**When I was younger, I stole
t-shirts and other various garments from the boys I had been with. I don't do that anymore. Now, it would be too much like
asking the firing squad if I could keep the blindfold.**
100 Things ~ cause I'm so avant garde like that. Right...
Check out some of the delicious reads I found for you. They are down below...
I'll admit it, this gal can't always be scintillating and titillating. It's true! So, for the rare mindblowing
occasion where you find that I am *gasp* not enough for you, I have done this; I searched far and wide for other ways
to whet your appetite. Until you return to me, that is. *Kisses*.
There is a difference that one little week can make. And as such, it seems I already have an update or two.
6:30 PM
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
~ I Would Love to … But I Can’t (yet?):
accept a fantastic, yet way too low paying job offer
get excited about you
wake up one day and discover zap! morning person
not give a shit that the gods of fate shame the U.S. government to no end when it comes to misappropriating
do nothing other than put myself out there so I can (continue to) be rejected by unadulterated asshats
brush off the fact that you have the worst taste in people
sit down and type myself to financial solvency
pack it all up and move to the middle of anywhere (Louisville, KY is so randomly on my short list)
tell you I have a plan
take my neighbor from upstairs and throw her out the window
afford the things I really need (gym membership, Dog to vet, repainting my apt., utility bill) and want (new summer clothes, trip to anywhere-but-here, pedicure)
figure out what I most want to do, and then get paid (ridiculously) for it
drink more water than coffee
have the perfect (or respirating) date for my friend's wedding (in two weeks!)
not carry a grudge (because honestly; nothing weighs more than a grudge)
wish my friend a huge congrats on her suspected but unconfirmed nuptials
I'm off Jdate in a week (turns out I've been contacted by my quota of slick, muscle t-shirted, Israeli guys, married Eastern Europeans, and humorless hipsters) and I'm sure I won't miss the carnival. But this morning I logged in/on and saw this email (from, of course, a cute guy all the way in New Orleans);
Date: 04/24/2008 01:41AM Subject: Just a compliment for you
Message: Sometimes when I can't sleep, I play "who's online on JDate," and while playing this silly game, I've sometimes run across/seen your profile. And given the fact that you're outta here, I just thought you'd like to know... I think your profile is awesome--like one of the best I've ever read. You're quite attractive (great smile) and you sound like a blast to be around, and I'm sure if you're anything like you so beautifully describe yourself to be (and I have no reason to doubt you, right?),whatever guy you end up with someday will be a very lucky man. That's all I wanted to say. Take care, Mark
It's at these moments where I feel like Jdate is rigged and not a guy, but an employee sends out these Hail Mary emails to try and keep you suckered in. I mean really, the spelling and grammar (thanks ron) are completely correct - not Jdate email staples by a long shot. As a matter of empirical fact, the spelling and grammar used on Jdate often make me feel that the site is some sort of ESL precursor. Well, this sucker isn't falling for it. Until the next time I fall for it.
So I've mentioned that one of my favorite things, now that I'm unemployed, is to watch late night reruns of Sex and the City. That leads to this random question:
When Miranda had Steve's baby, she named the baby Brady (his father's last name - cute). Now that they're married though, is the kid's name Brady Brady?
I was just flipping through the Sunday Post and I've learned something really and truly interesting. The Pope is going to fuck my shit up.
It seems that on Friday the Pope will be visiting a NYC church. I understand this is a Very Big Deal. I know it's massive that a local church is being honored with a papal visit. Yay local church, awesome for you, bestest news ever. Now, it would be really inconvenient if say; the church was in my neighborhood, or on my block. However (so only in New York City)... this church is located about 9 feet away from my bedroom! Literally. Look! This is the view from my bedroom window:
Just a little close, right? I'm not quite sure how his arrival isn't going to coincide with a bevy of law-enforcement personnel (sheesh, just think of it, nypd, secret service, Pope patrol) visiting my apartment. I'm guessing all the apartments that face the church will be visited by cops. I'm also going to guess that at least one cop will be stationed right near my window for most of the visit - just what a stay-at-home pot smoker likes.
I am now fielding offers that will render me out of my apartment for the majority of Friday (I'm even considering heading to CT).
Oh, and in other totally random, unrelated news, Dawn asked (in my comments) if I was dead (she must think so and that would explain why she soundly dissed me for my birthday, not even replying to my emails, ahem) but I'm not, I'm just busy. Dating young men, meeting very attractive age appropriate men, babysitting a very cute tiny man, babysitting an adorable little girl, fishing a secret goodwill $20 out of my purse (thanks Fran, how freaking cute are you??), replacing my recently destroyed cell phone, watching a weekend of baseball, reading and being domestic. Incidentally; They Did it with Love (Kate Morgenroth) and Seeing Me Naked (Liza Palmer) are the last two books I read and I loved them, I highly recommend you check them out.
As I may have mentioned before; I have two brothers. Both of them are younger and big time sports fans. They like to watch the fights, basketball, baseball, football, college hoops, tennis - you name it. They were avid WWF followers when we were all little. But not golf. In regards to golf we three are in agreement; golf is not a sport. It is an activity. I however spent my youth as a girl. Ensconced in the world of Barbie, drawing, my dollhouse, slambooks and lightly stalking the cute boys in my class (Kevin Kotler, I wholeheartedly apologize for all the falsehoods that were employed to drag you off your bike and into your house to answer stupid prank phone calls, in my defense, at least I'll never be 14 again).
Over the years my brothers tried everything to get me into sports, mainly so I'd stop trying to change the channel from Yankees/Mets/Giants/Jets/Knicks/Nets to General Hospital/21 Jump Street/90210. It never really took. Though I remember watching the '86 World Series. Then I went to college and roomed with a ferocious Knicks fan (seemed that her brother's effort paid off). Before I knew it I was a Knicks fan. My dog is named after a former Knick coach.
To the credit of both my brothers, they tried, hard over the years to get me into baseball. I never felt too badly though, they have my mom and she's a huge sports fan. I'd been to Fenway (10 times easily) because my childhood sleepaway camp was in West Stockbridge, Mass. - boring. Through high school I dated a Mets fan who took me to Shea every weekend - eh. The town I lived in during high school was full of Yankees. Everyone had a Mattingly or Tino story. My sophomore year of high school, all I knew about baseball was that Ron Darling was the cutest. So imagine my surprise when one afternoon, while I was working at my part time job at the local dry cleaner, some ridiculously cocky guy strolls in, smiles and just asks for his clothes. Most people offered either a ticket or a last name, very few went the smile route, mainly just the owners or my parents. I asked for his last name, and I kid you not, he smiled broader and asked me if I knew who he was. Ugh. From that day on I knew who he was and I thought; man, Don Mattingly and his mustache are stupid jerks. Years later, when I thought back on that, I decided he must've been fucking with me. Could a major league baseball player really expect a 16 year old girl to know who he was? Doubtful.
But then Thursday, November 1, 2001 rolled up.
I was at work and my brother called. He asked if I had any interest in going to a Yankee game that night.
"Hi." I answered, "have we ever met? Of course I don't, why would you ask me that?"
"You're the only person I know that can afford the ticket this last minute." Good answer.
"Why, how much can it be?"
"You have no idea what tonight is, do you?"
"Other than a night where I plan to go home, order in and watch ER? No."
"Oh god. Nothing I tell you sinks in, huh? World series? Game 5?"
Hmm... that actually sounded like it could be fun. Fun hadn't been had in awhile, keep in mind, it was mere weeks after 9/11, the city was still scared and scary.
It turned out that a friend of my brother's needed emergency dental surgery, he was selling the tickets so that he could get his wisdom teeth taken out. The tickets would be $350 altogether. I thought about it for about an hour. Baseball games, the few that I'd seen, seemed long and boring. But a world series game, that struck me as a once in a lifetime experience. I called my brother back and told him I was in.
I live on the 4/5 line of the subway so before the game my brother met me here and filled up my pocketbook with diet cokes, pretzles and sandwiches. I asked him if we were going to be gone all weekend. Then I ignorantly uttered the complaint that still haunts me 6 years later:
"I need room for my book, you aren't leaving me any room for my book!"
You would have thought I'd asked about getting a pedicure at my seat in the stadium.
"A BOOK!??!"
I shrugged. On tv it looks boring. Apparently, the world series is never boring and the entire world knows this. But me. I grudgingly left my book behind and glared at my still laughing idiot brother as I followed him to the subway. The train ride there was nuts. Everyone was smushed together, decked out in Yankee clothes, cheering and chanting, I'd never been on such a happy train ride. It was about 15 minutes and we were at Yankee Stadium - you can see in the stadium from the subway! How cool is that? We followed everyone else down the steps, and I was a little excited before I even touched Yankee property. My brother was dragging me all through the stadium and when we finally got to our seats we noticed we were sitting no more than 5 feet away from the WTC-9/11 flag - yes, the one that was damaged and in all the pictures. It fluttered around eerily in the breeze.
I have to say, I was more than a little bit amused when Don Mattingly threw out the opening pitch. But that was just the beginning. The game stayed close the entire time and then went into extra innings (12 total). The Yankees beat the Diamondbacks that night 3-2. When my brother and I finally got out of the stadium and onto River Avenue it was a mob scene. People were chanting USA, singing New York, New York, it was very fucking cool. We knew there was no way we were getting on a subway for at least half an hour so we walked over to a diner on 161st and got hot chocolate. When I tried to pay, it was on the house. We loitered a little bit longer and then decided to play our odds at getting on the subway to come home. Just as we got up the stairs an empty 4 pulled in. Me, my brother and another guy who'd been standing on the platform got on the subway, the guy sat across from us.
"Hey, you're Rich Eisen." And for the rest of the ride home my brother and new best friend Rich Eisen compared notes on the awesomeness we'd all just seen. My brother and I disembarked before Rich Eisen (of ESPN fame) and started to head back to my apartment. As we're walking down the block I point out a building to my brother.
"Supposedly that's where Derek Jeter lives. But I've never seen him." At this point we're a mere block and a half from my apartment. I walk a dog 3x a day, everyday. If Derek Jeter lived across the street, the odds are I'd have seen him. At least once.
"Huh?" My brother confesses he was busy thinking about how great the win was and he missed what I'd said.
"I was showing you that building."
"Why?"
"I was telling you that I heard Jeter lives there." Now he watches as I point out a shiny, high rise across from where we are standing. While we're looking at the building three men walk out and start to head towards us. "Where those guys just came out from - that's where -hey..."
"Now what? Come on, it's late, walk."
"Ok Ok, but look across the street!" I don't know how it was possible, but I was looking across the street and seeing Derek Jeter and my brother was looking the street and not seeing Derek Jeter. "Derek Jeter! Look!!"
Idiotically reserved my brother glanced across the street and then back at me. He told me he could see why I might think that was Derek Jeter.
"Because it is. Idiot. You have about five seconds to decide what you're going to say. Don't be a dork."
And as I looked to my brother to see what he was going to do, I realized my brother had turned into a pillar of salt. He was just standing there, mouth hanging open, looking like the offspring of twins. We had about 12 seconds before Jeter passed us and my brother was useless.
"Hi! That was a great game, my first ever, we're just getting home, that was the best!!" Although, when I shouted it I'm sure it sounded more like "Hiderekjeteriamatotallycrazypersonarentyougladidonthaveagunpermit!!".
Derek Jeter turned around and walked over to us.
"Hey," he smiled and shook our hands. I was shocked by how cute and tall he was in person. Very very tall. "I'm Derek, Derek Jeter. This is my friend Jorge Posada. We're glad you guys had fun, sorry we kept you out so late." I think I went deaf about then. "This is my brother." I shoved my brother at them and took a step back. They talked for a few minutes then Jeter and Posada said goodnight and walked up to Elaine's (From Annie Hall) to celebrate their win. I went home to sleep off my induction into the New York Yankees (who would go on to lose that series, but win a place in my heart, for giving me one of the most fantastically, quintessential NYC experiences ever).
And that, dear readers, is how a Yankees fan is born.
I eagerly await Opening day in a few hours and I wish Jeter, Posada and the rest of the 2008 Yankees their best season ever.
Part of being unemployed (again) is having to come up with ways to amuse myself. Daytime is harder, nighttime, for whatever reason, is way simpler. I get into bed and read for hours, or watch Sex and the City repeats or toss in a dvd. It’s easier having nothing to do when the rest of the world is asleep.
I’ve been reading like someone whose sight was just restored, it’s ridiculous. I’m flipping through a hundred pages a day easily. It started with a quest to entertain myself and enjoy a decent afternoon about a month ago. My old pattern of visiting the library was to dart in after work and about 15 minutes before they closed, grab the books I’d reserved online and go. I rarely had browsing time. I’d walked over to the library and found the new James Patterson book sitting on the one week only shelf.
A one week book, now that’s a luxury I could never indulge when I was working – I never even looked at the one week shelf. But now? Well, my life is a one week shelf. I checked it out and read it in about two days (the font is huge and the chapters are about a page and a half apiece. It’s easier to keep reading than it is to stop). After that the one week shelf and I were pretty hot and heavy. It used to be that I’d read an article or a blog post about a book, or be wandering through Border’s and a book would catch my eye. I’d go online and reserve it. But with my new found time, I can browse! I’ve found books by authors I’ve never heard of and been reminded of writers I like that I’d totally forgotten about.
If you want recommendations, I’m happy to present you with a few of my recent finds. (But remember, I read nothing of great literary merit (unless accidental), no classics, no philosophers, nothing that’s been translated from an original language… I’m the girl that reads the books with legs and high heels on the cover – I’m not especially proud, but I’m honest).
Slacker Girl, which had an improbably cute storyline that didn’t seem saccharine-y in the least. As the world’s laziest girl I truly appreciated the heroine’s unapologetic slacker lifestyle, hell, I had a crush on her.
A slightly strange little book that I found randomly; The Return of Jonah Gray. The cover intrigued me and the story was unexpected and pretty fantastic. The character is an auditor for the IRS, she has an abacus for a mind and is beyond practical. Until she isn’t. I loved reading about someone so antithetical to myself.
I read Cecelia Ahern’s (of PS I Love You fame) latest (There's No Place Like Here). Very cute, it was like a Disney story. I still like her first book best (the recent two have gone a bit fairytale) but she also writes the Christina Applegate show Samantha Who? and I’d really been enjoying that before the stupid strike made it go away.
I love Tom Perrotta’s other books (Election and Little Children) but his most recent; The Abstinence Teacher was something of a disappointment. The conclusion felt completely rushed and as the reader I felt shortchanged. I kept waiting for the big finale and the book just ended… if he’s not writing a follow up, I’m really curious as to what the thinking there was. Let me know if you read it and what you thought.
Eileen Cook sent me her debut novel Unpredictable and I couldn’t have liked it more. She wrote her heroine as desperate but completely understandably so, and remarkably non-ditzy. Sure, she does some ridiculous things in the name of getting her guy back but she adores him and really, who hasn’t been a little silly? It was a great read and I look forward to more from her. If you like Marian Keyes (and I love Marian Keyes) you’ll like Eileen Cook.
Now, I’m almost finished reading The Opposite of Love. I’m digging this book massively. I love the confused and apathetic Emily, I can relate to her. I don’t know how I’ll feel about the ending when I get to it, but I find it hard to believe that I’ll be let down.
There are also a handful of books coming out that I’m really looking forward to reading:
(I started to leave the following as a comment on Karol's most recent post but it got a little unwieldy as you may notice)
I really enjoy that Barack called me a racist in his version of explaining his despicable pastor. Last I checked, you're born into your family (grandmother included, and she should be utterly disgusted by her grandson's public slimming of her), not your pastoral relationship. His granny is scared of black men he says. "I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother," he said, though if she's smart I bet she's looking into it. He then added that White Granny "once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe." (Yet when his pastor called this country the U.S.K.K.K.A. he didn't cringe?!) Will he and his esteemed wife swear to never having crossed the street when a tough looking black guy and his friends were walking their way? Is there anyone who can honestly say they've never done that? Is that now the barometer of racism?
Barack's wife is embarrassed by this country and has been her entire life (for the record, I too am mortified by the racial divides we as a country have conquered, the post Oklahoma bombing, 9/11 and Katrina unity and compassion, the falling of the Berlin Wall, all quite shameful moments in our history) . His pastor flat out hates it. If they are who Barack surrounds himself with under normal circumstances, what the hell would his cabinet look like?! And if our country is so awful, aren't we past the hope he keeps preaching?
Barack disgusts me. And his speech, worse than boring and pointless, was incredibly offensive.
*Update* Karol sent me the link to this must read article (written by Mark Steyn, one of my fellow typical white people - and as an aside, how is typical white person different from the oh so offensive you people? Is there any fucking way in hell that isn't the same bullshit!?). If after reading this, you still think Obama's your guy... well ... I hope you at least have someone around who helps you spell your name and identify your shapes.
This past Friday I was hanging out with Joe. Joe, was quite disturbed to discover that a mere 6 days before my birthday I'd planned; nothing. That's right. None plans. Now, as Joe knows me and has known me for years this should be no surprise. I'm very blah when it comes to birthdaying. Joe... well to him birthdays are Christmas. To Christ. Big doings indeed.
I'm far less sentimental, I feel awkward being the center of attention. A birthday thing is just a little too much me for my usual taste. Does that even make sense? If had a twin this would be perfect. She could plan it all and I could just ride her birthday coattails. God... I'm lethargic about my own birthday - this is totally shameful, I realize. At first I thought I'd do an out to dinner with a small group of friends this coming Friday. But there's a poker game that night (which would certainly lay claim to Karol and Evil Dawn, not to mention I want to play too, given that I won it last time - not that a repeat is at all likely). Then I thought of Saturday, I have a bridal brunch earlier that day but the flipside is I know my friends are around that day/night.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
~ The Tuesday 6:27pm Report:
Did you know that if you try hard enough (or, uh, not at all) you can find Melissa Gilbert on television at least once a day? And(!) keep in mind, I recently learned that Little House on the Prairie isn’t even syndicated anymore. Just thought I’d share that with you.
Also:
In honor of my rapidly approaching birthday I have located two gray (grey?) hairs right on the top of my head. Sexy, oh so sexy.
30 Days of Night was even better than I'd heard it was despite the Hartnettness. Though it would have been helpful if I didn’t keep forgetting that they were vampires and not zombies – I kept marveling at their agility - for zombies. But they were vampires and therefore their agility wasn't that marvelous - though it sure was fucking cool.
I'm bored to death today (crap weather/cabin fever/cash poor) but I have a few things coming up to look forward to and thank goodness for that (pre-birthday dinner with Lisa, another interview Friday, Joe Friday night and as the week is still young who else knows what's coming - whee!)
I just finished reading a book that I liked and am looking for recommendation as to what I read next. A few weeks ago a writer emailed me, she complimented my site and told me she was going to send me her book so I could read it and tell you guys all about it. Well, over a month later her book has still not arrived (and after nearly 7 weeks, I gather it won't). I was looking forward to reading it (the premise sounded promising) and at one point I even emailed her to double check on it. No reply. Uhm? Now, as she sought me out isn't that kind of odd? Maybe I should assume she was sparing me from a really shitty read.
I had food poisoning over the weekend. That was a hoot. I'm like Jerry Seinfeld in "The Dinner Party" episode. I can count the number of throwing-up incidents I've endured in my lifetime (standouts? the Fort Lauderdale/Cool Ranch Dorito incident of 1988 burns brightest though the Freshman Year of College/Thanksgiving Break/Delta House/Tequila/Jager night is definitely a close second. I'm re-gagging just thinking about it).
Here's further evidence of what a weirdo I am. So you know how one of my goals while I'm unemployed is to be writing? Well I'm genuinely working on it(!) but I have just the oddest problem. Shit that I put out there tends to actually happen. So taking that into account I'm kind of freaked out by what I find myself writing and what's actually happening in my real life. The parallels are coming too fast and too furiously for me to not notice and it's a little spooky. I actually stashed it away for the meanwhile because my real life cannot go the way my writing is. I've gotten so batshit superstitious adorably silly, there are currently entire sentences I won't put into words in any form.
Despite the fact that I am actually the laziest person alive; I love being busy. And that, is why I didn’t blog all last week. I was too busy. Little Miss Lazy was bizzy.
Monday I spent the bulk of the day doing job related nonsense. Sending out resumes, talking to the HR chick at my old job, and thanking god for taking it away. Then I met my mom for lunch and aimless walking. Later that night drinks with a nice enough jdate guy.
Tuesday I got an email from PN telling me to go to a trivia night/birthday thing up by Columbia U. I believe her exact words were let's go girl.... i know you ain't working . Unfortunately, PN got sick and didn’t come out. Luckily Karol and Peter were there so I wasn’t without a familiar face (or two). It ended up being a fun night, she’s invited me before and I definitely should have gone.
Wednesday I decided to plan early for the dinner Joe and I were having Thursday night. Knowing that if I made chili, it would taste better the next day, I decided to do just that. I went over to Grosstede’s in the morning, picked up the ingredients and got to chiling. I stirred and seasoned and when I was ultimately satisfied, I set it to the side, let it cool and finally refrigerated a giant vat of chili. After that I cashed the rain check I had for a (non Jdate) date I missed while I was strepped. He’s a really sweet, cute guy and I had a great night. We went to this tiny, insanely delicious Thai place near NYU and afterwards we walked around a bit and then stopped off for coffee and dessert. I tend to complicate things in my head and I’d worried the date might be a bit weird (he’s younger than me. A lot younger than me and I was a bit worried that it would seem glaring – it didn’t, not for a second). The conversation was easy and flowing, the chemistry and compliments were there – all good. We were going to meet up again Saturday night for a late drink but my night went a little a long and it ended up not being possible so we replanned for this Wednesday. I’m looking forward to it as last week was so fun. And just out of curiosity – readers; what’s the big age difference you’ve entertained in the world of dating? I’m curious.
Thursday morning I tragically had no coffee and a job interview (second interview, same place). I woke up late (see above) and in my rushing I ended up arriving 40 minutes early. With nothing better to do I walked around Broadway for a few minutes and found myself at the newish Loehmann’s. Having the fondest Loehmann’s memories from Brooklyn in the 1980’s I went in expecting to fend off amazing bargains. Crap. There was nothing I wanted, though in fairness I didn’t look at the shoes (my kryptonite) and the perfume selection was pretty fantastic. Now having 25 minutes to occupy, I ducked into the nearest Starbucks (which I think is now my bathroom, they’re so damn ubiquitous), claimed a loveseat and sipped burnt, french roast and read a little. When I was finally in the interview, I immediately confessed that I was now far more interested in a job the last interviewer mentioned to me and I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. I figured full disclosure was best, it’s most me and hey, as things stood I didn’t have the job anyway so I couldn’t lose it by trying, right? It’s that circular thinking that I think makes me insane. But I had to be forthcoming because it was what I wanted. I laid my thoughts out very well and the guy told me he actually agreed and he’d talk to the parties involved and give me a call this week. Either way, I at least feel good about it.
Later that day I found out Joe couldn’t make it. We rescheduled for Friday and I cleaned the apartment, took a nap and baked a red velvet cake. Feeling a little cabin fevery I had to get out. I headed over to the library, found a really cute café I never noticed before and then walked a little more to see what else I’ve missed (way cute pet store). Later that night, exhausted I flopped onto the sofa and watched Survivor and Lost (mindblowing! Kate? Aaron?! He did have to get to California after all, if you watch and remember season one. Lost has gotten fascinating lately – I’m completely besotted. Sawyer). After that I spent a good portion of the night on the phone with Heather, catching up on some seriously overdue gossip.
Friday night Joe came over!! I was so looking forward to it. Joe is just my favorite thing ever (and yes, a person is not a thing – suck it). Joe, my brother and I loafed about, smoked a little and played a trivia game Joe made up. Then we had chili with rice and garlic bread while we watched Lost (again for me, anew for Joe – like you could over-watch Lost anyway. Sawyer). After Lost we dissected it, as you must and then just bullshitted for awhile about who knows what. Eventually Joe and I engaged my brother in a friendly poker tutorial (he wants in) and he was a bit overwhelmed but into it. Sadly Joe decided not to move in and eventually he went home. Loser.
Saturday I slept in. When I finally got out of bed around 1pm I remembered the lack of coffee on hand and I suited up. After a quick trip to Rohr’s I was caffeinated and making late night drink plans with the guy from Wednesday night. During the afternoon I watched Terminator 2 on AMC. I hadn’t seen the movie since it came out. Weird but true aside: the summer T2 came out I was interning at a posh Madison Avenue law firm. They had a huge entertainment side, their clients were pretty famous (bear in mind this was the early 90’s; Robert Downey Jr., Val Kilmer, Flava Flav, David Geffen, Steven Spielberg, Lauren Bacall) and I ended up getting set up with the boss’ son on a date to the NYC premiere of T2. Well my date was pretty gruesome and to make matters worse I ran into a bunch of friends from college, I tried to hide him but he kept bobbing to the surface like a body in the Hudson and I had to introduce him. It was 1991 and I was 19 so you can see why it was a big deal to be caught on a date with Lurch’s freaky brother. We sat through the movie and afterwards I tried mightily to bail immediately but I lived in NJ at the time, it was late and he’d offered me a ride. So I had to go to a late dinner with him and the ride home, all of which felt excruciating at the time. He called but I ducked them and never saw him again (though I did see his father, nearly everyday for the rest of the summer. Comfortable!) Of course years later I moved into the city and ran into him literally while I was moving in. Of course I did.
I finally roused myself off my sofa and showered up for a poker tournament I was playing in that night. I smoked a little before I left, ate two bowls of rice krispies and picked up more coffee on my way downtown. The game started at 9:30 and knowing the way I tend to bust out early I figured I’d be freed up around midnight. I couldn’t have foreseen that at 3am I’d be starving and still playing! For starters I was really happy to see KJ there, especially as Karol and Dawn were no shows and KJ is the best - I like happy, familiar faces. I’d started off ahead, I was doing well – playing good cards when I had them and getting out early when I didn’t. There was one hand when I was dealt K10h in the blind. The flop gave me the straight and flush draws and I was priced into the hand so it was hard to walk away. Neither hit, but I rivered a K though I was still beat (by a set of Q's) and then short stack. I had two buy ins behind me but I tightened up and slowly started to build my stack again. I hit a great hand when my pocket K’s went up against pocket 5’s, I rivered a flush with my pocket 4’s and I had a few other really good breaks. Just when I was about tied for chip leader I hit another huge bump and I was short again. I folded a ridiculous amount of my blinds and saved up for the hands I felt good with. A few high kings and aces and before I knew it, it was too late for my potential late night drink but I’d won the tournament!! And we all know that late night pizza is way better when paid for from the pockets of 20 guys (2 that I have a bit of odd history with). I owe my dentist $200 and now, thanks to a little good luck that’s already set aside in an envelope and my bank account is that much happier.
Sunday I touched base with potential late night drink guy and we rescheduled for Wednesday. I emailed L to see I might ever get to see her again or to find out if she's placed in witness protection. Then I agreed to babysit for LS Fran during the week. After all that, I took Dog to the park, ordered in Chinese and watched the Oscars. Until 9pm then I switched to Rock of Love – because is that not a delicious mess? Then I was back to the Oscars. And now I’m in bed and it’s way too late to still be awake.
As I sit here, just after midnight, still fully dressed and watching an old Sex and the City, vividly caffeinated and yet utterly relaxed I can’t help but think of how my entire body feels like it just let out a breath that has been held for 5 months. And though I typed breath back there, I really mean more of a toxic fart, the sort that your dad would expel in the family car during trips to the beach back when you were about 11 years old – don’t pretend you don’t know the fart I mean, either, the ones that made your mom shriek in a way you rarely heard and would leave you dangling your head out the window searching for clean air.
My job was that fart.
And now, it’s dead.
Thank god.
This brings me to my current dilemma; I can’t stand being bored. I was bored shitless at work and it drove me up the walls. I’m totally cool with being unemployed (again) but I want to be sure that I come up with things to do so I don’t sit home all day every day doing nothing – that would drive me just as crazy. I’m going back to poorhouse, so whatever activities I drum up have to be relatively cheap. The weather will start to slowly get a bit warmer so I can take Dog to the park, I can afford the $20 a month so I’ll join the gym in my building, my apartment is pretty grubby and could definitely benefit from a good, solid, soon-to-be-spring cleaning. My main concern is that I want to stay social and not slip into some sort of unemployed people’s cave-world. I'd love to keep my brain engaged too (because lord knows the job was killing more brain cells than pot ever could). It would be killer - let me repeat in case any of you have good ideas; killer - if I could find a way to make some secret cash while I’m unemployed too.
In other news, I spent this past weekend catching up on my reality tv (The Apprentice, Rock of Love, Scott Baio is Retarded, 46 and Pregnant, Millionaires Club and finally, Project Runway). Spending amazing quality time with my bestest Joe. Cooking and my favorite weekend activity; sleeping.
I should feel sad and dejected. Worthless and completely off my game. I should be anxiety ridden and on the verge of an alopecia breakout. My stomach should be freaking out and I’d think I’d be calling my friends in utter hysterics.
And yet.
I’m jubilant. I feel like I’m walking straighter. My hair is shinier. My pee is clearer and I swear I can hear my blood whistling a happy tune. I haven’t had a stomachache in three mornings.
I finally believe all those dipshits that sashay onto Oprah’s set and assure the dipshits in the audience that if you put it out there, if you are open and receptive to it, it will come to you. I surrender. They were right, and I was wrong. I put it out there, I was receptive and it came to me. Obviously I plan to employ this strategy in other aspects of my questionably directed life.
Here’s what happened; I wrote this and just before I hit “publish” I thought of this uncanny little thing that tends to happen with me. Me and my brother actually. See, we’ll mention something random and then some tangential thing will actually happen – usually within minutes even. Case in point; earlier tonight my brother and I were watching The Ten (a goofy yet ridiculously hilarious movie from the guys at The State). Gretchen Mol was in it and at one point I commented that she’s totally a young Dianne Wiest. They look alike, share some mannerisms and are equally decent yet totally non-compelling actresses. Well naturally a few minutes later a character marries Dianne Wiest and they have a song about her (she doesn’t actually appear in the movie). So random and yet accurate. But I digress.
I was about to hit “publish” and I got the willies. If I hit this, I thought, I’m taking a big fat hairy risk. Yet, as you can see, I hit publish. Bring it, I figured. Then, the next morning, as I was headed out for work, I shouted “good-bye” to my brother and he (jokingly!) shouted back; “have a good day, don’t get fired!” And I knew.
I was going to work to get fired.
Now rushing to work, only to be headed home minutes later is just foolish. Bearing that in mind, I took off my coat, accepted a shit-hope-I-didn’t-jinx-you-wake-and-bake bowl from my brother, had a small stomachache, smoked a cigarette and strolled into work 40 minutes later. I might as well get fired on my own (relative) timetable, right? Fuck ‘em.
The second I walked in to the office, my boss called my name.
“Ari, can you come here for a second?”
My god, the power is strong. I have got to remember to publish posts about finding wads of money and fucking Christian Bale in my deluxe apartment in the sky.
He tells me that my position is a luxury that they can’t really afford, and they could really use my salary towards a site redesign (wow, understatement) and to be honest it just really wasn’t a great fit anyway and –
“Right, I totally agree with you, here are my keys.”
The second he started his little spiel I just felt so damn relieved I didn’t care what else he said. Finally. Over with. No more anxiety about it. No more waiting, wondering when. No more feeling sick in the mornings because I hated it so damn much. See, when I wrote the previous post, about how yeah, the job was dull and etc., I left out that, ugh, I hated my boss (yeah, again, I know, it’s me, not them). He was such a condescending little prick. He gave me a whole speech on commas once. He commented that anyone who voted Republican should be dragged out into the street and shot in the head. He asked me to work until 10:30 one night and then told me he couldn’t give me petty cash for a cab home – the company didn’t reimburse for non-travel cabfare – have you ever? He patently refused to give me any feedback on work I was doing for a project but then ripped me a new one when he didn’t like the end results – even though I’d actively tried to get direction from him dozens of times. He just ignored emails I’d send him altogether. No matter what I did I was wrong. If he asked my opinion, it turned out I was wrong. If I took initiative, I was wrong. I became so consistently wrong that two months ago I just stopped talking. I gave up on having ideas, I came in, put my head down, did my work and went home. His contempt became so evident my co-worker asked me about it. I told her, there’d never been an incident, one day he just turned total asshole and I knew my firing would be inevitable. Then it started to happen with her. She’s an editor and it slowly dawned on her that every article she brought them sucked. Her ideas sucked. And while the contempt didn’t seem to flow her way, all the other crap did. There are two bosses. They never came to work. They were never around or available for questions but wouldn’t let us take initiative. It started to become completely ridiculous. My co-worker would come in late and flop down on the sofa or watch game shows on her laptop. She was commuting 3 hours a day and she had nothing to do. My one boss shut down and became sporadically available. My other boss got engaged, didn’t show up before noon and sat in his office with the door shut all afternoon. The atmosphere was miserable, divisive and fruitless. Anything we did was wrong so what was the point? My co-worker told me she was already sending out her resume and looking for interviews. My schedule wouldn’t have allowed for that so I just smiled and told her I’d have plenty of time when I got fired. And then I just sat back and waited. And a little bit hoped.
And just like the Oprah-approved dipshits would swear; I wished it and it happened. And I couldn’t be happier.
I was out of the office in under 10 minutes and back on the piece of shit C line, which I intend to never take, ever again. I was back home before 11am, jokingly berating my brother and IMing with Heather who immediately congratulated me before I got off the computer and made a stack of Thank-God-I-Finally-Got-Fired-From-That-Shit-Job pancakes. After that I went back online and set up an interview for the very next day (had it already, went well). I hated that masquerading-as-a-great-job shit job, but I was pretty addicted to the paycheck aspect. I have no intention of being unemployed nearly as long as I was last time but I have all the intent on spending the time way more productively. Mainly writing. I hate working in an office and writing could be the one thing that I can(?) do that sets me free. I’ll be back on employment again, which means I’ll be dead broke again, but to be out of there, well the poverty is welcomed. Though do feel free to send me bags of money. Poverty is a welcomed alternative to that job, sure, but it’s not a preference - just so you understand.
Though I feel pretty fucking free right now. I feel released from Gitmo free. The ride on the C train sucks sure, but I’ll tell you, I grinned like a moron the entire way home Monday morning. It was the best, most positive ride since the one I took my first morning there.
It could just be PMS but I have had the most intolerant workday. I'm out of patience and goodwill and in general; today I sort of want to tell my job to just suck it. I feel like I could preface nearly every work related sentence with "I hate;" and it would be fairly accurate. Like here, look:
my day. There just isn't enough work to necessitate 40 hours a week. 6 hours would cover it. I suspect it's the same with my co-worker and boss because they are never in. I'm alone all the time which is boring as hell. They either work from home or just flat out don't show up. I so do not have that luxury and I am practically sweating the jealousy out of my pores.
the atmosphere. I thought my job was going to be so interesting and energizing, my bosses are really young and I really envisioned us as being a tiny little Google-type office. Yes, we have a basketball hoop and a nerfy little ball but my bosses almost never talk to us (me and my co-worker). We never talk about the minutia of current events, pop culture, last night's episode of The Office or Lost. We don't even eat lunch together. Well, my co-worker and I do, but just to get out of the office because it depresses us. We celebrated my bosses' engagement with cake and wine but no happy hours, no stimulating interaction goes on.
(HATE) the neighborhood, I'm in the Garment District - which I'm not sure if you're aware; is the worstest neighborhood in all of Manhattan. There is never, ever a free square inch on the sidewalk. The second I walk out of my office building to get coffee or lunch, it's like I've been dropped into the middle of the St. Patrick's Day Parade - pure mayhem. You can't walk anywhere. The shopping is decent but the crowds make it incredibly unappealing. I actually turned down a good job offer solely because the office was at One Penn Plaza (that's how much I hate the Garment District) - and yet, this is where the company I took the job with ultimately ended up. Is Fate just not the cuntiest of them all?
the C train which I have to take 2x a day. In the morning getting to work is a breeze. I can take whatever shows up (the C or B) and switch at 59th St., if I need the A, C or E. But coming home? Oh. My. God. A nightmare. There are 4 uptown E's for every C. Which means that at rush hour, at 34th Street/Penn Plaza Station (a massive hub) I am often waiting 25 minutes for a C train. Unfuckingbelievable.
the money. I'm working, all day, everyday and I swear I still feel constantly broke. I pay my apartment maintenance, a few bills, I buy a metrocard and some groceries and I'm back to being practically poor. I'm making an incredibly similar salary as I was at my last job and for some reason I'm poorer, it makes no sense but I tell ya; I'm bored witless of counting every last penny and planning the tiniest of indulgences. This is no way to live.
oh, and as things stand, I have no other (paltry barely cutting it) income and thusly have to keep going back there. ARGH!!!
So, not to be a total whiny bitch but WHAT THE FUCK with the strep?!? Holy Hell.
Why are there PSA's for smoking, diabetes and the variety of cancers but not strep throat? Have you had strep? Do you know about this horrible scourge? Well, you might. From what I hear it's pretty common. Yet until last Tuesday I had remained preciously unafflicted. Never had strep. Never ever. Furthermore, I hear it's a kid sickness. You get it in school, from living in a dorm or from licking your classmates in the lunchroom. 35 year olds with rare access to children or communal living... not so much. I have no idea where I picked it up but it sure did fuck up my week.
Tuesday morning I woke up convinced someone had broken in and burgled nothing but for whatever reason chose only to embed a golf ball in the back of my throat just under my right ear. Sure, it sounds crazy, but after all, New York City does pride itself on having all kinds. So like an ass I went to work anyway. Terrible idea. Late in the afternoon I called my shitty doctor made an appointment for 11am Wednesday and went home. As I couldn't swallow my own saliva, food was ruled out so I took some Nyquil and went to bed. The Nyquil lasted for about 3 hours and after that I didn't get twenty straight minutes of sleep the rest of the night. Delightful. Really.
Wednesday, I didn't so much wake up (because that implies from sleep) as stop tying to sleep. I called the doctor's office again (they are always running criminally late) and she told me they were 45 minutes behind. So in a rush of pure idiocy I leashed up the dogs and tried to rush them out for a quick pee. Well, there were 90,000 mile per hour wind gusts of freezing cold air and the dogs decided they were going to be completely energized my this. They got all jumpy, spin-y and playful. But I was resolute; pee and inside. They peed and I tried to drag them back inside but the little one wasn’t having it. She starts clawing at the street, cowering down and refusing to budge. And here’s me; sick, hungry, sleepless, freezing and covered in fever sweat. I tried cajoling her back in, then begging, then crying and after a few minutes I was beyond trying to be patient. I picked her up by the harness and practically flung her inside. Then I sat down on the sofa and waited. And tried to swallow again. Repeatedly. And each time it was impossible (impossible, impassable – same difference). While I’m waiting my mom calls. Of course while I’m talking to her (whining at her) and telling her what’s bothering me (bitching like an infant) I end up all frustrated and weepy.
“Ok Dramatics, stop crying, you’re making it worse. Just go to the doctor. Call me afterwards.”
Ok Dramatics?? Very nice! I hope she remembers that one day when she’s swearing to me that the nurses at her home don’t turn her over enough and I pull Ok Dramatics.
I walk over to the doctor’s office, I couldn’t really bother getting dressed so I’m wearing the biggest, warmest coat I could find on top of an assortment of things from my closet. My nightgown, panties, grey fleece pajama pants, a t-shirt, zip up sweatshirt, no bra (couldn’t be bothered), no socks and my shitty uggs. And a hat, the scarf I’d inexplicably worn to sleep and gloves. I was sweating non-stop yet freezing simultaneously and I was absolutely certain that I was smelly. Like a two day, sick, unshowered person might be inclined to smell. Yum. I get to the docs and the receptionist asks me for my copay (like I completely knew she would) and I told her I didn’t have it with. Well, I couldn’t really talk so I wrote it down for her. She gave me a dirty look (my doctor’s receptionist is a little pitbull of a girl with sprayed up bangs like a Motley Crue fan from 1989 – we’ve butted heads once before). I stared back at her for a second before writing down on the pad I will be sure you get it before the end of business tomorrow. I’m too sick now. She relented and I followed the nurse into the examining room. As soon as the nurse asked what I was there for… tears again! I kept apologizing.
“I’m so (whaaaa) sorry, I’m really (sob) not a crier (weep). It’s just that I’m tired and I feel so sick and the Nyquil sucked and I’m reallyhungryandIcan’tevenswallowanditjusthurtssomuch.” Finally I had to breathe, “and I really only cry when I get frustrated. If you knew me you’d know that. I’m sorry I can’t stop crying.” She looked at me sweetly, the way you do at a stinky sad crying lady who has no bra but really good blood pressure. The doctor strolls in minutes later on her ubiquitous cell phone (so fucking rude). She asks about my diet and if I’ve been smoking (uhm, hi, can’t speak or swallow, remember? Broken throat?) I shake my head.
“Well, maybe if I don’t treat you, you stay not smoking, what do you think?” She smiles. The second she nears me I’m going to lick her stupid smug face.
“I feel sick, not playful. Could you get started here?” If my voice were any more tense it would shatter and you’d hear the glass shards spill onto the floor. She looks in my ears and down my throat, there’s a tongue depressor involved and naturally (Jewish girl *heh*) I gag. Then she swabs for the culture and I gag again, she jumps back and I’m so pissed that I haven’t eaten anything I can projectile vomit on her. She prescribes an antibiotic that she tells me I have to down like a shot and it will stay in my system for 10 days. “That’s it?” I ask.
“Well you can’t swallow; you want me to give you pills to swallow three times a day for ten days?” Huh. The shitty doctor makes a point. “You take this and you’ll be fifty percent better the next day.” Fair enough. I promise to get the copay to the office the next day and then I, the Braless Wonder skulk back towards my apartment and the nearby Duane Reade.
Duane Reade doesn’t have my medicine in stock. Neither does the Duane Reade around the corner. Nor does the indie neighborhood drugstore. Wary of my Victorian state of teariness I ask the pharmacist what to do.
“Get your doctor to call in a different prescription.”
I call her again, she tells me there’s nothing better and that she filled the same prescription herself at Rite Aid on 70th Street just the other day. I am SO not walking a near mile, I’ll never make it and my body will be recovered in a curb draped in AMNYs. I call Rite Aid and the pharmacist tells me they deliver, but only within a ten block radius. Excellent, I’ll move!
My brother gets home from school and offered to walk over to Rite Aid. He also walked the dog for me. Countless times. Anyway, I suck down my Zmax (it doesn’t taste as gross as I thought it might, think a grainy, sugary Kaopectate, email Laura that I’m too sick to hang out as we’d planned and go right back to bed. I also, tragically, have to cancel a Thursday night date that I was really looking forward to.
Thursday; still no real sleep but the twenty minute intervals grew to about 40 minutes, which was nice and I wake up still unable to swallow but I knew I would because the night was no better.
I call in sick (again), call my mom to wish her a happy birthday and pick up the remote eager for home sick daytime tv. I’m thinking Little House on the Prairie, some Growing Pains and I’m even considering checking into General Hospital to see what’s up in Port Charles – I stopped paying attention in 2000 but surely Sonny and Jason are still up to no good.
Well – devastation. None of what I’m looking for is on. My choices instead range from puppies found nearly dead in a Houston, Texas backyard, a show where a couple is looking to buy a home but for a very unattractive couple they are obsessed with “entertaining” and they’re off-putting as hell or a Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant episode that I’ve already seen. What. The. Hell. I end up watching Tommy Lee Jones in U.S. Marshals, though I’ve seen that already as well. I watch that and go back to sleep, first setting my alarm so that I don’t miss the Lost premiere at 9. I don’t care how sick I am, that’s not to be missed.
I’m up just after 8:30pm, I watch Lost (awesome), then Eli Stone (not bad, not particularly good - but two “Ed” actors on back to back shows is cool). I drink some tea – all I’ve been ingesting for a few days now and head back to my bed. At 4am, after I’ve watched three episodes of the X Files, I accept that I will not be feeling better within hours, email my boss that I’ll be out Friday too and watch yet another episode of The X Files.
Friday I wake up feeling a smidge better. Still mostly shitty but there seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I loaf around all day doing nothing other than drinking tea, trying to swallow, watching Las Vegas episodes on DVD and being bummed about missing a poker game I’d been looking forward to losing in. Then later that night I spent hours on the phone with Joe discussing Britney, Lost, strep and I’m not even sure what else. Afterwards I get into bed with tea and book and read until I ultimately pass out.
Saturday I wake up feeling pretty damn near good. I shower which upgrades me further and it’s while I’m in the shower that I suddenly have a flash. Chicken! I need some chicken. If I eat chicken, I will be over the precipice of feeling good to straight on fantasticness. I get dressed and then take a walk a few blocks down to the local library branch. I have books that are so overdue we’re looking at the double digit dollar range. I’m all for supporting the library but I’m also a bit cheap so over ten dollars is a bit excessive. On the way back I stop by the old timey deli near me, pick up some matzah balls (I already had the kosher chicken soup), roasted chicken and cole slaw. Then I got some random stoner flick from Blockbuster with Anna Farris and Jim from The Office (not especially good, yet not awful).
Sunday (just in time to gear up to go back to ugh work) I woke up feeling perfectly fine. Well slightly irritated because the night before I realized I’d misplaced my stash but health-wise; stellar. I read for a bit before I got up, resumed my 1am stash hunt. Gave up, cleaned my room, made some sugar free strawberry jello and flipped through the Sunday paper. After that I set out some chips and salsa, ordered in the pizza, found the stash under the sofa (whew and yay!) and then the brothers and I settled in to watch the Superbowl and see my favorite Giants player (Brandon Jacobs) and the Giants overall devastate the New England Assfaces. You should know that I declared the Giants “my team” four weeks ago when my brothers demanded that I “man up,” pick a team and start being an NFL fan already. My brothers are local fans but ever so slightly prefer the Jets over the Giants (though they were rooting their faces off – we all hate Boston), I decided if I was being forced into fanhood at the very least I wouldn’t give said brothers the satisfaction of rooting for the team they wanted me to root for (and also, the Giants looked like they had better odds).
Damn. That was fun. Well, the game, not the strep, the strep sucked arse.
(and btw Eric W.B. [I have no way to contact you personally so here goes:], in the midst of my being sick and sad, your gift arrived. The candles are gorgeous and smell absolutely phenomenal {really - even my doorman agreed after he caught a whiff} and I adore them. You are too kind, thanks SO much!)
And for your final enjoyment (if only I could insert a Nelson from The Simpsons laugh):
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
~ My Brother Is Funnier Than Yours:
Me: I heard people think that Belichick has Brady in a cast as a giant fake out.
Brother: Did you say cast or casket? Cause I wouldn't put it past Belichick to put Brady in a casket as a fake out. That what I thought you said anyway.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
~ Nothing From Nothing Leaves Nothing:
There should exist a thing in the entire world that I give a damn about.
But there isn’t.
It is not the job. It is not the man. It is not the family. It is not the hobby nor the passion.
First of all; how can that be? Second of all; aw… poor little me how sad that it is. Sarcasm folks.
Saturday afternoon found me in New Jersey at a – get this – 60th wedding anniversary party. 60 years. 60 years!! These people have been married nearly double my lifetime. Decades I haven’t even lived yet! Incomprehensible. In other news, my great-uncle is Canadian, I have no idea how I never knew that before and furthermore my cousin gave his two sons the stupidest names I have heard and if they weren’t so unique I would share them with you. But I can’t. Because they are so individually stupid. And unique.
But I digress. It sucks that I can’t have a 60th wedding anniversary. That I can’t share with someone all that these two have shared. This couple, my great aunt and uncle, well into their late 80’s are by far the cutest of old couples. They have three kids and six grandchildren. At the rate that I’m going I’ll be happy if my mom meets her grandchildren much less ever gets to be a great granny. Sorry mom but unless futuristic medicine intervenes I just don’t see it happening.
And it wouldn’t irritate me so fucking much if I thought there was even a shot in hell that the guy I’m looking for exists. But argh. He doesn’t and I know it. I’ve met my own random guys. I’ve met my friend’s friends. I’ve met the guys on jdate. With the rarest of exceptions, they are all the same guy. They rent sad, undecorated, little apartments in outer boroughs or, inexplicably enough, in suburbs. They are an average age of 41. Their social skills are nil. They have one highly antisocial cat. They work mid level jobs and are dull as corpses. They have a sparse interest in sports, pop culture or anything negligible making me wonder if there’s anything capturing their collective interest besides internet porn and serial dating. And here’s the worst part; they’re all 0’s waiting on 10’s. As if. I may be fat and ugly but at least I’m not boring. But these fellas. Christ, you have no idea. It’s so bad it’s actually pretty funny. They are pale, boring, broke and uninspiring. That sucks, yes, but here’s where the funny part arrives - as awful as they are - they are waiting for diamonds. These literal definitions of schlubs think they’re bidding their time with the me's of the world until Gisele, Scarlett, Kiera, Lindsay or Jessica (pick your poison: Simpson, Biel, Alba) show up. Now, when this is the experience with one out of every ten guys then sure, fine, fair enough. But when it’s one out of ten that’s actually different and interesting? That makes you want to shave your legs and buy new bras. Well hell, it’s discouraging but I hope it also means that finding him will ultimately kick ass.
I know that I’m at the age where the pickins start to get a little knotty. I understand that for the most part I’m sifting through the bargain bin of the species and I’m going to get the damaged, slightly irregulars. But hey, I’m in the bin and I’m not that fucked up. I’ve got plenty of unfuckedupfriends in the bin with me too. Unfucked up – that’s right I said it. These aren’t crazy girls with monster issues and fat asses – these are slim, attractive girls with hobbies and interests and wits. So where are our male counter parts? The ones that act instead of endlessly pondering and vacillating. The ones that eat meat. Because there is little else more unattractive than a man that drones on about his dietary restrictions - I mean really, how sissy is that? That just slip the maitre d’ the extra twenty instead of writing the chowhound a whole freaking post about it. The ones that call you up and ask you out instead of messaging you on facebook like a sophomore (high school). The ones that wear well constructed shoes made of leather and not canvas slip-on sneakers that are more fitting for a 6 year old having shoelace issues. The ones that don’t want to only go to artsy indie shit in Brooklyn and Queens. The ones that know batting orders, shortcuts to AC and own screwdrivers instead of just the super’s cell phone number. The ones that aren’t afraid to stray from group think. Overall I don’t care that much, I know I only have to find one, I’m not marrying or breeding with the masses, but it’s a little scary out there folks. More than a little. Because my perfect or even in the realm of near perfect doesn’t seem exist. Which is confusing, because I know women that have found varieties of these men. Maybe they aren’t in my generation? On my continent? In my solar system? I have no idea. I just know that a fifteen year-ish search really should have yielded me a little more than this. “This” of course being nothing.
But if you know this guy - the cool one, not the sissy one - send him my way. I promise to be gentle.
I wrote up a whole post last night but this morning I woke up and decided I hated it. So I pulled it for a big ol' retooling. If I may divert your attention for a moment, I think you will find this not at all safe for work (language) but hilarious nonetheless. Enjoy and check back later for actual typed words.
