movie of all time.
Since we left the apartment at a reasonable hour, I hoped that my quest for a breakfast burrito would lead us to Vynl, this cute new place near my apartment that is always mobbed. It was not mobbed (woo!) and they had a breakfast burrito! Bliss. Vynl is mod, funky, and music-themed and has all sorts of musician action figures throughout the restaurant.
So how jealous are all of you that we got to sit at the booth with the New Kids on the Block action figures? I knew you would be!
We then headed up to The Met where we saw armor and weaponry and sculptures (finally!) and not everything but seeing everything is impossible. We walked through Central Park. We stopped, again, due to stamina and had a snack before heading to the Museum of Natural History, but thought better of it and decided to rest our feet back at the apartment and possibly take naps.
I didn't feel good at all. I think I ate something wrong. Or didn't eat enough. Or my sugar was just weird. I totally passed out while WC wandered around Times Square. D woke me up and I still felt bizarre. I tried having a salad, but it didn't really help.
I tried to pick a restaurant for dinner but I had a hard time. I was determined to find tapas, in the East Village, for WC. I tried to make reservations, I looked at 438 menus on menupages.com. We finally decided on a Brazilian place on 1st or A. I can't remember. By the time we were seated it was 10:00. We had lovely conversation while drinking peach sangria. I had spinach/ricotta balls and then an endive salad with goat cheese and cocunut-rum-infused-bananas which tasted so much better than it sounds.
We were exhausted after dinner so headed back to the apartment and began watching Shopgirl, the creepiest movie of all time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
