I have a lot of friends and family down South. No direct friends and family in New Orleans, but friends of friends and such down there. And I love the city so much. I was even planning on heading down there next Spring for Jazz Fest and really looking forward to it. And it's so hard to think of everything going on down there right now.
Most of my friends and family have gotten in touch and are okay overall. But a lot of them have had to leave their homes and aren't sure when they're going to get back. And they're worried a lot about the people still there. A friend of mine described the damage to New Orleans as "devastating" and urged a bunch of us to donate to the Red Cross if we can. So I'm passing that along.
It just seems so weird to know what's going on down there and to get emails and calls from friends but to be so far removed from it. All Katrina has given New York is a lot of humidity. And everyone at work going on about the economic implications. It just seems unreal and no matter how much film I see, I can't wrap my head around it. This morning my Mom started talking about how she doesn't think New Orleans will ever be the same and that she's glad we went so many times and that we'll have those memories.
I want to send my thoughts and prayers, but don't know what to wish for. So much has already happened. I guess I just hope that everything goes as well as it can from here on out and people are able to salvage a lot of their homes and lives, and that the death toll isn't too high.
Update: Not all of my family and friends are accounted for yet. But they're in areas that are without phone service and such. And hopefully we would've heard by now if things were serious. My friend in Baton Rouge says it's horrible down there and, "I would say the best thing to do is to have you and your friends make monetary donations to the red cross - they are begging for them down here." Give if you can.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Work Outings
So, I'm still trying to figure out if trampolining in front of my bosses, coworkers, assorted stuffy economists and strategists as well as the head of our department was the right thing. Whatever, after the initial 30 seconds of hooting from the peanut gallery Lovey and I had a lovely jumping time. I haven't been on a trampoline in ages and it was a blast. Though I can no longer do the thing where you jump, jump, jump, bounce down on your ass and bounce back up on your feet. Well, I don't think I can. I only tried it once.
Overall the outing was okay. It was not as bad as I thought it would be, but it was still a work outing. So it wasn't piles of fun. Drank a bunch of wine, ate very little as very little veggie stuff was offered, embarrassed myself in front of all on a trampoline, played with a huge dog, told some fun stories and went home. I've had worse nights. Like tonight. When I have to make fundraising phone calls and then take a long walk in some nasty humidity. Blech.
Overall the outing was okay. It was not as bad as I thought it would be, but it was still a work outing. So it wasn't piles of fun. Drank a bunch of wine, ate very little as very little veggie stuff was offered, embarrassed myself in front of all on a trampoline, played with a huge dog, told some fun stories and went home. I've had worse nights. Like tonight. When I have to make fundraising phone calls and then take a long walk in some nasty humidity. Blech.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Love my friend time
This weekend was excellent. Though busy. I wanted to spend all of Monday in bed recovering. Sadly, there was work. And meetings. And such.
Friday I ducked out early and went home to mow the lawn. Weeded, mowed, raked, pruned and yanked vines. Good times. Actually, it sucked. And the lawn needs some serious rain and lots more work. But it looks kinda good. So I showered and took an afternoon nap. Love those.
Then off to Frankie's with Muffy and Steph. It was before the nasty Katrina humidity set in so we wanted to eat outside and settled down with drinks for the long wait for a table. I now have a new favorite drink and it's the ginger martini. Sooooo good. It was a fun night. Caught up with Muffy and Steph after a way too long away from them, ate good food, drank wine, enjoyed the night, watched a little mouse run around, that kinda thing. Nights like that make me love living in my 'hood.
Saturday I got my ass up and dragged it to Muffy & Steph's at 10AM. On a Saturday. So we could brave train madness and get to the Guggenheim. For some reason last weekend, the F wasn't stopping at our 'hood, the 4 wasn't running to Borough Hall, I think something was up with the C and maybe the R. Madness. Whatever. After a little fussing, we got ourselves to the upper east side for brunch at Sarabeth's with Iolanthe. Lovey and the Musical Genius were supposed to join us but cancelled that morning. They claimed illness but I suspect at least part of that was due to a strong desire to sleep in past 11AM. Their loss as we had a great time. Sarabeth's makes a tasty bloody mary and good eggs.
And then off to the Guggenheim for some Mapplethorpe fun. I'm not a huge fan of the Guggenheim but the exhibit sounded cool. And it was a nice mix of folks I think. People who could appreciate the work but still giggle a little too. Which I learned right off the bat. First, as we're reading the intro explanation wall one woman turns to the guy she's with and asks, "Do you like art?". Weird question to begin with, and as Iolanthe pointed out, kinda late to be asking now. Of course, when I asked Iolanthe if she liked art, she said no. Then, we see the photograph of a marble statue from behind. And the way the light hit and the polish of the marble, this guy had a VERY shiny ass. It was a little distracting. Nothing else was so shiny. Just the ass. And Iolanthe came up and told me she could focus on nothing else in the photograph. My kinda girl.
I really liked a lot of the work and the comparison with a variety of classical engravings and such was interesting. Though some comparisons looked like someone was really trying to put an exhibition together rather than something more natural. And, as Muffy pointed out, the Guggenheim kinda sucked for a black and white photography exhibit. With the light coming through the glass ceiling and the spiral walkway creating white horizontal striped reflections on the glass fronts, it was hard to see some of the photographs. Annoying but still fun. And I got a nice postcard of Ah-nold for Lovey. To remind her of our conference planning of doom in January and to let her know the fun times she missed. She now has the photograph as her computer's wallpaper. I'm contemplating calling HR to report her. Beefcake should not be allowed in the workplace.
After that we sent Iolanthe off to a massage and a possible date and wandered down to Tiffany's for bling window shopping and to get wedding rings polished and resized. I could not find a single engagement ring I liked. But at least Muffy enjoyed the testosterone panic in the room and the pearl cowboy, fireman and monopoly guys. And I did see a few emerald and opal pieces to buy when I have my millions.
After that some errands, dinner at Hill Diner (VERY alcoholic Sangria!) and off to the Cobble Hill Cinema for The Aristocrats. I kinda like the big theater a little better. Better seats and screens, but I think mostly I prefer the sketchier crowd with all their comments and rowdiness. Cobble Hill gets a little pretentious for my tastes. But the movie was hysterical. I hadn't heard the joke and I'm kinda glad as it was a surprise of sorts for me. But it was so funny. All three of us had at least five or so moments when we just lost it. And I didn't even get too fazed by all the poo talk. Though George Carlin almost did me in at the start of the movie. I completely recommend it and would be willing to go again. After that was some down time in my back yard with a bottle of wine and discussions on life and the after life. And poo. You know how it goes.
Sunday I slept in, did a a few chores and then headed off to Jersey. Getting to Jersey from Brooklyn ain't easy. Especially when the MTA doesn't want to provide any trains for me to use to leave the 'hood. So, after much walking, a couple of trains and more walking I made it to the home of PimpDaddy and PimpMama and had a delightful night. PimpMama made a great dinner and we chatted and caught up and had a good time. And all that walking and train hopping was good for me. I think I must've sweated out a few pounds. So sick of this humidity.
Last night was a gathering of Muffy, Steph, Charlotte, Maggie, PimpMama and I at Pop to discuss Sesquisentenial plans for the ALS. I managed to dump a full glass of Merlot in my lap and we did have to discuss event planning and all, but it was fun. And I got another glass of wine so everything worked out for the best.
Today we have our Econ/Strat outing at the big boss's house. I skipped out last year but am going this year. Skipped the golf clinic though. Golf and I no longer mix. I think it's better this way. I really hope it rains soon and kills the humidity before we head to CT for drinks around the pool. As wet as it is in the New York Metro area right now we might as well have drinks IN the pool. HATE the wet. HATE.
Friday I ducked out early and went home to mow the lawn. Weeded, mowed, raked, pruned and yanked vines. Good times. Actually, it sucked. And the lawn needs some serious rain and lots more work. But it looks kinda good. So I showered and took an afternoon nap. Love those.
Then off to Frankie's with Muffy and Steph. It was before the nasty Katrina humidity set in so we wanted to eat outside and settled down with drinks for the long wait for a table. I now have a new favorite drink and it's the ginger martini. Sooooo good. It was a fun night. Caught up with Muffy and Steph after a way too long away from them, ate good food, drank wine, enjoyed the night, watched a little mouse run around, that kinda thing. Nights like that make me love living in my 'hood.
Saturday I got my ass up and dragged it to Muffy & Steph's at 10AM. On a Saturday. So we could brave train madness and get to the Guggenheim. For some reason last weekend, the F wasn't stopping at our 'hood, the 4 wasn't running to Borough Hall, I think something was up with the C and maybe the R. Madness. Whatever. After a little fussing, we got ourselves to the upper east side for brunch at Sarabeth's with Iolanthe. Lovey and the Musical Genius were supposed to join us but cancelled that morning. They claimed illness but I suspect at least part of that was due to a strong desire to sleep in past 11AM. Their loss as we had a great time. Sarabeth's makes a tasty bloody mary and good eggs.
And then off to the Guggenheim for some Mapplethorpe fun. I'm not a huge fan of the Guggenheim but the exhibit sounded cool. And it was a nice mix of folks I think. People who could appreciate the work but still giggle a little too. Which I learned right off the bat. First, as we're reading the intro explanation wall one woman turns to the guy she's with and asks, "Do you like art?". Weird question to begin with, and as Iolanthe pointed out, kinda late to be asking now. Of course, when I asked Iolanthe if she liked art, she said no. Then, we see the photograph of a marble statue from behind. And the way the light hit and the polish of the marble, this guy had a VERY shiny ass. It was a little distracting. Nothing else was so shiny. Just the ass. And Iolanthe came up and told me she could focus on nothing else in the photograph. My kinda girl.
I really liked a lot of the work and the comparison with a variety of classical engravings and such was interesting. Though some comparisons looked like someone was really trying to put an exhibition together rather than something more natural. And, as Muffy pointed out, the Guggenheim kinda sucked for a black and white photography exhibit. With the light coming through the glass ceiling and the spiral walkway creating white horizontal striped reflections on the glass fronts, it was hard to see some of the photographs. Annoying but still fun. And I got a nice postcard of Ah-nold for Lovey. To remind her of our conference planning of doom in January and to let her know the fun times she missed. She now has the photograph as her computer's wallpaper. I'm contemplating calling HR to report her. Beefcake should not be allowed in the workplace.
After that we sent Iolanthe off to a massage and a possible date and wandered down to Tiffany's for bling window shopping and to get wedding rings polished and resized. I could not find a single engagement ring I liked. But at least Muffy enjoyed the testosterone panic in the room and the pearl cowboy, fireman and monopoly guys. And I did see a few emerald and opal pieces to buy when I have my millions.
After that some errands, dinner at Hill Diner (VERY alcoholic Sangria!) and off to the Cobble Hill Cinema for The Aristocrats. I kinda like the big theater a little better. Better seats and screens, but I think mostly I prefer the sketchier crowd with all their comments and rowdiness. Cobble Hill gets a little pretentious for my tastes. But the movie was hysterical. I hadn't heard the joke and I'm kinda glad as it was a surprise of sorts for me. But it was so funny. All three of us had at least five or so moments when we just lost it. And I didn't even get too fazed by all the poo talk. Though George Carlin almost did me in at the start of the movie. I completely recommend it and would be willing to go again. After that was some down time in my back yard with a bottle of wine and discussions on life and the after life. And poo. You know how it goes.
Sunday I slept in, did a a few chores and then headed off to Jersey. Getting to Jersey from Brooklyn ain't easy. Especially when the MTA doesn't want to provide any trains for me to use to leave the 'hood. So, after much walking, a couple of trains and more walking I made it to the home of PimpDaddy and PimpMama and had a delightful night. PimpMama made a great dinner and we chatted and caught up and had a good time. And all that walking and train hopping was good for me. I think I must've sweated out a few pounds. So sick of this humidity.
Last night was a gathering of Muffy, Steph, Charlotte, Maggie, PimpMama and I at Pop to discuss Sesquisentenial plans for the ALS. I managed to dump a full glass of Merlot in my lap and we did have to discuss event planning and all, but it was fun. And I got another glass of wine so everything worked out for the best.
Today we have our Econ/Strat outing at the big boss's house. I skipped out last year but am going this year. Skipped the golf clinic though. Golf and I no longer mix. I think it's better this way. I really hope it rains soon and kills the humidity before we head to CT for drinks around the pool. As wet as it is in the New York Metro area right now we might as well have drinks IN the pool. HATE the wet. HATE.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
I'm That Girl
I have become that girl. The one who is obsessed with her weight and food and exercise and calories. The one who used to be interesting and funny and talked about sex a little too much but is now boring and looks at your cheeseburger as if she's counting how many calories it is and how many grams of saturated fat it contains and is thinking of how much she'd like to eat it RIGHT NOW.
I am so, so sorry. For my friends, for anyone who reads this blog, for anyone who works near me or sits near me in a restaurant. So, so sorry. Because now I just babble about what I'm eating or my latest grocery delivery or how many calories lawn mowing and weeding burn and how I'm healthy but won't be in a few years and how I really need to be careful about saturated fats and sodium and OH MY GOD SHUT ME UP!!!!!!
I want to talk about books and things I've done recently and travel and stuff like that. I haven't read a whole magazine in months and haven't touched From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler in days. I'm too obsessed with planning menus and weeding and planning walking schedules. But, it's not like it's a hard book that takes weeks to finish or sucks up huge amounts of time. I actually love it and have read it a million times. Whenever I read it I start talking about how cool it would be to live in the Met and what I would do. And then I start wondering if there are other museums I'd like living in more and ponder if they'd really have sheets on a bed in a museum. Though when I do that, it takes very little time before people call me a dork and run away. So maybe it's better that I talk about calories than that? I don't know. I just worry about me.
I just met up with Charlotte for coffee and chatting. Haven't seen her in ages and she's going to be working in my 'hood now. And the first thing I started talking about when she asked how I was... Yup, you guessed it. My doctor's visit and my weight and how I've lost 11 pounds and am eating healthier and walking more and sitting on my ass less and OH MY GOD SHUT ME UP!!!!! Though, after I got that out of my system and she nodded politely and said the right things we moved on to other topics like work and gossip and sex and wedding stuff and fall plans. So that's something. Still, I worry about me. Becoming so damn boring.
Don't even THINK about writing to tell me I was boring before.
I am so, so sorry. For my friends, for anyone who reads this blog, for anyone who works near me or sits near me in a restaurant. So, so sorry. Because now I just babble about what I'm eating or my latest grocery delivery or how many calories lawn mowing and weeding burn and how I'm healthy but won't be in a few years and how I really need to be careful about saturated fats and sodium and OH MY GOD SHUT ME UP!!!!!!
I want to talk about books and things I've done recently and travel and stuff like that. I haven't read a whole magazine in months and haven't touched From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler in days. I'm too obsessed with planning menus and weeding and planning walking schedules. But, it's not like it's a hard book that takes weeks to finish or sucks up huge amounts of time. I actually love it and have read it a million times. Whenever I read it I start talking about how cool it would be to live in the Met and what I would do. And then I start wondering if there are other museums I'd like living in more and ponder if they'd really have sheets on a bed in a museum. Though when I do that, it takes very little time before people call me a dork and run away. So maybe it's better that I talk about calories than that? I don't know. I just worry about me.
I just met up with Charlotte for coffee and chatting. Haven't seen her in ages and she's going to be working in my 'hood now. And the first thing I started talking about when she asked how I was... Yup, you guessed it. My doctor's visit and my weight and how I've lost 11 pounds and am eating healthier and walking more and sitting on my ass less and OH MY GOD SHUT ME UP!!!!! Though, after I got that out of my system and she nodded politely and said the right things we moved on to other topics like work and gossip and sex and wedding stuff and fall plans. So that's something. Still, I worry about me. Becoming so damn boring.
Don't even THINK about writing to tell me I was boring before.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Crazy lady (with cats!)
I was pondering last night, with Muffy & Steph, what my upstairs neighbor must think of me.
I sing in the shower. Loudly. Usually 50's pop tunes. "CUUUUUUUUU-pid, draw back your bo-ow, and let, your arrow flo-ow, straight to, my lover's heart, fo-orr meeeeeeeeeee."
Whenever I walk by the fly paper with the flies all stuck to it I yell "Die, motherfucker," because I really hate the flies. And I love me some Janice Dickinson. Last night, while doing my fave fun time activity of scooping the catbox, I discovered these flies had been trying to lay eggs in my kitties's poo. Well, some choice words yelled at the fly paper. Worse than "die, motherfucker". Yelled at flypaper. Full of fly carcasses. While holding a pooper scooper and a plastic grocery bag (double-bagged, of course) of poo. Picture it.
The stuff I yell at the cats when they fight each other, scratch the screen, scratch me, pee outside the box or throw up on my Playboys? It's not pretty and rarely makes sense. Growling "think inside the box, bitch" probably sounds a little off. Though if she could just see Nani standing in her litter box, happily peeing off the side and onto the floor she would totally understand. Cooing, "Did you kill something, baby? Good job, you kill that toy, Peanut," at 3 in the morning when DKE has woken me up to announce that she's killed her catnip mouse toy for the three millionth time has to sound kinda weird too yeah? Hopefully the upstairs neighbor sleeps through that.
But I KNOW she's seen me out in the back with the weeds when I see a bug, and then squeal like a four year old girl and do the bug dance with flailing arms and head shaking for about a minute. She's gotta think that's odd. Oh, shit. What if Hot Cop next door has seen me do that? Ooooh, so not good. But then again he's probably also seen me take out the trash in my house dress.
Ah, another thing. Yesterday, rather than taking 30 seconds to throw on shorts and a t-shirt to take out the trash, I just threw a short sleeved hoodie over my sarong (wrapped around me like a towel) and went out in my koala slippers.
I am so totally the crazy lady in the 'hood with the two cats and the slippers and the housedress (nightshirt, same thing) and the garden. Never getting married. Living to 102 and spending the last 50 years of that alone and inside while the neighborhood children make up scary stories about me. And when I die, my cats will eat me.
I sing in the shower. Loudly. Usually 50's pop tunes. "CUUUUUUUUU-pid, draw back your bo-ow, and let, your arrow flo-ow, straight to, my lover's heart, fo-orr meeeeeeeeeee."
Whenever I walk by the fly paper with the flies all stuck to it I yell "Die, motherfucker," because I really hate the flies. And I love me some Janice Dickinson. Last night, while doing my fave fun time activity of scooping the catbox, I discovered these flies had been trying to lay eggs in my kitties's poo. Well, some choice words yelled at the fly paper. Worse than "die, motherfucker". Yelled at flypaper. Full of fly carcasses. While holding a pooper scooper and a plastic grocery bag (double-bagged, of course) of poo. Picture it.
The stuff I yell at the cats when they fight each other, scratch the screen, scratch me, pee outside the box or throw up on my Playboys? It's not pretty and rarely makes sense. Growling "think inside the box, bitch" probably sounds a little off. Though if she could just see Nani standing in her litter box, happily peeing off the side and onto the floor she would totally understand. Cooing, "Did you kill something, baby? Good job, you kill that toy, Peanut," at 3 in the morning when DKE has woken me up to announce that she's killed her catnip mouse toy for the three millionth time has to sound kinda weird too yeah? Hopefully the upstairs neighbor sleeps through that.
But I KNOW she's seen me out in the back with the weeds when I see a bug, and then squeal like a four year old girl and do the bug dance with flailing arms and head shaking for about a minute. She's gotta think that's odd. Oh, shit. What if Hot Cop next door has seen me do that? Ooooh, so not good. But then again he's probably also seen me take out the trash in my house dress.
Ah, another thing. Yesterday, rather than taking 30 seconds to throw on shorts and a t-shirt to take out the trash, I just threw a short sleeved hoodie over my sarong (wrapped around me like a towel) and went out in my koala slippers.
I am so totally the crazy lady in the 'hood with the two cats and the slippers and the housedress (nightshirt, same thing) and the garden. Never getting married. Living to 102 and spending the last 50 years of that alone and inside while the neighborhood children make up scary stories about me. And when I die, my cats will eat me.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
I *heart* Winn
I love the Winn Discount in my 'hood. It took me a while to discover it. Mom was visiting me around the time I was moving from my first Brooklyn apartment in Carroll Gardens to my second Brooklyn apartment in Cobble Hill, just three blocks away or so. She was gossiping with my neighbor for a bit during the move and the woman mentioned Winn. Which was just up the street from my old place. And she was shocked and appalled that Mom had never heard of it and that I had never been there. And so Mom trudged over and fell in love. And bought an ashtray and lectured me for not getting out more.
It's one of those great places that sorta seems to have everything and they have it for rather cheap. This Twinkle copper and silver polish that my Mom hasn't been able to find in years? Winn has it. Backyard parties need a cheap tablecloth, cups and possible a baby BBQ? Winn has it. I couldn't find my wrench to work on my shower head of doom and didn't really want to spend a lot of money on a new one? Went to Winn. Got a decent wrench AND a pipe wrench all for under $10. Plastic tubs and wrapping paper and bathroom trash cans... all at Winn. Good times.
And just recently I was scouring all over looking for fly paper. No one has any. You can get a Raid spray thing that bombs your whole house, but it involves spending half an hour outside of the house with the cats and I fear I'd want to wash all my pots and pans and dishes after. And I don't have a dishwasher. Sooooo... I want fly paper. And finally on my way home from work I remembered WINN! Oh yeah, they had it. Flies are dying horrible deaths in my apartment right now. Good times. And while I was there, the woman at the check out counter complimented my purse. Such a happy place. Winn Discount.
It's one of those great places that sorta seems to have everything and they have it for rather cheap. This Twinkle copper and silver polish that my Mom hasn't been able to find in years? Winn has it. Backyard parties need a cheap tablecloth, cups and possible a baby BBQ? Winn has it. I couldn't find my wrench to work on my shower head of doom and didn't really want to spend a lot of money on a new one? Went to Winn. Got a decent wrench AND a pipe wrench all for under $10. Plastic tubs and wrapping paper and bathroom trash cans... all at Winn. Good times.
And just recently I was scouring all over looking for fly paper. No one has any. You can get a Raid spray thing that bombs your whole house, but it involves spending half an hour outside of the house with the cats and I fear I'd want to wash all my pots and pans and dishes after. And I don't have a dishwasher. Sooooo... I want fly paper. And finally on my way home from work I remembered WINN! Oh yeah, they had it. Flies are dying horrible deaths in my apartment right now. Good times. And while I was there, the woman at the check out counter complimented my purse. Such a happy place. Winn Discount.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Pot Luck
I work with Economists. Nerdy economists. With fairly poor social skills. Very awkward folks to be around sometimes. I think when I started here I sorta terrified them. With my talking about things other than finance. I'm just wacky that way. One of the guys I work with, who has come a long way socially since I first started with the group, once responded to my hello with, "What? What? Do you need some data?"
But since that time Sheena and I have become friends and Lovey joined the group and now things are a bit livelier. And we work very hard to find ways to entertain ourselves to keep from losing our minds. We sneak out for the occasional movie. We joke around all the time. We bitch and moan and mock. We have huge (covering entire conference room tables with food and drink) parties for our own birthdays and the occasional holiday. And on Thursday we decided to try a pot luck, just for the hell of it. And because the fussiest of my bosses was out.
We had seven layer dip, hummus, veggies, chipitos (the first tortilla chip to come out against double dipping), a chicken poppy seed casserole, fruit salad, and a very garlicky guacamole. Oh, and chocolate chip cookies. We've been the most popular section of the floor for two days now. With everyone wanting to know what the occasion was. And of course the whole time we were here gorging and talking smack about the firm every member of management on our floor walked by. Good times.
We think we'll do it again soon. Maybe I'll even make Spaghetti Pie!
But since that time Sheena and I have become friends and Lovey joined the group and now things are a bit livelier. And we work very hard to find ways to entertain ourselves to keep from losing our minds. We sneak out for the occasional movie. We joke around all the time. We bitch and moan and mock. We have huge (covering entire conference room tables with food and drink) parties for our own birthdays and the occasional holiday. And on Thursday we decided to try a pot luck, just for the hell of it. And because the fussiest of my bosses was out.
We had seven layer dip, hummus, veggies, chipitos (the first tortilla chip to come out against double dipping), a chicken poppy seed casserole, fruit salad, and a very garlicky guacamole. Oh, and chocolate chip cookies. We've been the most popular section of the floor for two days now. With everyone wanting to know what the occasion was. And of course the whole time we were here gorging and talking smack about the firm every member of management on our floor walked by. Good times.
We think we'll do it again soon. Maybe I'll even make Spaghetti Pie!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Slacker
I have been a horrible slacker. In so many ways. For one thing, I've slacked with the blog. Others have commented upon it. Including Daddy. Apologies. I will try to be better. Especially since one of the main reasons I started this damn thing was to encourage me to write regularly.
I have also slacked in many, many other ways. Which I've come to realize lately as I complain about one thing or the other. (I complain a lot, I'm a Gemini.) In many of the cases the person I'm complaining to (complaining at?) expresses sympathy and while I appreciate that sympathy I end up saying, "well, I only have myself to blame" or some variation on that. I have brought all these evils upon myself and now I'm going to have to work about a thousand times harder to fix everything so it can be maintained with average effort.
My Lawn. My beautiful, beautiful back yard. After my glorious day of mowing a million years ago I have neglected it. It was too hot or I was too tired or I wanted to do some weeding before mowing again or I had big plans or I know nothing about gardening (this last one is very true, I know NOTHING - Help ME!) blah blah blah. Whatever. I pussed out and now it's a jungle. The grass is super tall and I may have to whack it down before I can even mow it. Weeds have grown up so big and bad I think they might have devoured my azaleas. The back area which could be a great garden of some sorts is almost completely made up of weeds. The hammock is covered in twigs and things. The porch is littered with dried earthworm carcasses. It's a jungle. And it's my own damn fault. And I have to fix it. I've been yanking tall big weeds and pulling vines that are growing into the lilly bed. I have a few more hours of this before I can mow. 'Cause I want to try and yank the weeds out by the roots now that I can see them as weeds, which I don't think I'll be able to do so well once I've mowed them down. After I do that I'll mow. And after I mow I'll need to do more weeding and attack the back plot. And salvage the hammock. And sweep the porch. And clean the grill. All the while doing whatever I can to save the azaleas. I've cleared the weeds from them and have been watering them. But they're so brown and sad and I fear it might be too late. Still, it's not too late for the whole yard. And maybe after all this work I can have a yard that requires only a few hours of mowing and weeding a week in the spring and summer and only a few hours of maintenance a month in the fall and winter. We shall see.
The House. My apartment has gotten gross. It's a cute place but I have become the world's worst litterbox cleaner. And of course I chose to claim this title in the summer. When it's hot. And stinky. When the flies come out to play. Ah. The flies. One particularly bad time I just let the box go. For way too long. And the flies came. And now they won't leave. And I'll have to buy fly paper. And pray. And hopefully the flies will be gone soon. And one day the cats will remember that they're supposed to pee in the box and not on the floor beside the box. And life will be good. But, sadly, it's not just the catbox. Cat hair is on everything because I have some kind of aversion to my vacuum (maybe I need the Roomba). And I own too much crap and need to get rid of it. And I need to learn more about this verb "dust". I'm familiar with the noun "dust" as said noun is all over my furniture. I need to file all my papers and keepsakes away. I need to have a stoop sale and unload all the crap I collect because I have my Dad's compulsion to buy, buy, buy. I need to admit I'm never going to listen to the majority of my cassette tapes again and unload them. Things like that. I need to do my dishes and clean my fridge and reorganize my pots and my linen closet and all that crap. And I've started. Tuesday night, while avoiding more weeding (I weeded on Monday so hush up) I decided to clean the cat box which led to vacuuming which led to mopping which led to a pretty floor. Yay. And I tried out this pet hair/odor carpet thing last night that kinda works. You still need to put some effort into the vacuuming but it helps. Anyway, lots to do there, but I'm working on it.
My Fat Ass. As explored earlier this week, my eating and exercise habits are just embarrassing and it's led to a fat butt and a thick heart. Sometime in my adulthood I decided that eating a bag of chips while waiting for the mac (of boxed mac & cheese) to boil and then eating another bag of chips with the mac & cheese constituted an acceptable dinner. There are many other food crimes I used to commit on a daily basis, but I think I've embarrassed myself enough. You get the idea. And, as with everything else, it's all really my fault. My doctor was talking about getting me to a nutritionist and was asking me about how many calories I eat in a day. He was thinking I must have a slow metabolism and might need some help. And then I explained I eat about 3000 - 4000 calories a day. The fat ass, is all my own dam fault. I don't want to be as big as I am. I want to be in better shape. But until now I've never really wanted it enough. I would try diets for a while and eventually say screw it and inhale food again. I have tried different gyms and work outs and eventually gave those up. But it's just too much of a problem for me and now I must fix it. And I'm making progress so far. I'm down 10 pounds from my late June doctor's visit of doom. I'm paying more attention to what and how much I put in my mouth and I'm going out walking and all of that. Plus, the housework and yard work is making me more active and thus helping the ass as well. Though my poor interweb and TiVo are starting to feel a little neglected. Poor, poor little TiVo. Stuffed full on all those Daily Shows and bad shows I won't admit in writing that I watch.
My Job/Career. Once upon a time I was going to save the world. Then I was going to go to med school and become a doctor. And then I decided I was going to be an actress. The hell? A career where who you know and how you look matters more than anything else combined? Yeah, that's a wise choice for me. Or not. But I chose it, so I came to New York to do a little theatre and hang out while waiting for my fiance to graduate, at which point we could move elsewhere. The fiance didn't work out, New York and I fell in love and the acting attempt was rather half-assed. I quickly became disillusioned with the NYC theatre scene and decided to take a break and just make money and have a good time. That break has lasted years and years and I think I'm finally admitting I'm never going back to acting full time. Or even mildly part time. My current job pays me fairly well, but it's a crap job and I'm never going to go anywhere in it. And this is where I've been for a couple of years. But I don't know what to do and I don't know how to get out of the rut. But I have to get out of it. I have to find a job that gives me something more than a paycheck. It might just be me sending my resume out and seeing what sticks, trying something in theatre production or management. Or maybe going back to school and looking into becoming a therapist. I don't know. But I have to do something and I have to do it soon. 'Cause I'm tired of being a slacker in a job that kind of embarrasses me and makes me angry way too often. And that's the one thing on this list I've made almost no progress on. But it's on the list. This anti-slacker list.
I'm never going to land a husband now, am I? Now you all know the truth? The bad housekeeping, the fat ass, the constant complaining. Dammit.
I have also slacked in many, many other ways. Which I've come to realize lately as I complain about one thing or the other. (I complain a lot, I'm a Gemini.) In many of the cases the person I'm complaining to (complaining at?) expresses sympathy and while I appreciate that sympathy I end up saying, "well, I only have myself to blame" or some variation on that. I have brought all these evils upon myself and now I'm going to have to work about a thousand times harder to fix everything so it can be maintained with average effort.
My Lawn. My beautiful, beautiful back yard. After my glorious day of mowing a million years ago I have neglected it. It was too hot or I was too tired or I wanted to do some weeding before mowing again or I had big plans or I know nothing about gardening (this last one is very true, I know NOTHING - Help ME!) blah blah blah. Whatever. I pussed out and now it's a jungle. The grass is super tall and I may have to whack it down before I can even mow it. Weeds have grown up so big and bad I think they might have devoured my azaleas. The back area which could be a great garden of some sorts is almost completely made up of weeds. The hammock is covered in twigs and things. The porch is littered with dried earthworm carcasses. It's a jungle. And it's my own damn fault. And I have to fix it. I've been yanking tall big weeds and pulling vines that are growing into the lilly bed. I have a few more hours of this before I can mow. 'Cause I want to try and yank the weeds out by the roots now that I can see them as weeds, which I don't think I'll be able to do so well once I've mowed them down. After I do that I'll mow. And after I mow I'll need to do more weeding and attack the back plot. And salvage the hammock. And sweep the porch. And clean the grill. All the while doing whatever I can to save the azaleas. I've cleared the weeds from them and have been watering them. But they're so brown and sad and I fear it might be too late. Still, it's not too late for the whole yard. And maybe after all this work I can have a yard that requires only a few hours of mowing and weeding a week in the spring and summer and only a few hours of maintenance a month in the fall and winter. We shall see.
The House. My apartment has gotten gross. It's a cute place but I have become the world's worst litterbox cleaner. And of course I chose to claim this title in the summer. When it's hot. And stinky. When the flies come out to play. Ah. The flies. One particularly bad time I just let the box go. For way too long. And the flies came. And now they won't leave. And I'll have to buy fly paper. And pray. And hopefully the flies will be gone soon. And one day the cats will remember that they're supposed to pee in the box and not on the floor beside the box. And life will be good. But, sadly, it's not just the catbox. Cat hair is on everything because I have some kind of aversion to my vacuum (maybe I need the Roomba). And I own too much crap and need to get rid of it. And I need to learn more about this verb "dust". I'm familiar with the noun "dust" as said noun is all over my furniture. I need to file all my papers and keepsakes away. I need to have a stoop sale and unload all the crap I collect because I have my Dad's compulsion to buy, buy, buy. I need to admit I'm never going to listen to the majority of my cassette tapes again and unload them. Things like that. I need to do my dishes and clean my fridge and reorganize my pots and my linen closet and all that crap. And I've started. Tuesday night, while avoiding more weeding (I weeded on Monday so hush up) I decided to clean the cat box which led to vacuuming which led to mopping which led to a pretty floor. Yay. And I tried out this pet hair/odor carpet thing last night that kinda works. You still need to put some effort into the vacuuming but it helps. Anyway, lots to do there, but I'm working on it.
My Fat Ass. As explored earlier this week, my eating and exercise habits are just embarrassing and it's led to a fat butt and a thick heart. Sometime in my adulthood I decided that eating a bag of chips while waiting for the mac (of boxed mac & cheese) to boil and then eating another bag of chips with the mac & cheese constituted an acceptable dinner. There are many other food crimes I used to commit on a daily basis, but I think I've embarrassed myself enough. You get the idea. And, as with everything else, it's all really my fault. My doctor was talking about getting me to a nutritionist and was asking me about how many calories I eat in a day. He was thinking I must have a slow metabolism and might need some help. And then I explained I eat about 3000 - 4000 calories a day. The fat ass, is all my own dam fault. I don't want to be as big as I am. I want to be in better shape. But until now I've never really wanted it enough. I would try diets for a while and eventually say screw it and inhale food again. I have tried different gyms and work outs and eventually gave those up. But it's just too much of a problem for me and now I must fix it. And I'm making progress so far. I'm down 10 pounds from my late June doctor's visit of doom. I'm paying more attention to what and how much I put in my mouth and I'm going out walking and all of that. Plus, the housework and yard work is making me more active and thus helping the ass as well. Though my poor interweb and TiVo are starting to feel a little neglected. Poor, poor little TiVo. Stuffed full on all those Daily Shows and bad shows I won't admit in writing that I watch.
My Job/Career. Once upon a time I was going to save the world. Then I was going to go to med school and become a doctor. And then I decided I was going to be an actress. The hell? A career where who you know and how you look matters more than anything else combined? Yeah, that's a wise choice for me. Or not. But I chose it, so I came to New York to do a little theatre and hang out while waiting for my fiance to graduate, at which point we could move elsewhere. The fiance didn't work out, New York and I fell in love and the acting attempt was rather half-assed. I quickly became disillusioned with the NYC theatre scene and decided to take a break and just make money and have a good time. That break has lasted years and years and I think I'm finally admitting I'm never going back to acting full time. Or even mildly part time. My current job pays me fairly well, but it's a crap job and I'm never going to go anywhere in it. And this is where I've been for a couple of years. But I don't know what to do and I don't know how to get out of the rut. But I have to get out of it. I have to find a job that gives me something more than a paycheck. It might just be me sending my resume out and seeing what sticks, trying something in theatre production or management. Or maybe going back to school and looking into becoming a therapist. I don't know. But I have to do something and I have to do it soon. 'Cause I'm tired of being a slacker in a job that kind of embarrasses me and makes me angry way too often. And that's the one thing on this list I've made almost no progress on. But it's on the list. This anti-slacker list.
I'm never going to land a husband now, am I? Now you all know the truth? The bad housekeeping, the fat ass, the constant complaining. Dammit.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Thickness in the heart
So, it turns out I am too fat.
I haven't been a skinny little thing since I was a little girl. And a little while after that I was curvy and mostly happy with my body. Well, I was a girl growing up in America so of course I dieted and stressed about my weight and hated my thighs. It's a rite of passage these days. Sadly. But really, I was cute and all. In great shape; dancing, running around, active, not eating too badly. It was all good.
And then in college it started to go wrong. I'm not entirely sure why. Probably because of a whole bunch of things, as is usually the case. I wasn't dancing anymore. I spent more time being still than I used to. I developed horrible eating habits and learned I was capable of consuming whole bags of chips. I got older so my metabolism probably shifted some. I also just started to do fewer and fewer active things. So... I gained a lot of weight.
And I moved to New York. And went through much stress. And lost a bit of the weight. And it was good. But then, I went back to the bad college habits with twice the vigor. Consuming huge amounts of crap all the time. Spending lots and lots of time home in front of a computer and/or TV. Hermiting more than usual. Working at a desk job for 8-12 hours a day. Nothing scary. I have friends, I go out, I eat the occasional fruits and vegetables. It's not good. But it's not so bad I'd end up in a special interest story on fat hermits or something.
But that might be part of the problem. It was bad, but not so bad I worried much about it. I'd want to lose weight to be a little healthier or to be able to go hiking on harder trails or to look pretty or get massive amounts of sex (just kidding, Daddy). But it wasn't a huge thing for me. I've always kinda thought I was still cute and it's not like I can't do lots of physical stuff.
But, I've been to the doctor now. And at first he seemed happy about my attitude. I think he sees a lot of anorexics and bulimics and wasn't used to someone like me. Who has the opposite problem. Instead of seeing myself as fat even if I'm thin, I still have the idea that I'm the thinner girl I once was. I don't think I've ever truly seen how fat I am. Even when I think about how much I weigh, it didn't phase me. It didn't seem real. I would hear about people who looked huge and kind of unhealthy and they would weigh less than me and I would ignore that. Pshaw.
But I can't really Pshaw that now. Now I have to really look at my body. I'm not healthy It's not okay and I'm not able to go on like before, eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted (which is all the time). 'Cause I finally went to see a doctor for a physical. And we did some tests.
Now, it's nothing to freak out over. Right now I'm actually mostly healthy. But, all signs point to some seriously ugly health issues down the road. My blood work, my thyroid ulstrasound and my echocardiogram all show that if I don't fix things fast I'm well on the way to diabetes and heart disease, two of the very limited number of illnesses that do run in my family. And this has all scared the crap out of me. My doctor is a nice guy and keeps reminding me that I am healthy now. Which is good. But the echo showed I have some "thickness" in my heart. The hell. My god. I don't care how healthy I currently am. Hearing that freaked the fuck out of me. And thinking about it now it still scares me.
But, I need to keep a grip and remember that I'm lucky because I can fix this. The majority of this can be stopped and possibly even reversed if I just get my fat ass in shape. It's scary, but it's all under my control right now. If I sensibly lose weight and get more active I can fix this. And so I'm going to try. I've tried before and failed. Miserably. But now I have "thickness" in my heart. And hopefully that'll get me to where I need to be.
I also have a lot of support. Sheena and Lovey and Muppet all let me obsess about food and exercise as much as I want at work. Sheena is even cracking the whip over what I eat while I'm at work. Bitch made me give up half & half and mayo on my Subway sandwiches and American cheese on my breakfast burritos. And for that I hate her. And love her. Turnip is letting me vent and moan and whine and cry and is in it with me. And when it gets really hard my Mom is there to remind me that she had a heart attack and could've died and gave up smoking (a habit she had for longer than I've been alive) and I'm just being a damn pussy about the cheetos. Though she doesn't quite use those words. And I think when more folks figure out what's going on with me they'll probably be pretty good too. And won't make too many faces when I become that girl who can't talk about anything but food and calories. Oh dear god. Don't let me be that girl. Though, I guess right now I'd rather be that girl than the girl I will be if I don't get it together.
So. There you go. Just thought I'd share.
I haven't been a skinny little thing since I was a little girl. And a little while after that I was curvy and mostly happy with my body. Well, I was a girl growing up in America so of course I dieted and stressed about my weight and hated my thighs. It's a rite of passage these days. Sadly. But really, I was cute and all. In great shape; dancing, running around, active, not eating too badly. It was all good.
And then in college it started to go wrong. I'm not entirely sure why. Probably because of a whole bunch of things, as is usually the case. I wasn't dancing anymore. I spent more time being still than I used to. I developed horrible eating habits and learned I was capable of consuming whole bags of chips. I got older so my metabolism probably shifted some. I also just started to do fewer and fewer active things. So... I gained a lot of weight.
And I moved to New York. And went through much stress. And lost a bit of the weight. And it was good. But then, I went back to the bad college habits with twice the vigor. Consuming huge amounts of crap all the time. Spending lots and lots of time home in front of a computer and/or TV. Hermiting more than usual. Working at a desk job for 8-12 hours a day. Nothing scary. I have friends, I go out, I eat the occasional fruits and vegetables. It's not good. But it's not so bad I'd end up in a special interest story on fat hermits or something.
But that might be part of the problem. It was bad, but not so bad I worried much about it. I'd want to lose weight to be a little healthier or to be able to go hiking on harder trails or to look pretty or get massive amounts of sex (just kidding, Daddy). But it wasn't a huge thing for me. I've always kinda thought I was still cute and it's not like I can't do lots of physical stuff.
But, I've been to the doctor now. And at first he seemed happy about my attitude. I think he sees a lot of anorexics and bulimics and wasn't used to someone like me. Who has the opposite problem. Instead of seeing myself as fat even if I'm thin, I still have the idea that I'm the thinner girl I once was. I don't think I've ever truly seen how fat I am. Even when I think about how much I weigh, it didn't phase me. It didn't seem real. I would hear about people who looked huge and kind of unhealthy and they would weigh less than me and I would ignore that. Pshaw.
But I can't really Pshaw that now. Now I have to really look at my body. I'm not healthy It's not okay and I'm not able to go on like before, eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted (which is all the time). 'Cause I finally went to see a doctor for a physical. And we did some tests.
Now, it's nothing to freak out over. Right now I'm actually mostly healthy. But, all signs point to some seriously ugly health issues down the road. My blood work, my thyroid ulstrasound and my echocardiogram all show that if I don't fix things fast I'm well on the way to diabetes and heart disease, two of the very limited number of illnesses that do run in my family. And this has all scared the crap out of me. My doctor is a nice guy and keeps reminding me that I am healthy now. Which is good. But the echo showed I have some "thickness" in my heart. The hell. My god. I don't care how healthy I currently am. Hearing that freaked the fuck out of me. And thinking about it now it still scares me.
But, I need to keep a grip and remember that I'm lucky because I can fix this. The majority of this can be stopped and possibly even reversed if I just get my fat ass in shape. It's scary, but it's all under my control right now. If I sensibly lose weight and get more active I can fix this. And so I'm going to try. I've tried before and failed. Miserably. But now I have "thickness" in my heart. And hopefully that'll get me to where I need to be.
I also have a lot of support. Sheena and Lovey and Muppet all let me obsess about food and exercise as much as I want at work. Sheena is even cracking the whip over what I eat while I'm at work. Bitch made me give up half & half and mayo on my Subway sandwiches and American cheese on my breakfast burritos. And for that I hate her. And love her. Turnip is letting me vent and moan and whine and cry and is in it with me. And when it gets really hard my Mom is there to remind me that she had a heart attack and could've died and gave up smoking (a habit she had for longer than I've been alive) and I'm just being a damn pussy about the cheetos. Though she doesn't quite use those words. And I think when more folks figure out what's going on with me they'll probably be pretty good too. And won't make too many faces when I become that girl who can't talk about anything but food and calories. Oh dear god. Don't let me be that girl. Though, I guess right now I'd rather be that girl than the girl I will be if I don't get it together.
So. There you go. Just thought I'd share.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Baby Panda!
Amanda: What's better than a baby panda?
Lovey: Nothing!
Amanda: You know it.
My mother is getting revenge for all the TV Shows I got her addicted to over the last few years.
I cannot stop watching the Baby Panda. I'll be doing some work, get cranky and turn to Baby Panda! Eating lunch and can't do much work while shoveling yogurt, turn to Baby Panda! Coffee hasn't kicked in yet, Baby Panda!
Lovey, Muppet and I are working on our plot to head to DC, visit some friends, snatch the Baby Panda (all Charlie's Angels badass like) and head back home. Muppet and I will share custody. She gets it Wednesdays and every other weekend, I get him the rest of the time. Lovey will visit as much as she can. Though really, I have the backyard, I should get him all the time. Sadly, if this does not work out, Monkey Man has refused to come down and bail us out of jail. Any volunteers?
He's so cute when he wiggles. Which is like, all the time. When Mom goes off to eat and he's all alone he kicks his little legs and grabs his ears or nose and I almost squeal out loud at work. Sheena is quite tired of the cooing coming from Lovey and I. Because she does not understand the unbelievable cuteness of Baby Panda! And Lovey and I are forced to quote Paula Abdul lyrics about her. And Monkey Man. Bad Baby Panda! non loving people...
Baby Panda!
Lovey: Nothing!
Amanda: You know it.
My mother is getting revenge for all the TV Shows I got her addicted to over the last few years.
I cannot stop watching the Baby Panda. I'll be doing some work, get cranky and turn to Baby Panda! Eating lunch and can't do much work while shoveling yogurt, turn to Baby Panda! Coffee hasn't kicked in yet, Baby Panda!
Lovey, Muppet and I are working on our plot to head to DC, visit some friends, snatch the Baby Panda (all Charlie's Angels badass like) and head back home. Muppet and I will share custody. She gets it Wednesdays and every other weekend, I get him the rest of the time. Lovey will visit as much as she can. Though really, I have the backyard, I should get him all the time. Sadly, if this does not work out, Monkey Man has refused to come down and bail us out of jail. Any volunteers?
He's so cute when he wiggles. Which is like, all the time. When Mom goes off to eat and he's all alone he kicks his little legs and grabs his ears or nose and I almost squeal out loud at work. Sheena is quite tired of the cooing coming from Lovey and I. Because she does not understand the unbelievable cuteness of Baby Panda! And Lovey and I are forced to quote Paula Abdul lyrics about her. And Monkey Man. Bad Baby Panda! non loving people...
Baby Panda!
Friday, July 29, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Cobble Hill
It appears that they are, recently have been or soon will be filming something for The Sopranos in my 'hood. If the signs are to be believed. Normally filming on the street doesn't thrill me beyond reason or anything because I have lived in New York for nine years now (can you fucking believe it - longest I've ever lived ANYWHERE?!?!?!). But I like The Sopranos and there are trucks and lights and a limo hooked to a tow and trailers and all of that about half a block from my pad.
If it weren't so hot, wet and miserable outside right now I'd be tempted to wander around and see what I could see. But it is hot, wet and miserable and should be storming soon. So the discomfort is high and the chance of seeing anything low. But it should be fun to watch this season and see what they shot here.
You know, filming on the street actually never thrilled me now that I think about it. Because the first NYC film crew I ever encountered filmed right outside the first apartment I had here in NYC. Not long after I moved in because Charlotte's bed hadn't arrived yet and we were both sharing mine. Which isn't nearly as sexy as it sounds. But nothing that happened in that apartment was as sexy as it sounded. Very sexy sounding stories out of that place. Anyway, we were sleeping at night and were suddenly blinded by lights from the street. From the damn film crew. At a ridiculous hour. Pissed me off more than anything else. And I never figured out what it was for.
I DO get a kick out of seeing my neighborhoods (I've lived in five while in New York) in movies though. Like when I saw my building in American Psycho. Right after he tries to feed the kitty to the ATM. Awesome. Christian Bale's hot bod was at one point just outside my window. Bliss.
If it weren't so hot, wet and miserable outside right now I'd be tempted to wander around and see what I could see. But it is hot, wet and miserable and should be storming soon. So the discomfort is high and the chance of seeing anything low. But it should be fun to watch this season and see what they shot here.
You know, filming on the street actually never thrilled me now that I think about it. Because the first NYC film crew I ever encountered filmed right outside the first apartment I had here in NYC. Not long after I moved in because Charlotte's bed hadn't arrived yet and we were both sharing mine. Which isn't nearly as sexy as it sounds. But nothing that happened in that apartment was as sexy as it sounded. Very sexy sounding stories out of that place. Anyway, we were sleeping at night and were suddenly blinded by lights from the street. From the damn film crew. At a ridiculous hour. Pissed me off more than anything else. And I never figured out what it was for.
I DO get a kick out of seeing my neighborhoods (I've lived in five while in New York) in movies though. Like when I saw my building in American Psycho. Right after he tries to feed the kitty to the ATM. Awesome. Christian Bale's hot bod was at one point just outside my window. Bliss.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Boys
Turnip and I were having a discussion about the evils of boys.
"I hate how they can be totally adorable and then suck donkey balls and then act so adorable again that you can't remember why you thought they sucked donkey balls."
"EXACTLY"
Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them.
"I hate how they can be totally adorable and then suck donkey balls and then act so adorable again that you can't remember why you thought they sucked donkey balls."
"EXACTLY"
Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Walk it off, bitch
This morning I have my first doctor's appointment in forever. And I am terrified. I am not really sure what I'm afraid of. That he'll tell me I'm the least healthy person in the world and I'll die on Tuesday? That he'll yell at me for never going to the doctor? That he'll be all doctory? The last time I saw a doctor (who wasn't a birth control prescribing girly doctor) was when I split my knee open. And I wasn't even going to go then. I was in my bathroom trying to push the fatty tissue back into my knee and pondering if I could use scotch tape instead of medical tape to put it all back together. And I called a friend to see if this was wise. And he said that if I was not at the ER when he got there, he was sending an ambulance for me. I needed six stitches and the doctor said scotch tape would NOT have worked.
I just come from a long line of folks who believe you can walk it off. Anything. Sprained ankles, kidney stones, shredded chins & knees. Though, Mom's gotten much better. Especially with the heart attack and all. The poor thing is even getting a colonoscopy today. Which will be far worse than my little wimpy physical, I'm sure. GO Mommy! So I will try and think of her. And suck it up. And go. Think happy thoughts for me. And Mom.
Update: I am a total pussy. The doctor's visit was a piece of cake. He was very nice and seemed intelligent and thorough. And apparently my medical history forms were very detailed (thanks for letting me know my maternal great-grandmother had type 1 diabetes, Mom). He even said I was one of the healthier people he's seen. Though I won't have my blood test results for a couple of weeks. But it was a good visit. He seemed a bit taken aback by my utter lack of doctor's visits in the past. But was pretty understanding about it. Though I did not tell him the above scotch tape tale. Might've pushed him over the edge. He also seemed to grasp my problems with insomnia and my weight and was not horrified by me at all. So that kinda rocked. Sheena recommended him so go her. And I would be more than happy to recommend him to anyone looking for a doctor in New York. Of course, I now have recommendations for dermatologists (you really should go about once a year), opthomologists (you really should have your eyes checked every few years or so), gynecologist (I'm looking for a new one) and dieticians (because my weight hasn't caused me health problems yet, but can in the future). So I have to get my courage up to make all those calls. Oh my. It is nice to finally be using my big piles of health insurance...
I just come from a long line of folks who believe you can walk it off. Anything. Sprained ankles, kidney stones, shredded chins & knees. Though, Mom's gotten much better. Especially with the heart attack and all. The poor thing is even getting a colonoscopy today. Which will be far worse than my little wimpy physical, I'm sure. GO Mommy! So I will try and think of her. And suck it up. And go. Think happy thoughts for me. And Mom.
Update: I am a total pussy. The doctor's visit was a piece of cake. He was very nice and seemed intelligent and thorough. And apparently my medical history forms were very detailed (thanks for letting me know my maternal great-grandmother had type 1 diabetes, Mom). He even said I was one of the healthier people he's seen. Though I won't have my blood test results for a couple of weeks. But it was a good visit. He seemed a bit taken aback by my utter lack of doctor's visits in the past. But was pretty understanding about it. Though I did not tell him the above scotch tape tale. Might've pushed him over the edge. He also seemed to grasp my problems with insomnia and my weight and was not horrified by me at all. So that kinda rocked. Sheena recommended him so go her. And I would be more than happy to recommend him to anyone looking for a doctor in New York. Of course, I now have recommendations for dermatologists (you really should go about once a year), opthomologists (you really should have your eyes checked every few years or so), gynecologist (I'm looking for a new one) and dieticians (because my weight hasn't caused me health problems yet, but can in the future). So I have to get my courage up to make all those calls. Oh my. It is nice to finally be using my big piles of health insurance...
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Air Conditioning Whore
I don't own an air conditioner and I'm not really sure why. When I moved here I think Charlotte and I just figured we couldn't afford the machine itself and everyone always told us it cost so much in Con Ed bills. I also don't really remember feeling horribly hot those first couple of years in New York. Well, once. The day we moved from our first apartment to our second. One fourth floor walk up to another in late June/early July. It wasn't pretty and it took forever, even with some gracious friends helping. By the time we were done it was crazy late, crazy hot and the apartment was unlivable. So we went to Charlotte's boyfriend's place and relaxed in cool, air conditioned comfort.
After that I moved to Chelsea and had a shoebox with one window. Best bath tub I've ever had in New York, but it was small, had no cross-breeze and was SO HOT in the Summer. The one window was huge though, and I had a hard time finding an air conditioner that might fit in it. Plus, I feared the "Huge Electricity Bill" so many friends spoke of. So, I never got AC there either.
Then, Daddy and I moved in together and he said we were NOT living without AC. I was game. He'd probably buy the machine and then would split the "Huge Electricity Bill" with me. But our apartment had bars on them to prevent a child from falling out the window. And it took us MONTHS to get the super to remove them on one even window. I'm not quite sure why we didn't break down and attack the bars with a saw ourselves, but by the time we could put a machine in the window, it was Fall. The next Summer we figured we'd survived one NYC Summer without AC and could do it again. We're pretty but not too bright. Also, we lived in a huge, high-ceilinged loft and finding one machine that could reasonably cool that apartment down wasn't going to be easy. Or cheap.
Then, I moved to my first Brooklyn apartment. And I realized that the "Huge Electricity Bill" wasn't all that Huge and was certainly worth paying to keep cool. But I didn't have bars or anything on my front windows (the bedroom windows - where I would want the AC). They faced the street and I was on the first floor. And I worried that it would be so easy to pop out my AC and rob me blind sometime when I was at work. It really makes no sense, but there you go. Also, I'd gone so long without one it seemed strange to break down and finally get an air conditioner at that point. I think I started to believe I was some kind of Heat Surviving Badass instead of the more honest Moronic Heat Stroke Victim. "I survived Louisiana summers with mad crazy heat and humidity! New York has NOTHING I can't handle." Of course, I had AC in Louisiana.
Then I moved into my current apartment. It's basement level, but the kitchen window has the bars curved out far enough to fit an air conditioner back there. So there really isn't any big reason to not have one. I fuss about how if I plug up that window with an air conditioner I won't be able to get a cross breeze on days I don't want AC. And I'll need a big machine as I don't have doors in my apartment and will need something that can cool the whole place, not one room. Also, purchasing and lugging a huge machine to my apartment will be a pain. But really. I think I'm just in the habit of tossing and turning and whining about how hot I am. Because I am that silly.
Stop reading, Daddy.
I need to just buy one and put it in and pipe down. Because the lack of sleep is killing me. And yesterday I actually pondered whoring myself out just to sleep in air conditioned comfort. And the reason I didn't wasn't because it seemed wrong to exchange sex for a night's sleep with AC but because my potential johns/friends/whatever were not conveniently located. Going home and getting a change of clothes and then going there in this heat seemed annoying. Yeah. Need to go get a machine. Maybe Sunday.
After that I moved to Chelsea and had a shoebox with one window. Best bath tub I've ever had in New York, but it was small, had no cross-breeze and was SO HOT in the Summer. The one window was huge though, and I had a hard time finding an air conditioner that might fit in it. Plus, I feared the "Huge Electricity Bill" so many friends spoke of. So, I never got AC there either.
Then, Daddy and I moved in together and he said we were NOT living without AC. I was game. He'd probably buy the machine and then would split the "Huge Electricity Bill" with me. But our apartment had bars on them to prevent a child from falling out the window. And it took us MONTHS to get the super to remove them on one even window. I'm not quite sure why we didn't break down and attack the bars with a saw ourselves, but by the time we could put a machine in the window, it was Fall. The next Summer we figured we'd survived one NYC Summer without AC and could do it again. We're pretty but not too bright. Also, we lived in a huge, high-ceilinged loft and finding one machine that could reasonably cool that apartment down wasn't going to be easy. Or cheap.
Then, I moved to my first Brooklyn apartment. And I realized that the "Huge Electricity Bill" wasn't all that Huge and was certainly worth paying to keep cool. But I didn't have bars or anything on my front windows (the bedroom windows - where I would want the AC). They faced the street and I was on the first floor. And I worried that it would be so easy to pop out my AC and rob me blind sometime when I was at work. It really makes no sense, but there you go. Also, I'd gone so long without one it seemed strange to break down and finally get an air conditioner at that point. I think I started to believe I was some kind of Heat Surviving Badass instead of the more honest Moronic Heat Stroke Victim. "I survived Louisiana summers with mad crazy heat and humidity! New York has NOTHING I can't handle." Of course, I had AC in Louisiana.
Then I moved into my current apartment. It's basement level, but the kitchen window has the bars curved out far enough to fit an air conditioner back there. So there really isn't any big reason to not have one. I fuss about how if I plug up that window with an air conditioner I won't be able to get a cross breeze on days I don't want AC. And I'll need a big machine as I don't have doors in my apartment and will need something that can cool the whole place, not one room. Also, purchasing and lugging a huge machine to my apartment will be a pain. But really. I think I'm just in the habit of tossing and turning and whining about how hot I am. Because I am that silly.
Stop reading, Daddy.
I need to just buy one and put it in and pipe down. Because the lack of sleep is killing me. And yesterday I actually pondered whoring myself out just to sleep in air conditioned comfort. And the reason I didn't wasn't because it seemed wrong to exchange sex for a night's sleep with AC but because my potential johns/friends/whatever were not conveniently located. Going home and getting a change of clothes and then going there in this heat seemed annoying. Yeah. Need to go get a machine. Maybe Sunday.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Happy Hour
Had a FABULOUS night with Rock Star Fran last night. Happy Hour at 2A and then a tipsy couple o' slices at Two Boots and hours and hours of girl talk. How can you top that? I mean, maybe if we'd ended the night in the hammock... but only Maggie seems to like hanging out in the hammock with me. We gossiped about boys, looked at photos of one of her recent European Tours (I had no idea there were so many cute Euro indie band boy types), complained about working for a living, talked about family and friends and the narcissism inherent in blogging. It was great. We talked a little bit about the kind of friendships where you don't have to be involved with a person regularly to still have a great connection with them.
Like how I don't get to see Fran nearly as much as I want to, but we can grab drinks and dinner and talk for hours and not want it to end. I actually don't get to see any of my friends as much as I'd like to. Work and life and geography and the limited 24 hours in a day prevent that. But it's so good to know that even if I don't get to see or talk to most of my friends on a daily, weekly, monthly or sometimes yearly basis we can still get together and have the same closeness and warmth and respect we've always had. Even with friends from long ago who have gone off and had lives completely different from mine. We can still appreciate the things we have in common and enjoy the differences.
I sometimes get the impression that my friends who are married with kids in someplace a little quieter than New York believe I find them boring or frumpy. Which couldn't be further from the truth. For one thing, my single New York 30something lifestyle is not as exciting as Sex and the City might lead you to believe. For another, I think where someone lives or their marital/parental status has very little to do with how exciting they are. I've recently gotten back in better contact with a couple of friends from early high school and I love seeing their kids and hearing about their lives. They have all kinds of fun stories. And I sometimes think they have more wild, exciting times than I do. And it's not like they think my life is empty and meaningless because I don't have a man or babies. We still have plenty in common and lots to talk about and laugh about.
Even with all the ups and downs, long absences, misunderstandings, miscommunication and the general mess that comes with having people in your life I am so grateful for my big ole pile of friends. Because I am a cornball.
Like how I don't get to see Fran nearly as much as I want to, but we can grab drinks and dinner and talk for hours and not want it to end. I actually don't get to see any of my friends as much as I'd like to. Work and life and geography and the limited 24 hours in a day prevent that. But it's so good to know that even if I don't get to see or talk to most of my friends on a daily, weekly, monthly or sometimes yearly basis we can still get together and have the same closeness and warmth and respect we've always had. Even with friends from long ago who have gone off and had lives completely different from mine. We can still appreciate the things we have in common and enjoy the differences.
I sometimes get the impression that my friends who are married with kids in someplace a little quieter than New York believe I find them boring or frumpy. Which couldn't be further from the truth. For one thing, my single New York 30something lifestyle is not as exciting as Sex and the City might lead you to believe. For another, I think where someone lives or their marital/parental status has very little to do with how exciting they are. I've recently gotten back in better contact with a couple of friends from early high school and I love seeing their kids and hearing about their lives. They have all kinds of fun stories. And I sometimes think they have more wild, exciting times than I do. And it's not like they think my life is empty and meaningless because I don't have a man or babies. We still have plenty in common and lots to talk about and laugh about.
Even with all the ups and downs, long absences, misunderstandings, miscommunication and the general mess that comes with having people in your life I am so grateful for my big ole pile of friends. Because I am a cornball.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Lawn Mowing
When I was younger, my Dad would make me mow the lawn. Which was really very reasonable of him. I was a member of the household, chores had to be done, I was 14 or so and fully capable of pushing a lawn mower around. It wasn't even that hard. Just hot and sweaty and time consuming (we had a lovely large yard). But I have a bit of a Princessy attitude at times. And lawn mowing time brought it out like you would not believe. Oh the whining and the moaning and the pleading and the "Daddy!!!" that came out of me. I really should be embarrassed. And I am. Sorta. But not enough not to continue to do it.
After much begging and pleading and whining and such, I finally admitted to myself that no one else was going to mow my damn lawn and I was going to have to do it myself. So I came home. Sat around for a little bit hoping someone would call and say, "Kidding! Of course I'll mow your lawn, silly Amanda!" When that didn't happen I sacked up, put on my scruffies, went to the basement, brought out the lawn mower and mowed the damn lawn. It was hot and sweaty and painful. And I really am not so good at it yet. It's a little patchy I think. But it's done. And I can only get better in time. And hopefully if I do it once every week or two rather than once every month or two it might be easier, right? Anyway, I did it. And the grass is mostly low now. I even got out the clippers and attacked the tall stuff crowding my bushes. And made a half-ass attempt to clip the stuff around the edge of the yard. Then I rinsed off the mower, wiped it down and sprayed it with WD-40. And then I lay down in my hammock and pondered what a bad ass I am. Because I mowed my teeny tiny lawn. All by myself. Like millions of folks do each week. And yet are not the bad ass I am.
When I was about 15 I put on my bikini to go mow the lawn. On an Air Force base. In the South. At the age of 15. Daddy was not pleased. But I do not remember having to mow the lawn after that. Though the summer I turned 16 we moved to Hawai'i and didn't really have much of a mowable lawn after that so... maybe it wasn't the bikini. I like to believe it was the bikini and that I'm all sneaky and sly. Sadly, I don't think that's going to work here. And I'm going to be out there next Friday mowing it again before my backyard birthday party. Alas.
Because I am so awesome I also did some dishes and baked chocolate chip cookies last night. After mowing the lawn. You wish you could be so cool. And I wish I could have as much sleep as y'all probably did.
After much begging and pleading and whining and such, I finally admitted to myself that no one else was going to mow my damn lawn and I was going to have to do it myself. So I came home. Sat around for a little bit hoping someone would call and say, "Kidding! Of course I'll mow your lawn, silly Amanda!" When that didn't happen I sacked up, put on my scruffies, went to the basement, brought out the lawn mower and mowed the damn lawn. It was hot and sweaty and painful. And I really am not so good at it yet. It's a little patchy I think. But it's done. And I can only get better in time. And hopefully if I do it once every week or two rather than once every month or two it might be easier, right? Anyway, I did it. And the grass is mostly low now. I even got out the clippers and attacked the tall stuff crowding my bushes. And made a half-ass attempt to clip the stuff around the edge of the yard. Then I rinsed off the mower, wiped it down and sprayed it with WD-40. And then I lay down in my hammock and pondered what a bad ass I am. Because I mowed my teeny tiny lawn. All by myself. Like millions of folks do each week. And yet are not the bad ass I am.
When I was about 15 I put on my bikini to go mow the lawn. On an Air Force base. In the South. At the age of 15. Daddy was not pleased. But I do not remember having to mow the lawn after that. Though the summer I turned 16 we moved to Hawai'i and didn't really have much of a mowable lawn after that so... maybe it wasn't the bikini. I like to believe it was the bikini and that I'm all sneaky and sly. Sadly, I don't think that's going to work here. And I'm going to be out there next Friday mowing it again before my backyard birthday party. Alas.
Because I am so awesome I also did some dishes and baked chocolate chip cookies last night. After mowing the lawn. You wish you could be so cool. And I wish I could have as much sleep as y'all probably did.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Let's Dance in style, let's dance for a while.
Lately I've had a hankering to hear the song Forever Young. The one by Alphaville. I think it's partly because I'm not entirely happy with my relationships right now. Any of them. Well, a couple of them have had good moments of late. But no more than two or three.
Some of it's probably me, some of it's my friends. I don't know. I honestly don't care. I'm just pissed. I feel very unwanted right now. Needed, yes. Used, played, tolerated, handled, patronized, and probably loved, sure. But not wanted. And I'm the kind of person who would rather be wanted and liked than needed. I would rather have people tell me they love me, they love being with me. I like compliments. Specific ones. Not, "you're responsible or useful or there or a good listener or somehow capable in a way that helps me." Not something generic like, "you're fun, funny, friendly, nice, whatever." Something specific to me and my awesomeness. Because while I am flawed and will probably always have room to grow and things I want to work on and traits that people just don't like; I do believe I'm awesome. And I don't really think anyone else knows this right now. And it's pissing me off. But, that's neither here nor there, really. Sometimes people suck. Sometimes people are shitty friends. It happens. Whatever.
There ARE times when people don't suck. Sometimes there are perfect moments of contentment with friends. And so many of those moments stay with me. Some memories are stronger than others at different times. But when they're strong I can remember them so clearly it's almost like I'm still there.
Once, long ago in high school, MeatBoy, FlyBoy, Felicia and I went to Waimanalo Beach. No special reason. Just because. We went swimming and goofed around and probably had a picnic or something. I don't recall.
I do remember FlyBoy and Felicia going down to the edge of the water to build a sand castle while MeatBoy and I stayed up near the trees listening to some mix MeatBoy had made.
It was a gorgeous day. Sunny. Beautiful blue skies. Hot, but with a strong enough breeze that it felt cooler. Lots of families were out on the beach and you could hear folks playing in the water, the waves hitting the shore, birds now and again, the wind through the trees. At one point I laid down and put my head in MeatBoy's lap. He started playing with my hair and I love when people play with my hair. It feels so good. So, I just laid there thinking about how amazing life was. I was in Hawai'i on a beach on one of the most beautiful days I've ever seen. I was with friends I could feel comfortable with to the point where we just were there together. No deep conversation was had, no one needed anything, I didn't feel like I had to be entertaining or charming. We were just there together. MeatBoy and I weren't really even talking, and we could hear FlyBoy and Felicia giggling and goofing around with their castle. And then MeatBoy said that I would love the next song on the mix. It was Forever Young. And it was perfect in that moment. At some point in the song FlyBoy and Felicia came up and started building a pyramid on my legs. You know, because I was laying still and there was sand so why wouldn't you do that? And we were all happy and enjoying the day and enjoying being together. So now, every time I hear that song I think about that day and it makes me feel a little bit like I did then.
A few years later Felicia decided that I was not a good friend and dropped out of my life. MeatBoy and I still see each other a couple of times a year and FlyBoy and I stay in touch with the occasional email. But none of us have the same relationships with each other that we did then. But it was so good then. And I'm so grateful for that time. And all those other times that trigger similar feelings of peace and total happiness.
Keeps me going during the crap times while I wait for people to be more appreciative and me to be more accepting of the way the world works.
Some of it's probably me, some of it's my friends. I don't know. I honestly don't care. I'm just pissed. I feel very unwanted right now. Needed, yes. Used, played, tolerated, handled, patronized, and probably loved, sure. But not wanted. And I'm the kind of person who would rather be wanted and liked than needed. I would rather have people tell me they love me, they love being with me. I like compliments. Specific ones. Not, "you're responsible or useful or there or a good listener or somehow capable in a way that helps me." Not something generic like, "you're fun, funny, friendly, nice, whatever." Something specific to me and my awesomeness. Because while I am flawed and will probably always have room to grow and things I want to work on and traits that people just don't like; I do believe I'm awesome. And I don't really think anyone else knows this right now. And it's pissing me off. But, that's neither here nor there, really. Sometimes people suck. Sometimes people are shitty friends. It happens. Whatever.
There ARE times when people don't suck. Sometimes there are perfect moments of contentment with friends. And so many of those moments stay with me. Some memories are stronger than others at different times. But when they're strong I can remember them so clearly it's almost like I'm still there.
Once, long ago in high school, MeatBoy, FlyBoy, Felicia and I went to Waimanalo Beach. No special reason. Just because. We went swimming and goofed around and probably had a picnic or something. I don't recall.
I do remember FlyBoy and Felicia going down to the edge of the water to build a sand castle while MeatBoy and I stayed up near the trees listening to some mix MeatBoy had made.
It was a gorgeous day. Sunny. Beautiful blue skies. Hot, but with a strong enough breeze that it felt cooler. Lots of families were out on the beach and you could hear folks playing in the water, the waves hitting the shore, birds now and again, the wind through the trees. At one point I laid down and put my head in MeatBoy's lap. He started playing with my hair and I love when people play with my hair. It feels so good. So, I just laid there thinking about how amazing life was. I was in Hawai'i on a beach on one of the most beautiful days I've ever seen. I was with friends I could feel comfortable with to the point where we just were there together. No deep conversation was had, no one needed anything, I didn't feel like I had to be entertaining or charming. We were just there together. MeatBoy and I weren't really even talking, and we could hear FlyBoy and Felicia giggling and goofing around with their castle. And then MeatBoy said that I would love the next song on the mix. It was Forever Young. And it was perfect in that moment. At some point in the song FlyBoy and Felicia came up and started building a pyramid on my legs. You know, because I was laying still and there was sand so why wouldn't you do that? And we were all happy and enjoying the day and enjoying being together. So now, every time I hear that song I think about that day and it makes me feel a little bit like I did then.
A few years later Felicia decided that I was not a good friend and dropped out of my life. MeatBoy and I still see each other a couple of times a year and FlyBoy and I stay in touch with the occasional email. But none of us have the same relationships with each other that we did then. But it was so good then. And I'm so grateful for that time. And all those other times that trigger similar feelings of peace and total happiness.
Keeps me going during the crap times while I wait for people to be more appreciative and me to be more accepting of the way the world works.
Why would you want my Number? (don't read, Daddy)
So, a total stranger saw me walking to the train this morning, turned around, chased me down and introduced himself. Then asked me for my number.*
I honestly had no idea what to do. I HATE giving out my number. I'm actually more willing to go home with someone than give them my number (sorry, Mom). I've done it before (given out my number, and, um, well, I've also gone home with someone I didn't give my number to (sorry again, Mom)), but it feels weird. Giving out my phone number. Going home with someone feels awesome (sorry again, Mom). Usually I only do it because I'm drunk, in a panic or so totally amused by the situation that I cannot help myself. Like the time the guy driving the 1 train asked me for my number. He was so cute and I was so amused I couldn't help myself. And, um, that ended up working out real well for me for a few weeks. Heh. But, back to my little dilemma.
Is it okay to give out my number to someone one the street that I don't know at all? We didn't get to chat in a bar for a little bit or meet through friends or even chat on a train for a while. Nothing. He looked kinda cute and told me his name, but that was it. And really, why would he ask for my number? What makes you ask someone for their number. I don't think I've actually ever asked for someone's number so I have no clue. And it's not like I look devastatingly beautiful today. It's not even one of my "pretty days". I must look easy. God, that's totally it. I put a little mascara on and have my ass swinging iPod listening walk going and I look like a total ho. I don't wanna look like a ho. Dammit.
I should've given him my number, huh? It's not like I've never ignored a boy who called me before. I'm so odd. I cannot date. I'm completely incapable.
*This is not the first time this has happened on my morning commute. Why must people ask for my number before I have had coffee? It seems unwise.
I honestly had no idea what to do. I HATE giving out my number. I'm actually more willing to go home with someone than give them my number (sorry, Mom). I've done it before (given out my number, and, um, well, I've also gone home with someone I didn't give my number to (sorry again, Mom)), but it feels weird. Giving out my phone number. Going home with someone feels awesome (sorry again, Mom). Usually I only do it because I'm drunk, in a panic or so totally amused by the situation that I cannot help myself. Like the time the guy driving the 1 train asked me for my number. He was so cute and I was so amused I couldn't help myself. And, um, that ended up working out real well for me for a few weeks. Heh. But, back to my little dilemma.
Is it okay to give out my number to someone one the street that I don't know at all? We didn't get to chat in a bar for a little bit or meet through friends or even chat on a train for a while. Nothing. He looked kinda cute and told me his name, but that was it. And really, why would he ask for my number? What makes you ask someone for their number. I don't think I've actually ever asked for someone's number so I have no clue. And it's not like I look devastatingly beautiful today. It's not even one of my "pretty days". I must look easy. God, that's totally it. I put a little mascara on and have my ass swinging iPod listening walk going and I look like a total ho. I don't wanna look like a ho. Dammit.
I should've given him my number, huh? It's not like I've never ignored a boy who called me before. I'm so odd. I cannot date. I'm completely incapable.
*This is not the first time this has happened on my morning commute. Why must people ask for my number before I have had coffee? It seems unwise.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Summertime
When did we have Spring? Did I miss Spring? It was cold. And then it was rainy. There were a few cool, clear days, more rain and coldness and then it got HOT. It hardly seems like we get Spring anymore. Seasonal changes are supposed to be one of the few benefits of not being in Hawai'i. And lately all I get is Winter, Rain and the middle of Summer. I miss Spring. Just a few weeks where it's in the 60s, maybe the low 70s. Clear and pretty with the occasional brief rainstorm. I want Spring, dammit!
But, Spring or no I have been LOVING my backyard. Well, I haven't actually mowed it yet. And I need to. And I'm dreading it. Because the grass/weeds are high enough to poke me when I lay in the hammock. And that's not so good. But other than that, love it.
Yesterday as I was nursing the sleepies, the crankies and the mild hangover (I really never drink enough water even when I'm not tossing back beer) I sprawled out in the hammock with a book & a raspberry cider and it was awesome. I think I was out there for hours. Reading, swinging, drinking, looking at the pretty sky through the pretty leaves on the pretty tree... Listening to my neighborhood. Occasionally someone a few yards down blasts Italian Opera. Which just makes me smile. Because it is Brooklyn and I'm out in my yard listening to Italian Opera. And it kind of makes my heart swell. I don't know how I will ever live anywhere else. Especially if I can find someone to clean and mow my lawn. THAT would be awesome. Anyone interested in a Cabin Boy position?
But, Spring or no I have been LOVING my backyard. Well, I haven't actually mowed it yet. And I need to. And I'm dreading it. Because the grass/weeds are high enough to poke me when I lay in the hammock. And that's not so good. But other than that, love it.
Yesterday as I was nursing the sleepies, the crankies and the mild hangover (I really never drink enough water even when I'm not tossing back beer) I sprawled out in the hammock with a book & a raspberry cider and it was awesome. I think I was out there for hours. Reading, swinging, drinking, looking at the pretty sky through the pretty leaves on the pretty tree... Listening to my neighborhood. Occasionally someone a few yards down blasts Italian Opera. Which just makes me smile. Because it is Brooklyn and I'm out in my yard listening to Italian Opera. And it kind of makes my heart swell. I don't know how I will ever live anywhere else. Especially if I can find someone to clean and mow my lawn. THAT would be awesome. Anyone interested in a Cabin Boy position?
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