Tuesday, December 15, 2009

whoreable advice

Ashley Dupre is now a "relationship" columnist for the NY Post. Awe. Some.

Her whoredom clearly signals a deep and complex understanding of what it is that keeps people together (not whoring around) and what keeps people apart (whoring around). For the ladies she'll no doubt suggest that they be interesting and interested in their men. Wear sexy underthings. Don't greet him at the door with complaints. Don't be afraid to act like the sort of women your husband is used to paying for. All sage bits for sure.

But here's the crux of what makes things work or not work. And you don't have to read any self help books or buy the Post to discover them.

You. Have. To. Pick. The. Right. Person.

That's literally all there is to it. No underwear in the world is going to stop your guy from wanting to see someone else's. No blowjob is the last he'll ever want. You either hook yourself up to a decent guy or you don't and you learn. Chris Rock said it best; a man is basically as faithful as his options.

If you're with a guy who treats everything like a joke (think Paul Rudd in Knocked Up) I promise you he'll treat your relationship the same.

If you're with a guy where everything is a deal, a finagling, a negotiation (think Donald Trump) then that's what you'll deal with. A negotiation. Can he find a nice piece of quiet ass that won't fuck shit up? If not then the deal stinks and he'll stay faithful. At least for now.

If you're with a guy where sports is the focus, just get the fuck out now. Now. If he goes by the name Tiger be warned, he likes to put his thing in lots (and lots and lots) of places (get that NY Post, I know, I KNOW!! Now stop putting that jackass on the cover, jeez, Tiger Woods has been on the cover of the NY Post every single day since that half Asian part of him went driving).

If you want to be with a decent person a lot of the onus falls on you. People show you who they are. They do. Pay attention and believe someone when they show you a flawed side, you don't get that many warnings. The badass might be interesting but he's out there for a reason. He can't or he won't commit.

Believe me, there are men who don't cheat. They just don't. They show a reverence for things, people, promises. It's not part of their make-up. You might know them, they're the ones that don't lie much either.

And look, you didn't even need a professional whore to tell you that.

(yeah, I just freelance).

Saturday, December 12, 2009

thank you who?

I just received and opened my first Hanukkah present. I absolutely love it but can't thank anyone because it came without a sender's name. Out yourself and let me thank you!

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

like my balls

is how useful Twitter is to me. I don't know how anyone with a job bothers. Unless you sit there staring at the screen and hitting refresh, how is it fun?

Monday, October 5, 2009

I'll cop to the crime now

I had an awesome weekend (aside from the part when I caught a massive cold). Not only was the weekend a dream but tomorrow I have a date with a seriously attractive, seriously manly dude.

Yeah, he might get raped.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

I'm not one for laughing out loud

and yet*.


(*because I snorted with laughter when I clicked over from Crackheady McRacist.)

Thursday, September 3, 2009

what they want is to sell bridges

I wish that I were as stupid and delusional as some of the folks I know.

Our government can't figure out how to run Cash for Clunkers, can't figure out what to do with with prisoners already in jails, can't pay taxes (as individuals), can't get the DMV to notice the idiocy in putting my old NJ address on my new NY drivers' license and yet I'm to trust them with my pap smears and body as a whole.

Yeah. Right.

Friday, August 21, 2009

mansion, apartment, shack, house

Dear New York Yankees,

You're my most favorite ever. And you're so cute. And you're really, really smart and funny too. Oh! And earlier tonight, like when you beat the crap out of the Red Sox (again!), you like, looked really awesome. Do you like pizza? I like pizza. We should have pizza together one day.

That's all.

More than your friend,
E
XoXo

Thursday, July 30, 2009

even helen keller could see

that this piece of garbage was a steroid using liar. But, if we're treating today's "breaking news" as ... news then here:

WHAT??!!?!?! This guy is a liar and a cheat?!?!




Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Please. He can't even tell the truth about his name. Who the F is David Arias?

Also; when Alex Rodriguez confessed to having using steroids Ortiz retorted that anyone who uses steroids should be banned for a season. Have a seat Fat Bitch.

Monday, July 27, 2009

agree/disagree

I was just at Duane Reade picking up some popchips and tylenol3 when I saw something I've yet to see.

A cute, blond mom with her cute blond kid at the pharmacy on line ahead of me. When the pharmacist asks what Mom's picking up she says ortho-tricyclen. Now sure, she could be taking it for her unseen acne. Or to regulate her cycle. But I'm not the giving people the benefit sort of girl, and seeing a mom buying birth control while her cute kid flits at her feet doing tricks on a scooter and only twice saying "watch me mom, watch me" was definitely weird, like seeing a dad flip through Hustler while holding his kid's hand, weird.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

so far so good

I do not love the beach and its unrelenting sun. I prefer the lake with its nearby shady trees. I hate to sweat. I hate when my hair is a frizzy mess. I hate when I feel damp no matter how recently showered and clean I really am. I hate being pale when everyone else is tan. And I hate chub rub and stinky, sweaty feet (and my god do my feet work overtime, which I guess is better than excessive pit sweat. Uhm, right?). So obviously this freakishly cool summer has been practically my most favorite ever. It's been all the things I like about summer and none of the things that really ruin it for me. This might even be the first time I've been able to accumulate a list of favorite summer things - at least since the mid 90's when summer meant sleep-away camp, no parental supervision and cute boys to kiss. Here's what I've liked best so far:

To do:
  • aimlessly or purposefully walk the city, I love to walk as often as possible
  • take my dog to the park
  • sleep 20 minutes later, skip blow drying, coat my wet hair in Aveda's Smooth Infusion, spray in some Bumble & Bumble Surf Spray and go (so much easier!)
  • go up to our lake house in CT and fall asleep in the sun/get a tan on the boat dock
  • not having to leave my awesome seats at Yankee Stadium to keep splashing cool water on myself
  • have drinks and dinners al fresco with my favorite people
  • driving around with the AC off and the windows and sunroof wide open
  • being able to enjoy the outdoors in general without dying of heat and/or humidity
To read (because I don't watch tv in the summer, aside from Yankee games and I have read some books lately that I've just loved and wanted other people to know about):
  • I love a good mystery novel and I recently discovered former Entertainment Weekly writer Gillian Flynn. I just devoured both her books; Sharp Objects and Dark Places. I cannot recommend them highly enough (as a general rule, any book that Stephen King blurbs is bound to be a worthwhile read).
  • another enjoyable mystery novel; Die for You by Lisa Unger. It's her fourth book and I recommend any and all of them.
  • and because I have a LHotP obsession I put Melissa Gilbert's Prairie Tale on my Kindle and nearly read the entire thing one weekend at the lake.
And my find of the summer? My pedicure color. I've had it done twice in a row (I might go for the hat trick this week or next) and then I went out and bought the bottle.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

the one with venting

as I'm not in a relationship, one of the easiest things to do is spend too much time considering them. I consider why I'm not in one and why others are. Frequent variations; he's a sucker, she's a steamroller; he's a collector, she's a trophy; sap met sap and there's always the treacly love (all my long-winded way of saying envious). It's the obvious and boring; I'm not sure I want to be at your party but I sure as fuck want to be invited. I consider that (cliche?) I hear about how it takes work and I consider that I'm lazy and hate work of any kind. The sacrifice and I know I have a martyr-y sort of disposition to begin with but I feel like I routinely sacrifice too much already. And considering the only guys that ask me out are married, I am keenly aware that the prize of the relationship is sometimes not worth the entry fee. So why does not being part of one drive me mad sometimes? I guess because it doesn't bother me all the other times.

Monday, July 20, 2009

say yes, say yes

Is Michael Jackson still dead? Just checking.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

hey michael jackson,

you had some cool songs. You were really good at gliding backwards. When I was 12 Thriller scared the shit out of me and I really liked that song you did with Paul McCartney. I remember one afternoon in 1980something my grandma took me to see your movie 'The Wiz' - well done. Then you caught on fire. You morphed from a black dude to old Asian lady replete with parasol. You claimed to father 2 incredibly blond and downright Aryanesque children (I don't know about that 3rd kid). Then you got their mom(s) to sell them to you. Classy. Very. The only other black people I ever saw you with (besides your family) were Webster and Louis Farrakhan those are some interesting companions. While you may not have been convicted of abusing any children let's not fool ourselves; you were kind of a sick fcuk with your kiddie diddling fixations. You made an absolute fortune over the years, you were the biggest star and an undeniable success. In all those years you were never the spokesperson for any cause. To the best of my recollection, you never championed anyone but yourself.

And now you're dead.


(and for shame, you didn't even outlive Elizabeth Taylor or Liza Minnelli. At least now your son/daughter/kid Blanket has a shot at a 'normal' life. Kudos.)

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

(some of) the trouble with being nice;

  • you will end up dragging around and reinstalling two computers all by your stupid self
  • you will have crappy ac in the bedroom for yet another summer
  • you will do a lion's share of the work
  • you will not get credit
  • you will never get that money back
  • you will be surrounded by poorly dressed and coiffed friends with ghastly significant others
  • you will end up friendly with people you don't really like
  • you will smile when you really want to stab
  • no one will ever notice it until you're not.
(thanks to Petitedov who reminded me of a conversation she and I had with a friend of ours who's going to practice being less nice).

Friday, June 19, 2009

but the name is stupid

earlier in the week I ordered Murad's acne line from Sephora (despite the fact that they have a store 3 blocks away from my office. Ugh. Ok fine, 2 blocks). When it came in the mail there were all these fun samples including a little trio of Benefit perfumes. Two of the scents were way too strong (I can only do strong in winter and even then I'm pretty finicky - I really like Fresh's Sake in the winter). Well, now I'm in perfume lust. I have to have this.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

I would have preferred it if;

  • today's pap smear had not felt much the way I imagine a 1950's hanger abortion felt.
  • scheduled meetings actually began as scheduled.
  • dinner simply arrived. Delicious, ordered and paid for.
  • the burgeoning zit on my chin unburgeoned.
  • instead of moving away, my friends moved closer.
  • the Yankees had the lead over the pathetic Nationals.
And I'm actually not bitchy, just super achy and as of 26 minutes ago, vicodined. Ahh... narcotics.

Friday, June 12, 2009

which is nice

sometimes I feel like I never accomplish anything. Then I remember I've already outlived Jesus. So I have that going for me.

Monday, June 1, 2009

random thought


I kinda can't wait to be that batshit-I-don't-at-all-care age where you pick one color and dress head-to-toe in varying hues of it.

It seems really freeing. Much like being freshly released from prison.

mmm... lizard breath

I'm inappropriately excited. You can decide for yourself what that says about me.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

cry me a river

here's a pet peeve:
(no doubt part of a continuing series)

people who complain about their largess. Heather and I were doing our ritual airing of complaints earlier today when I mentioned that in terms of 'things people do that are really annoying' this is a biggie for me. It's phony and braggy at the same time - two things that are irksome combined into something loathsome.

Perfect example, the stunning and leggy model/actress/singer that goes on a talk show and talks whines about how awful it was to be her in high school. She was so tall, so beautiful, so talented, so incredibly threatening in her innate awesomeness that it inevitably left her friendless and even *gasp* dateless on prom night. Uh huh... and I'd bet high school was such a treat for the ugly girls. Hell, I remember at my high school all the popular girls were fat, wore mismatched Salvation Army clothes and had never been introduced to a brush (tooth or hair). Our prom was a veritable carnival of freaky looking girls. The mustached, uni-browed girl was crowned homecoming queen. Or was it a very attractive 'mean girl' named Hillary? All a blur. Anyway...

You hit some luck, good for you. You've told us about it, we congratulated you. Now shut the fuck up and enjoy it.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

here's where I went wrong

I shaved my legs
I did my nails
I used the 'good' hair stuff to blow dry my hair wavily straight (don't ask, but it looks great!)
I put on make up
I got canceled on
At the last minute

of course I did.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

not at all random thought

it's the tiniest bit tricky to buy your mom a Mother's Day card the day after she tells you that your perpetually empty womb is an insult and a disappointment to her.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

because I'm a genius

how did I know the map change in question, would involve Israel? (the following is excerpted from the article):

The real-time maps on two of the airline's planes flying between London and Tel Aviv, Israel, did not identify Israel. They instead identified Islamic holy sites and just one city in Israel -- Haifa, identified by its Arabic name, Khefa.

Israeli Transport Ministry Director General Gideon Sitterman said it was "unacceptable" that the Jewish state had been "wiped off the map," BBC reported.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

lunchtime poll

what percentage of folks who "want to take it slow" really have communicable diseases they're working up the nerve to tell you about?

(today's poll is brought to you by the drug commercial I just saw and the memory of said drug being on the bathroom counter of a guy that once said the aforementioned. For the record; we were one and done.)

Thursday, April 23, 2009

deja vu. all over again

I'm a few things. A chick. A daughter. A sister. An American. A New Yorker. A Jew. A mush for dogs. A Yankees fan. Last weekend I went to the new Yankee Stadium and despite the fact that the Yankees had their worst outing in literally; years. I had a great afternoon. The place is an accessible, comfortable palace. Our package has ridiculously great seats with a phenomenal view. You truly can see the field from nearly every spot in the stadium and it's so easy to get around it's amazing. I don't go to ball games for the cuisine so I didn't really bother to check out the food (though the beers and popcorn were pretty tasty). There's a great sense of history there (albeit forced and archived) but despite my brother claiming "the stadium has no cache" - we were at the third game man! Give it what, a week - I know it will soon. Enjoy some pictures and (previously published, albeit elsewhere) story of how I became a Yankee fan.






(a near empty stadium watching Posada up at bat)


~
November 1, 2001:

As I may have mentioned before; I have two brothers. Both of them are younger and big time sports fans. They like to watch the fights, basketball, baseball, football, college hoops, tennis - you name it. They were avid WWF followers when we were all little. But not golf. In regards to golf we three are in agreement; golf is not a sport. It is an activity. I however spent my youth as a girl. Ensconced in the world of Barbie, drawing, my dollhouse, slambooks and lightly stalking the cute boys in my class (Kevin Kotler, I wholeheartedly apologize for all the falsehoods that were employed to drag you off your bike and into your house to answer stupid prank phone calls, in my defense, at least I'll never be 14 again).

Over the years my brothers tried everything to get me into sports, mainly so I'd stop trying to change the channel from Yankees/Mets/Giants/Jets/Knicks/Nets to General Hospital/21 Jump Street/90210. It never really took. Though I remember watching the '86 World Series. Then I went to college and roomed with a ferocious Knicks fan (seemed that her brother's effort paid off). Before I knew it I was a Knicks fan. My dog is named after a former Knick coach.

To the credit of both my brothers, they tried, hard over the years to get me into baseball. I never felt too badly though, they have my mom and she's a huge sports fan. I'd been to Fenway (10 times easily) because my childhood sleepaway camp was in West Stockbridge, Mass. - boring. Through high school I dated a Mets fan who took me to Shea every weekend - eh. The town I lived in during high school was full of Yankees. Everyone had a Mattingly or Tino story. My sophomore year of high school, all I knew about baseball was that Ron Darling was the cutest. So imagine my surprise when one afternoon, while I was working at my part time job at the local dry cleaner, some ridiculously cocky guy strolls in, smiles and just asks for his clothes. Most people offered either a ticket or a last name, very few went the smile route, mainly just the owners or my parents. I asked for his last name, and I kid you not, he smiled broader and asked me if I knew who he was. Ugh. From that day on I knew who he was and I thought; man, Don Mattingly and his mustache are stupid jerks. Years later, when I thought back on that, I decided he must've been fucking with me. Could a major league baseball player really expect a 16 year old girl to know who he was? Doubtful.

But then Thursday, November 1, 2001 rolled up.

I was at work and my brother called. He asked if I had any interest in going to a Yankee game that night.

"Hi." I answered, "have we ever met? Of course I don't, why would you ask me that?"

"You're the only person I know that can afford the ticket this last minute." Good answer.

"Why, how much can it be?"

"You have no idea what tonight is, do you?"

"Other than a night where I plan to go home, order in and watch ER? No."

"Oh god. Nothing I tell you sinks in, huh? World series? Game 5?"

Hmm... that actually sounded like it could be fun. Fun hadn't been had in awhile, keep in mind, it was mere weeks after 9/11, the city was still scared and scary.

It turned out that a friend of my brother's needed emergency dental surgery, he was selling the tickets so that he could get his wisdom teeth taken out. The tickets would be $350 altogether. I thought about it for about an hour. Baseball games, the few that I'd seen, seemed long and boring. But a world series game, that struck me as a once in a lifetime experience. I called my brother back and told him I was in.

I live on the 4/5 line of the subway so before the game my brother met me here and filled up my pocketbook with diet cokes, pretzles and sandwiches. I asked him if we were going to be gone all weekend. Then I ignorantly uttered the complaint that still haunts me 6 years later:

"I need room for my book, you aren't leaving me any room for my book!"

You would have thought I'd asked about getting a pedicure at my seat in the stadium.

"A BOOK!??!"

I shrugged. On tv it looks boring. Apparently, the world series is never boring and the entire world knows this. But me. I grudgingly left my book behind and glared at my still laughing idiot brother as I followed him to the subway. The train ride there was nuts. Everyone was smushed together, decked out in Yankee clothes, cheering and chanting, I'd never been on such a happy train ride. It was about 15 minutes and we were at Yankee Stadium - you can see in the stadium from the subway! How cool is that? We followed everyone else down the steps, and I was a little excited before I even touched Yankee property. My brother was dragging me all through the stadium and when we finally got to our seats we noticed we were sitting no more than 5 feet away from the WTC-9/11 flag - yes, the one that was damaged and in all the pictures. It fluttered around eerily in the breeze.

I have to say, I was more than a little bit amused when Don Mattingly threw out the opening pitch. But that was just the beginning. The game stayed close the entire time and then went into extra innings (12 total). The Yankees beat the Diamondbacks that night 3-2. When my brother and I finally got out of the stadium and onto River Avenue it was a mob scene. People were chanting USA, singing New York, New York, it was very fucking cool. We knew there was no way we were getting on a subway for at least half an hour so we walked over to a diner on 161st and got hot chocolate. When I tried to pay, it was on the house. We loitered a little bit longer and then decided to play our odds at getting on the subway to come home. Just as we got up the stairs an empty 4 pulled in. Me, my brother and another guy who'd been standing on the platform got on the subway, the guy sat across from us.

"Hey, you're Rich Eisen." And for the rest of the ride home my brother and new best friend Rich Eisen compared notes on the awesomeness we'd all just seen. My brother and I disembarked before Rich Eisen (of ESPN fame) and started to head back to my apartment. As we're walking down the block I point out a building to my brother.

"Supposedly that's where Derek Jeter lives. But I've never seen him." At this point we're a mere block and a half from my apartment. I walk a dog 3x a day, everyday. If Derek Jeter lived across the street, the odds are I'd have seen him. At least once.

"Huh?" My brother confesses he was busy thinking about how great the win was and he missed what I'd said.

"I was showing you that building."

"Why?"

"I was telling you that I heard Jeter lives there." Now he watches as I point out a shiny, high rise across from where we are standing. While we're looking at the building three men walk out and start to head towards us. "Where those guys just came out from - that's where -hey..."

"Now what? Come on, it's late, walk."

"Ok Ok, but look across the street!" I don't know how it was possible, but I was looking across the street and seeing Derek Jeter and my brother was looking the street and not seeing Derek Jeter. "Derek Jeter! Look!!"

Idiotically reserved my brother glanced across the street and then back at me. He told me he could see why I might think that was Derek Jeter.

"Because it is. Idiot. You have about five seconds to decide what you're going to say. Don't be a dork."

And as I looked to my brother to see what he was going to do, I realized my brother had turned into a pillar of salt. He was just standing there, mouth hanging open, looking like the offspring of twins. We had about 12 seconds before Jeter passed us and my brother was useless.

"Hi! That was a great game, my first ever, we're just getting home, that was the best!!" Although, when I shouted it I'm sure it sounded more like "Jeterimatotallycrazypersonarentyougladidonthaveagunpermit!!"

Derek Jeter turned around and walked over to us.

"Hey," he smiled and shook our hands. I was shocked by how cute and tall he was in person. Very very tall. "I'm Derek, Derek Jeter. This is my friend Jorge Posada. We're glad you guys had fun, sorry we kept you out so late." I think I went deaf about then. "This is my brother." I shoved my brother at them and took a step back. They talked for a few minutes then Jeter and Posada said goodnight and walked up to Elaine's (from Woody Allen's Annie Hall) to celebrate their win. I went home to sleep off my induction into the New York Yankees (who would go on to lose that series, but win a place in my heart, for giving me one of the most fantastically, quintessential NYC experiences ever).

And that, dear readers, is how a Yankees fan is born.

I eagerly await Opening day in a few hours and I wish Jeter, Posada and the rest of the Yankees their best season ever.

GO YANKS!!!

Monday, April 20, 2009

ohhhhhbama

our doofus president is on such a tear/tour to prove he isn't George Bush, to ingratiate himself to those who would just as soon spit in his soup that he's running around apologizing for America, bowing to terrorist sponsors and shaking hands with Chavez (who then insults our president). Way to go. He's knocking himself out to ass kiss those who don't like him.

I'm kinda surprised he isn't in my living room with an ipod and a songbook. If only he had any real issues to deal with.

Friday, April 17, 2009

not funny ha ha

"ex-boyfriend"

It's funny to me that you can refer to an ex-boyfriend and a world of past drama opens up in front of you. And anything goes. Examples of totally believable follow-ups;

was a gay man
got my sorority sister/actual sister/roommate/mother/cancer-care nurse pregnant
was arrested for defrauding the Vatican

Here's the real deal, you can only ask him to remind you of his birthday so many times and at some point you feel guilty. Usually right before you realize it's because you don't give a f*ck when his birthday is.


Thursday, April 16, 2009

fun to come

I have such a fun weekend to look forward to!

Friday: I'm out of work early and then meeting a friend for dinner (falafel, Mexican or Thai) by St. Marks.

Saturday: My first game at the new Yankee Stadium!! If only Wang weren't pitching - ugh. Then off to Amy's birthday gathering. We love Amy.

Sunday: you know the rules.

What are you guys looking forward to this weekend?

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

hmm

the first thing I thought when I saw (saw, not heard) Craig Robinson in this was wow, Craig Robinson must really not care for Palestinians. Because not even (idiotic) Jews support Israel, much less an American black dude and I love the sh*t out of that.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

swing low sundays

I am fundamentally inert on Sundays. Unless my parents have convened a family gathering or there's some other "event" only an apartment/building fire will see me outdoors on Sunday. Sundays are for indoors and I'll put in the effort for that to be so, even when it means creating elaborate breakfasts with which to bribe my brother into walking my dog.

Sundays are for sleeping way too late. Late enough to fuck up falling asleep later that night (unless I employ NyQuil or ambien - yum). Sundays are for slowly acclimating to the day by reading the papers, drinking coffee and therefore peeing a lot. For Yankee games, cleaning the insane pile of clothes I've not put away all week (I start off strong but usually cave by Wednesday), or changing the sheets on my bed. Sundays are excellent opportunities to catch up on any t.v. I missed during the week or to space out during 7 back to back episodes of Law & Order SVU. Sundays are also the perfect days to round up the various magazines I have scattered all over my apartment and read what I want before tossing them out. I love to throw things away and Sundays are a big tidy up day.

Sundays are not for under wire, make-up, high heels or earrings. Sundays are not for elaborate travel plans involving schedules or time tables. Sundays are not for laundry unless you're a cute 22 year old in Juicy Couture shorts looking to get laid, I just want clean jeans.

The most energetic things I do on Sundays are take my dog to the park (on days when it's so gorgeous out it feels abusive not to take him), clean up a bit and make complicated dinners. Tonight I didn't even have to do that though, this week swing low Sunday was replaced with Seder scrap Sunday. Brisket, roasted potatoes, spinach souffle and asparagus, all mom made and all mom delicious with nothing but reheating required. Amazing.

Brisket, Donald Trump and an 11pm ambien. Bien indeed.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

&%^*@!

things that have really irritated me this week:
  • due to our craptastic economy or total lack thereof I have learned that my already meager salary will (for the foreseeable future) be reduced by 3% - it amounts to more than you'd think, I promise.
  • due to our craptastic economy or total lack thereof the MTA has announced transit fare hikes. These hikes will really help enhance my standard of substandard living.
  • Out of my work team of 6 my 3 favorite co-workers are leaving at the end of the spring. Of the two who are remaining I really like one and I really dislike the other. Work is definitely going to be way less fun with those 3 gone and I'm really bummed about it. Even though I can now claim the best spot in my office.
  • My entire taking people at their actions and not their words plan has been a fairly disappointing and eye opening experience. Granted, I'm pretty cynical to begin with but even I've been taken aback. Some people... wow, just wow.
  • My right boob kinda hurts (weird and yes, I've already scheduled the dr. appt. fun!)
  • I can't stand the new Facebook layout. Can't stand.
  • I've had a recurring cold for weeks. Awhile ago I went to the dr., was prescribed some medicine, got better. Now I'm sick again. Have been for 2 weeks. I made a dr. appt for tomorrow. Called today to confirm and the receptionist said "no, you're appointment is for today, Thursday. The doctor isn't even in tomorrow." Now Thursdays are my nightmare days at work, the day where I am the absolute busiest and most crazed. There's NO WAY I'd have made an appt for Thursday. Yet, seems I did. So I left work and raced over to the office only to be told... yes, you see where this is going, don't you? So I get to do that again tomorrow.
Those are enough gripes for one week, right?

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

it must be nice

to have absolutely nothing to do but redecorate your home. Install a swing set. Create a vegetable garden. Dye your fountain water St. Paddy's green. Fly to L.A. to hang out with that pathetic, unfunny, windbag; Leno. Follow the NCAA to the point where you've got your brackets down pat.

But I'm not the President, I'm busy.

Friday, March 13, 2009

birthday wish

I'm fully hoping that I get Christian Bale for my birthday. And that when he arrives he is holding a Kindle in one hand and a hipster carcass in the other. I'm off to lunch with a very cute fellow.

*Update* - ok, I'm really optimistic about Christian Bale now. (Yes, I got a Kindle 2!! You have no idea how geekily thrilled I am!)

*Update Part 2* - I'd like to thank whoever the sweetheart was that bought me Iron Man. I received the dvd (but with no way of knowing who from) and I was really hoping to own that. So thank you! And Eudora, I love love love the black and decker griddle, I plan to christen it at breakfast tomorrow.

Monday, March 9, 2009

clarity is also

learning from a mistake here and there.

Last year I attempted to throw a mini dinner party for my birthday. I invited 10 friends. I won't embarrass myself by revealing the outcome of that (though having dinner with Joe was phenomenal). This year, the plan will be a little different.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

clarity is

when you don't have to wonder if your life is going backwards - you can actually see that it is.

In other news you have 10 days to procure Christian Bale and/or Paul Rudd for me as a birthday present - let's go people, let's go!

Friday, February 20, 2009

working for the weekend

It's simply sigh inducing to me when people who don't have jobs get all excited about it being the weekend. I've been unemployed and whenever I was I never gave a shit when the weekend rolled up. I was unemployed - every day was my weekend! Though truth be told the weekends were actually kind of annoying because more people were around, the supermarket was busier, the lines at Duane Reade longer, the sidewalks more crowded. Now I'm (incredibly thankfully and happily) employed and the weekend is god to me. Mainly the silence of no alarm clock going off, oh how I hate that stupid thing. So tell me unemployed people; (you can sleep in whenever you like, you can run your errands whenever you like, you're just as broke on Saturday as you are on Tuesday) what the hell are you so excited about?

Thursday, February 19, 2009

eight pretty young things

Am I the only one who thinks that Octomom* and Michael Jackson (circa 1990) would have been like peanut butter and jelly? (I was going to say chocolate and peanut butter - which is much tastier - but chocolate's brown, Michael Jackson was once brown and losers everyone sees racism everywhere now)

* she has 14 kids to diddle
* how many can she watch at once?
* she's dead broke
* he loves to pay off moms
* she already lives in California

Monday, February 16, 2009

president's day proverb

A keeper is someone who really listens to your boring stories because as exciting as life can be, it usually isn't.

Friday, February 13, 2009

show; don't tell

Years ago I took a writing class. In the beginning, no matter what I wrote the same red professorial scrawl would come back to me; show! don't tell! This particular professor wasn't really a fan of exposition (which makes me wish he had edited any book Oprah ever hawked on her insipid show). It was tricky at the start but I was a nerd and a dedicated writer so I kept writing until I got what he was saying and did it right.

And now, years and years later I keep finding that his phrase, his show! don't tell! is the perfect sum up for a relationship. Yes, it's quite possibly little more than a version of 'He's Just Not That Into You' but dammit if it doesn't work even better.

Telling someone you care about them is quite literally one of the easiest things in the world. Growing up my mom was a HUGE fan of telling me that talk is cheap. As usual, as always, dead right. Talk is cheap. You can say anything and take it back, say you were drunk, you forgot... you never have to say true to your words unless lawyers, police and a judge are involved. You can verbally toss out whatever the hell you want and fix it later.

I dated man who swore he loved me. Swore it! And wasn't that lovely? He would say that he loved me then put on his coat and go home to his girlfriend. I dated another who also claimed to adore me. He would text me all day long about how he couldn't go on without me in his life. The fact that he married another girl in the midst of all those texts didn't seem to dawn on him... he couldn't get why I was done with him "But I love you!!" he'd implore into the phone, "don't you see that? I tell you all the time". Yeah buddy, and what a gift that is. Shakespearean in its depth and breadth.

I love words. I love to find them, parse them, use them. I'm a reader and a writer, I have an appreciation for words but even I realize how flimsy they are, like soaking wet tissues. But showing someone you care... well that's a whole different story. That's hard. And no one wants to do hard except someone who truly wants you to get how they feel about you.

It's harder to be thoughtful of someone's feelings. It's harder to comprise and let the other person be happier this time. It's awkward to ask someone out. In the age of texting, facebook messaging and IMs it's a bit odder to call someone up and ask how their day was. It's so much harder to be present when you can just say "oops, sorry about that, but damn, I told you I care about you".

In the end, for me, the best way to show me that you care is to actually care about me. Show me, because words are cheap and everyone says things they don't mean.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

highlarity

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

choosey, for a beggar

I'm not a hunter, not even close. I'm a complete gatherer. Even when I shop, if I like something, I'll buy 2 or 3. Know why? Because I won't want to hunt these items down again. Oh! My laziness is legendary. Sooo not a hunter.

And people who know me, know this. Which is why it completely confuses my brain when my friends play the "hunt-me-down" game. Look people, it's not going to happen. I'll try a few dozen times, but just a few dozen. I'm mean but oddly sensitive, my pride can only take so much rebuffing. I'm not going to email you for plans and call you endlessly. A friend and an after-thought aren't the same thing. I'm not going to keep going to where I may run into you in the hopes that you'll remember we're friends. No. I'm going to fade away or, if you've got the head start, I'll let you (continue) to fade away. Yay! You win!

Look, I'm not (completely) self centered. I get it, you have a life. You have a job, a project due, kids, a spouse, a boyfriend, a really needy plant. But here's the thing - everyone does. You and you're situation are not as singular and unique as you think. People with jobs, projects, kids, husbands, boyfriends and needy plants manage to have friends. My mom had all those things and buckets of friends (and no, not all her friends were married with kids either, yes, she's soo radical).

Despite what you think, nothing in your life takes 24 hours, 7 days a week.

I don't have a boyfriend. No husband. No kids. So yes, I don't "get it". Not at all. I don't get how having any of these things in your life precludes or even rules out having friends. I don't see how wiping a nose or sharing a bed with a loved one prevents the sporadic hey what's up email. I don't see how being in love stops you from caring about your friends. The first month or two, when everything is new and chaotic, sure, of course. A year or two later? You're not busy, you're a crap friend. Actually, it's probably more likely that you're someone I used to be friends with. Hopefully, I will one day be in the same shoes. Then you can all wag your finger and tell me you told me so. That being a parent or in love and having friends is simply against god and nature. But I know myself. And caution me all you like, I'd make time so grab a cup of coffee with my friends. At least once a month. Even if I had to bring my spawn with me.

I want to say that it matters, that it's doable, that your priorities make the difference. But in some cases I suppose it already has.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

helen keller could do it better

I am a lousy communicator.

I have too many hang-ups. I worry that what I say will be taken wrong. I worry what I say will be taken correctly. I worry I'm putting it out there at the wrong time, that who I'm talking to won't be receptive. I worry they will be and and invariably I'll come to find out I was wrong. My biggest worry is that in the end, no one cares about what I have to say anyway.

That's kind of a biggie.

I'm the type of person that holds most things in to begin with (the above are reasons) but I also think there's something to be said for being able to suck things up and move along. Though it turns it that I really don't.

I let things fester. I get annoyed and disappointed. I find myself completely pissed off when it turns out that my nearest and dearest aren't mind readers. Even worse, I know deep down this is also a litmus test that I use. How much do you care? How much effort do you put out? It's small and petty but if I'm being honest, it's part of me. it's just what I do - it's not exactly my greatest selling point. To the contrary, if I were a house for sale it would be a mold problem in the basement I'd paint over, a sump pump that conks out after an inch of rain, something the realtor would eagerly sidestep.

I'm trying to better. I try to tell my friends when I'm upset or feel slighted. It's not easy. First, I'm no good at it. Second, no one really wants to hear complaints that pertain to them. Third, I'd rather be mugged daily than confront someone. It turns out that the more you do it, the easier it gets. At once a year intervals, it should be easy as pie by the time I'm 74.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

thanks facebook!

I am quite certain that the ancillary purpose of Facebook is to make me truly fucking regret breaking up with a solid 45-60% of the guys I dated when I was in high school and college.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

a great reason to pee in my pants

The other night, on a subway, headed downtown to a poker game in the village I saw a 20somethingish year old 'guy' in the tightest black jeans imaginable. The jeans were so tight, they were leggings really. In case that somehow wasn't bad enough, remember 1993? Well, Leggings-Like asshat was wearing shoe-boots.

*if you don't remember 1993 or were some retarded age like 12 (fuck you) shoe-boots may very well be an indescribable tragedy.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

bad idea #482

I'm in the midst of being set up with a guy. By a total stranger. In what world can this be good?
 
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