I haven't been in NYC for a weekend since the middle of June. I decided this weekend that I would not go anywhere, because of errands and just a general need to relax. I went as far as The Upper East Side. I walked around. I bought things. I ate things. I witnesses fights. I watched things. I talked to people. Ah, it's good to be back.
And here are, like the old days, 30 things from this weekend:
1.Enjoyed watching Little Miss Sunshine alone after being cancelled on for the zillionth time in a row by JH, who I may have to de-friend because dear god, you do not cancel because the weather is nice and because that makes you want to stay in! Wtf!? (Sidenote: run out and see this movie immediately – it is absurd but darling, and caused the normally jaded NYC audience to erupt in a standing ovation at its conclusion – seriously – rush out – NOW!)
2.Talked to Brother and admired again what a big heart he has.
3.Amish Market again, this time for strawberries and yes I bought the pre-cut ones even though they are more expensive because they just look so strawberry juice-y when they’re cut!
4.Reunited! and he handed me an orange Kit Kat as a souvenir and I gushed.
5.Laughed and laughed at the moustache that I coerced into existence. He didn't think it was funny, but kept it for a day because I did.
6.Repeatedly encountered and was shocked by scary pile of string or other debris outside apartment door that bears uncanny resemblance to a dead miniature octopus (miniature dead octopus?).
7.Phone call that first annoyed but then produced optimism when it became “Let’s not have any more conversations like this…” Yes, let’s not, ever, and I mean it.
8.Amazing exhibit at ICP with R, who is up for anything unlike JH (his ex) and arrived at a moment’s notice. We were both inspired.
9.Bought exhibited-related book at ICP despite ambitious yet somewhat successful attempts at the saving of money (but I am a member! and therefore get 10% off! that’s a whole $5, folks!).
10.Drank water and ate banana/blueberry/mascarpone tart while R drank Malbec and ate vegetables in the courtyard.
11.Acquired new keyboard from The Upper East Side and admired the view and the carpet.
12.Witnessed two (heat-related? racially motivated? insane person-instigated?) subway fights break out at the exact same moment on opposite ends of the train car! We in the middle could only laugh at the absurdity despite the worry.
13.Laughed at moustache again and wondered about its magical powers.
14.Saw MC Chris with an audience of other nerds at UCB.
15.Waited too long for good enough Mexican food.
16.Watched horrid TV at 3 am because of mood and inability to sleep and feeling lonely and upset and confused and tense.
17.Requested a hug.
18.Missed brunch due to sleeping too late due to having finally fallen asleep at approximately 5:30 am.
19.Ate banana and nothing else due to late Mexican food, and was grateful that brunch didn’t happen.
20.Bought fabulously complicated bounce flash with American Express gift check from work that didn’t quite cover the costs.
21.Walked aimlessly and ended up at movie theater watching My Super Ex-Girlfriend in the front row with a bunch of other people who were by themselves and who felt the need to talk to me, which was actually quite endearing despite my not being a movie-talker.
22.Made phone call I didn’t want to make and became agitated.
23.Post-phone call sitting-on-stoop while crying and eliciting sympathetic stares from neighborhood passers-by while overcome with incomprehensible desire not to be in my apartment.
24.Made phone call that helped immensely and I am so proud of what an amazing person she has grown up to be. I can’t imagine life without her.
25.Fixed feelings from #20 by repeating phone call, and was honest with him for the first time in my life and cried to him for the first time in my life and said “I need to feel like I am important to you for once because I don’t want to be out of your life.”
26.Cried in the windowsill, the location of best crying (hiding behind a curtain) and best cell phone reception.
27.Ate fondue too late (too many phone calls, which is the story of my life these days) after having only eaten banana all day.
28.He revised and earned a kiss and apology after saying “What I mean to say is that I’m worried that the relationship might be damaged by your not involving me and I don’t want it to be” after being accusatory and confrontational and eliciting confusion.
29.Jokes, wine, tears, honesty.
30.Sharing apple movie trailers in bed and saying “Well, I have to live at least until July 2007 because of The Transformers movie.”
Monday, August 07, 2006
Friday, August 04, 2006
As If The Heat Wasn't Gross Enough...
... I put my hands on chewed gum that some jerk had put on the turnstyle so that people would put their hands in it.
Ah, I heart New York, the City of Apple.
Ah, I heart New York, the City of Apple.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Heat
I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon at 1:00.
I just looked at weather.com and they claim that at 1:00 the temperature will be 95 degrees, but that it will feel like 108.
I can't take this anymore.
No AC on the train, sweating just because of existing, surrounded by miserable people.
People are doing insane things.
Last night I saw a woman wearing a transparent yellow dress with black underwear.
A man approached me, sweating, and said "Ma'am, do you know what day it is?" I was in a panic because I didn't know the date, but then he said "Is it Thursday?" I paused, insane from the heat and the AC-less train and lack of oxygen etc., and said "No... I think it is Wednesday..." He was super appreciative and then let himself into my building. I decided to linger back, just in case he had gone mad from heat exhaustion and would feel compelled to ask me more questions like "What year is it? Where am I? Who are you? Where do you live?" etc.
I also heard that someone felt compelled to write a song about Alan Thicke.
Heh.
It's so f-ing hot.
I just looked at weather.com and they claim that at 1:00 the temperature will be 95 degrees, but that it will feel like 108.
I can't take this anymore.
No AC on the train, sweating just because of existing, surrounded by miserable people.
People are doing insane things.
Last night I saw a woman wearing a transparent yellow dress with black underwear.
A man approached me, sweating, and said "Ma'am, do you know what day it is?" I was in a panic because I didn't know the date, but then he said "Is it Thursday?" I paused, insane from the heat and the AC-less train and lack of oxygen etc., and said "No... I think it is Wednesday..." He was super appreciative and then let himself into my building. I decided to linger back, just in case he had gone mad from heat exhaustion and would feel compelled to ask me more questions like "What year is it? Where am I? Who are you? Where do you live?" etc.
I also heard that someone felt compelled to write a song about Alan Thicke.
Heh.
It's so f-ing hot.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Alan Thicke
Date: 8.2.06
Genre: Genre: Country Song (think porch, summer, heat wave, etc.)
Description:
OK. It's been ages, I know.
With things such as they are, it has become important for me to return to My Mundane Life In Song's roots and write songs.
This will help me to think about Other Things.
Additionally, a keyboard is on its way (Everyone's Favorite Physicist's contribution to the blog and to my sanity, and D's) so this may be the last of the poor recordings with piano only. Oh, how I long for accordian songs and, gasp, vibes! Well, the vocals will still suck as I am still without microphone, but someday... oh, someday...
Anyway.
I watched TV this morning. I haven't seen TV in ages. I watched it because D is in CA and I therefore have the ability to do what I want with all things media in the apartment. D is prone to listening to music or watching cycling videos in the morning, and at night, and without a specific purpose, I can't really ask him not to. I go about my business and enjoy silence when I can. This morning, however, I wasn't digging the silence, so I thought "Hey, I should turn on that TV appliance thing and perhaps find out what's going on with this accursed weather."
I watched the weather, and then there was this absurd interview with Alan Thicke, who has written a book for parents entitled something like "How To Raise Kids Who Don't Hate You."
The interview was ridiculous. Alan Thicke is ridiculous. I'm not even sure that he has kids. When asked why he's qualified to the write the book, he was like "I have no qualifications but I know people who do so I asked them about it." And then the female interviewer was basically "We don't care about the book... how about the fact that you wrote the theme song to 'Different Strokes?'"
Hilarious.
Hence this song.
I went with a derivative country theme because (a) it's summer and (b) I am not feeling terribly creative right now. This song has already been written 12,542 times so why can't I add to the pool? I had a spare hour after dinner while waiting for a phone call that still hasn't happened, and just sang. I didn't even write this down. One take after ten minutes of sitting at the piano. And the volume is low, because it has to be low or you'd head air conditioning.
I swear things (all things) will get better.
Lyrics:
He's wearing a suit even though its 12 zillion degrees
He's laughing obnoxiously
Alan Thicke has written a book wherein he tells you how to raise your kids
He has no expertise other than playing a dad on TV
He knows some people, he talked to some people
Alan Thicke has written a book wherein he tells you how to raise your kids
It might have more sense for him to offer advice
On the writing of TV theme songs like 'The Facts Of Life'
He was Mike Seaver's dad, and for that I'm glad
And 'Different Strokes' was a stroke of genius
But should Alan Thicke be selling a book wherein he tells you how to raise your books?
Genre: Genre: Country Song (think porch, summer, heat wave, etc.)
Description:
OK. It's been ages, I know.
With things such as they are, it has become important for me to return to My Mundane Life In Song's roots and write songs.
This will help me to think about Other Things.
Additionally, a keyboard is on its way (Everyone's Favorite Physicist's contribution to the blog and to my sanity, and D's) so this may be the last of the poor recordings with piano only. Oh, how I long for accordian songs and, gasp, vibes! Well, the vocals will still suck as I am still without microphone, but someday... oh, someday...
Anyway.
I watched TV this morning. I haven't seen TV in ages. I watched it because D is in CA and I therefore have the ability to do what I want with all things media in the apartment. D is prone to listening to music or watching cycling videos in the morning, and at night, and without a specific purpose, I can't really ask him not to. I go about my business and enjoy silence when I can. This morning, however, I wasn't digging the silence, so I thought "Hey, I should turn on that TV appliance thing and perhaps find out what's going on with this accursed weather."
I watched the weather, and then there was this absurd interview with Alan Thicke, who has written a book for parents entitled something like "How To Raise Kids Who Don't Hate You."
The interview was ridiculous. Alan Thicke is ridiculous. I'm not even sure that he has kids. When asked why he's qualified to the write the book, he was like "I have no qualifications but I know people who do so I asked them about it." And then the female interviewer was basically "We don't care about the book... how about the fact that you wrote the theme song to 'Different Strokes?'"
Hilarious.
Hence this song.
I went with a derivative country theme because (a) it's summer and (b) I am not feeling terribly creative right now. This song has already been written 12,542 times so why can't I add to the pool? I had a spare hour after dinner while waiting for a phone call that still hasn't happened, and just sang. I didn't even write this down. One take after ten minutes of sitting at the piano. And the volume is low, because it has to be low or you'd head air conditioning.
I swear things (all things) will get better.
Lyrics:
He's wearing a suit even though its 12 zillion degrees
He's laughing obnoxiously
Alan Thicke has written a book wherein he tells you how to raise your kids
He has no expertise other than playing a dad on TV
He knows some people, he talked to some people
Alan Thicke has written a book wherein he tells you how to raise your kids
It might have more sense for him to offer advice
On the writing of TV theme songs like 'The Facts Of Life'
He was Mike Seaver's dad, and for that I'm glad
And 'Different Strokes' was a stroke of genius
But should Alan Thicke be selling a book wherein he tells you how to raise your books?
Flowers
I've received flowers at work a total of two times.
The first time: A vile coworker of mine was dating a man who for some incomprehensible reason found himself smitten with her to the point that he sent flowers all the time. Elaborate bouquets. Dozens upon dozens of fancy roses. She didn't know where to put them, there were so many! The receptionist kept some in the lobby, because they were so fancy that they looked like corporate-sanctioned lobby flowers.
I was admittedly jealous, and often complained "How come she gets flowers all the time? I never get flowers! I've never gotten flowers at work!" My coworkers explained that the frequency of flowers was an almost guarantee that their relationship wouldn't last (it didn't, despite the blingiest ring you ever did see), that it meant nothing, that I shouldn't compare myself to her, etc. I shouldn't compare myself to anyone, but flowers are pretty! Who wouldn't want flowers?
When my birthday rolled around that year, flowers appeared! I was so very excited. I couldn't contain myself! Who could they be from? Who even knew my work address?
And of course... they were from my crazy coworkers, who signed it "Your crazy coworkers." Delightful.
The second time: Seated anxiously by the phone all day awaiting news, I finally got a phone call and jumped a mile high, my heard pounding. I looked at the phone and saw a weird extension. "Hello?" I asked, timid. "There's a delivery for you down here. Can you get away for a moment to sign for it?"
I was confused, as I'd never received a phone call for a delivery. Normally the packages appear, and I sign for them then. I said I'd be down, and on my way down realized I wasn't even sure where to go to pick up a package.
When I got downstairs, the receptionist smiled at me. I walked to her desk and grabbed a styrofoam container that clearly housed something that had to be frozen immediately. "Not that one," she said as she glanced at the foam, and pointed me instead the direction of... flowers!
I couldn't contain myself. Who could they be from?
I walked upstairs and was the envy of all women. "Is it your birthday?" someone asked.
R saw me and said "Oh my god, is it a marriage proposal? Open the card! OPEN THE CARD!"
"I don't think so..." I said.
LN said "Oooohhhhh.... who are the from?"
When I opened the card, I nearly cried. "It's from my friends," I said.
"Why?" said MM.
"Because they love me."
"Wow, you have nice friends" said SP.
"I know," I said. "I'm very lucky."
LN said "I thought it was from D, and figured you guys had had a big fight."
"Or that you were getting married," SP giggled.
We all giggled.
No marriage proposal, no fight, no drama. Just good friends.
And that's all I need right now.
I am so very lucky.
The first time: A vile coworker of mine was dating a man who for some incomprehensible reason found himself smitten with her to the point that he sent flowers all the time. Elaborate bouquets. Dozens upon dozens of fancy roses. She didn't know where to put them, there were so many! The receptionist kept some in the lobby, because they were so fancy that they looked like corporate-sanctioned lobby flowers.
I was admittedly jealous, and often complained "How come she gets flowers all the time? I never get flowers! I've never gotten flowers at work!" My coworkers explained that the frequency of flowers was an almost guarantee that their relationship wouldn't last (it didn't, despite the blingiest ring you ever did see), that it meant nothing, that I shouldn't compare myself to her, etc. I shouldn't compare myself to anyone, but flowers are pretty! Who wouldn't want flowers?
When my birthday rolled around that year, flowers appeared! I was so very excited. I couldn't contain myself! Who could they be from? Who even knew my work address?
And of course... they were from my crazy coworkers, who signed it "Your crazy coworkers." Delightful.
The second time: Seated anxiously by the phone all day awaiting news, I finally got a phone call and jumped a mile high, my heard pounding. I looked at the phone and saw a weird extension. "Hello?" I asked, timid. "There's a delivery for you down here. Can you get away for a moment to sign for it?"
I was confused, as I'd never received a phone call for a delivery. Normally the packages appear, and I sign for them then. I said I'd be down, and on my way down realized I wasn't even sure where to go to pick up a package.
When I got downstairs, the receptionist smiled at me. I walked to her desk and grabbed a styrofoam container that clearly housed something that had to be frozen immediately. "Not that one," she said as she glanced at the foam, and pointed me instead the direction of... flowers!
I couldn't contain myself. Who could they be from?
I walked upstairs and was the envy of all women. "Is it your birthday?" someone asked.
R saw me and said "Oh my god, is it a marriage proposal? Open the card! OPEN THE CARD!"
"I don't think so..." I said.
LN said "Oooohhhhh.... who are the from?"
When I opened the card, I nearly cried. "It's from my friends," I said.
"Why?" said MM.
"Because they love me."
"Wow, you have nice friends" said SP.
"I know," I said. "I'm very lucky."
LN said "I thought it was from D, and figured you guys had had a big fight."
"Or that you were getting married," SP giggled.
We all giggled.
No marriage proposal, no fight, no drama. Just good friends.
And that's all I need right now.
I am so very lucky.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
My Mundane Life In Song Survey
On our way back from MA this weekend, D and I stopped in Mystic, CT for lunch (the original plan was to stop in Mystic and then find a beach, which is something D can do because he doesn't require a plan or desination, but which ended up being futile because there aren't, apparently, any good beaches near Mystic).
There was a sign in a restaurant window that said "No shirt, no shoes, no service" or whatever that sign is.
D said "I wonder if anyone has ever tried to go into that restaurant without pants."
I laughed.
"No, but seriously, why is that? Why can't you go into a restaurant without a shirt or shoes?"
I immediately said "Because its unsanitary," but then thought better of that response, because really, if they're worried about sanitation then they should require people to wear gloves.
I thought about it some more, and I said "I bet its aesthetics. How could you eat while being forced to look at feet, or worse, an obese man spilling his spaghetti all over the folds of his naked stomach?"
I actually don't know the answer to this question.
Anyone? Anyone?
There was a sign in a restaurant window that said "No shirt, no shoes, no service" or whatever that sign is.
D said "I wonder if anyone has ever tried to go into that restaurant without pants."
I laughed.
"No, but seriously, why is that? Why can't you go into a restaurant without a shirt or shoes?"
I immediately said "Because its unsanitary," but then thought better of that response, because really, if they're worried about sanitation then they should require people to wear gloves.
I thought about it some more, and I said "I bet its aesthetics. How could you eat while being forced to look at feet, or worse, an obese man spilling his spaghetti all over the folds of his naked stomach?"
I actually don't know the answer to this question.
Anyone? Anyone?
It's A Heat Wave...
... and a man was adorably whistling "Sleigh Ride" this morning on Vandam Street, which somehow made it bearable.
Monday, July 31, 2006
I'm Out of Love with Trader Joe's
I've been away from blogging. I've been away from sane thought in general. Everything was fine at 5:30 and life changed irreversibly at 6:00. I wish the phone call was something different. You can never be prepared for this sort of thing.
I'm getting better. I can think about other things. For two weeks I couldn't, but I'm starting to think about other things.
And hence can I blog, or at least attempt to. My mind's overexerted so no one thing I say or try to communicate can really make sense, because each thought is clouded by 12 million other thoughts that also make sense, because there's too many of them and I am unprepared for any of them. But I will try.
***
I went back to MA this weekend, as per Sister's suggestion. She thought it might help, to see things, to experience things, to stop imagining and force myself to face how things actually are.
Rather than face things for the entire time, I decided to take an extra day off to spend with Sister, to talk face-to-face, to cry if necessary with one of the two people who understand this.
Sister wanted to cook an elaborate dinner. I agreed, as cooking dinner is cost effective and fun. We scoured three vegetarian cookbooks and decided on a honey-pear salad followed by asparagus/ricotta/mint risotto. We decided not to be overambitious and agreed to purchase a fancy dessert.
Sister said "OK, here's the thing. Trader Joe's is awesome but may not have ingredients, but is closest. Star Market is far away but will have ingredients, except for awesome desserts. Whole Foods is in the middle and will definitely have everything and awesome desserts BUT it's wicked expensive."
We decided on risky Trader Joe's, because Trader Joe's is awesome and because I wanted to buy some fabulous snacks to bring back to NYC, as D and I had rented a car for our return as freaking Amtrak is now freaking $93 one-way. Bastards. We also decided on Trader Joe's because it was closest, and because we are tired all the time and can't really be expected to function, the world would have been asking too much of us if it demanded we walk all the way to The Stah (which is now Shaws, right?).
Anyway.
I hate Trader Joe's. I know that Trader Joe's is not a supermarket, but seriously, how could they not have anything we needed?
They did not have pears. Or asparagus. Or a reasonable amount of honey. Or a reasonable amout of mayonnaise. Or ricotta. Seriously. They did not have ricotta!
We revamped the dinner plans, and there were no ingredients for the new menu either.
We came up with idea after idea, found half the ingredients, realized that they didn't have the other half of what we needed, put everything away, started over...
Insanity.
Our minds were not up for this. I kept saying "We can just buy a pizza and heat it up! This is madness!" but we did not want to be defeated.
I know Trader Joe's is not a real supermarket. And I know that they do not really need to have ingredients since they have the best pre-made food selection in the universe. I have limited patience for anything right now, and oh how I need something in my life to be straightforward and easy.
We ended up buying pre-made gnocchi and pre-made pesto, because I couldn't remember the recipe for pesto. We made a goat cheese salad with candied pecans and raspberries. We bought mochi (oh, mochi, yes!) and I tried to buy a bottle of wine because we Lars really need to be drinking as much as possible right now. I didn't buy any snacks to bring back because I was on the verge of a meltdown, because these days anything might spark a meltdown.
The plan was that I would put the groceries on my credit card and that Sister would pay me back eventually.
Except that I didn't have my ID because I hadn't brought my wallet (because why would I bring my wallet on what was supposed to be a two second trip to Trader Joe's that turned out to be two hours?).
Ah, New York, I've gotten used to your cardless ways.
The cashier asked for my ID and I didn't have it, so Sister gave him hers.
Sister offered to put the groceries on her card.
The cashier, however, wouldn't let her buy the wine because I didn't have my ID! He said "You can't buy it because you're buying it for her."
"But... but..."
And that's when I started yelling, for the entire store to hear, "BUT I'M 30 YEARS OLD! SHE IS MY YOUNGER SISTER! BY ALMOST 7 YEARS! I'M 30 YEARS OLD! I'M 30! I CAN BUY ALCOHOL!" I wanted to add "And listen, buddy, you don't know HOW MUCH WE NEED THAT WINE THIS INSTANT!"
And we left without alcohol.
I wanted to cry, or throw a fit, and I think I did both.
My only consolation was that the cashier thought that I looked very young.
Later on that weekend I was relaying this story at PetCo, where Sister was buying guinea pig supplies. The eavesdropping PetCo cashier said "Oh, my partner works at Trader Joe's. They have to card everyone, even if they're 105 years old. If they don't, they could go to (whispering) jail."
So I guess it wasn't my youthful appearance that denied me the wine. It was the Trader Joe's cashier's ability to do a good job and avoid jail. Good for him, bad for me.
D, my hero, went out and bought Sister and I a bottle of wine, which we inhaled and which resulted in the ultimate regression, with Kid Fears and The Beatles (Beatles' songs are so sad when you're sad, even the happy sounding ones) and oh my god Stone Temple Pilots.
I think people do this sort of thing because it reminds them of a time when things were less complicated. Our singalong was the last uncomplicated portion of the weekend, and when I think back on this weekend I will wish that there was more time for singing.
I'm getting better. I can think about other things. For two weeks I couldn't, but I'm starting to think about other things.
And hence can I blog, or at least attempt to. My mind's overexerted so no one thing I say or try to communicate can really make sense, because each thought is clouded by 12 million other thoughts that also make sense, because there's too many of them and I am unprepared for any of them. But I will try.
***
I went back to MA this weekend, as per Sister's suggestion. She thought it might help, to see things, to experience things, to stop imagining and force myself to face how things actually are.
Rather than face things for the entire time, I decided to take an extra day off to spend with Sister, to talk face-to-face, to cry if necessary with one of the two people who understand this.
Sister wanted to cook an elaborate dinner. I agreed, as cooking dinner is cost effective and fun. We scoured three vegetarian cookbooks and decided on a honey-pear salad followed by asparagus/ricotta/mint risotto. We decided not to be overambitious and agreed to purchase a fancy dessert.
Sister said "OK, here's the thing. Trader Joe's is awesome but may not have ingredients, but is closest. Star Market is far away but will have ingredients, except for awesome desserts. Whole Foods is in the middle and will definitely have everything and awesome desserts BUT it's wicked expensive."
We decided on risky Trader Joe's, because Trader Joe's is awesome and because I wanted to buy some fabulous snacks to bring back to NYC, as D and I had rented a car for our return as freaking Amtrak is now freaking $93 one-way. Bastards. We also decided on Trader Joe's because it was closest, and because we are tired all the time and can't really be expected to function, the world would have been asking too much of us if it demanded we walk all the way to The Stah (which is now Shaws, right?).
Anyway.
I hate Trader Joe's. I know that Trader Joe's is not a supermarket, but seriously, how could they not have anything we needed?
They did not have pears. Or asparagus. Or a reasonable amount of honey. Or a reasonable amout of mayonnaise. Or ricotta. Seriously. They did not have ricotta!
We revamped the dinner plans, and there were no ingredients for the new menu either.
We came up with idea after idea, found half the ingredients, realized that they didn't have the other half of what we needed, put everything away, started over...
Insanity.
Our minds were not up for this. I kept saying "We can just buy a pizza and heat it up! This is madness!" but we did not want to be defeated.
I know Trader Joe's is not a real supermarket. And I know that they do not really need to have ingredients since they have the best pre-made food selection in the universe. I have limited patience for anything right now, and oh how I need something in my life to be straightforward and easy.
We ended up buying pre-made gnocchi and pre-made pesto, because I couldn't remember the recipe for pesto. We made a goat cheese salad with candied pecans and raspberries. We bought mochi (oh, mochi, yes!) and I tried to buy a bottle of wine because we Lars really need to be drinking as much as possible right now. I didn't buy any snacks to bring back because I was on the verge of a meltdown, because these days anything might spark a meltdown.
The plan was that I would put the groceries on my credit card and that Sister would pay me back eventually.
Except that I didn't have my ID because I hadn't brought my wallet (because why would I bring my wallet on what was supposed to be a two second trip to Trader Joe's that turned out to be two hours?).
Ah, New York, I've gotten used to your cardless ways.
The cashier asked for my ID and I didn't have it, so Sister gave him hers.
Sister offered to put the groceries on her card.
The cashier, however, wouldn't let her buy the wine because I didn't have my ID! He said "You can't buy it because you're buying it for her."
"But... but..."
And that's when I started yelling, for the entire store to hear, "BUT I'M 30 YEARS OLD! SHE IS MY YOUNGER SISTER! BY ALMOST 7 YEARS! I'M 30 YEARS OLD! I'M 30! I CAN BUY ALCOHOL!" I wanted to add "And listen, buddy, you don't know HOW MUCH WE NEED THAT WINE THIS INSTANT!"
And we left without alcohol.
I wanted to cry, or throw a fit, and I think I did both.
My only consolation was that the cashier thought that I looked very young.
Later on that weekend I was relaying this story at PetCo, where Sister was buying guinea pig supplies. The eavesdropping PetCo cashier said "Oh, my partner works at Trader Joe's. They have to card everyone, even if they're 105 years old. If they don't, they could go to (whispering) jail."
So I guess it wasn't my youthful appearance that denied me the wine. It was the Trader Joe's cashier's ability to do a good job and avoid jail. Good for him, bad for me.
D, my hero, went out and bought Sister and I a bottle of wine, which we inhaled and which resulted in the ultimate regression, with Kid Fears and The Beatles (Beatles' songs are so sad when you're sad, even the happy sounding ones) and oh my god Stone Temple Pilots.
I think people do this sort of thing because it reminds them of a time when things were less complicated. Our singalong was the last uncomplicated portion of the weekend, and when I think back on this weekend I will wish that there was more time for singing.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Vancouver
I've been away from blogging.
Well, this isn't true. My other blog has been officially pronounced dead, and this one has been subject to lengthy entries that will never be published and will just remind me and only me of how I felt about serious level-10 things during the week after my stressful vacation.
It's been a stressful week. My doctor diagnosed me as "freaking out" and gave me a lovely sleep-aid that seems to have set things a bit straighter. I'm feeling less desperate and less obsessed and less likely to dramatically quit my job and pack my things and volunteer for a science-y boat expedition for which I'd work for free and meet new people and forget everything and realize that life doesn't have to be like this.
She said "Please do not go back to work today. I'm afraid you might quit your job. And please do not be alone for a few days. And hide your credit card. And don't make any big decisions. Please."
That was good advice, because yesterday I was prepared to pack two large suitcases with cameras and outfits and notebooks and leave a note, in pursuit of a log cabin in which I might study for the GRE and Figure. Things. Out. Even though I knew that wasn't what I wanted, I felt like it was the only option.
Because Boston isn't an option, even if someone pays you twice what you make now.
And New York City isn't an option, because you've outgrown it even though its the biggest thing imagineable.
And Boulder isn't an option, because you're not sure you feel about the middle.
And science isn't an option, because when your boss mentions a new project you want to run away and hide because you have so little interest and so little energy and want so badly to be pat on the back and not punched in the face.
I go through this every now and then, and devise schemes involving New Hampshire or floral design or the study of museums. This sort of freak out has been successful four and only four times, and I think its probably happened like 12 times since I was 20 years old.
1. Didn't go to grad school
2. Recorded the mini-album
3. Started the music blog
4. Moved to NYC
What next?
I know I want to be with D, and it scares me that my hormones and/or neurotransmitters can convince me that I don't need him. I know I want to be with him and I want us to be happy, and I know that we can't be happy here forever. Part of me wants us to move somewhere quiet where we can just exist, live slowly, live with substance and not volume. Somewhere where we can sit on a porch and watch kids riding their bikes. Somewhere where days aren't stressful, where employment is simple, where people have conversations under the stars and life feels like vacation.
Can you go to a small town from the big city?
What does he want? What do I want?
I don't know the answer to either of these questions.
I know that I am unsatisfied with the letter of complaint I wrote to the airline. It got really dramatic (surprise!) because I was reminded again of the absurdity of it all and it's one thing after another and it is a saga even in text. Reliving stress is pointless unless they give you the $900 you are demanding.
I know that I want to see 'Superman' tonight.
I know that I want to try the all macaroni-and-cheese restaurant on the Lower East Side.
I know that I want to get up enough motivation to call my NYC friends and see them like I keep saying I will. "I'm not feeling well," I say, as usual, which means "I keep crying for no reason and devising escape plans." I've been introverted. I've been alone. I've been enjoying it because I can't concentrate when I feel like this, and I am terrible company because when I feel like crying I want to cry and not pretend to be happy.
This weekend I want to go see 'Superman,' have mac-n-cheese with J tomorrow night, go to LT's birthday party tomorrow night and hopefully see R because not hanging out with him hasn't been awshummmmm and he's a spazz and causes happiness even when he himself is unhappy, brunch with S on Sunday and hopefully learn how all is hopeless from my eternally beloved Al Gore, and see E who is a masochist and needs advice from someone he doesn't realize is even less healthy. And dinner next week with LL on Monady and T on Tuesday and MF later in the week hopefully but she is nuts too. I will socialize and smile for real and figure things out.
And edit photos, because people keep asking, and there's a lot. Like 100 photos of Stonehenge alone!
Until next week...
Well, this isn't true. My other blog has been officially pronounced dead, and this one has been subject to lengthy entries that will never be published and will just remind me and only me of how I felt about serious level-10 things during the week after my stressful vacation.
It's been a stressful week. My doctor diagnosed me as "freaking out" and gave me a lovely sleep-aid that seems to have set things a bit straighter. I'm feeling less desperate and less obsessed and less likely to dramatically quit my job and pack my things and volunteer for a science-y boat expedition for which I'd work for free and meet new people and forget everything and realize that life doesn't have to be like this.
She said "Please do not go back to work today. I'm afraid you might quit your job. And please do not be alone for a few days. And hide your credit card. And don't make any big decisions. Please."
That was good advice, because yesterday I was prepared to pack two large suitcases with cameras and outfits and notebooks and leave a note, in pursuit of a log cabin in which I might study for the GRE and Figure. Things. Out. Even though I knew that wasn't what I wanted, I felt like it was the only option.
Because Boston isn't an option, even if someone pays you twice what you make now.
And New York City isn't an option, because you've outgrown it even though its the biggest thing imagineable.
And Boulder isn't an option, because you're not sure you feel about the middle.
And science isn't an option, because when your boss mentions a new project you want to run away and hide because you have so little interest and so little energy and want so badly to be pat on the back and not punched in the face.
I go through this every now and then, and devise schemes involving New Hampshire or floral design or the study of museums. This sort of freak out has been successful four and only four times, and I think its probably happened like 12 times since I was 20 years old.
1. Didn't go to grad school
2. Recorded the mini-album
3. Started the music blog
4. Moved to NYC
What next?
I know I want to be with D, and it scares me that my hormones and/or neurotransmitters can convince me that I don't need him. I know I want to be with him and I want us to be happy, and I know that we can't be happy here forever. Part of me wants us to move somewhere quiet where we can just exist, live slowly, live with substance and not volume. Somewhere where we can sit on a porch and watch kids riding their bikes. Somewhere where days aren't stressful, where employment is simple, where people have conversations under the stars and life feels like vacation.
Can you go to a small town from the big city?
What does he want? What do I want?
I don't know the answer to either of these questions.
I know that I am unsatisfied with the letter of complaint I wrote to the airline. It got really dramatic (surprise!) because I was reminded again of the absurdity of it all and it's one thing after another and it is a saga even in text. Reliving stress is pointless unless they give you the $900 you are demanding.
I know that I want to see 'Superman' tonight.
I know that I want to try the all macaroni-and-cheese restaurant on the Lower East Side.
I know that I want to get up enough motivation to call my NYC friends and see them like I keep saying I will. "I'm not feeling well," I say, as usual, which means "I keep crying for no reason and devising escape plans." I've been introverted. I've been alone. I've been enjoying it because I can't concentrate when I feel like this, and I am terrible company because when I feel like crying I want to cry and not pretend to be happy.
This weekend I want to go see 'Superman,' have mac-n-cheese with J tomorrow night, go to LT's birthday party tomorrow night and hopefully see R because not hanging out with him hasn't been awshummmmm and he's a spazz and causes happiness even when he himself is unhappy, brunch with S on Sunday and hopefully learn how all is hopeless from my eternally beloved Al Gore, and see E who is a masochist and needs advice from someone he doesn't realize is even less healthy. And dinner next week with LL on Monady and T on Tuesday and MF later in the week hopefully but she is nuts too. I will socialize and smile for real and figure things out.
And edit photos, because people keep asking, and there's a lot. Like 100 photos of Stonehenge alone!
Until next week...
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Personal Day
The Boss sent me home yesterday, forbade me from staying at work any longer. He demanded that I go home after purchasing citrus-y fruits where I would eat the fruits and then sleep.
The combination of jet lag and my monthly vile visitor and the cold/cough/bronchitis whatever from Europe and the humidity and the headache and the poor eating and I think a week's worth of Sudafed and Nyquil and Imitrex destroyed me yesterday.
I am going to call in sick today, but I am going to use a personal day, because I have two of those and two sick days and you just never know when you're going to be really sick.
I think I may just be having insulin issues. That's sort of what it feels like, but I can't really tell because of the jet lag and the headache and the girl things and everything else.
Work has this ridiculous policy wherein you have to call your boss and the front desk when you're going to be out, so that the front desk can you put you on the "absent roster" for the day. This is a good policy, except that nobody is at the desk until like 8:30 or 9:00, so if you wake up at your normal time and realize "Whoa, I'm sick, I'm not going to work today" and then because you are so sick you would like to go back to sleep and sleep for the rest of the day, you can't because you have to wake up again at 8:30 and then possibly again at 9:00 to call in sick.
Hence the blogging.
This will be a good day. I hope to finish "Fortress of Solitude" which *is* an amazing book despite its being so dense. Well worth the time investment, but I recommend finding a paperback because carrying the hardcover throughout Europe wasn't the best idea. I will also catch up on the vacation blogging, and will hopefully add photos to the entries, although that's going to be an insane project. Maybe I'll at least get through Spain. I'll let you know when the photos are there.
I'm thinking about how I wish I had an older sibling. I confronted D last night about the cocaine issue. I said "Look, I don't think that it's responsible for people with small children to be (a) doing cocaine and (b) getting into cars with people who have been drinking too much and also doing cocaine." I wanted to make sure that he didn't think that this was acceptable behavior, not for others, but for himself as a parent. I knew that he thought it was acceptable behavior for US to get in the car (which I did not) but did he think it was acceptable behavior for parents of cute, little nieces? He couldn't believe that I was judging his brother and that they are GOOD, GOOD parents, and how dare I? but he also understood, and said that no, he would never do that if he had kids. I said "Do you think its good that your brother smokes pot in front of your little nieces?" He insisted that his brother is a good parent, which he is in many ways. I said "If your brother smokes pot in front of our 13 year old someday will you tell him not to?" He said his brother would never do such a thing, but yes, he would tell him not to. I guess I wanted to make sure that D knows that he's marrying McGruff and that I have a firm opinion about this sort of thing, and that I won't budge. I realize that kids will experiment and that there's no way to avoid it, but I don't want to set the example that it's ok. And I don't want to be irresponsible about drunk driving etc. when there are little people who are depending on only me.
Phew. It went well.
But it got me to thinking how I wish that I had an older sibling sometimes.
Someone to look up to, to believe in, a model who in your eyes can do no wrong.
Someone to emulate.
I think that when you're the oldest you end up emulating your parents, and you end up being over-resposible and cautious and neurotic and grow up too fast. You study too much and worry about things. You worry about your younger siblings. You have nobody to idolize, and nobdy to learn from. You don't have the opportunity to learn that if you mess up things will still turn out ok. You don't get to learn that doing cocaine doesn't affect your life in any way and that you'll still have a beautiful wife and children. You don't have someone who is infallible in your eyes.
And then you end up making huge mistakes as an adult (you rebel, hard) because you played it too safe as a kid.
I never rebelled in the classic ways. I've never done cocaine. I tried some lesser things with Sister but they had no effect. I drank all the time when I graduated from college. I was in very risky relationships. I destroyed my heart and damaged myself probably forever. I gave up on grad school because I was burnt out and here I am, happy anyway and most likely happier.
But I can't let go of that feeling that I am too conservative and/or lame, that I don't understand how the world is because I worry about things like drugs and helmetless biking in the city.
And I am lame because when I travel I come back and ask all of these questions because travelling gives you the distance you need to reevaluate your entire life.
And you wonder, when you land, why being home is the last place you want to be.
But NR is moving here, so all will soon be right.
The combination of jet lag and my monthly vile visitor and the cold/cough/bronchitis whatever from Europe and the humidity and the headache and the poor eating and I think a week's worth of Sudafed and Nyquil and Imitrex destroyed me yesterday.
I am going to call in sick today, but I am going to use a personal day, because I have two of those and two sick days and you just never know when you're going to be really sick.
I think I may just be having insulin issues. That's sort of what it feels like, but I can't really tell because of the jet lag and the headache and the girl things and everything else.
Work has this ridiculous policy wherein you have to call your boss and the front desk when you're going to be out, so that the front desk can you put you on the "absent roster" for the day. This is a good policy, except that nobody is at the desk until like 8:30 or 9:00, so if you wake up at your normal time and realize "Whoa, I'm sick, I'm not going to work today" and then because you are so sick you would like to go back to sleep and sleep for the rest of the day, you can't because you have to wake up again at 8:30 and then possibly again at 9:00 to call in sick.
Hence the blogging.
This will be a good day. I hope to finish "Fortress of Solitude" which *is* an amazing book despite its being so dense. Well worth the time investment, but I recommend finding a paperback because carrying the hardcover throughout Europe wasn't the best idea. I will also catch up on the vacation blogging, and will hopefully add photos to the entries, although that's going to be an insane project. Maybe I'll at least get through Spain. I'll let you know when the photos are there.
I'm thinking about how I wish I had an older sibling. I confronted D last night about the cocaine issue. I said "Look, I don't think that it's responsible for people with small children to be (a) doing cocaine and (b) getting into cars with people who have been drinking too much and also doing cocaine." I wanted to make sure that he didn't think that this was acceptable behavior, not for others, but for himself as a parent. I knew that he thought it was acceptable behavior for US to get in the car (which I did not) but did he think it was acceptable behavior for parents of cute, little nieces? He couldn't believe that I was judging his brother and that they are GOOD, GOOD parents, and how dare I? but he also understood, and said that no, he would never do that if he had kids. I said "Do you think its good that your brother smokes pot in front of your little nieces?" He insisted that his brother is a good parent, which he is in many ways. I said "If your brother smokes pot in front of our 13 year old someday will you tell him not to?" He said his brother would never do such a thing, but yes, he would tell him not to. I guess I wanted to make sure that D knows that he's marrying McGruff and that I have a firm opinion about this sort of thing, and that I won't budge. I realize that kids will experiment and that there's no way to avoid it, but I don't want to set the example that it's ok. And I don't want to be irresponsible about drunk driving etc. when there are little people who are depending on only me.
Phew. It went well.
But it got me to thinking how I wish that I had an older sibling sometimes.
Someone to look up to, to believe in, a model who in your eyes can do no wrong.
Someone to emulate.
I think that when you're the oldest you end up emulating your parents, and you end up being over-resposible and cautious and neurotic and grow up too fast. You study too much and worry about things. You worry about your younger siblings. You have nobody to idolize, and nobdy to learn from. You don't have the opportunity to learn that if you mess up things will still turn out ok. You don't get to learn that doing cocaine doesn't affect your life in any way and that you'll still have a beautiful wife and children. You don't have someone who is infallible in your eyes.
And then you end up making huge mistakes as an adult (you rebel, hard) because you played it too safe as a kid.
I never rebelled in the classic ways. I've never done cocaine. I tried some lesser things with Sister but they had no effect. I drank all the time when I graduated from college. I was in very risky relationships. I destroyed my heart and damaged myself probably forever. I gave up on grad school because I was burnt out and here I am, happy anyway and most likely happier.
But I can't let go of that feeling that I am too conservative and/or lame, that I don't understand how the world is because I worry about things like drugs and helmetless biking in the city.
And I am lame because when I travel I come back and ask all of these questions because travelling gives you the distance you need to reevaluate your entire life.
And you wonder, when you land, why being home is the last place you want to be.
But NR is moving here, so all will soon be right.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Ham
You see, the thing is that I think I may be over NYC.
D suggested that we go to this pirate ship ham celebration on Chelsea Pier tonight.
I looked at him like he had three heads when he asked if I as interested.
"I have no interest," I said.
"Really?"
"It's a celebration of ham," said I.
"But pirates!" he said.
"Yes, but ham."
What I really meant was "There's nothing I want to do more than go grocery shopping, go home, cook something, eat something healthy finally, look at the photos from the trip since I didn't get to yet because we went to the movies last night, sleep, get over the jet lag, get rid of the cough, nurse the headache, get my voice back, and just be at home, because I haven't been at home in forever."
Things have changed. I am trying to figure out if I would be thrilled by the idea of people dressed like pirates on a Tuesday night and socializing with these strangers were I not sick/jet lagged/malnourished.
I think I'm over it.
I might be over it because I've been away, away from those who believe themselves to be ultra-hip, instead around people who "enjoy life" and are happy just being happy, wearing whatever they'd like and doing whatever they'd like with their time, not concerning themselves with hipster playgrounds and not cramming every minute of their lives with transient nonsense.
And therefore I am praying to The Dolphin (I wondered this morning at 6 am if God might be a dolphin) that I get laid off tomorrow.
D suggested that we go to this pirate ship ham celebration on Chelsea Pier tonight.
I looked at him like he had three heads when he asked if I as interested.
"I have no interest," I said.
"Really?"
"It's a celebration of ham," said I.
"But pirates!" he said.
"Yes, but ham."
What I really meant was "There's nothing I want to do more than go grocery shopping, go home, cook something, eat something healthy finally, look at the photos from the trip since I didn't get to yet because we went to the movies last night, sleep, get over the jet lag, get rid of the cough, nurse the headache, get my voice back, and just be at home, because I haven't been at home in forever."
Things have changed. I am trying to figure out if I would be thrilled by the idea of people dressed like pirates on a Tuesday night and socializing with these strangers were I not sick/jet lagged/malnourished.
I think I'm over it.
I might be over it because I've been away, away from those who believe themselves to be ultra-hip, instead around people who "enjoy life" and are happy just being happy, wearing whatever they'd like and doing whatever they'd like with their time, not concerning themselves with hipster playgrounds and not cramming every minute of their lives with transient nonsense.
And therefore I am praying to The Dolphin (I wondered this morning at 6 am if God might be a dolphin) that I get laid off tomorrow.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Vacation Deluge - Edition 1 - Day 1: To London!
And now let the deluge of vacation-related stories begin.
Feel free not to read these, but you should, because there are stories. Lots of them.
This one's going to be a mess because I have mad jet lag right now - got in at like 6:00 last night and woke up at about 4:30 this morning. Awesome.
And so it begins...
We were worried that our flight out would involve some sort of mayhem, because (a) NJ was flooded and we were flying out of Newark and (b) an SUV ran down five pedestrians on a sidewalk on the corner of 47th and 10th! Right by my apartment! I'd never have known had I not been watching the news in order to get information about flight delays out of Newark. Crazy. I ran and looked out the window and yes! Ambulances! News crews! Right on the corner of my block!
The flight was fine despite the floods and bad omen, and we departed without incident from Newark at 10:00 pm.
The flight began with our conversing with this pompous guy from England who claimed to know everything there was to know about everything possible. He was returning from a 5-week long trip through Canada's Inside Passage and told us everything about it. He's a writer/filmmaker who found himself fascinating. He was in desperate need of someone to talk at. I hated him instantly, and he found a captive audience in D. When we told him we were scientists he told us everything he knew about science. He also told us not to go to Bath. "Why would you want to go there?" he asked, cross with us. "Because... of The Baths," I said. "No, no, go to Oxford instead," he said, and promised D the oldest museum in the world that houses the private collection of an eccentric who travelled the world and gathered bizarre objects like shrunken heads. I must admit I was enthused about the shrunken heads, but I had my heart set on Bath. It became apparent, however, that D was more into the idea of Oxford. D talked to this guy (which was awkard given that I was seated between them) for what seemed like eternity.
Luckily he stopped talking when we took off and instead started to whistle.
I'm not kidding. He whistled on the plane.
I was determined to sleep on the plane as we wanted to take in a bit of London that day. I reclined in my seat, and within a few seconds it shot back up. I tried again, and again it happened. I decided to wait a few minutes and then try again. I tried again, and when it shot back up I realized that someone was actually pushing me. I knew there was a child seated behind me, so I decided to turn around and beg the parents to stop their child from pushing my seat. When I turned around, I was shocked to learn that it was an adult who was pushing me.
I thought "What would LBF do?" LBF is assertive. I tried my best to channel LBF.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?"
She played dumb.
"Excuse me, are you pushing my seat?"
"Yes."
"Why are you pushing my seat?"
"Because we are eating dinner."
"No we're not."
"No, see, you can't lean back because of dinner."
"Right, yes, except that we're not eating dinner."
Silence.
"Are you eating dinner?"
"What?"
"Are you actually eating dinner right now?"
"No... but...."
I turned around, because for the love of god what is wrong with people!??!?! I had to turn around because I was about to cry. And then I cried for a bit, because of the whistling and the woman and because I was so tired and wanted so badly to sleep. I rehearsed in my mind what I would say should she push me again post-dinner, and got up the nerve to conjure up the necessary drama. Luckily she didn't push me again, and I was able to get a good three hours of sleep on the flight.
We arrived in London again without incident. We took the Gatwick Express to London. I slept the entire time. Allegedly it took an hour to get to London (it is supposed to take 35 minutes) but it didn't matter to me because more sleep! We transferred to the tube and headed to D's cousin's office to pick up the keys to her apartment.
D didn't remember where it was. We walked around aimlessly, looking for number 88. I let this go on for about five minutes and finally said "Um, D, do you think it might be 33?" I knew it was number 33, because I'd seen it written down earlier that day. D is the kind of guy who likes to know where he is and not have his sense of direction challenged, especially by a girl. I'd hoped he'd just figure it out on his own, but I had limited patience after so much transportation. Once we found the address, we had no idea how to get in. Again, there was some mention of a complicated entrance to her office but he couldn't remember what she'd said. And he didn't know what company she worked for. We walked around, down alleys, without any idea of what to do. Finally we asked a man wearing a suit if we could borrow his phone.
We found D's cousin and she put us in a cab to her apartment.
We dropped off our bags and went to lunch. It was delicious.
We went back to her apartment. We broke one of her toilets instantly. How? No idea. The flushing mechanism just disconnected. And can you fix it? No! Because in London, all flushing-related articles are BEHIND THE WALL for the purposes of aesthetics. We tried to access it through the closet, through the hallway, but no luck!
We took showers and napped for too long.
Then I felt sick. I think that my lunch may have been laced with meat. With only one functioning toilet which we were both afraid to use as we feared breaking it, I just had to suffer.
When D's cousin returned from work, we walked along the river and soaked up the sights. D drank outside because it is allowed there and he was like a kid in a candy store. I took pictures (coming soon).
We ate a gross dinner in Covent Garden. We drank Pimm's (I don't see the big deal). My stomach rebelled, still angry from earlier that day. We walked around a bit more. We didn't get run over but it was difficult to adjust to traffic coming from the wrong direction. London reminded me of Boston, which made me homesick.
We returned to D's cousin's amazing flat and watched some bizarre made-for-TV-esque prequel to Romy and Michelle against which we were powerless.
We tried to sleep on the tall air mattress that caved into the middle when there are two people on it, as though it were a giant piece of memory foam!
And that was Day 1.
Feel free not to read these, but you should, because there are stories. Lots of them.
This one's going to be a mess because I have mad jet lag right now - got in at like 6:00 last night and woke up at about 4:30 this morning. Awesome.
And so it begins...
We were worried that our flight out would involve some sort of mayhem, because (a) NJ was flooded and we were flying out of Newark and (b) an SUV ran down five pedestrians on a sidewalk on the corner of 47th and 10th! Right by my apartment! I'd never have known had I not been watching the news in order to get information about flight delays out of Newark. Crazy. I ran and looked out the window and yes! Ambulances! News crews! Right on the corner of my block!
The flight was fine despite the floods and bad omen, and we departed without incident from Newark at 10:00 pm.
The flight began with our conversing with this pompous guy from England who claimed to know everything there was to know about everything possible. He was returning from a 5-week long trip through Canada's Inside Passage and told us everything about it. He's a writer/filmmaker who found himself fascinating. He was in desperate need of someone to talk at. I hated him instantly, and he found a captive audience in D. When we told him we were scientists he told us everything he knew about science. He also told us not to go to Bath. "Why would you want to go there?" he asked, cross with us. "Because... of The Baths," I said. "No, no, go to Oxford instead," he said, and promised D the oldest museum in the world that houses the private collection of an eccentric who travelled the world and gathered bizarre objects like shrunken heads. I must admit I was enthused about the shrunken heads, but I had my heart set on Bath. It became apparent, however, that D was more into the idea of Oxford. D talked to this guy (which was awkard given that I was seated between them) for what seemed like eternity.
Luckily he stopped talking when we took off and instead started to whistle.
I'm not kidding. He whistled on the plane.
I was determined to sleep on the plane as we wanted to take in a bit of London that day. I reclined in my seat, and within a few seconds it shot back up. I tried again, and again it happened. I decided to wait a few minutes and then try again. I tried again, and when it shot back up I realized that someone was actually pushing me. I knew there was a child seated behind me, so I decided to turn around and beg the parents to stop their child from pushing my seat. When I turned around, I was shocked to learn that it was an adult who was pushing me.
I thought "What would LBF do?" LBF is assertive. I tried my best to channel LBF.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?"
She played dumb.
"Excuse me, are you pushing my seat?"
"Yes."
"Why are you pushing my seat?"
"Because we are eating dinner."
"No we're not."
"No, see, you can't lean back because of dinner."
"Right, yes, except that we're not eating dinner."
Silence.
"Are you eating dinner?"
"What?"
"Are you actually eating dinner right now?"
"No... but...."
I turned around, because for the love of god what is wrong with people!??!?! I had to turn around because I was about to cry. And then I cried for a bit, because of the whistling and the woman and because I was so tired and wanted so badly to sleep. I rehearsed in my mind what I would say should she push me again post-dinner, and got up the nerve to conjure up the necessary drama. Luckily she didn't push me again, and I was able to get a good three hours of sleep on the flight.
We arrived in London again without incident. We took the Gatwick Express to London. I slept the entire time. Allegedly it took an hour to get to London (it is supposed to take 35 minutes) but it didn't matter to me because more sleep! We transferred to the tube and headed to D's cousin's office to pick up the keys to her apartment.
D didn't remember where it was. We walked around aimlessly, looking for number 88. I let this go on for about five minutes and finally said "Um, D, do you think it might be 33?" I knew it was number 33, because I'd seen it written down earlier that day. D is the kind of guy who likes to know where he is and not have his sense of direction challenged, especially by a girl. I'd hoped he'd just figure it out on his own, but I had limited patience after so much transportation. Once we found the address, we had no idea how to get in. Again, there was some mention of a complicated entrance to her office but he couldn't remember what she'd said. And he didn't know what company she worked for. We walked around, down alleys, without any idea of what to do. Finally we asked a man wearing a suit if we could borrow his phone.
We found D's cousin and she put us in a cab to her apartment.
We dropped off our bags and went to lunch. It was delicious.
We went back to her apartment. We broke one of her toilets instantly. How? No idea. The flushing mechanism just disconnected. And can you fix it? No! Because in London, all flushing-related articles are BEHIND THE WALL for the purposes of aesthetics. We tried to access it through the closet, through the hallway, but no luck!
We took showers and napped for too long.
Then I felt sick. I think that my lunch may have been laced with meat. With only one functioning toilet which we were both afraid to use as we feared breaking it, I just had to suffer.
When D's cousin returned from work, we walked along the river and soaked up the sights. D drank outside because it is allowed there and he was like a kid in a candy store. I took pictures (coming soon).
We ate a gross dinner in Covent Garden. We drank Pimm's (I don't see the big deal). My stomach rebelled, still angry from earlier that day. We walked around a bit more. We didn't get run over but it was difficult to adjust to traffic coming from the wrong direction. London reminded me of Boston, which made me homesick.
We returned to D's cousin's amazing flat and watched some bizarre made-for-TV-esque prequel to Romy and Michelle against which we were powerless.
We tried to sleep on the tall air mattress that caved into the middle when there are two people on it, as though it were a giant piece of memory foam!
And that was Day 1.
Jet Lag
I just love getting back from a decent but not great vacation and learning that I skipped jury duty in MA and that I'm being threatened with a fine. The supreme irony of all of this is that I am the only person on the planet who is thrilled by the idea of serving jury duty. I'd volunteer if I could, but I never get called, except in places where I don't live.
Oh how it sucks to be back.
Oh how it sucks to be back.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
It All Fits In A BackPack
Alternate Title: Why I hope to have boys because the world is a cruel, cruel place for women when it comes to packing.
Readers of My Mundane Life In Song know that the bane of my existence is packing. I was quite pleased with myself last night as I packed, proud of how little I am bringing on my 11 day trip to Europe.
Until, of course, I found out what D is bringing, and then I wanted to cry. D can fit everything in an average sized backpack. Everything!
This is what D packed:
1. 10 pairs of socks
2. 10 boxers
3. 5 t-shirts (am trying to convince him to bring one nice shirt in case we go out, which we will, because we'll be on vacation)
4. two pairs of shorts
5. one bathing suit
6. one pair of pants
7. sunglasses
8. dop kit
9. eyeglasses
10. two books
11. magazine
12. flip flops
13. passport
14. guide books
This is what I packed:
1. 11 pairs of socks
2. 11 pairs of underwear
3. 5 short-sleeved shirts (down from 7 short-sleeved shirts)
4. 3 long-sleeved shirts (down from 4 long-sleeved shirts)
5. 5 tank tops
6. 1 hoodie (down from 2 hoodies)
7. one pair of shorts
8. two skirts
9. two dresses
10. two bathing suits
11. two dresses to wear over bathing suits
12. shorts/tank tops for the beach
13. bag to put stuff in at the beach
14. one pair corduroys
15. two pairs jeans
16. sunglasses
17. collection of toiletries - which, of course, is vast compared to a boy's and contains things like hair products, facial cleanser (because I don't want to break out while on vacation!), tampons, and, well, other girl things
18. two pairs extra eyeglasses
19. three books
20. sandals for beach
21. saucony's (for when feet hurt)
22. chucks (for when feet don't hurt)
23. cute purple ballet slipper-like shoes for dresses and night's out
24. hair dryer
25. hair straightener
26. IPod
27. IPod charger
28. fabulous new Le Sportsac bag for transporting cameras etc.
29. Canon camera bag
30. Canon camera
31. zoom lens
32. battery charger
33. Olympus camera bag
34. Olympus camera
35. battery charger
36. makeup, makeup, makeup
37. hair accessories - headbands, elastics, barrettes to deal with unpredictable new haircut
38. Advils, Peptos, other goodies in case of kidney stones
39. passport
40. phone numbers, paperwork for flights, paperwork for hotels, restaurant listings, etc.
Is that it? Yes, I think so. D said "Can you make it so you don't have to check in any luggage?" A girl cannot pack a small carry-on suitcase for 11 days. It is impossible.
And with that, folks, I'm off to LondonandValencia! My Mundane Life In Song will be on hiatus until July 10th.
Until then...
Readers of My Mundane Life In Song know that the bane of my existence is packing. I was quite pleased with myself last night as I packed, proud of how little I am bringing on my 11 day trip to Europe.
Until, of course, I found out what D is bringing, and then I wanted to cry. D can fit everything in an average sized backpack. Everything!
This is what D packed:
1. 10 pairs of socks
2. 10 boxers
3. 5 t-shirts (am trying to convince him to bring one nice shirt in case we go out, which we will, because we'll be on vacation)
4. two pairs of shorts
5. one bathing suit
6. one pair of pants
7. sunglasses
8. dop kit
9. eyeglasses
10. two books
11. magazine
12. flip flops
13. passport
14. guide books
This is what I packed:
1. 11 pairs of socks
2. 11 pairs of underwear
3. 5 short-sleeved shirts (down from 7 short-sleeved shirts)
4. 3 long-sleeved shirts (down from 4 long-sleeved shirts)
5. 5 tank tops
6. 1 hoodie (down from 2 hoodies)
7. one pair of shorts
8. two skirts
9. two dresses
10. two bathing suits
11. two dresses to wear over bathing suits
12. shorts/tank tops for the beach
13. bag to put stuff in at the beach
14. one pair corduroys
15. two pairs jeans
16. sunglasses
17. collection of toiletries - which, of course, is vast compared to a boy's and contains things like hair products, facial cleanser (because I don't want to break out while on vacation!), tampons, and, well, other girl things
18. two pairs extra eyeglasses
19. three books
20. sandals for beach
21. saucony's (for when feet hurt)
22. chucks (for when feet don't hurt)
23. cute purple ballet slipper-like shoes for dresses and night's out
24. hair dryer
25. hair straightener
26. IPod
27. IPod charger
28. fabulous new Le Sportsac bag for transporting cameras etc.
29. Canon camera bag
30. Canon camera
31. zoom lens
32. battery charger
33. Olympus camera bag
34. Olympus camera
35. battery charger
36. makeup, makeup, makeup
37. hair accessories - headbands, elastics, barrettes to deal with unpredictable new haircut
38. Advils, Peptos, other goodies in case of kidney stones
39. passport
40. phone numbers, paperwork for flights, paperwork for hotels, restaurant listings, etc.
Is that it? Yes, I think so. D said "Can you make it so you don't have to check in any luggage?" A girl cannot pack a small carry-on suitcase for 11 days. It is impossible.
And with that, folks, I'm off to LondonandValencia! My Mundane Life In Song will be on hiatus until July 10th.
Until then...
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
And Oh How Prepared I Was For A Fight
My heart was practically jumping out of my chest as I rounded the corner. In my head I practiced my potential responses, and then whispered "May I please speak with your manager? Please let me speak with your manager. Is your manager here? I would like to speak to him/her. I want to speak with your manager right now. Or else. This dress is ruined and you are responsible. I am very upset. I am livid. I am very, very, very upset." Etc.
I hoped that the dress would be fine. I prepared myself for it to be destroyed.
When I walked in, in combat pose, I was relieved to see that it was a different girl behind the counter. She looked nice.
I presented my ticket to her.
It took her a while to find the dress. I practiced the new speech, which went something like "First you destroy my dress and then you lose it. I demand the cost of the dress, right now! Or else!"
She found the dress and handed it to me. I removed the wrapper and explained "I just need to investigate this because this is the second time I'm having it cleaned because it was ruined the first time."
And.... drum roll.... the dress was fine (well, not completely fine - there are still ashy marks but less so and unnoticeable to the casual observer).
Now. My predicted response was one of relief and thrill. My dress back! Money saved! No drama with the laundromat! Yes!
But no. I was pissed.
I was ready for a fight, and had so much residual anger from the first time that now had no outlet.
I became even more upset with the original girl, because how dare she insist that the dress was damaged when I originally left it when all they had to do was finish cleaning it? It was totally their fault, and not even an accident. They just didn't finish (so it seems), and she blamed me! Rage, folks.
And how dare they? They just ruin or fail to finish cleaning clothes and expect people to just pay for them? What a scam!
I calmly took the dress and wanted to tell the woman behind the counter about the saga, and have her say "I can't believe I work at a place that would do such a thing."
I left and skipped home, thrilled about not having to spend another $100 but upset at not having had the opportunity to shove the now-clean dress in the original girl's face.
But it's over, and I have a mostly clean dress for only $6 instead of another $100. My new dress is sewn, the memory cards are cleared, the batteries are charged, the clothes are in piles, the laundry is not done, the suitcases are not packed, but who cares? London soon! Woo!
I hoped that the dress would be fine. I prepared myself for it to be destroyed.
When I walked in, in combat pose, I was relieved to see that it was a different girl behind the counter. She looked nice.
I presented my ticket to her.
It took her a while to find the dress. I practiced the new speech, which went something like "First you destroy my dress and then you lose it. I demand the cost of the dress, right now! Or else!"
She found the dress and handed it to me. I removed the wrapper and explained "I just need to investigate this because this is the second time I'm having it cleaned because it was ruined the first time."
And.... drum roll.... the dress was fine (well, not completely fine - there are still ashy marks but less so and unnoticeable to the casual observer).
Now. My predicted response was one of relief and thrill. My dress back! Money saved! No drama with the laundromat! Yes!
But no. I was pissed.
I was ready for a fight, and had so much residual anger from the first time that now had no outlet.
I became even more upset with the original girl, because how dare she insist that the dress was damaged when I originally left it when all they had to do was finish cleaning it? It was totally their fault, and not even an accident. They just didn't finish (so it seems), and she blamed me! Rage, folks.
And how dare they? They just ruin or fail to finish cleaning clothes and expect people to just pay for them? What a scam!
I calmly took the dress and wanted to tell the woman behind the counter about the saga, and have her say "I can't believe I work at a place that would do such a thing."
I left and skipped home, thrilled about not having to spend another $100 but upset at not having had the opportunity to shove the now-clean dress in the original girl's face.
But it's over, and I have a mostly clean dress for only $6 instead of another $100. My new dress is sewn, the memory cards are cleared, the batteries are charged, the clothes are in piles, the laundry is not done, the suitcases are not packed, but who cares? London soon! Woo!
Monday, June 26, 2006
Could've Been
Oh my. The Tiffany version of I Think We're Alone Now is on the radio right now.
This makes me strangely happy. I think I would sell my soul to be 7 years old again, but would I go back to middle school? When I hear I Think We're Alone Now I think that maybe, just maybe, I would.
This makes me strangely happy. I think I would sell my soul to be 7 years old again, but would I go back to middle school? When I hear I Think We're Alone Now I think that maybe, just maybe, I would.
Anxiously Awaiting the Meltdown
Ah, folks, another Monday, another atrocious mood. I'm not sure where this one has come from. It could be for a variety of reasons, which I shall now present in list form as I am a lover of lists and as I have been very unsucessful at attacking lists as of late.
Possible causes of bad mood:
1. Still reeling from subway incident from Friday.
2. Still reeling from dress issue from Thursday and dreading picking up the dress tonight and scene that might ensue.
3. Being charged for something that the menu indicated came with my meal.
4. Being hit in the head with umbrella a zillion times on Canal Street on Saturday.
5. Nothing fitting on Saturday.
6. The rain.
7. Not trying items on because of a plan that never happened and then having to return said items on Sunday.
8. The rain, oh, the rain.
9. The smallest size being a 6 everywhere.
10. People who do not call when they say they're going to.
11. People who do not have their phones on/with them when they haven't called and you are trying to call them to find out wtf is going on.
12. People who just fall asleep instead of calling you when they're supposed to.
13. People who don't have their phones nearby when they are sleeping when they are supposed to be meeting you.
14. People who have no remorse for not calling you, for not meeting you, and for causing you to carry home all the groceries yourself in torrential downpours.
15. Freezing to death in the rain while carrying soaked groceries.
16. Someone not calling you again as scheduled, this time forcing you to wander around Macy's in the freezing cold air conditioning for over two hours because you don't really know if you should do something else because you're not sure when they're going to call you because they won't answer their phone.
17. Someone saying the cute coat that you've picked out for yourself "looks dirty" and then saying "but don't let me discourage you from buying it..."
18. Someone not liking anything you've picked out.
19. The flights being way less frequent or nonexistent and the tickets being way more expensive than anticipated, most likely because of waiting until the last minute.
20. Not being able to have keys made which means coordinating and more coordinating and dragging around luggage for hours and not being able to be free while on vacation.
21. Being sick before going on vacation.
22. Dreading being sick while on vacation.
23. Being unable to take time to go to the doctor.
24. Coming to terms with getting up insanely early while sick to go to the doctor and then the doctor won't call you back.
25. Putting a hole in the new dress you bought for London.
26. Not having thread (or the know-how) to sew it.
27. Trying to find someone to sew it last minute.
28. Looking for a bag during lunch, knowing that they won't have the one you want.
29. Being tired after a weekend.
30. Being stressed about vacation.
31. Only being able to eat 1/4 cup cooked risotto.
32. Being stressed and wanting nothing more than a cookie.
33. Wanting to cry but not being able to because you will be judged.
34. NYC in general.
35. My bedroom is too hot.
36. Not sleeping together because of A/C and temperature issues.
37. Nobody sleeping well at all because of A/C and temperature issues and the cushions are not comfortable enough and "This apartment is ridiculous because we cannot open windows!" and wanting to make the living room the bedroom but that makes no sense.
38. Nobody sleeping well and therefore being in bad moods on Monday morning.
39. Planning a night of crying and laundry and thinking that this will actually be fun.
40. Parents who want to plan Italy this minute but dear god I haven't even planned the trip I'm going on in two days and really, is there anything to plan this far in advance or really at all? and starting to dread having a conversation with Mother along the lines of "Look, please do not stress me out in Italy and if this means we have to be separate during the days you have to respect that."
Although there are good things:
1. Going on vacation! Soon! Sun! Beach! Stonehenge!
2. NR is moving to NYC and I can't contain my excitement.
3. Being told that you have a happy face.
4. Strangers telling the truth.
5. Warming of former roommate's house.
6. Meeting new people.
7. Reminding someone of someone.
8. Giving dating advice, having something to root for, holding out hope for the nice guy.
9. Snuggling on rainy days.
10. Avocado.
11. $600 shoes for $60!
13. Potential good news this week.
14. Great data.
15. Good stress at work, but stress nonetheless.
16. Finally reading a magazine from April.
17. Val Kilmer in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.
18. Getting out of the city, soon, and then getting out again in August.
19. And maybe once and for all in less than a year.
20. And maybe a new bag in a few minutes.
21. And laundry tonight.
22. And hopefully sleep tonight.
23. And tomorrow.
24. And hopefully antibiotics.
25. And no jet lag.
26. And no rain.
27. Toys!
28. Buying a ViewMaster and Play Dough restaurant (for kids who have never seen Play Dough!) and being way too excited about playing with them.
29. Asking "Can we please have a baby soon?" if only to buy it a tube o' dinosaurs or pink miniature mermaid sets.
30. Mary Poppins, and you better believe I am going to be singing "Portobello Road," Bedknobs-style, NONSTOP.
Possible causes of bad mood:
1. Still reeling from subway incident from Friday.
2. Still reeling from dress issue from Thursday and dreading picking up the dress tonight and scene that might ensue.
3. Being charged for something that the menu indicated came with my meal.
4. Being hit in the head with umbrella a zillion times on Canal Street on Saturday.
5. Nothing fitting on Saturday.
6. The rain.
7. Not trying items on because of a plan that never happened and then having to return said items on Sunday.
8. The rain, oh, the rain.
9. The smallest size being a 6 everywhere.
10. People who do not call when they say they're going to.
11. People who do not have their phones on/with them when they haven't called and you are trying to call them to find out wtf is going on.
12. People who just fall asleep instead of calling you when they're supposed to.
13. People who don't have their phones nearby when they are sleeping when they are supposed to be meeting you.
14. People who have no remorse for not calling you, for not meeting you, and for causing you to carry home all the groceries yourself in torrential downpours.
15. Freezing to death in the rain while carrying soaked groceries.
16. Someone not calling you again as scheduled, this time forcing you to wander around Macy's in the freezing cold air conditioning for over two hours because you don't really know if you should do something else because you're not sure when they're going to call you because they won't answer their phone.
17. Someone saying the cute coat that you've picked out for yourself "looks dirty" and then saying "but don't let me discourage you from buying it..."
18. Someone not liking anything you've picked out.
19. The flights being way less frequent or nonexistent and the tickets being way more expensive than anticipated, most likely because of waiting until the last minute.
20. Not being able to have keys made which means coordinating and more coordinating and dragging around luggage for hours and not being able to be free while on vacation.
21. Being sick before going on vacation.
22. Dreading being sick while on vacation.
23. Being unable to take time to go to the doctor.
24. Coming to terms with getting up insanely early while sick to go to the doctor and then the doctor won't call you back.
25. Putting a hole in the new dress you bought for London.
26. Not having thread (or the know-how) to sew it.
27. Trying to find someone to sew it last minute.
28. Looking for a bag during lunch, knowing that they won't have the one you want.
29. Being tired after a weekend.
30. Being stressed about vacation.
31. Only being able to eat 1/4 cup cooked risotto.
32. Being stressed and wanting nothing more than a cookie.
33. Wanting to cry but not being able to because you will be judged.
34. NYC in general.
35. My bedroom is too hot.
36. Not sleeping together because of A/C and temperature issues.
37. Nobody sleeping well at all because of A/C and temperature issues and the cushions are not comfortable enough and "This apartment is ridiculous because we cannot open windows!" and wanting to make the living room the bedroom but that makes no sense.
38. Nobody sleeping well and therefore being in bad moods on Monday morning.
39. Planning a night of crying and laundry and thinking that this will actually be fun.
40. Parents who want to plan Italy this minute but dear god I haven't even planned the trip I'm going on in two days and really, is there anything to plan this far in advance or really at all? and starting to dread having a conversation with Mother along the lines of "Look, please do not stress me out in Italy and if this means we have to be separate during the days you have to respect that."
Although there are good things:
1. Going on vacation! Soon! Sun! Beach! Stonehenge!
2. NR is moving to NYC and I can't contain my excitement.
3. Being told that you have a happy face.
4. Strangers telling the truth.
5. Warming of former roommate's house.
6. Meeting new people.
7. Reminding someone of someone.
8. Giving dating advice, having something to root for, holding out hope for the nice guy.
9. Snuggling on rainy days.
10. Avocado.
11. $600 shoes for $60!
13. Potential good news this week.
14. Great data.
15. Good stress at work, but stress nonetheless.
16. Finally reading a magazine from April.
17. Val Kilmer in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.
18. Getting out of the city, soon, and then getting out again in August.
19. And maybe once and for all in less than a year.
20. And maybe a new bag in a few minutes.
21. And laundry tonight.
22. And hopefully sleep tonight.
23. And tomorrow.
24. And hopefully antibiotics.
25. And no jet lag.
26. And no rain.
27. Toys!
28. Buying a ViewMaster and Play Dough restaurant (for kids who have never seen Play Dough!) and being way too excited about playing with them.
29. Asking "Can we please have a baby soon?" if only to buy it a tube o' dinosaurs or pink miniature mermaid sets.
30. Mary Poppins, and you better believe I am going to be singing "Portobello Road," Bedknobs-style, NONSTOP.
Friday, June 23, 2006
If You See Something, Say Something
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.
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.
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!
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