I haven't been doing much lately.
My life as of late has been consumed by "not thinking about it" and "saving money." "Saving money" means staying in and learning to cook while becoming extremely intimate with the wonder that is Netflix, or attending the occasional variety show or spending the rare night out with a friend which inevitably results in drinking too much and saying too much because its rare that either of these things can happen.
Tonight is no such exception. Who knew that one not-so-peach tequila drink and then a cosmo could end up like this? My apartment is spinning and I'm unenthused. It's too late and I'm too spinny and I have to isolate RNA tomorrow morning and I dread it like I dread everything these days.
I fell into bed at 10:30, ready to sleep it away and to forget everything. There was, of course, the chatting. I thought he was going to watch Dave Chapelle, but he was sweet and wanted to talk about our days and then it became talking about the past and then "The thing with you is that your mind can't be changed" about getting up with the spins and taking Advil when really it's a bad idea because you might fall over and you desperately want the sober person to just *get you some water for the love of god.* And the talk of rock climbing that somehow deteriorates into confessions about the past and boys you want to forget and how living together is not the same as being married but honestly I couldn't care less at this point because there are, of course, other things to think about.
Sobering things.
I was in the bathroom and thought "In order to sober up I shall think about sobering things" and thought about how they are lonely and confused and sad and where they are living and how they are living and what they miss and what they dread and how they probably wish I would call but I can't because it's hard now to make two separate phone calls and to be sad both times.
I clenched my fists and I have to admit that I actually sobered up a bit.
I thought about friends in pain and the poor boy on the platform yesterday who I think just came back and who drank from a paper bag and smoked and freaked people out by saying "My friend is gone and do you care? I killed 36 men and do you care?" And oh how I was caring before he even asked because his tatoo broke my heart and because a drunk 25 year old veteran is the saddest thing in the world.
I'm thankful to have internet again. It's nearly 1 am and I can't stop thinking about other people and thinking about other people is the same as worrying and it does no good.
And it's not the same as being married because its easy to just give up and to just walk out, because you can and nobody thinks anything of it because they didn't witness it officially.
Not that I want to argue but I really don't think it's the same thing.
On a day to day basis, maybe. But conceptually? Completely different. A ring doesn't change anything in the relationship, but it changes the way the relationship is perceived. Does the world's perception matter? Not really, not in the apartment, but out there it does. "There isn't a pension for second best" or whatever that line is from that Death Cab song that I still really like even though I probably shouldn't.
The ring says "I commit." Living together says "I'm thinking that committing might be interesting to me at some point but I can't do it until I test it out."
I don"t want to read into it and in all honesty I don't care. It's not something that I need to or want to think about right now. It is the same in these walls and that's all I need right now, and how could I even commit to anything when there's nothing solid at all? Maybe that's all the more reason *to* crave something solid, but I guess right now I second guess everything because nothing feels comfortable anymore.
We watched "Tristan and Isolde" last night and I didn't hate it. Too much money spent on a movie that could have been decent had James Franco not been cast in the lead role. His empty averted gaze destroyed the movie. Well, it was more his insane haircut that rendered the movie hopeless. I kept saying "Maybe Isolde will save him by giving him a haircut!" and "I just don't believe that he loves her, or his king, for that matter." D said "But who would have been better?"
I thought hard. "Jake Gylenhaal. Duh."
And then "Heath Ledger."
"Leonardo DiCaprio!'
"Orlando Bloom!"
"ANYONE ELSE!"
Plans keep falling apart. Movies fail to arrive. Thoughts surface at lame times, mostly when I am trying to sleep and then I remember because its quiet and there's nothing else going on and nothing to distract.
The city smelled like bacon tonight instead of maple syrup.
It's cold out and the temperature in the living room is perfect but the bedroom is still a freaking sauna and I worry that we will have to have the air conditioner on in December. No, worry isn't the right word. I am prematurely annoyed by the temperature environment in the apartment. I am, if you will, aghast. I would like, for one day, natural air in the bedroom while I try to sleep. But I guess there isn't ever real air in this city.
I got an email from Former Favorite Ex-Boyfriend, out of the blue. It's been months and months and months. I feel as though he just knows, and sometimes I wish he would still call at a 1 am because it's now me who needs someone to talk to. For him it seems same old, same old, or at least that's what he tells me.
For the first time, though, I saw his name and my heartbeat remained normal.
Finally.
Maybe typing encourages sobriety.
Or maybe I either want to sleep all the time or not sleep at all. Part of "saving money" is "sleeping all the time."
I'm feeling less spinny and instead headachy. There are sirens. Someone jumped from a building on Saturday, or they were thrown, and the entire NYPD and a zillion ambulances came and we didn't want to know what was going on because knowing would just make you afraid or sad, but we found out and I was neither, because I can't really feel much more these days.
OK. I am going to take some Advil and D would be shocked because I am not being stubborn and have been convinced, albiet twenty minutes later and with a bit more sobriety.
Until whenever there is internet and/or time for another blog entry...
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Action Figure
Date: 8.20.06
Genre: Musical Theater
Description:
This is a song about a lost toy.
D and I have been losing things as of late, including our minds. D has lost two pairs of cycling glasses (one to wind, one to theft), two wallets (one to stupidity, one to theft), his checkbook, his umbrella, and a vast assortment of other belongings. I lost something far more sentimental than any of those things - something I've been carrying around with me everywhere I've gone since July of 1994 has disappeared. I don't even know when it disappeared. I've been so absentminded lately.
I was going for something whimsical, something child-like, something toy-esque.
I was also very excited to use the keyboard that is now in my bedroom - woop! - so there may be too many sounds, and sounds that do not belong, but there are sounds! And they are in tune! And there is no longer the sound of the air conditioner! Yeah!
This song is old. I couldn't post it when I originally wrote it because we have been without internet at the apartment. I'm not sure when I started writing it - I just kept working on it and adding to it until the internet was restored, which was this morning. So I'm guessing at 8/20, but I think it was actually before that.
Enjoy!
Lyrics:
I walked around with you in my pocket
Every step that I took I took for granted
I didn't think to look
I didn't think to check
I didn't think to think at all
Genre: Musical Theater
Description:
This is a song about a lost toy.
D and I have been losing things as of late, including our minds. D has lost two pairs of cycling glasses (one to wind, one to theft), two wallets (one to stupidity, one to theft), his checkbook, his umbrella, and a vast assortment of other belongings. I lost something far more sentimental than any of those things - something I've been carrying around with me everywhere I've gone since July of 1994 has disappeared. I don't even know when it disappeared. I've been so absentminded lately.
I was going for something whimsical, something child-like, something toy-esque.
I was also very excited to use the keyboard that is now in my bedroom - woop! - so there may be too many sounds, and sounds that do not belong, but there are sounds! And they are in tune! And there is no longer the sound of the air conditioner! Yeah!
This song is old. I couldn't post it when I originally wrote it because we have been without internet at the apartment. I'm not sure when I started writing it - I just kept working on it and adding to it until the internet was restored, which was this morning. So I'm guessing at 8/20, but I think it was actually before that.
Enjoy!
Lyrics:
I walked around with you in my pocket
Every step that I took I took for granted
I didn't think to look
I didn't think to check
I didn't think to think at all
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Seven And A Half Cents
There are certain careers that would suit me far better than the career I have actually chosen. I’m not sure whether photography is on this list. The world has been atypically kind over the past few days and has presented me with not one but two random run-ins with photographers. D and I met one outside our apartment late on Saturday night. Our quest for pineapple juice to quench our thirst for mixed drinks was interrupted by a downpour, hence we found ourselves beneath the awning of our neighborhood convenience store. There we met a photographer who was protecting herself and her camera from the rain while covering someone’s having jumped (been thrown?) from a building on our block. Ah, insight. She complained about being a press photographer but it didn’t seem terribly unappealing to me. The guy who stopped by our apartment last night to buy the wheels D had posted on Craigslist was also a photographer! He stayed for about a half an hour answering questions, giving advice, being far too kind for a New Yorker. I still don’t know whether or not I’d be a good photographer, but I’m fairly certain that I will at the very least try to be one, good or bad.
I know, however, that I would be good at professionally organizing closets.
Or, for that matter, professionally organizing anything. I could manage projects. Or I could be an efficiency expert.
Or, perhaps, on a related tip, I could be the head of a worker’s union, because lately I have been outraged by the way that certain workers of certain capacities have been being treated. I’ve taken to doing unnecessary calculations to prove my points, and my views tend to be contagious, even though I don’t mean for them to be. I’ve been honest with my voice slightly raised, and people are listening. Perhaps I should speak louder as I am far more passionate about this sort of thing than I am about my actual job.
How are you supposed to know what you are good at when you are 18 years old?
The photographer last night said that he was the youngest one in his graduate program, and he was 26 years old. He said “All of my friends whose bands are actually successful are in their 30’s, because they’re serious.”
Why is everything so daunting when you are 30 years old?
I know, however, that I would be good at professionally organizing closets.
Or, for that matter, professionally organizing anything. I could manage projects. Or I could be an efficiency expert.
Or, perhaps, on a related tip, I could be the head of a worker’s union, because lately I have been outraged by the way that certain workers of certain capacities have been being treated. I’ve taken to doing unnecessary calculations to prove my points, and my views tend to be contagious, even though I don’t mean for them to be. I’ve been honest with my voice slightly raised, and people are listening. Perhaps I should speak louder as I am far more passionate about this sort of thing than I am about my actual job.
How are you supposed to know what you are good at when you are 18 years old?
The photographer last night said that he was the youngest one in his graduate program, and he was 26 years old. He said “All of my friends whose bands are actually successful are in their 30’s, because they’re serious.”
Why is everything so daunting when you are 30 years old?
Monday, August 28, 2006
Non-refundable fare
Why do I get embarrassed when interacting with the automated Continental phone service thing that makes me tell them what I want out loud? Why does it feel so weird to be in a quiet lab saying "YES" and then "NO" and then "INTERNATIONAL" and then "NEW RESERVATION?" And how can this possibly be better than just pressing "*" or "#?"
AND WHY AM I STILL ON HOLD!?!??!
WHEN I'M SUPPOSED TO BE EN ROUTE TO FREAKING SICILY!??!
AND WHY AM I STILL ON HOLD!?!??!
WHEN I'M SUPPOSED TO BE EN ROUTE TO FREAKING SICILY!??!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
What’s Wrong With Swapping A Sandwich?
Or, what’s wrong with me?
Mother and Sister are coming to visit this weekend. While I am REALLY looking forward to seeing them, I am dreading the usual “I’m up for anything” and then the outright rejection or passive aggressive “sure, that could be nice” in response to anything I suggest. We can’t do anything that involves money, as there seems to be none these days for any of us, myself included. We can’t do anything that involves walking. We can’t do anything that involves too long a subway ride, because it will be too hot or there will be too many stairs or people, which is fine with me, because why endure a long journey when there are amazing things nearby?
I’ve been frantically searching for something free for us to do. I’ve come up nearly empty handed, which is bizarre given that it is summer and summer in New York City means free entertainment.
Well, there is free entertainment but not the sort of entertainment that will be entertaining to Mother. Understandable. New York City isn't exactly parent-friendly.
Mother is, in fact, easily entertained. She enjoys nothing more than gazing upon her children interacting and enjoying one another’s company. That's awesome. Rather than state that she would prefer to just sit in the apartment and exist, she says “I’ll do whatever everyone else wants to do.”
There’s free classical music on Barge Music this weekend. I thought this would be an excellent use of the afternoon, until it occurred to me that it is Father who likes classical music and that this may not be fun for anyone other than me.
I wanted to find something quirky, something that would only happen in New York City, something that would be new and entertaining to Mother.
You can imagine the thrill I experienced when I came upon a listing for a Sandwich Swap in Prospect Park! You bring a sandwich, cut in half, and submit it to the judges. You keep the other half of your sandwich. You are then given half of someone else’s sandwich. You get to eat portions of two different sandwiches (or more, if you bring more than one), drink beverages, and are given cupcakes! A giant weird picnic in Prospect Park! Perfect!
D and I are enthusiastic. We’ve been talking about our sandwiches – will we be crazy? Will we be gourmet? Will we just bring a peanut butter sandwich? Will we put potato chips in the sandwich? The possibilities (and sandwich-related discussions) are endless.
Sister said “But how will you know if someone has peed in your sandwich?”
I’m sure Mother is thinking the same thing, as she has declared that she’s not into the sandwich party. Sister said “Mom, you can just eat all of yours if you’re worried.”
But this defeats the point.
Visiting New York City and not wanting to do anything defeats the point.
We will most likely end up sitting around in the apartment on a beautiful Saturday afternoon (although there is the threat of rain, which means no sandwiches! no! NO!) while everyone else is frolicking and swapping sandwiches and listening to classical music and reveling in Charlie Parker and sipping drinks on the roof and seeing art and the world. I suppose it's not a bad thing to relax. But being forced to relax by someone other than yourself isn't really realxing.
Why are we so afraid? I'm afraid of things. I'm afraid of too many things. I can't fault anyone for being afraid.
But what’s so scary about sandwiches?
Mother and Sister are coming to visit this weekend. While I am REALLY looking forward to seeing them, I am dreading the usual “I’m up for anything” and then the outright rejection or passive aggressive “sure, that could be nice” in response to anything I suggest. We can’t do anything that involves money, as there seems to be none these days for any of us, myself included. We can’t do anything that involves walking. We can’t do anything that involves too long a subway ride, because it will be too hot or there will be too many stairs or people, which is fine with me, because why endure a long journey when there are amazing things nearby?
I’ve been frantically searching for something free for us to do. I’ve come up nearly empty handed, which is bizarre given that it is summer and summer in New York City means free entertainment.
Well, there is free entertainment but not the sort of entertainment that will be entertaining to Mother. Understandable. New York City isn't exactly parent-friendly.
Mother is, in fact, easily entertained. She enjoys nothing more than gazing upon her children interacting and enjoying one another’s company. That's awesome. Rather than state that she would prefer to just sit in the apartment and exist, she says “I’ll do whatever everyone else wants to do.”
There’s free classical music on Barge Music this weekend. I thought this would be an excellent use of the afternoon, until it occurred to me that it is Father who likes classical music and that this may not be fun for anyone other than me.
I wanted to find something quirky, something that would only happen in New York City, something that would be new and entertaining to Mother.
You can imagine the thrill I experienced when I came upon a listing for a Sandwich Swap in Prospect Park! You bring a sandwich, cut in half, and submit it to the judges. You keep the other half of your sandwich. You are then given half of someone else’s sandwich. You get to eat portions of two different sandwiches (or more, if you bring more than one), drink beverages, and are given cupcakes! A giant weird picnic in Prospect Park! Perfect!
D and I are enthusiastic. We’ve been talking about our sandwiches – will we be crazy? Will we be gourmet? Will we just bring a peanut butter sandwich? Will we put potato chips in the sandwich? The possibilities (and sandwich-related discussions) are endless.
Sister said “But how will you know if someone has peed in your sandwich?”
I’m sure Mother is thinking the same thing, as she has declared that she’s not into the sandwich party. Sister said “Mom, you can just eat all of yours if you’re worried.”
But this defeats the point.
Visiting New York City and not wanting to do anything defeats the point.
We will most likely end up sitting around in the apartment on a beautiful Saturday afternoon (although there is the threat of rain, which means no sandwiches! no! NO!) while everyone else is frolicking and swapping sandwiches and listening to classical music and reveling in Charlie Parker and sipping drinks on the roof and seeing art and the world. I suppose it's not a bad thing to relax. But being forced to relax by someone other than yourself isn't really realxing.
Why are we so afraid? I'm afraid of things. I'm afraid of too many things. I can't fault anyone for being afraid.
But what’s so scary about sandwiches?
Sunday, August 20, 2006
You Don't Bring Me Blog Posts Anymore
It's been ages.
Work is mostly to blame. It's been busy. I've had to spend my time reading instead of writing, organizing instead of creating, re-organizing in preparation for other things rather than focusing on personal things. This is not to say that I haven't engaged in the occasional side project. While I have been too busy to blog and write emails and read other blogs (and oh how I miss them), I have had time to make phone calls and investigate options for the future and to contemplate being poor but happy.
What's been happening:
Thinking (and talking, finally!) about the future, conversations about money and its importance or non-importance and career changing and preparing and freaking out and tears and hugs and a lot of "It will be ok, no matter what, for richer or poorer, right?"
Movies and more movies, involving dead bodies on horses and snake bites. I'm not kidding. I saw "Snakes on A Plane" yesterday (snake bites galore) and then "The Three Burials Of Melquiades Estrada" last night which also featured a snake bite, as well as a dead body on a horse. Today I saw "The Illusionist" which featured a dead body on a horse. I loved "Snakes on A Plane" because it was bad but still entirely entertaining. I loved "Three Burials" because it was different. I loved "The Illusionist" mainly because I love Ed Norton, not to mention the new $6 matinee at AMC Theaters, the only matinees in NYC! Yes, you have to be there before noon but who cares? It's a five minute walk away, and I'll wake up early to save $5 on a movie ticket. I also saw "Tsotsi" which didn't feature a snake bite or dead body on a horse, but did feature the best possible ending. I love DVD's with bonus features, especially ones with alternate endings.
Housewarming party, five months after moving. Everyone was very responsible and brought drinks and foods and good moods. We are drowning in leftovers. I was drowning in happiness, as I felt for the first time that I might miss NYC if/when we move. Parties are what I miss most from MA. I was thrilled to see friends mix and exchange stories and email addresses, and was devastated when people started to leave. All of the guests had a wonderful time. The apartment thrived with 30 bodies in it. We walked quietly from the living room to the roof, careful not to bother people on a Thursday night. At 2:30 am I thought it wise to start playing the piano, and thought it fine for the cops to be called. It was worth the risk! They were not called, so R and I sang the entirety of Abbey Road blissfully off-key. I stumbled when I woke up at 9:00 am, still drunk and so very thankful that I'd taken the day off. D and I cleaned all day and did nothing else.
First self-help book of all time. D suggested he read it out loud with me, so he can "understand more" what I'm going through. His saying that was all the help I needed. Whenever he reads it I start to cry. We're not making good progress through the book but are making good progress. Thank you, Amazon.com Visa card.
Frustrated with NYC, as usual. The idea of school makes me not want to spend money, so I am not allowing myself to do anything because everything here is so expensive. Thus I am bored and moody and distressed.
I invited E over for dinner tonight (I shall make quiche, as there are leftover quiche ingredients from the party) so as to save money. I thought that I'd make something other than quiche - something carrot-y and then something potato-y, as D and I have vowed to "cook more" and "expand our repertoire" - and therefore went to Food Emporium to buy carrots and potatoes and rosemary and oregano and shallots. I worried about the shallots. "What if they don't have them?" I asked D. "They'll have them," he assured me. So I went, and not only did they NOT have shallots, but they had no fresh spices other than mint! NONE! Wtf!??! I began walking towards the Amish Market in search of fresh spices, but turned around because I feel like (a) Saving money is very expensive when it involves grocery shopping ALL THE TIME and (b) I was afraid I might make a very, very bad scene if they didn't have shallots, and who am I to distress The Amish? Now I am blogging instead with all the time I'd put aside for cooking, which is ok but lately I've been feeling useless and unproductive. Cooking is a good way to feel productive because it's a finite time investment for a concrete outcome.
I've set boundaries, and am feeling more sane. Sane enough to have the housewarming party. Everyone kept saying "How are you?" and I said "I think fine, because if I wasn't fine you wouldn't be here" and everyone nodded with understanding.
I'm not going to be laid off any time in the near future. There was an announcement. Some were happy, some are still uncertain. I wanted to cry because I'd been looking forward to some time off, to collecting unemployment, to figuring things out, to using the rent money to travel instead.
I need a sustain pedal. The bizarre thing is that I used to have two of them. Now, tragically, I have none.
I haven't seen art in ages. I haven't done much of anything. I've gone to a couple comedy shows, seen some movies, had some friends over, but haven't done anything uniquely New York for quite some time. Have I exhausted the possibilities? Am I exhausted? Does "saving money" mean that I don't get to have fun? Do I even want to have fun?
It's muggy but it's been utterly perfect, so I can't complain.
I'm reading "Fear of Flying" and it helps.
I sent my Canon in to be repaired, but I'm not sure if there's something wrong with it or if there's something wrong with me. I agonized over insuring it. "But what if something happens to it?" the UPS Girl said. "But really, what could happen to it? If it breaks in shipping then they'll just fix it when it arrives." "It could get lost." "Do things get lost?" "No, but it could." It is so expensive to insure things, but what if? WHAT IF? I'd be devastated. I decided to insure half, because I'm saving money, but if I lose thousands of dollars, that wouldn't be saving money. I'm lost without it, though, and it's made the weekend challenging.
I'm depressed today. Not horribly, but mildly. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do with my time. I don't know what to say to people. I don't know if I would suck as a photographer. I don't know what I think about being in school. I don't know where to go on vacation. I don't know when to go, because I don't know when I have to be here to hear news. I feel like I have no control. I'm waiting for other things. I'm waiting for other people. I'm trying to consider other people but maybe I shouldn't.
Work is driving me insane. I keep wanting to scream. My friends are leaving. They're leaving for the same reasons I want to leave, but I can't leave because its not just me. It's me and D and the lease and the bonus and insecurity.
I feel no sense of security or comfort right now. I guess that's normal, or so claims the book. These are the sorts of things one takes for granted.
I just want to cry, but I don't know why, and you can't cry for no reason when there's somebody else around.
But its not really for no reason, right? These are all good reasons.
I cried yesterday because Mother was talking about The Holidays, and where she is going to be and where he is going to be and where we could be, but where would we stay? And who knows if I'm even going to be there and not with D's family? And then "Oh..." and the sound of sadness without actually saying "You really should be with us this Christmas" and then "Yes, I know, but I don't know..." and seriously, I don't know. I don't know what I think. I don't know why I think that. And so I mentioned to D "Can we talk about Christmas? I know its early..." and he told me that his parents want to go to Vietnam or Thailand and that we should go too, and I cried because we are trying to save money! And getting to Thailand or Vietman is not trivial! And why can't they just stay here? Don't they want to see us? It's Christmas! Can't you ask them? I can't live this kind of life! And we can't plan, because there is no planning, and so we can't do anything, and are neutralized, and its ridiculous, and all other vacations are on hold because we have to wait for them to decide which will be at the last minute when tickets are expensive and then we will not have gone on vacation and, well, tears.
So yes. The weekend has been grand, and I am really looking forward to work tomorrow because I will have something else to think about.
Ah, yes, aren't you glad to have my neurotic blog back?
Work is mostly to blame. It's been busy. I've had to spend my time reading instead of writing, organizing instead of creating, re-organizing in preparation for other things rather than focusing on personal things. This is not to say that I haven't engaged in the occasional side project. While I have been too busy to blog and write emails and read other blogs (and oh how I miss them), I have had time to make phone calls and investigate options for the future and to contemplate being poor but happy.
What's been happening:
Thinking (and talking, finally!) about the future, conversations about money and its importance or non-importance and career changing and preparing and freaking out and tears and hugs and a lot of "It will be ok, no matter what, for richer or poorer, right?"
Movies and more movies, involving dead bodies on horses and snake bites. I'm not kidding. I saw "Snakes on A Plane" yesterday (snake bites galore) and then "The Three Burials Of Melquiades Estrada" last night which also featured a snake bite, as well as a dead body on a horse. Today I saw "The Illusionist" which featured a dead body on a horse. I loved "Snakes on A Plane" because it was bad but still entirely entertaining. I loved "Three Burials" because it was different. I loved "The Illusionist" mainly because I love Ed Norton, not to mention the new $6 matinee at AMC Theaters, the only matinees in NYC! Yes, you have to be there before noon but who cares? It's a five minute walk away, and I'll wake up early to save $5 on a movie ticket. I also saw "Tsotsi" which didn't feature a snake bite or dead body on a horse, but did feature the best possible ending. I love DVD's with bonus features, especially ones with alternate endings.
Housewarming party, five months after moving. Everyone was very responsible and brought drinks and foods and good moods. We are drowning in leftovers. I was drowning in happiness, as I felt for the first time that I might miss NYC if/when we move. Parties are what I miss most from MA. I was thrilled to see friends mix and exchange stories and email addresses, and was devastated when people started to leave. All of the guests had a wonderful time. The apartment thrived with 30 bodies in it. We walked quietly from the living room to the roof, careful not to bother people on a Thursday night. At 2:30 am I thought it wise to start playing the piano, and thought it fine for the cops to be called. It was worth the risk! They were not called, so R and I sang the entirety of Abbey Road blissfully off-key. I stumbled when I woke up at 9:00 am, still drunk and so very thankful that I'd taken the day off. D and I cleaned all day and did nothing else.
First self-help book of all time. D suggested he read it out loud with me, so he can "understand more" what I'm going through. His saying that was all the help I needed. Whenever he reads it I start to cry. We're not making good progress through the book but are making good progress. Thank you, Amazon.com Visa card.
Frustrated with NYC, as usual. The idea of school makes me not want to spend money, so I am not allowing myself to do anything because everything here is so expensive. Thus I am bored and moody and distressed.
I invited E over for dinner tonight (I shall make quiche, as there are leftover quiche ingredients from the party) so as to save money. I thought that I'd make something other than quiche - something carrot-y and then something potato-y, as D and I have vowed to "cook more" and "expand our repertoire" - and therefore went to Food Emporium to buy carrots and potatoes and rosemary and oregano and shallots. I worried about the shallots. "What if they don't have them?" I asked D. "They'll have them," he assured me. So I went, and not only did they NOT have shallots, but they had no fresh spices other than mint! NONE! Wtf!??! I began walking towards the Amish Market in search of fresh spices, but turned around because I feel like (a) Saving money is very expensive when it involves grocery shopping ALL THE TIME and (b) I was afraid I might make a very, very bad scene if they didn't have shallots, and who am I to distress The Amish? Now I am blogging instead with all the time I'd put aside for cooking, which is ok but lately I've been feeling useless and unproductive. Cooking is a good way to feel productive because it's a finite time investment for a concrete outcome.
I've set boundaries, and am feeling more sane. Sane enough to have the housewarming party. Everyone kept saying "How are you?" and I said "I think fine, because if I wasn't fine you wouldn't be here" and everyone nodded with understanding.
I'm not going to be laid off any time in the near future. There was an announcement. Some were happy, some are still uncertain. I wanted to cry because I'd been looking forward to some time off, to collecting unemployment, to figuring things out, to using the rent money to travel instead.
I need a sustain pedal. The bizarre thing is that I used to have two of them. Now, tragically, I have none.
I haven't seen art in ages. I haven't done much of anything. I've gone to a couple comedy shows, seen some movies, had some friends over, but haven't done anything uniquely New York for quite some time. Have I exhausted the possibilities? Am I exhausted? Does "saving money" mean that I don't get to have fun? Do I even want to have fun?
It's muggy but it's been utterly perfect, so I can't complain.
I'm reading "Fear of Flying" and it helps.
I sent my Canon in to be repaired, but I'm not sure if there's something wrong with it or if there's something wrong with me. I agonized over insuring it. "But what if something happens to it?" the UPS Girl said. "But really, what could happen to it? If it breaks in shipping then they'll just fix it when it arrives." "It could get lost." "Do things get lost?" "No, but it could." It is so expensive to insure things, but what if? WHAT IF? I'd be devastated. I decided to insure half, because I'm saving money, but if I lose thousands of dollars, that wouldn't be saving money. I'm lost without it, though, and it's made the weekend challenging.
I'm depressed today. Not horribly, but mildly. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do with my time. I don't know what to say to people. I don't know if I would suck as a photographer. I don't know what I think about being in school. I don't know where to go on vacation. I don't know when to go, because I don't know when I have to be here to hear news. I feel like I have no control. I'm waiting for other things. I'm waiting for other people. I'm trying to consider other people but maybe I shouldn't.
Work is driving me insane. I keep wanting to scream. My friends are leaving. They're leaving for the same reasons I want to leave, but I can't leave because its not just me. It's me and D and the lease and the bonus and insecurity.
I feel no sense of security or comfort right now. I guess that's normal, or so claims the book. These are the sorts of things one takes for granted.
I just want to cry, but I don't know why, and you can't cry for no reason when there's somebody else around.
But its not really for no reason, right? These are all good reasons.
I cried yesterday because Mother was talking about The Holidays, and where she is going to be and where he is going to be and where we could be, but where would we stay? And who knows if I'm even going to be there and not with D's family? And then "Oh..." and the sound of sadness without actually saying "You really should be with us this Christmas" and then "Yes, I know, but I don't know..." and seriously, I don't know. I don't know what I think. I don't know why I think that. And so I mentioned to D "Can we talk about Christmas? I know its early..." and he told me that his parents want to go to Vietnam or Thailand and that we should go too, and I cried because we are trying to save money! And getting to Thailand or Vietman is not trivial! And why can't they just stay here? Don't they want to see us? It's Christmas! Can't you ask them? I can't live this kind of life! And we can't plan, because there is no planning, and so we can't do anything, and are neutralized, and its ridiculous, and all other vacations are on hold because we have to wait for them to decide which will be at the last minute when tickets are expensive and then we will not have gone on vacation and, well, tears.
So yes. The weekend has been grand, and I am really looking forward to work tomorrow because I will have something else to think about.
Ah, yes, aren't you glad to have my neurotic blog back?
Monday, August 07, 2006
Ah, It's Good To Be Back
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.”
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.”
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
