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Monday, February 26, 2007
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The Itinerant’s Itinerary:
I came back to the city Friday afternoon. I figured it would be easier to park; especially in a spot where I could leave the car until Tuesday, if I got an early start. I was right, I got a good spot. Of course now it’s snowing so with my luck I will have forgone several more desirable, conveniently located spots only for alternate side parking to be suspended. Grr.
I got into the apartment, unpacked, jumped into the best shower ever (water pressure in NJ is appalling) and then rushed downtown to meet Joe at his apartment for dinner. Uhm… the kid put on a fucking feast – he oddly enough ate nothing - but I chowed. There was crisp asparagus, a delectable rice mixed with onion and spices and chicken. Cordon bleu!! He’s amazing. I wasn’t even mad that I had to share him. Well, only the teensy bit. I think pms and the champagne we drank early on gave me a bit of a headache though and I fell into bed and was sound asleep the second I got home.
Saturday night I finally got to play catch up with Heather who I haven’t seen since she got home from Texas exactly a week ago. We live fifty feet away from one another so it’s fairly unacceptable. She treated us salad and pizza and we watched Raising Helen (not nearly for the first time). When my brother finally went out for a bit Heather was kind enough to regale me with envy inducing tales of bed in breakfast with those who are both chaste and respectable. I was deranged with jealousy by the time she was done. I need to get laid. (As a reader kindly emailed to remind me) It’s my birthday in a two (two!!!) weeks, maybe I should treat myself to a male prostitute? Mmm… classy and safe! (I’m kidding, I could never). Ew. EEEEW! Later that night I climbed into bed with the scarf I'm knitting (scarves are way better than men right? Right? Heh) and watched Kramer vs. Kramer which I haven't seen in at least fifteen years - Dustin Hoffman is just amazing, he's one of those actors whose talent I tend to forget.
Today I woke up and took the pups out and then I cooked up some breakfast. After flipping through the Post I grabbed the knitting again and then settled in to watch Gone With the Wind - a movie whose allure I always fall victim to. If it's on I simply CANNOT turn the tv off, it is a sickness people. Then it started to snow again so I took Dog out and got some cute pictures of him playing around in it before I came back inside and read a little bit. Tonight I watched the Oscars. Wow – did they SUCK. Ellen was great. Look, Ellen can do no wrong, I love that girl. But overall – bo. Ring. No award was a surprise. Helen Mirren? Check. Forrest Whitaker? Check. The Departed? Check. All happened as was expected. Although… Jack Nicholson went to the awards masquerading as Lex Luthor, I didn’t see that coming. No one was dressed Bjork (can we agree to just make “Bjork” an adjective for ferociously ugly?) and nothing remotely entertaining happened! It was a complete festival of yawns and snores. The highlight was when I pretty much bailed and went to the kitchen to make chocolate chip cookies – they were fantastic.
Tomorrow I have not one, but two job interviews (exciting!!) The first is at a place I had an interview with last week (and dug big time) and the second is realty based. After that I’ll come home, stew and sweat over employment and my lack thereof. Then I’ll probably throw some shit in a bag, plug my ipod into the cigarette lighter thing and head back to NJ where I’ll sleep before going into my dad’s office and genuinely help out a little bit – give my brothers a little break. Both the one that lives with me and loved to have the apartment to himself, and my other brother who works for my dad and has to toil alone without the big guy’s help while my parents frolic in Miami.
Wish me luck on the interviews!Labels: birthday, family, heather, job, joe, new jersey, oscars
12:17 AM
Friday, February 23, 2007
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Vintage NJ:
(taken by me 2.22.07)
In June of 1991 I worked as a counselor at a sleepaway camp in West Stockbridge, Massachusetts. This bit of information will be relevant at some point. But back to 2007 for now.
I’m in New Jersey tonight. I was for the past two nights as well.
Last Friday night I was having dinner in Midtown with the epicurean diva and the Ali to my Kate when my dad called. Amongst other things my dad and I share a hatred of talking on the phone so his message was terse and since he never calls me, I got a little worried. When I finally reached him (he and my mom were having dinner 2 blocks away with friends) he asked me if I was busy Wednesday.
“I know being unemployed is a full time job but maybe you can spare sometime for your biggest benefactor?”
“Just tell me what time to be where and what sort of clothes I should wear.”
“I need you in Jersey Wednesday morning dressed like a person who remembers how to dress for work.”
“Immigrants are so funny. I’m glad we’re building walls." No response. He's also deaf in one ear so when he ignores what I say it's hard to deterine why. "Dad. I’ll be there. What time?”
“You forgot already? Employees usually start at 9am.”
“Employees?”
“Wednesday your job is to pretend to be my bookkeeper. And also, not my daughter.”
Ha. A role I spent my teens perfecting. Maybe it’s still not too late to get that Oscar nod. Turns out my dad wanted to impress some big-cheese-type guy and he wanted his small but lucrative company to seem just as lucrative, yet less small. I emailed the women I had interviews with to reschedule and my brother agreed to walk and feed Dog. Interviewing and caring for Dog are my only responsibilities right now, once I took care of both I called my dad and told him I was in.
“You’ll take the bus Tuesday and stay at the house? I’m not sure what time the guy’s coming so maybe we leave earlier, later, who knows.” Stay over? Crap.
“Sure dad.”
“Maybe you can stay over Wednesday too? Mom and I can take you for dinner, you still love Cenzatti’s downtown, right? Right. Then you can drive us to the airport Thursday. This is good, you’re a good daughter. Maybe I'll even pay you. See you Tuesday!” Pay me?! Yay!
For the record, I think it merits telling you that “downtown" where my parents live is three square blocks. And also; I’ve never heard of Cenzatti’s before. In my life. I don’t even know if that’s the right spelling. And as you may recall I do not like driving to the airport. But I’m a sucker for my parents, I’m the(ir) kid that can’t say “no”.
So Wednesday I went to my dad’s office for a few hours. Pretended to be working while texting with my other brother (he was sitting ten feet away from me) and fielding fake purchase calls from my mom. Later in the day I started cleaning out my closet. My mom asked me to under the guise that they want to move one day but I know the truth; she wants the closet space for her greedy little self and I’m totally fine with throwing away sleeveless flannels, color block J. Crew button downs and Cavariccis from 1987 and foward.
Thursday morning I wake up at 6am, have some coffee and cottage cheese with my parents and then we drive to Newark Airport. During the car ride my dad tells me to pay attention, the city should be on your right coming home, he tells me. Then he asks if I can get home ok. My mom tells him about my last adventure from Newark and he decides to set the navigation for me. Sure, because that works so well. He tells me over and over, I want the Turnpike North. He also slips some twenties into my hand and tells me I’m a great chauffer (I didn’t drive, but let’s not bicker). Of course as soon as I’m on my own and driving back the navigation tries to sell me on 280 and then leads me straight through the heart of Newark. Yeah, Newark’s lovely. I’m trying to get back to the Turnpike when I see something that my eyes almost refuse to believe.
I’m a HUGE fan of cheapie stores. I can’t tell you enough, I’m all about Kmart, Target, Walgreens, Harmon, (I’d include Kohl’s, but I’ve been and it sucks). There is one store that has always managed to elude me though. And years of their advertising has only made me yearn to experience it that much more. The elusive, banned-in-NYC; Walmart. Yep, somewhere in NJ there was a Walmart and at 8:30am I got to realize one of my little dreams and shop at Walmart. Wow. The hype was so much that the store could have never lived up. And it didn’t. It was merely … eh. (A truth indicated by the fact that I spent a scant $55.00). On a scale of one through three it rates somewhere between Kmart (3rd) and Target (1st).
After my mini-excursion I stopped in Englewood for some insanely delicious coffee at this tiny little shop a few doors away from a stupid Starbucks and then came back to the house. I took an hour nap and was awoken by my brother. He wanted to know if I’d be around for a few hours so I could do him a small favor. Sure, no problem. His car was at the shop and he wanted me to drive him over there. Easy enough. My parents are away for 10 days and pathetically enough my mom still does my brother’s laundry. I asked him if he had enough clothes to last until they got back. Of course the answer was “fuck… no!” and I offered to do it if he brought it over. Sure, he isn’t incapacitated in any way and he’s certainly old enough to do it himself but it’s hard to argue with a guy that has no underpants. And I adore my brothers. So he and I got his car, I went to Kings (a supermarket chain) and came back to the house to do my laundry and that of my two brothers. Then I went back to cleaning out my room.
So I’m in my old bedroom, sifting, piling and tossing when I come across a red plaid Ralph Lauren jacket that I lived in during high school. I’m reminiscing about homeroom, passed notes, my locker and Eric (high school boyfriend) and none of that is for the best so I force myself back to 2007 and I toss the jacket on my bed. That’s when it falls out of the pocket.
In 1991 I left for sleepaway camp and few days after I got there I realized I left a bag of pot in my red plaid jacket. I called my best friend Katie and begged her to liberate said pot from my room before my mom found it.
I guess she didn’t.
Yes, I am spending the night smoking 16 year old pot.
sweetLabels: family, new jersey
1:00 AM
Saturday, February 17, 2007
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Wally and I Are So Over:
Meet my new NBA boyfriend:
Jason Kapono of the Miami Heat. Yum.Labels: boyfriends, NBA
8:36 PM
Monday, February 12, 2007
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Inspirational; Like Oprah:
My "I'm a sucker for" list is growing (ten at a time, at least)!
See what I've spawned and what my friends are suckers for:
Heather
Lola
Brooke Alexandra
Cassy
Trisha
Brooke M.
Sjer
Carmen
Sarah
Brandy
(if anyone else does a list let me know and I'll link to it too)Labels: lists, my friends, sucker for
8:42 PM
Sunday, February 11, 2007
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I’m Such a Sucker For:
(*hardly a comprehensive list)
- My brothers.
- My parents (almost always).
- The puppies.
- The New York Yankees.
- The New York City skyline.
- Driving (stick over automatic and the further, the better).
- A day with no obligations.
- Boys that will break my heart.
- Thanksgiving.
- Sleeping late.
- Fireworks.
- Learning new things (ie; knitting, driving a boat).
- Books that don’t enrich my mind.
- Lunches (and whatever else) with Joseph.
- Dark chocolate.
- Sleepy pants.
- Brownies with walnuts.
- The autumny smell of fireplaces and burning leaves.
- Corn chowder with oyster crackers.
- The Heather & Little Brother Show (ongoing banter during our frequent dinners).
- Flip flops/slippers.
- Leafy green illegal substances.
- Ralph Lauren bedding.
- Gone With the Wind.
- Karol and terrace time or bizarre adventures in Brooklyn.
- Loud “guy movies” (ie: natural disasters, things blowing up, awesome car chases).
- Van Morrison.
- Breyer’s mint chocolate chip ice cream.
- When Mr. & Mrs. Jake come to town.
- Rohr’s Brazilian blend coffee.
- The smell of coconut.
- Showering before bed.
- Things being Monica Geller neat.
- Pocketbooks.
- Naked white lined paper.
- Weekends in CT.
- Marian Keyes, Lisa Jewell, Jane Green, Isabel Wolf and Anna Maxted (British/Irish chick-lit).
- David Sedaris, James Patterson and Stuart Woods.
- Massages.
- Wednesdays at the Crack House.
- Dunkin’ Donuts coconut coffee.
- Venti, skim, gingerbread lattes from Starbucks’s (tragically seasonal).
- Jiffy pop, Blockbuster online, and rainy/snowy days.
- Nora Ephron movies.
- Freshly laundered clothing.
- 7/11.
- Stationary. I even use it.
- Cooking, baking, being domestic.
- Cozy cashmere clothes for chilly days.
- Don Cheadle.
- Getting haircuts.
- New pocketbooks.
- Amazon.com.
- Candles.
- Movie theater popcorn.
- Black and white photos.
What are you suckers for? Labels: about me, favorites
7:41 PM
Sunday, February 04, 2007
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Carpe the Bartender:
“Wow, you have immaculate sneakers.”
“Yes, but I have dingy underwear. Whereas your sneakers are not so clean.”
“That’s because my underpants are pristine.”
“You should let me have them. Think of how neat I’d be.”
I’ve been sick since Monday. That was the morning I woke up to discover that my right nostril was closed for business and my eyes felt suspiciously watery. Allergies? Sinus infection? Generic cold? Who the fuck knows. All I know is that dear sweet Heather took great pity on me and came over Monday night. She bought me a delicious dinner, several tablets of mucinex and has agreed to kill any babies my body might try to endow me with over the next two months (read: she gave me, her poor relation, two months worth of the Pill that I use but that she disliked and had extra samples of). So she saved me over a hundred dollars and possibly several extra days of feeling like congested shit – Heather is my savior. And baby stopper. You should be so lucky.
So I’ve been laying low. I’ve been sleeping, blowing my nose every .00004 seconds, watching horrid television, not smoking, knitting and attempting to drown myself in vanilla chai tea with honey. I’ve been showering (but only because I love the way the steam clears me up). I've been sleeping only due to the mad sciencetry of breathe-right nose strips, Nyquil, and a warm dog that likes to nuzzle. I’ve been listening to the new Jay-Z album (Kingdom Come) incessantly because Karol and my brother turned me onto it and it is fucking awesome (Regina Spektor too but only because of Grey's Anatomy). I haven’t blogged, really been online much or even read (what’s better than being sick and reading a good book while you just lay there doing nothing?) because my eyes have been burning and tearing for days.
All I’ve wanted to do was be lazy. But Wednesday night is poker night at Evil Dawn’s and I really hate to miss it (I never used to go but unemployment gives you all sorts of go-to-Brooklyn-sit-around-for-hours-playing-poker-and-losing-money time) and now it’s something fun to do that I tend to look forward to. So Wednesday I took more mucinex (not nearly as gross as it sounds), tried to get a decent amount of sleep and tried to decide if I was really getting off my beloved sofa to go to Brooklyn. When I go I take the subway and the trip takes about an hour or so, I really didn’t feel up to that so I decided that I’d call Karol and if was she up to split a cab I’d go, if it was subway, I was out. Long tangent made short; I got a ride from Evil herself.
We played poker, I won a bit, I lost a bit, won a bit, lost a bit, broke almost even and then I heard Karol say we were going to a bar. What?! I’m sick! A bar? It’s just a few blocks away and we’ll just go for a bit, she said. Even worse.
“Uhm, I’m a little … who’s going to be in a bar in Brooklyn at 2am on a Wednesday? A little sketchy, no?”
Karol says no. I smell a lost argument and soon find myself in the backseat of a Honda Accord heading to a bar, in Brooklyn, at 2am, on a Wednesday. Six minutes later Evil parks and we all get out. I look up and notice that the totally nondescript bar is located right next door to the Kent movie theater. (I grew up in Brooklyn, right in the area we were at).
“Hey!! I saw The Untouchables here with Jay Something-eller when I was in junior high! He felt me up in this theater!” Imagine the sense of nostalgia – I mean really, we’re talking about a young girl’s first public feel-up. Ahh… precious memories.
We go into the bar, Karol’s friend works there so we say hi and she gets me a drink. {*This is the part of the post where I remind you, the reader, that it’s now 2am. All I’d eaten that day was half an English muffin, a cup of soup and tons of tea. On with the story:*}. Evil and I head over to the pool table to play a round. She can’t rack so I do it. That’s the last moment of expertise I encounter near that table during the time that we’re there.
Evil immediately sinks the 8 ball and I continuously send the cue ball hurtling off the table entirely. We play like morons, making up our own rules because the table won’t return the 8 ball and no one else is waiting for the table anyway. And when I say no one else I mean, it’s only Evil, Karol, their recently acquired friend N, another friend of hers whose name escapes me, the bartender J and myself. We finally clear the table (don't ask how). Moments later Evil is dancing to Michael Jackson when I decide to step on her foot incredibly hard (Evil maintains she doesn’t use the word “bitch” – I was testing her - to her credit she didn't use the word "bitch" per se). Soon after Evil calls it a night and goes home. Karol had called winners on the retard-pool series and after giving me some quick (and helpful!) pointers Karol’s friend N decides we’ll play on teams. N and Karol, J (the bartender) and me. Well, my partner J is just insane and ends the round after sinking each ball off the break (well, I think that’s what happened). We play a few more rounds, Karol generously buys us a few more drinks and at one point I try to sit down but miss the chair entirely – I gracefully end up on my ass. So. Glad. The. Bar. Is. Dead. I laugh it off though because I immediately realize I’m wasted and it doesn’t hurt a bit, not even ego-wise. While seated on the floor of a bar in Brooklyn at 2am I realize my pool partner J’s sneakers are immaculate {see top of post}.
J’s not an uncute fella. Not at all. And we’re having a ridiculously flirty little banter. And there’s a bit of handsy-ness. And I have his undivided attention (and cell phone and car keys, long pocket pilfering story - or not long but not remembered, either way) due to lack of bar patronage. And I’m literally fall on my ass not-sober. And it’s been so long that when I go to sleep at night I’m actually having sex dreams. And after all; I’m in a bar in Brooklyn at 2am and it just feels like there are no rules. None whatsoever. So when I find myself sitting on his lap I don’t stand up. And the flirty banter gets even flirtier. And instead of blushing at some of the things J says, I find that I just laugh and smile broader. So when Karol says she called a cab (why? Oh, because now it’s after 5 in the morning) I drunkenly deduce that if the bartender and I do not kiss it will be more of a missed opportunity then when Bin Laden got away; I kiss the bartender. Classy, I know. Bartenders; historically good kissers.
Let it not be said that I don’t know how to seize a (possibly sloppy, certainly drunken) moment.Labels: bars, brooklyn, karol
6:19 PM
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