everything in life should have an 80's sax solo

I am so inexplicably infatuated with this song again. I need to hear it at least once a day. I don't care if it's from 9 B.C., I loves it.

Also Michael Douglas was firmly in his 'hot leading man' phase here. Kathleen Turner too kinda.

mama said there'd be days like this

I grew up in Brooklyn. I took the subway to school or my dad would drop me off on his way to work. Without fail my mom would kiss me goodbye and send me off by yelling down the street; "have a smart day".

I could have used her directive this morning. 

I woke up late.

Then I almost walked out of the apartment without realizing that one contact lens was in fact not in my eye but instead, shriveled up and suctioned on to the side of the sink.

When I finally made it out the door I was doing much better. I walked the dog, put coffee in my travel cup, made sure my Metrocard was in my coat pocket and I was off.  I walked a few blocks to the subway station, swiped my card, descended to the bottom level and waited for a 4. 

The 5 came first, I stepped back, let it pass and continued to wait for the 4. A few weeks ago, in a 'the train has arrived' hysteria I blindly got on only to discover I was on the wrong subway. Today I slightly prided myself on looking before leaping. A few minutes pass, the 4 arrives, I embark and we're headed uptown.  

I'm sure Liz Taylor was a lovely, oft married lady but in the greater scheme of things I don't really care about her so I left the newspaper (print media! I'm Amish!) in my bag and tried to 3 star the Angry Birds screen I had been working on since last night. I'm pinging irate avians around and doing a little bit of people watching. The guy across from me looks like Biggie (but I think he's Biggier), he's rapping quietly but forcefully to himself and holding a discman. A discman. He looks at me, I look away in observance of people watching rules. He gets up, stands in front of the door, tips his Yankee hat to his reflection and starts dancing and pointing at himself. I guess the Mr. Disc Man told him to. 

WannaBiggie gets off at Jackson Avenue. That was about the time that I realized my commute doesn't involve a Jackson Avenue. Fucking fuck fuck. There are few things more self esteem shattering than being bested by the MTA. My Metrocard is really low and until a week from tomorrow, I'm pretty broke so I try and get off at a station that has the free transfer walk-across. The subway map says the Jackson Avenue station is such a station.

Ha ha, MTA, got me again!!

Refill the card, double back about 20 minutes and eventually get to work.

Where I am utterly confused by the fact that my office building elevator is being deranged. Every time I hit the button the doors open instead of closing. What is this now?

"You keep pushing 1. We're on 1", says a voice from behind me. 

Today is shaping up to be the sort of day where I'm glad I don't handle hazardous materials, babies and/or steering wheels.

*Update*
After work I tripped up an escalator (who does that?!) and I'm pretty sure I broke my big toe. Vicodin and I are home now where I'm avoiding all the knives and have no plans on showering with a toaster.

god how I hate the Spice Girls

there are the things you say out loud and the things you wouldn't dare. And we know which things are which.

OMG! Your baby is gorgeous!

Holy shit, your baby girl/boy looks exactly like your husband/wife and damn if that's not a good look on a girl/boy. Sure, you be the one to tell someone their baby girl looks Harvey Fierstein or their son is the splitting image of Roseanne Barr.

That said, while my parents have been asking what I want for my birthday I hear myself rather reasonably responding; "an iPhone". To my brothers; "a gift certificate at the salon I go to would be great, I'm dying for a cut". I do, I want those things, quite badly even. But (Spice Girls) what I really, really want are flowers from a guy that I could genuinely see myself talking to for the next 40 years or so. I'm not quite sure where the flowers part comes from (but the heart wants what it wants?).

**
I can't ask for the new Trish McEvoy perfume I've been dying to try, or my favorite candle, because the awesomely wonderful Hank already took care of that for me. I know the nicest people, thank you!!

offering the gift of self

(since I am a horrible person, destined to die alone, unloved and without children) I have a ton of free time on my hands! Left to my own devices, I don't spend free time wisely. I sleep, read and watch crap tv (ie: last night's Lifetime tv movie starring Heather Locklear). I don't go to the gym (god how I should/must), I don't read to underprivileged/blind/illiterate/troubled kids. I only once (and so briefly) participated in a political campaign.

Well, now I think I want to get involved in something. Nothing as time committed as big sistering a girl but a cause that's a little less intense (and where I'm less likely to have a child's development in my hands). When I was in junior high my friends I did volunteer work at local hospitals and schools and I loved it. Now maybe something involving elderly people (though a deeply life changing Tuesday's With Morrie scenario is not at all a must). I'm not even a fan of elderly people, I'm just not sure what my other options are. Basically, the problem is I don't have direction, I just know I have the will and the time. 

Any ideas? 

thoughts about things that might happen next week

I hate being the one in the restaurant that the waiters holding cake and candle are walking towards. There's something about people who don't know me singing Happy birthday to me that's always bugged me. Is that weird? I feel like that's sort of reserved for people who know you and really awkward for those who don't. Like moving a strand of hair out of your eye or taking a piece of food off your face, these are things that strangers don't (read: should fucking never) do.

In the same vein I think blowing out candles is weird. Because it's my birthday I get to spittle all over everyone's dessert? Uhm, gross. Surely I'm not alone in this either.

So feel free to celebrate with me, just don't make strangers sing or touch me.

a moment of grace

yesterday, as I was leaving my office building and walking towards the bus to go home I suddenly found myself sideways. Then face down. Since I'm quite lithe and graceful it all went exactly like a well planned reenactment of Black Swan. Slightly more so the crazy and delusional parts, maybe not so much the grace and poise parts. Such is the life of a ballerina. My first thought, while lying on the sidewalk and seeing two pairs of legs pass me (one sort of stepping over me) was; holy fuck. I did it. With this fall I achieved invisibility! I fell but no one sees me. The first Jewish chick with a superpower. You can imagine how excited I was.

"Oh my god, are you ok?"

Briefly. Fuck. So I'm not invisible (not fair). I'm just lying on the sidewalk with a throbbing knee/ankle/elbow/wrist. Well doesn't that seem normal?