The slightly (not even nearly) embellished account of a *gasp* 30something chick's tragi-comedic life in NYC.

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AriGoesDown@aol.com















**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...






MY PAST FIVE:
Swallowing Bitter Pills
...flurgh
Freaky Friday
Reader's Choice
or Maybe I Can





MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITES:
I've...










Hello?!?! I'm Begging Here!!
***I am so shameless... buy me stuff and help entertain a pauper. Please.
My Amazon.com Wish List

A chat with Luke Ford

*She Says/He Says*
the Ari & Steve Project

Sex and dating advice!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
NEWESTPart 6
*Ask a question!*






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*.



The VIP Room:
Joe Cut the Shit
Fish Needs A Bicycle
Alarming News
Clarified
SuperJux
Smitten
Pretty Numbers
Perpetual State of Flux
Formerly Fabulous



She Said:
The Virginity Monologues
Voices From the Balcony
Lady Mathematician
All Things Jen(nifer)
Caffeine & Nicotine
One Day At A Time
Jessica in Progress
Sassy Little Punkin
Wandering Sparkle
Something Always
Go Nicole Yourself
Torrie Hates it All
The Urban Grind
Carmen SinCity
Que Sera Sera
Memoirs of Me
Vendela's City
The Dollhouse
Drowning Fish
Kambri Crews
Pomegranate
Pussy Ranch
Miss Lapin
Jodi Verse
ScribeLA
Esther
Dooce


He Said:
Steve
Rubinville
BloggerAle
NYC Tales
Isophorone
Daily Lunch
Steve Silver
Indigo Steve
CCS178.com
Julius Sharpe
Obscurorama
Joe Grossberg
3-Legged Dog
About Nothing
Patton Oswalt
Gregg Lebovitz
Paul's Boutique
Benjamin Wagner
World Wide Rants
Yankee Pot Roast
American Legends
Ace of Spades HQ
Christian Finnegan
Twenty Something
Digging for Goldner
Chasing the American Dream


Fun Stuff:
Gawker
Defamer
Pink is the New Blog
Perez Hilton
Gothamist
NYC Bloggers
NY Daily News
The NY Post
Reading is Fundamental
Google
Amazon
TV Guide
Cooks.com



Real Writers I Adore:
Amy Sohn
Lisa Jewell
Alison Pace
Marian Keyes
Kristen Buckley
Jodi Picoult
Jennifer Weiner
Laurie Kilmartin



Hilariously Random:
Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon
Prangstgrup
My Gay Boyfriend
Too Funny For Words
Holding Back the Ears
Turn Gay Here!!
What Does Your # Spell?
Got My Eye on You
Flattery Gets You Everywhere
Black People Love Us













 
A keen eyed reader will notice my site begins way before Igby Goes Down came out.
I know, I know...how hip am I?!


These archives tend to appear and disappear with more frequency than an eye twitch. Bear with me and keep watch...
Archives






























Ari Goes Down
 
Wednesday, May 12, 2004  
~
Are You There God? It’s Me; Ari.

Until I was 15 years old I went to parochial schools. We had mandatory prayer sessions and my family went to the temple associated with the school. I was surrounded with opportunities to pray. And it pissed me off. To pass the time I’d read the English translation on the other page. And it pissed me off even more. Sentences upon paragraphs of “God is great” and “God is the omnipotent”, and I wanted to gag. At school there was a morning prayer service and an afternoon one. Twice a day, everyday. When I was dragged to temple, I’d sit there for at least half an hour before my mom would elbow me and hiss; “you’re in temple, pray!”. Right. From then on, I’d spend the majority of Rosh Hashana checking out the temple-worthy outfits the women were wearing. Or, the boys my age {the ones without raging acne, thank you ~ those were the ones checking me out, mind you}. Or, trying to catch my best friend’s eye so we could sneak into the ladies auxiliary lounge, drink their orange soda and gossip. After temple, I’d be pulled aside by mom and told that I had to learn how to behave like a grown up once in awhile. I’d have to acquiesce to praying while in school and temple.

“C’mon, if God needs me to reaffirm his place in the universe we’re all screwed. Our lives aren’t so great anyway and you pray all the time”.

“So imagine how things might be if we didn’t.” And she’d have there me. It would hold at least until the very next time I was in the same predicament.

So three weeks ago my mom was in her car accident. And it was awful {mainly because she was flat out missing for three hours}. But my dad {possibly the world’s most stoic and least sentimental man} stepped up in a wildly impressive manner. He does emotion, don’t misunderstand, when I was growing up my dad could scream, yell and punish as well as any member of Saddam’s Fatah movement. But as we got older we exhausted some of his anger away. He mellowed and became genial, at times, even cute. So the past 3 weeks, this is how it has been; he wakes up, walks our two dogs {Redd, the 13 year old Dalmatian and Willy, the 16 year old shepherd mix}. Then he goes to his office for 9 hours, my mom in the hospital for 3 to 4 hours, home to walk the dogs again, lather, rinse, repeat. For Mother’s Day my mom refused to let us celebrate in the hospital. She said it was no place to celebrate and we would wait a week and do it at home. Uh huh… so we kids thought. But no, my dad showed up, kidnapped my mom and took her to the salon for a mani/pedi and shampoo. I cannot stress to you enough, my father is not the womanized sort of long time married man who thinks chintz is lovely and holds my moms purse while she shops. Not in a million years. He’s Red Foreman to her Kitty – that’s actually a perfect analogy. He has his sweet moments but overall he’s somewhat of a hardass.

Last night my dad came home from visiting my mom and got the leashes to walk the dogs. Redd is lazy by nature and for a change {sarcasm} he wouldn’t get up.

“He was just…gone…” my dad cried into my cell phone. It was just before 10pm, I was on my way home from dinner out and here I was, standing at Amsterdam and 86th, waiting for the M86 and sobbing along with my dad. I’ve never seen my dad cry {and technically still haven’t} but it’s an odd moment when your father cries to you for the first time. He was heartbroken. Redd is a dog my dad brought home on a whim 13 years ago. He was using a pay phone in the city and saw an ad. A guy was looking for a good home for his dog, who he had to give away. And that was how Redd came to be our second dog. And last night, by himself, he had to cover our dog in a sheet and carry him out to the car and drive him down to the vet for whatever they do with Redds that are no more… My mom has to go home to a slightly more melancholy house when she’s pretty all around brokenish already. And my dad, it seems, can cry.

So… if there’s anyone out there, and it turns out my mom was right? Yikes, but uhm, well thanks, I guess. And if she’s wrong, huh… well, that’d be a first.

Incidentally, mom comes home tomorrow and I'm headed out to NJ to play nurse for two days, I doubt I'll post, but you never know.


10:13 PM




 


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