Wednesday, December 31, 2003
~
!!Happy New Year!!
Have an amazing time tonight Moppets. Be safe, be healthy and most importantly rock the fuck out!!!
See you in 2004!
7:31 PM
Saturday, December 27, 2003
~
Just What I Needed:
Friday morning early afternoon I wake up and there’s a message on my voicemail from Kashei.
“Hey, I just sent an email to both your accounts, it’s about tonight, check it out and let me know if you’re interested.” I decide that very second that even if the plans are to trek to the local laundromat, stare at the spin cycle and do the Cosmo quiz together, I’m in. I’ve got raging cabin fever and there’s nothing this girl wants more than to put high heels, eyeliner and get tipsy. In fact, I’m so looking forward to a fun night out that as I walk towards the bar {Musical Box} and pass a group of smokers outside a neighboring bar, it doesn’t even bother me {much} that a guy from that group accidentally flicks a lit cigarette into my hair. Yes, my laden with hair product, hair. Grrr… what have I said about silly boys. Retards. But the tresses do not burst into flames, cigarette flicking fellow is incredibly apologetic and it’s all good in the ‘hood.
So, tonight, thanks to the kickass Kashei, I went out and got completely wasted. Wasted, I tell you, which is when we all agree, the very best blogging can take place.
Background: I’m a highly typical drunk. Rumor has it I may even be a drunk who is rather fun. I’m not so sure it’s ever come up before, so, I’ll just lay it out there. When drunk {as I very much am now} this is what will occur;
I’ll become frighteningly honest. I’ll tell you too much and I won’t remember and I’ll regret it. I will also touch you. A lot. Excessively. I’m a very affectionate and touch feely drunk {and smoker}. I only say this, because for some, it’s an issue. The touching part. Oh, and since I didn’t mention this before, I gain massive amounts of drunken bravado and I become quite the self Stoli confident flirt. F. L. I. R. T. Watch out, relentless.
So there I was. Wearing black eyeliner, one size too big jeans and my new cashmere sweater set. I’m with Kashei and a few of her friends. They are utterly terrific and I’m having a great time. We were talking and boozing and having fun. Then Doug and his friends Neil and Franco arrived. I was hanging out with Neil and Franco and Doug was in the back with the others. Franco’s cute as a button, and he knows it. We’re up front, sitting at the bar and flirting it up. I haven’t flirted with a cute boy in ages and the practice is much needed and pure harmless fun.
Now, most of you know that Doug and I briefly dated last year. You also know that the dating promptly segued to friendship. Well, what you don’t know is, I haven’t seen much of Doug lately. A few months back he pretty much stopped talking to me. He would abruptly get me off the phone if I called. He stopped inviting me out with him and his friends. I had absolutely not an inkling as to why but I was out. No calls, no invites, no explanation. I’d IM him and ask him what the deal was and I was told I was being paranoid, nothing was wrong. I’d call and not be able to get one word in before he told me how busy he was and hung up. I’d done what I could.
Then a few weeks ago the tides began to change. Via IM he tells me that his best friend, who recently moved in to his apt. began dating his female roommate. Ah. The home-hibernation period is over. I suspected. Fun at home has ceased, it’s a twosome over there now, not as much a threesome as it had been. Interesting…
So, as I’d said, tonight I’m out, feeling damned good and stoli-fueled. I’m having fun with boys, I’m going in and out to smoke and the cold isn’t even bothering me. My two and half inch heels are far easier to negotiate in drunk than I’d thought and until Doug spills beer in my hair {beer in my hair?!?!} I know it isn’t yet flat and lifeless. Sadly though, we’ve lost Kashei and her friends to a higher calling {the diner}. Franco is completely making me laugh, Neil and I are making snarky little comments, Doug is cracking jokes and still finagiling for his massage. I score a free drink from the bartender. It’s not that impressive, I suppose, I’m the only girl in the front part of the bar. But regardless, I’m de facto, the belle of my imaginary ball. Sooo very much what this-girl-in-a-deep-funk has needed a fun, drunken evening with lovely gentlemen. Cigarette flicking and beer spilling aside these are 3 highly apt drinking pals.
Doug comes up and notices me flirting shamelessly and reveling. Next thing I know Doug plunks a bar stool down between Franco and I and proceeds to request a back massage. So, I’m a tad taken back by Doug’s drunken affections. We’ve barely even spoken lately, yet, I’m not at all oblivious to the fact that his hand has crawled up the back of my sweater. I turn my head and see Neil watching and laughing. I lean over and jokingly ask Neil;
“how many more beers before you think Doug just whips it out and pees on me? Y’know, to mark his territory?” Neil, it’s revealed, is a great guy to trade snarkisms with – he’s tack sharp, I tell you. A worthy rival. He’s so funny to me that when two sentences in a row he mentions Franco’s girlfriend-abroad I think it’s hilarious. “Damn,” I tell him, “and I was just about to throw Franco up on the bar and do him. Bummer.” I believe it was at that point in the evening when Franco announced he and I would be getting married. Touche. But perhaps the funniest moment in the evening is when our foursome attracts a weird barfly who sneaks bits of blatant racism into the conversation he busts into. Weird, uninvited Barfly guy is sitting there, rambling on about whothehellknowswhat when Franco slowly steps up, moves over to Barfly and in one smooth move rips the barstool out from under Barfly. Next thing I know Barfly is being shown the door. It was so fast and so passive, it was hysterical. Neil and Franco are not small guys and Franco’s bold gesture puts credence to their earlier words that they are not men who shy from fights. Well clearly. But luckily there is no fight, just a booted Barfly. Oddly enough {or not so, when you factor in the laws of geography} when we leave Musical Box and head to a bar across the street, we once again run into Barfly. Incident free that time. See how we mature simply by crossing East 13th Street? Yeah, I thought you’d be impressed.
We call it a night around 3:30am. I’m so far gone I can barely see straight. Doug throws me into a cab and we play a game with the cabdriver called Who Gets the Last Word.
Doug: “[insert Doug’s address]”
Me: “No, [insert my address]”
Doug: “C’mon, hang out. [insert Doug’s address]”
Me: “No, too drunk. [insert my address]”
Doug: “You can hang out. Don’t be a loser. [insert Doug’s address]”
Me: “Notta loozer {drunken slurring}. HavetowalkDog. [insert my address]”
I win!! There was no way I could hang out another minute. Fuck, I could barely even open my eyes. I definitely had lost the spinal musculature needed to sit upright.
Or so I thought til I came home. At 4am. After I “walked” Dog {the ten seconds it took until he peed and then straight back home}, I took 2 advils and reheated Christmas lo mein and fried rice. I don't want a hangover and we all know the cure is ibuprofen, water and greasy food. Then I turn on the tv and caught the very beginning of Live From Baghdad. Dammit, I’ve always wanted to see this movie. Have we ever discussed my love for Michael Keaton? I didn’t think so. Well, I do. I adore Michael Keaton. And the bombing in Baghdad and the true start of CNN, of course i'm interested! And so I watch it. All the way through. Until 6am. Which is when I finally crawl into my bed and {finally} go to sleep.
Sheesh. Fun night out indeed. Thanks Kashei - it was just what I needed.
And Neil, I hope it's cool that I used your name.
******************
Oh. And am I the only one who thinks Isiah Thomas and Jermaine Jackson look more like brothers than Jermaine and Michael? Just asking…
5:32 AM
Thursday, December 25, 2003
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T'was The Morning Of Christmas:
... and all through my house, all were asleep {even in all likelihood, an anonymous mouse}.
As a Jew, I'm absolved of all the fun and revelry of Christmas {oh, how I do love it all, though}. But I did get a Christmas mani/pedicure with Kashei, which was absolutely what I needed ~ nails & toes are now little specks of vampy hued gorgeousness. The smokey hangout that followed was pure fun and gravy. After stumbling the {thank god!} one block home I finally watched A Christmas Story which to the shock and amazement of most others, I have never seen before last night.
Now, I'm tired, I have a slight smoke induced hangover feeling and I'm glad Manhattan resembles the opening scene to 28 Days Later. It's a phenomenal change from the usual streetside insanity. It's chilly out and I have nothing to do but laundry, listen to the Christmas Mass bells ring from the steeple of the church right next door and bake chocolate chip cookies. My brother is here and I'm trying to convince him to watch A Muppet Christmas Carol with me.
In keeping with Jewish tradition, shortly, Sunny East restaurant will deliver dinner to my door. I wish a Merry Christmas all. I hope you get what you want.
6:03 PM
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
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HRH Makes A Request:
{her royal highness. duh...}
Last night it was 3am and I should have been in bed but as there was no warm body in there, beckoning, I figured I might as well settle further into my couch and watch the last hour of Lord of the Rings, no? I've never seen it before, and as predicted by all who know me, I was absolutely digging this movie. I have no tolerance for reading fantasy but I do enjoy seeing it on a screen. And Viggo's dashing and gorgeous and we've agreed to have babies.
So I have that going for me. Which is nice.
Hanukkah is happening. I’m fairly uninterested. My parents completely flaked out and abandoned the holiday {I will certainly remind them that we neglect Jewish holidays when Yom Kippur rolls around next year}. I usually have more fun buying, wrapping and giving gifts, though. According to my parents I’m a horrible gift receiver. I’m too blasé it seems. I try not to be. I swear to god I try to show enthusiasm, I really do but I suppose it doesn’t translate. Regardless, I have some things left to pick up for friends but outside of that… the Grinch def. stole my Hanukkah. Stupid green jerk.
So… I have no Christmas plans this year. Usually I work for the soup kitchen at Madison Square Garden on Christmas Day. This year though, despite repeated phone calls, I haven’t been able to get in touch with anyone there. Thus… I have no plans. Got any ideas? Me neither.
I’m pretty excited for the little Christmas break though. My office is closed Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Thank you Jesus, it’s much appreciated.
In other news, Sunday, I went to my parents house in New Jersey for the day. Turns out that was a huge error in judgement. First, I got there way too early. My brother didn’t show up for over three hours after me. Second, the whole aborted Hanukkah aspect. Third {and perhaps a personal favorite} on the ride home, dad revealed that it upsets him that none of his kids are married or in a significant relationship. Ah… so that bothers my father. Hmm… who else is bothered by my lack of a love life? Who could it be? Could it be… Satan? Or me!?!?! Man… I swear I’m equally as perturbed by my lack of New Year’s Eve kissing potential. Although Fishy and I have worked out a mutually beneficial arrangement. *wink*. There’s something inherently sad about my own dad essentially asking me to slut it up a touch, if I don’t mind. I tried to explain how that would thwart my living and dying alone plan, but dammit, that man’s got his heart set on grandkids. At what point do I tell him that if he grandfathers the way he fathered his grandchildren will be scared witless of him. Not to mention expert hiders and the shittiest seekers… Then my brother IMed me at work this afternoon and said similar things {no doubt at the behest of dad - Grrrr}. First I was furious with him. Then there were tears is the office. It’s going to be a longass year at this rate.
Then, earlier tonight when I briefly signed on to AOL, the most commitment-phobic ex in my history of exes IMed me to tell me he “got hitched and moved to Cali. Yeaaaah!”
At least the IT guy at work asked me if I lost more weight this morning. {I didn’t but at this point it just might be irrelevant}
God save the queen.
And make all the boys disappear.
12:03 AM
Thursday, December 18, 2003
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Some Days Are Just A Howard Jones Song:
“You can look at the menu, but you just can’t eat.
You can feel the cushions, but you can’t have a seat…”
** ** ** **
I can make delicious coffee, but sip from yesterday’s unthrown out cup. Ew.
I can find the perfect gift, but not be invited to the party.
I can save for my brother’s birthday gift but, my other brother can like my idea so much, he buys it first.
I can leave my apt. 15 minutes early, but still be 10 minutes late.
Tell me you haven’t had that day. The one where, ostensibly, the “forces” have honed in on you and conspire madly to bring turmoil to each and every endeavor. I pick out what I’m going to wear the night before {mentally, I’m not nearly that creepily organized} and I wake up ragingly PMSish and not at all in the mood to dress up for work… c’mon, cut me some slack here. Ugh.
Can today be different? I need some fun excitement. And not an ER visit.
12:33 PM
Monday, December 15, 2003
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And Now... The Rest of the Story:*
*with apologies to Paul Harvey.
Ok so… what the fuck happened to me?!?!?!
I have no idea.
It started Wednesday late night, er, Thursday morning. I woke up at 5am and was pretty sure my body was on invisible fire. My feet itched and burned, so did my arms and other… uhm… assorted body parts. I actually wondered if I had some freak STD. Or a fireant infestation in my bed. I literally itched and burned all over. I was scratching like I had chicken pox. Which, for the record, I have already had. I finally fell back asleep 2 hours later. Woke up again, showered and went to work. By the time I get to work there is a highly visible rash all over my arms, my hands, my legs and on my cheeks {the ones on my face perv.} – but uhm… yeah, for the record the rash had captured both sets of cheeks.
Then I couldn’t breathe. Then 911 was called. Then EMS came. Then they tried to give me an IV in my wrist and I flipped out. Then they ambulanced me off to St. Luke’s. Then I was admitted. Then they gave me a bracelet {I’m still wearing it. It’s my pathetic little Bracelet of Courage. My mom wants me to take it off. “You look like a crazy person. Like you escaped from the hospital or something… c’mon, just take it off.” As I explained to her… I have never been admitted to a hospital before and besides, people should have a healthy fear of me anyway. lol. Later that night my brother told me that after his hospital stay he wore his bracelet till it disintegrated off. So there!}
I spent hours in the ER. My mom arrived about 45 minutes after me {Joe called her} and I’ll tell you… even though I’m 31, nothing is as good as mom when you feel sick or scared. I don’t think that Mom-Cures-All-Sicknesses ever stops. So, I’m in my room, 5B - if it matters. And I’m lucky enough to be bunking with a big, fat, elderly black woman who had her shaved twat totally exposed with a lovely blue catheter running from it to places unknown. She was passed out cold so I played a game called; How Many Times Can I Trick Joe and My Mom Into Looking At It. It was such a fun game I’m thinking of getting the PlayStation version for all my friends and family as Chrismukkah gifts. Chrismukkah… I love you Seth Cohen. Anyway… my incredibly cute mom just sits there with me. For hours. We’re cracking jokes with the nurses, and pretty much just waiting. Rumor has it I’m to get a chest x-ray. We wait. Then, as we listen to the death-coughers in the next rooms we start debating whether we leave St. Luke’s with Typhoid, Ebola or SARS. There’s a Hispanic guy next door screaming “Aye Dio” every single second. I inform my mom that I’m going to kill him. She counters with; “he’s also getting a catheter”. I decide that no matter what happens, I don’t tick off these catheter-crazed health professionals. If I couldn’t handle the IV… you see where I’m headed, right?!?! Yikers!!
Finally Dr. Zizi {no kidding} tells me it was some sort of anaphylactic shock to the antibiotic I’d been taking. He gives me seriously souped up Benadryl and other pills o’ “fun” and I only have to wait another two hours before I’m dismissed. Fucking FUN. Then I came home, had some soup, talked to some of my favorite Nuns and Fishes. And passed out early. I don’t think I’ve gone to sleep that early since the days when being grounded forced me too.
The rest of the weekend was mind-numbingly dull {the 3rd weekend like that in a row, for those of you keeping count. Grrr!!!!}. I slept endlessly. Watched Life With Bonnie {perhaps a true indication of being sick. Can we not have David Alan Grier killed??} and Michael Jackson’s parents on 20/20 – Yo, they scare me. Then, Sleepers and the first part of Angels in America {wildly impressed, I am, btw.}, drank oceans worth of tea {Celestial Seasonings; True Blueberry is delish you should know} and ate soup. And ingested Benadryl. Lots and lots of Benadryl and the FreakRash is almost totally gone. Yay!!
Tuesday I have a checkup with the doctor. He’ll certainly have some explaining to do. Attempted murder is definitely not within the parameters of the Hippocratic Oath.
So, thanks all of you for your sweet words and kind wishes. It was scary but it’s over. I’m feeling loads better. And Joe, thanks for being there, as if you wouldn’t. You’re a godsend {although, this was all your fault. When you’re asked for the moon just deliver! Haahaa.} I have your Paul’s umbrella and I love you.
**and go wish The Senor a happy 27th birthday if you are so inclined**
10:07 PM
~
And No Goran Visnjic In Sight:
My stint in the ER - as described by Joe.
I have some work to catch up on here but I'll filll you in on the rest later today.
Promises!!
10:45 AM
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
~
About A Some Boy:
It’s not a specific person that I miss. It’s a feeling. No… even that’s not really the case. It’s the intangibles. All of them.
I miss the feeling of meeting someone new and instantly wishing I knew everything about him. How he got that scar on his chin. How old he was when he kissed that first girl. What song makes him think of lying in bed for a whole weekend, just two together, and watching the world pass by outside a window, knowing that everything needed is right there. In that small bed, in that small room. Did his eyes tear up when Kurt Loder told us all that Kurt Cobain was gone? Does he wear socks to sleep? Does he say “bless you” or “gezhundtiet”? The stubble on his chin and cheeks; is it scratchy or soft? Does he eat breakfast? Does he like to be tickled? Does he mind that my feet are often ice cold? Does he like me?
You know what I miss? Wondering when he’ll call but knowing that he will. Is his handwriting precise or chicken-like scrawl. How does my name look the way he writes it? How does my name sound when he says it? Softly. Does he give as good a backrub as I do? Does he stay up way too late reading?
I miss the feeling of sitting next to someone new and wondering how many more centimeters I’d have to move until we touched. The way you can feel the heat from his body before it ever touches yours. When you wonder if your skin might literally tingle from a slight brush against. Those moments when you’re new and completely unfamiliar.
I miss having someone to think about.
Last night Fish and I were discussing boys and I told her I wished I could just Weird Science myself up one. But eh… probably not so much. The mystery of a new person is where the allure lies... {lies, ha ha}. Sure, if it were self assembly required I know what I’d want:
The look that Colin Firth has behind his eyes.
The sense of strength and security Robert DeNiro exudes.
The full head of hair atop Hugh Grant’s head.
The mischievous little curl in Colin Farrell’s lips.
The dry and whip smart sense of humor David Duchovny holds fast to.
The genuineness that drips off Michael Vartan.
The slight awkwardness and lack of suave that defines John Cusack.
The Bradley Whitford ability to tease and gently mock until I laugh at myself.
The unconventional smarts and self assuredness of James Carville.
But then again… It’s the anticipation. The not knowing. Which is the better present? The one you pick out for yourself? Or, the box with the odd shape? The box whose contents you can’t possibly … anticipate…
2:50 PM
Sunday, December 07, 2003
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Quite Happily Snowed In:
Today, after I’d finished washing and folding all the laundry I changed the sheets on my bed. I switched from the dark cotton ones to a warmer flannel/cotton jersey blend. See, I need my bed to be a bit toastier on these freezing prewinter nights. I’m fairly certain that flannel nor cotton jersey will provide the sort of cozy bed warmth I seek but… until you get here… this girl will make do.
I’m feeling loads better but it definitely seems as though elephants are tunneling into my apt. during the nocturnal hours and planting themselves squarely on my chest. Yes, my chest can accommodate an elephant. Or two. So there. Ow. It hurts. I’m all sore and battle weary. I’m coughing up some things that I’m pretty sure would endear me to you no questions asked and my nose… huh… things best left unsaid. Oh, and my throat hurts. Aren’t you glad you asked? I’m reminding myself of my 83 year old Aunt Lillian. I’ve long ago stopped asking her how she’s doing. Perhaps a worthy lesson to learn myself. Ah well…
Seems I survived the very cool storm this past weekend. I stayed in or local mostly. Friday night I watched 28 Days Later down the street at Dick’s apt. There are few things nicer than watching the snow fall on a silent city with a good looking near naked man. Since I got sick last weekend I discovered yet another side to Dick, seems he is a kickass Florence Dick Nightingale. As far as the movie, that is an incredibly cook zombie flick, I absolutely loved it. I’d been looking forward to watching it for a long time and the only crap part is now… well, I’ve seen it. I adore scary movies and there are so few that I look forward to. I need a new one to anticipate. Saturday afternoon my brother and I rented Willard ~ Crispin man. I don’t think you are ever going to not freak me out a bit. What exactly is your shrill little deal? Ick. I made a stew, chocolate chip cookies, a casserole and other delish foods. The ingredients picked up hastily from Gristede’s on Friday. My brother wiped out ferociously on First Ave. on the way back. He was bruised but essentially unhurt so I got to laugh. Loudly and frequently. We took Dog to the park and watched him lose his little puppy mind running around free in fresh snow. Dog is a huge fan. Although he doesn’t do the cute Bailey thing… she’d run over to a little wall of snow and smash her snout directly into it. That always cracked me up.
It was a fun weekend all in all. I hope yours was good too.
This week it’s back to work as normal for me. Tonight {Monday, when you're most likely reading this, not Sunday, when I'm writing it} I’ll be at work until after 8pm. We have a board meeting I have to attend.
A horror movie I am not anticipating.
9:44 PM
Monday, December 01, 2003
~
Further Adventures:
*from the Never A Dull Moment Here series
Thanksgiving? Rocked.
Afterwards? Sick, kids. Very very sick.
High stakes drama? {par for the course} Hospitalized.
End result: Acute severe asthma. Chronic rhinitis & sinusitis. And, piece d' resistance... asthmatic bronchitis. {Layman's terms? Can't breathe, no lung capacity, massive amounts of drugs and steroids injected. Good thing I'm not a major league baseball player. I'd have some serious explaining to do.}
Like I said, never a dull moment.
but as some form of BizarroWorld... I am thoroughly incapacitated and every single Knick is healthy and playing. Right, go figure.
Send love and respiration please.
Kisses from the air bubble.
9:33 PM
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