|
|
|
|
|
| |
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
~
The Bright Spot:
in what was otherwise, an inarguably, shitty day. And for now, to the sender of these incredibly gorgeous flowers; they are so beautiful. Thank you. There's more, but that's all I'll share for now.
10:56 PM
Monday, March 27, 2006
~
My Mother’s Revenge:
I remember being way younger and thinking my mom was ancient when she had me. I used to ask her what finally made her feel like getting knocked up? Why not wait even longer… I mean she was clearly in no rush. I would then give her a somewhat dirty look and declare “I’m going to have kids when I’m young, I want to be a cool, young mom. Not old and boring. Like you.”
My mom had me when she was 27. I am 34.
By all rights she should be allowed to kick me in the ovaries, then point and laugh every time she sees me.
Instead, this happens:
I call her Friday afternoon. Of course I am sobbing into the phone. She can’t understand a word I’m saying. Makes sense. I barely have a clue what I’m saying myself. Well, I’m aware that I’m sort of saying
“I’m not even in pain. I don’t know why I’m crying. I can’t stop though.”
Who’s not dramatic? Right.
I’m standing in a payphone … (what the fuck are those, anyway) shell(?) and I’m crying to my mom on my cell phone and I can see the salesperson at Waldorf Drugs watching me and she looks totally horrified. Ew, We so hate her now. I hope she doesn’t get laid for two years and when she finally does? I hope he has the tiniest, saddest dick in the world. But back to me crying and not feeling compassion and empathy from strangers. Ahem.
I was just coming from the gyno where I’d had a slight but uncomfortable procedure done. I knew it would be uncomfortable – I certainly felt that I was prepared for that part. What I clearly was not prepared for was the anxiety that would start building three days earlier. The anxiety that would totally peak while the heartless doctor let me sit in her waiting room for an extra 40 minutes while she answered email. I think the vicodin I’d taken started to wear off then too. But after half an hour or so of being legs up and stuff out there for god in all his glory to witness, I just lost it. Tears started rolling and they simply wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t crying those audible loud weepy sobs. Nope, just a steady stream. I kept telling the doctor that I wasn’t in pain, she hadn’t hurt me.
“It’s the release of pent up anxiety.” Dr. Email’s astute comment.
I’m sure she was right. It was certainly, partly the release of built up anxiety. The other part was momentary anger at dysfunctional body parts and then I’m also crazy, which will rarely help a situation.
So despite my mom being quite busy at home (*note* she was on the main floor of Bloomingdale’s) she stayed on the phone with me until I got into a cab. She then says; “don’t forget, I know you. You need to freak out before you can be ok. You’ve always been that way. So we’ll just talk until you feel better.” Then she demanded to know what she could get me (better body parts) and refused to believe that there are some things Bobbi Brown lip gloss can’t fix. I was surprised as well. In the end I succumbed and accepted the April Allure and Vanity Fair – purchased at CVS only because Bloomingdale’s doesn’t sell magazines (yet).
Later that night HeatherFish and Lola came over. Heather brought the most gorgeous sunset colored tulips and Lola brought enough diet coke that we’ll never go thirsty again. We vegged out on my sofa, watched Couplings and gossiped.
Then my parents stopped by. They brought over magazines and percocet (you so wish my parents were yours) and didn’t even comment on the fact that my apartment undoubtedly smelled like pot. They played with the dogs and chatted up Lola (mainly telling her she looks like my other friends – weird pill delivering parents), they made fun of my cell phone wallpaper and then they were gone. Ahh parents. The rest of the weekend was me being loafy and watching a backlog of Arrested Developments - Hank and Lisa (my gorgeous girl), I can't thank you (and Karol, Esther, Jason, the aforementioned Lola, the Anonymous Coward, [the person whose gift arrived without any name so I have no way of knowing who it was from, though I have two guesses. If you haven't gotten a thank you note let me know, it was your gift] and certainly Joe) enough - you guys made my shitty weekend so so much better.
Late that night, after my dad was long asleep my mom called me.
“I wanted to know if you’re feeling any better,” she asked.
“Aw, such a cute mommy – I’m ok.”
“OK good. You sounded so upset before, I felt terrible.”
“No, no, honest. I wasn’t hurt. I think I was stressed out.”
“I’m sure you were incredibly stressed, that’s only normal.”
“And what if that wasn’t the worst of it? What if there’s something wrong and I don’t get to have kids one day. I’m just freaked out about everything.”
“Ha! After what you put me through?! I’ve told you before, I can’t wait till you have one just like you. It’s my revenge. I’m waiting for it.”
“Fine, just to show you, I’ll have twins.”
“Yeah, sounds like you feel much better.”
9:39 PM
Thursday, March 23, 2006
~
The Thin Line:
I love my blog.
I love that one day, four years ago, I decided to see if my writing resonated with anyone. Or even just someone.
I love that I have met people and made friends that mean so much to me now, yet I had never blogged, I would have never met.
I love that I can write down a crazy feeling I have and one of you “out there” might just be able to relate.
I love that whether or not I like or dislike what I’ve written, in some capacity, it’s like a conversation. I’ve put it “out there” and I can’t take it back. It is what it is.
I love that strangers can get me. Sometimes more so than the people that know me best.
I hate my blog.
I hate that in four damn years nothing has changed.
I hate that like other bloggers, I can’t invite you into the intimacy of a flawed or floundering relationship. I hate that in all the time I’ve been blogging there was even just the one relationship, and it was so flawed and I never shared it with you. I couldn’t.
I hate that what you read four years ago is pretty much where I still I am.
I hate that it sometimes strikes me that I live the strange life of a totally stagnant individual. I hate that you most likely have noticed it too.
I hate that I thought that one day I could share with you the beginning the middle and the end but that there have been… none.
I hate that my blogger friends can share news of engagements, weddings, babies, book deals… big exciting milestones and I have nothing like that to tell you about.
I hate that no matter how often I try to connect, try to make something out of a fledging, I am reminded once and again of how little some people feel I have to offer.
*in other news, I'm considering trading in my desk and chair for a lamp post and a corner. Five + years of trying to forge relationships with men and repeatedly being told that I am wanted for sex only will take a toll. I am wasting my life in an office - apparently I could be out there making buckets of cash. Anyone have a Hooker Handbook I can peruse? Lemme know.
2:03 PM
Monday, March 20, 2006
~
Yep. I’m a Lemming:
My nickname: the one that is used by my family I would never willingly reveal. The one used by my friends is merely my first initial, drawn out a little.
My hometown: Brooklyn baby. Brooklyn.
My team: Soccer: Yankees and Knicks.
My theme song (addendum: at the moment): A Little Less Conversation a Little More Action.
My drink (again; at the moment): Malibu and pineapple (thanks Joseph!! I now have it in my freezer. Yum. I’m 12.
My occupation: somewhat well compensated office monkey, despiser of the elderly.
My spare time: sleep, movies, reading, abusing drugs and kittens.
My hiding spot: Bergen County, NJ or just outside of Danbury, CT.
My book: should it ever be published, you’ll know rightthefuckaway.
My hero: the creator of MeMes, who else?
In fairness, I pass this alone to no one. Who loves you?
9:39 PM
~
Stifled:
Posting will likely be nil today - as douchebag is here. Also, I will likely be charged with eldercide today.
But, on the off chance that I get away with it; I promise to be back posting, especially as I owe Miss Jessica.
9:22 AM
Monday, March 13, 2006
~
Happy...
9:55 AM
Friday, March 10, 2006
~
FrIday:
So this coming Monday is my birthday – at this point I’m no longer revealing which – I simply don’t feel like it. Anyway my brother called me last night. “Hey Sis, is there anything specific you want for your birthday?”
I ruminate and reflect for a moment (uhm… smoke a bowl). Fuck yes. There is.
I’d like a job that I don’t hate with every cell of my body. That whole switching jobs thing a year ago? Very bad idea aside from the extra $15k I made myself. I’m ready for yet another switch and top priority tonight is revamping my already stellar resume in pursuit of a new job I will love.
I’d like a boy. No. A man. With hair on his chest, availability in his life, and love in his heart. That’s so cheesy right? Fine. I’ll take a cute guy, halitosis free who likes me and will fuck me senseless routinely. That’s better.
I’d like an entire year off from any and all teeth issues. It’s always fucking something with these chompers and I’m sick of it. I want a jaw and teeth replacement. I want to start from scratch, I’m so over the maintenance and upkeep of teeth that are like Lincoln’s. Wait – his were made of wood right (or, was that just Washington)? Yeah… mine are more like Faberge eggshells. I hate them and they clearly hate me.
I want to see Failure to Launch. Heather saw it the other night and she liked it, it also got a great write up in this morning’s paper.
I saw The Island the other night and I finally get the whole “Scarlett is so fucking hot thing. I didn’t think she looked that great in Match Point and she was eh in Lost in Translation which I was underwhelmed by as well. I am looking forward to seeing her in The Nanny Diaries - I liked that book.
I just started reading The Tenth Circle. The subject matter and presentation of the book seems a little different than what I normally read but if you look left towards my links you’ll see that the author is one of my absolute favorites so I’m optimistic. I try not to buy books – I read them so fast it’s just a waste of money. I usually get everything I read through the New York Public Library but since I like the author as much as I – I bought myself the book as a birthday present. Speaking typing of presents; this is what a dork I am – I have gotten a few things in the mail. Some from you, my amazingly wonderful, sweet and generous readers, and at least one from an old friend in Cali. Well, to fully illustrate my dork-factor; said gifts are still boxed and to prevent me from tearing into them like a 7 year old, they are under my bed. I will (try my damn best to) not open them until Monday. To make this effort a little more likely I had to hide them. Past experiences have taught me that I may get a gravy boat from my crazy parents this year. Scary.
I’m getting together with some friends Saturday night at a bar near my apartment for birthday idiocy. Every time I go to a friends get together it is miles upon miles away from my apartment – I’m so excited to be in walking distance at the end of the night. As opposed to y’know, the $21 cabfare I usually end up shelling out, I can just walk home. 4 blocks – could I ask for anything more convenient? No, I couldn’t. And neither can my neighbor friends. So the locale is ideal in terms of proximity, the weather on Saturday is supposed to be phenomenal which is also great and even better? I was smart enough not to invite people I just don’t actually like (lessons I was incapable of learning in prior years). For the record though, Mr. Joseph helped (and insisted on follow through) in the planning – if it were up to me I’d still have nothing cooked up for Saturday. As usual, I owe the Joe a HUGE debt of gratitude. Yeah – I’m thinking Saturday night is going to be insanely fun. My friends always are.
(*FrIday - where every paragraph beings with an "I" - cuz' it's all about me kidlets. Always.)
10:45 AM
Monday, March 06, 2006
~
So Cool:
Bar none of the coolest things I've seen in ages.
Thanks to my brother for showing me :)
And also cool? birthdays.
4:31 PM
Friday, March 03, 2006
~
An Ari Cloud:
via Karol.
10:25 AM
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
~
Twelve More Days:
According to AOL's homepage:
Pisces (February 19 - March 20)
You desire transcendence, but take care how you escape reality, Pisces. The Fish may get his or her highs from dance and meditation ... or from booze and too much daydreaming.
What to Avoid: Jobs that require "attention to detail"; housecleaning; a nit-picky roommate; shoes that don't fit; hard science; too much to drink; a lover who hates to cuddle.
Your Survival Pack: A large DVD collection; dance shoes; an aquarium; a meditation cushion; group therapy; visits to the ocean; romantic poetry.
I just don't get it. Everything I have ever read in relation to my sign insists I am some poetry lover - poetry and water over and over and over again. But here's the thing; I do not like poetry. I actually find it irritating and completely pretentious. I could not find poetry more distateful if it was located on the periodic table.
As for water...eh... I'd rather be near it than in it. I'm totally content to listen to waves lap at the shore all day long or crash out at sea. I definitely love the sound of water. I can languish in a hot shower for hours. And I'd be completely cool with being a mermaid. Ok. Fine. So perhaps I like water (a lot) more than poetry.
I'm really not that detail oriented at all, that's true. Those who have been to my apartment will certainly take issue with the accusation that I am not a zestful housecleaner (uhm... no, they won't, dust is my 3rd roommate). Group therapy strikes me as a nightmare. I'm waaaay too self involved to sit around and listen to other people's problems. I can do it, but for maybe half an hour tops - and probably just one person. But 6-12 people each going for half an hour? And me just sitting there listening? Ha!! Not in a million.
And also? Can't really dance. Rhythmically my body chose to ignore my African-American-ness and instead embrace my pale Jewessness. So dance shoes? Yep - not so much.
In other news, in case the title of this post didn't tip you off: a mere 12 days until my birthday (doesn't matter which!). And I have no idea what I want to do. Dinner? Drinking? If some people weren't allergic to dogs (and the aforementioned but easier to remove dust) I'd have people over for dinner, drinks and inappropriate conversation but that's not really feasible. You all seem to know me moderately well - got any ideas for me? Because I sure have ideas for you! :)
9:47 AM
|
|
| |
|
|
|
