**When I was younger, I stole
t-shirts and other various garments from the boys I had been with. I don't do that anymore. Now, it would be too much like
asking the firing squad if I could keep the blindfold.**
100 Things ~ cause I'm so avant garde like that. Right...
Check out some of the delicious reads I found for you. They are down below...
I'll admit it, this gal can't always be scintillating and titillating. It's true! So, for the rare mindblowing
occasion where you find that I am *gasp* not enough for you, I have done this; I searched far and wide for other ways
to whet your appetite. Until you return to me, that is. *Kisses*.
These archives tend to appear and disappear with more frequency than an eye twitch. Bear with me and keep watch... Archives
Ari Goes Down
Thursday, December 28, 2006
~ His Middle Name is WHAT?
Ok - I'm just not seeing where all the Barack Obama excitement is coming from. The guy has been politically active for about 17 minutes and suddenly he's the prince of the Democratic Party.
Did I miss something? Has he done anything of note besides give a keynote address in 2004? He was only sworn in to Senate in 2005. He's accomplished nothing (yet). And somehow his name is bandied about with Hilary Clinton's - as though they are political peers. What. The. Hell. He hasn't done his time yet. My god, he hasn't even had to act as though he doesn't care that his spouse is intern diddling idiot. He's attractive, interesting and a minority. And there's nothing the Democrats like to do more than pretend they care about/for minorities. Look, I have nothing against the guy, he hasn't done anything for me to object to, I just think that pushing someone with no history is pure idiocy (oooh! Another Democratic favorite). Barack Obama could be an amazing politician. One day. When he's served more than 730, let's say.
I'd love to see a minority in the White House. An African-American, A Jew, a woman, a Hispanic. But I think that it has to be the right person at the right time. Think JFK, the first President of Irish descent. Liddy Dole, not someone I particularly liked but at least a woman with political pedigree. Nominating a neophyte is not only dangerous for our country, but it also has the unfortunate ability to retard the process of Americans voting for someone other than a boring, 60-something, gray-haired white guy - which I think a lot (though certainly not all) of us are actually ready to see.
By the way - in Hebrew Barack means lightning. And oh yeah - his middle name is Hussein. Are we seriously going to elect a Hussein the same year we hang one? Just asking.
I want to be a writer. A comedienne. The host of a Politically Incorrect-like talk show. I want to write a screenplay. I want to banter with Conan late at night. I want other people to know I feel like them. I think like them. And they like me. That the disparities between me and the collective are actually far less disparate then you’d think. I want to wear white without fearing I’ll spill. I want to order the perfect wine to go with the meal. I want to decide if it’s sadder that the only reason I have to go home is my dog. Or, at least I have a dog. Chicken? Meet egg. I want to smell the delicious aroma of someone else cooking in my kitchen. I hate that all the underwear in the laundry is mine.
A new year is coming and I have big plans.
I am going to write. I am going to find a job I really like and can get out of bed on a cold, rainy morning for. I am going to meet men that don’t make me want to stop meeting men. I am going to love and appreciate each of my friends for precisely who they are and not what I need from them and how they deliver. I am going to surprise myself with how much scrappier I can be than I let myself believe.
In no short terms, I am planning to kick my life in its ass. I think the outcomes could be amazing.
What are your plans?
(please remind me of this post when I’m all woe is me in 3 days.)
Monday, December 18, 2006
~ One Hour, Eleven Minutes:
On Tuesday night I went out to meet a random guy named David for a drink.
The good lord will cause to me to think twice before I act capriciously again.
What a bizarre fucking guy. First of all, we’d emailed a bit before – no giant red flags there. We hadn’t spoken on the phone but I hate the phone so I hadn’t really thought about it. Well, for starters the bar David chose was a dive bar. And not dive in the ironic sense, it was an utter hole. When I arrive he’s standing at the bar. Dude, I got there at 8 on the dot as agreed, what the fuck are you doing at the bar already, wait for your date! He sees me and smiles and it’s the kiss of death. He has tiny teeth. Really really tiny teeth. They look like they were filled down to mere teethlets. That just creeps me out. Then he talks. Holy fuck, I think, is he intentionally doing a dead-on Froggy (from Rascals) imitation or is that his voice? Uhm. I take a quick peek at his neck, searching for a tracheal voice-box and there’s nothing. It’s his voice. It’s the voice that he uses the entire time I sit there, across from him, in the only NYC bar to host a hepatitis night. “You look just like your picture,” he tells me “but, you’re prettier in person. I like those glasses, you weren’t wearing glasses in your picture, right?” I don’t know how to tell him he looked like he would have actual sized teeth and a slightly less horror-movie ready voice, so I just smile the smile of a girl who is going to die alone, or on this very date. He doesn’t ask me if I want a drink but I notice his looks whitish and inordinately frothy. I’m confused. I ask him what he’s drinking and he says, I shit you not, a white russian. What?! Is he 14 and at a bat-mitzvah? What 36 year old man orders a white russian in a bar that looks likely to act as a location in a Russian espionage flick?
We talk about the Yankees, Christmas and CSI. And then this happens;
“Ever wonder what you’d do if you had to get rid of a body?” Oh for fuck’s sake. The second this freakshow goes to the men’s room I am out of here. I’ve never snuck out on a date before but tonight is the best possible time to start. This guy is on the smaller side and he’s a total nebbish so I’m not scared of him but he’s a loser on offensive levels and this is waste of my time and lip gloss. I tried to image that I’d get to kill him at the end of the date; “I’d cut up your, er, the body and dump the pieces in the river.”
He tells me he too would cut up the body but he would then flush the pieces down the toilet. But. (BUT!!!) Not his toilet, his toilet doesn’t flush very well. His brother’s toilet’s much better, it’s got great power. His friend Jason has the best toilet though. Problem is, Jason lives on the Upper West Side and David lives downtown, he’d have to sporadically bring body bits over to the West Side for flushing and that would take a long time. Maybe, David muses aloud, he’d be able to buy things at the hardware story which would increase his toilets’ flush power. He give me a teethlety smile at the end of all that and then he picks up his white russian to take another sip. It’s empty.
“If you’re going to get another, this might be the time.”
He stares into the glass for a minute and shakes his head. “I don’t know. That one seemed a little weak.”
And with that I’m up and pulling on my coat. “Well, I’m going to go.” I tell him. I reason that if he tries to touch me I’ll stab him with my glasses. He looks at me a little confused and counters that at 9:11 it’s still early. “I know,” I say and then I leave him alone on 9th Avenue.
One of those moods where I feel as though my life is wrapping up before it’s even started.
I mean FUCK. I’m practically middle aged and I’ve done nothing yet. I haven’t written a book, met the love of my life, had babies. I haven’t even seen the Pyramids. And I bet I won’t. Jews in Egypt? I don’t know, as you may have heard, it didn’t work so well last time. But Passover is nice.
I’m having one of those days where I feel I lost everything I wanted before I even mounted a battle for them. I’m not going to be a young mother. I’m not going to marry my college sweetheart. I’m not going to be a teen sensation.
Today, I feel like I’m too old to do anything I wanted or hoped to do. I can’t find a job I like. I can’t find a boy to kiss.
I never thought I’d be 34, unmarried, unemployed and childless. Not having a warm body to lie next to in September is nothing to think about. In December it’s reason enough to cry. I never thought, I never considered that I’d still have to be looking. I blithely assumed that my snatch would be snatched up! I mean really. I switched high schools at the start of my sophomore year. I nabbed myself a boyfriend the first damn day. We were together for three years and then intermittently throughout college. In college there were others, I never lacked for a date. Cute, eligible guys were never hard to come by until I actually wanted one. And yes, I know, you’ll never find anyone while you’re looking but I’m 34, I really can’t play coy anymore.
And so, as my mom would say; I’m in a mood today. I have a date tomorrow night and I’m not all that moody by nature though so this feeling, it’s got to be fleeting, right?
