Ari Goes Down

2009-02-04T19:54:00.002-05:00

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Psst:

I just might have started blogging again. For those of you who want to keep up, email me at the link on the left. For those of you who don't, thanks, it's been fun.

(But the pink, and the Ari? Well, they stay here.)

2009-01-04T19:37:00.003-05:00

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Challenge:

dotcom me and be duly rewarded.

(I have a no nudity clause)

*UPDATE*
Thanks everyone (esp. those of you with .com addresses) I appreciate your complete lack of repeatedly asked for help. I'm sure not one of you know how to get a .com address done.

2008-12-23T20:45:00.004-05:00

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Question:

If I were going to officially ditch this blog and start another one, what would I call it?

*UPDATE*

ok, I dig where this is headed. Now for an added twist; what if anonymity wasn't an issue anymore? What if there was no "Ari"? What might said blog be called then?

2008-11-09T18:32:00.008-05:00

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Swallowing Bitter Pills:

I've haven't been blogging; true. As a result you've missed fascinating updates in my life; false.

Last night I did something I haven't done in ages. I smoked enough to shut my brain up for the night. It was rambling on like a 14 year old girl that just discovered cell phones, IM and the Jonas brothers all in one day. For the past few nights I've been having my monthly financial freakout. Instead of falling asleep to sheep it's more like trying to fall asleep while angry, bill collecting sheep yell at me. You owe the cable company $250!!, You need to give your new cable company $200 upon installation next week!!, You owe your former dentist $1000!!, These pillows suck and you need new ones!! $50!!, Your winter boots have holes in them, you sadsack!! $200!! - yes, I love my job, but the salary cut that I self-inflicted is killing me. And also, why is $200 the magic number for so many things? I can usually keep the freakouts at bay because honestly, when you have very little money there's nothing you can do about trying to spend less of it or trying to budget it better. The fact of the matter is I need to augment my salary.

In far more fun news, I got to meet one of my favorite actors one night after work last week. Added bonus? I was asked out by a cute guy on the Law & Order crew. This is why, despite the fact that my bag already weighs 350lbs, I still take my little camera everywhere I go. Look! (here's the picture with me mostly cropped out because I look like ass - though those are part of my glasses and my fingers on his shoulder and if you're my friend on Facebook then you can see the actual picture)

He was definitely on my short list of NYC based celebrities I want to see in person (as I've already had my Derek Jeter and Robert DeNiro moments I think A-Rod might be alone on that list now). He was obscenely hot (as expected) and gracious, that might just be the best combination of male attributes (smart wouldn't hurt but I'm not going to get greedy). Incidentally we (a co-worker and I) saw Mariska Hargitay there too, she's drop dead gorgeous - as pretty as she is on tv it still manages to do her no justice, she's just stunning.

As for an update on the ex that I've been sweating over; I think I need to move on. He expresses tons of interest but no follow up and if there's one thing (just one??) that I've really tried to learn it's that actions speak louder than words. I'm still open to it I suppose but it seems clear that I need to accept that honesty and contriteness, while valued, don't always get you what you want.

2008-10-06T21:55:00.004-04:00

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... flurgh:

I have started typing no less than 15 posts since August 26th. And you probably thought I died. Or lost a hand. Nope. But I will admit to you (you; singular reader who probably can't even read English and most likely are developmentally disabled and simply find shade #33333 exceptionally soothing), I'm totally two-armed and fine. Aside from being at some slightly confusing crossroad thing and having strange thoughts (that are actually good!) I've been trying to figure out what that hell is up with me.

Cases in points:

I am in a good mood more often than not. Especially at work. I'll give you a second if you want to go back and reread that. I am happy. Especially at work. Yes, it confounds me as well. I am busy all day long. I don't take forever in the bathroom hoping to waste 15 vs. 5 minutes. I don't read blogs anymore (aside from 3), I have no idea what Perez Hilton has to say or doodle about anything. I'm almost never on IM. I'm painfully out of the gossipy loop and I don't care.
I do not wake up weekday mornings and immediately try and figure out a way to delay/avoid going to work. I like my job and more importantly I like the people I work with. They are the tiniest bit vanilla (aside from a small little group of about 4) but they are beyond nice and considerate - my company has a staff of 30-35. We always have a stocked kitchen, free snacks flying around and freshly brewed coffee. My boss is the least bitchy 8.5 months pregnant woman in the history of pregnant women. The CEOs are constantly coming up with ways to show the staff that they appreciate us. We sit on yoga balls, go out drinking on Tuesdays, eat lunch together and bring in homemade cookies and breads. Construction was just completed on my new office, there are floor to ceiling windows and it's sunny and gorgeous. It's almost a cult. I'd be a little bit freaked if it wasn't all so great. My only hitch is that the entire office/city/media is virulently prObama and they're really insane about it. Like "ohmygod did you hear?? Sarah Palin wrapped up her little Down's baby in the American flag and then set the whole bundle on fire! Then she fed it to a moose before shooting the moose! she's cccrrrraaaaazzyyy" Uhm, no, you are, but anyway - love the 9-5ing!!!
As I confessed to a friend the other night over unintentionally straight vodka, I'm a little bit pursuing an ex. Crazy right? I've never in my life. But he's turned into an itch I can't scratch. I keep thinking of him. Can't stop. Going nuts. So... I emailed him. And now we're talking again and I'm not sure what'll happen (obviously) but I need to give it another shot and I was willing to trade the awkwardness for that shot. Is it abject desperation or maturity? No, I'm asking you.
I've been a reading maniac and what that means I have book recommendations for you! Both of these books were terrifically well written and incredibly enjoyable. I'm about to embark on the new Curtis Sittenfeld and while I can't imagine what the fuck her parents were thinking when they named her Curtis. That just smacks of child abuse.
- The Godmother
- All We Ever Wanted Was Everything

For the two of you that remembered this blog and found this post - what have you got to say?

2008-08-26T23:07:00.003-04:00

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Well that is Change For the Better:

The first clip is sheer fun and mockery. The second is honest to goodness dumbassery. Enjoy.

Under Barack Obama we get nine more states. He just might be the Messiah.

And please clarify for me, which is worse, not knowing the amount of homes you own or how many states we have - I think a 2nd grader would know that. Hell, I bet even Bush knows that.

2008-08-25T13:17:00.003-04:00

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Discuss:

I would rather be without a friend then friends with an absolute lowlife who can't be trusted or believed. I would think I'd be in the majority. I'm often proven wrong. So what about you guys - how many of you hang on to 'friends' that you know are going to disappoint you/fuck you over/make you regret that you gave them a chance? And why - does anyone need companionship that badly?

2008-08-08T18:35:00.006-04:00

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Freaky Friday:

Today was just the fucking weirdest. But I'm already getting ahead of myself.

Have you ever seen the infomercial for the Ped Egg? Well I did and I instantly knew we needed to be together. One afternoon I was in the Bethel, CT Target and we found each other. Bliss. I've been pedegging myself regularly and loving it. Last night I gave my heels a quick once over and while checking out my handiwork I noticed a small, hard, raised dark spot on the sole of my foot. I futzed with it for a second, thought I saw something sticking out and felt relief. A splinter! I can tweeze that sucker right out. Grabbed the tweezerman, dug around for a sec and got it. Oh. Not a splinter. The top of a tiny scab. Hmm. I soaked it in hot water. Tried to remember if anything had bothered me lately. Went back to the tweezerman. Came up empty. I remembered I'd once had a wart on my foot as a kid. A wart... ok... a little gross but manageable.

I get to work Friday morning and look up plantar warts online. Yep, that's what it is. No big deal. During lunch I go to the pharmacy, pick up a few wart cures and head over to the pharmacist to see what she recommends. He asks me a few questions.

"Is it white or flesh covered"? Shit.
"No. It's kinda dark".
"Oh? Dark"? Fuuuuck.

He asks me to show it to him. I do. He suggests I go to a doctor. Except he phrases it this way; if I were you, I wouldn't buy any of these. I'd leave here and immediately see your doctor. Whatthefuckinghell?!

"Why, what do you think it is"?
"Well..."
"Just tell me, my mind is going to go to the outer limits of crazy anyway, you're not going to say anything I won't come up with on my own. Believe me".
"If you're sure..."
"Go"
"I had melanoma last year. That is precisely what it looked like, but that's just my experience. Go to a doctor".

What choice do I have now? I have melanoma. Or an African-American wart. If I'm lucky. Which I so often am. I thank him (for giving me foot melanoma) and leave the pharmacy (to die).

I happen to have spent my formative years dating a fellow who would grow up to be a podiatric specialist. We've always stayed on excellent terms (I was part of his wedding party and I dig his wife) so even though I haven't talked to him in at least a year, I don't even think of not calling him. I try his office and get the answering service. I try him at home and his wife answers.

"Amy? Hi! It's Ari."
"Wow!"
"I know! How are you?" She tells me she's good, the kids are good, the older son is practicing for his bar-mitzvah already. OhmygodhowoldamI?86?!?! We bullshit for a few minutes and then I tell her I was actually calling for Evan's doctorly advice.

"Is he around for a sec?"
"No... he's been fucking a slut for the past year and I kicked him out. He hasn't talked to the kids in 6 months. Wanna know why?" Uhm... no. NO. I want to know no more of any of this. I almost want chemo right now because the poison might just burn that last minute or so out of my brain for all eternity and wouldn't that be nice? "Well, the kids don't want to meet his slut and he said if they can't be happy for him he doesn't need them. Can you believe that?! Like our 7 year old has those kinds of reasoning and logic skills?! I'm telling you Ari, you wouldn't recognize him anymore. He's an accomplished liar and a fucking cheat now." He'd have to be as nothing that she is saying jibes with my memories of the boyfriend that taught me how to drive. Caught foul balls for me at Shea. Laid on the lawn with me and didn't spend all our time together trying to slide his hands up or down any of my clothes but just scratched my back or stroked my hair. The boyfriend that bought me a talking Alf even though I was 17 because we thought Alf was funny. The boyfriend that took my brothers to Mets games. Helped me clean up after my first non-parent-sanctioned house party. Gave me my first shot of Absolute. Didn't pressure me to "lose it" to him. Helped me move into my freshman dorm even though we'd been long broken up by then. Yes, she was right, he'd be unrecognizable to me now in (apparently) any light.

I am speechless. I can't think of a single thing to say other than repeatedly telling her how sorry I am. I'm in Fairway (a supermarket) and I'm so blown out of my mind I can't even remember why I went in the market in the first place. She asks me if I'd call her again sometime, she's trying to reconnect with old friends and be social again. I'm about to yes, out of nothing other than horror and pity when she tells me the connection has gone bad.

"I can't hear you." She's trying to figure out if it's my crappy connection or hers. I'm so shell shocked I can't say anything because all I can say is "sorry" and that's just not at all the right response.

"Ari? I'm losing you." She cuts in and out.

And then, because I'm somewhat of a coward, she lost me.

2008-08-05T22:00:00.001-04:00

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A Friend is Someone Who...

assures you that you aren't a sociopath.

2008-08-03T22:45:00.009-04:00

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Deja Vu All Over Again:

So how weird is this?

Two Yankee games, same pitcher (John Lackey, LAA).

August 3, 2008:
Notice the opposing team and the final score.

and this:
July 6, 2007:
Notice the opposing team and the final score.

And those are the only times I've ever seen the Yankees play the Angels.

2008-07-29T13:15:00.004-04:00

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TomKat are One:

Slowly morphing into the exact same guy. One more trim and Katie will finally look exactly like the type that Tom Cruise really goes for.

Hmm... see any similarities?

When will the uglifying of Ms. Holmes be done? Hair? Chopped. Outfits? Of a 40 year old dowager. Hands? Inexplicably purple. Dude! Listen Tom you midgetfreak; be glad you have her, treat her like gold and stop acting like a ego-crazed bully, I haven't seen this gorgeous girl smile since you married her. What the hell?

2008-07-28T20:42:00.002-04:00

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Psst.

Wanna know a secret? You look like an ass in gladiator sandals. They flatter no one. No one. No matter how expensive they were. Stop it.

2008-07-22T22:53:00.004-04:00

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The Dead Zone:

I'm on Facebook. No surprise there, the entire world is on Facebook. One of the (7 year old when I started) twins I used to babysit just announced her engagement on Facebook. I didn't want to track her down and her shoot poisonous darts into her eyes. Much. Good thing I adored her and her sister. Right? Yeah, probably.

Anyway, I keep getting friended (by "friends" that as a stoner I really had no hopes of remembering). Today a girl I was bestest friends with through high school friended me. We're about to start playing 20 years worth of catch-up and I want to ask after her family (her dad was the sweetest, imagine any father that Molly Ringwald had in a movie) but I'd hate to ask and have her tell me someone died.

I seem to run into deadness on Facebook, mainly parents of friends. I'm starting to think more people I used to know are dead vs. computer illiterate/incognito. It makes me wonder who I think of that just doesn't exist anymore. Sad thought, right?

2008-07-14T19:33:00.011-04:00

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Reader's Choice:

So. Here we are.

I think I sort of need to decide what I’m doing here, right? I mean, it's blogshit or get off the pot, right?

So what do I do? I honestly can't blog about bullshit anymore. I really can't. I can't blog about celebrities I see (but in case that interests you, I ate lunch next to Ed of Ed today), movies I've watched (but in case that interests you, P2 - better than I anticipated, The Ruins - I'd read the book and I was really looking forward to the movie, I was again pleasantly surprised, Suburban Girl - another book that I'd read [A Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing] and was looking forward to the adaptation of, there's no nice way to say it, it was horrid, offensively bad, I have no idea how anyone convinced Sarah Michelle Gellar and Alec Baldwin to say any of those awful awful lines. And lastly, The Invasion - not too bad, decent even and Nicole Kidman's face moved - unless that was the cgi part) or how much I hate my new job (I don't [yet], not even one bit). So… where does that leave us?

I'm considering something crazy here (eh, not that crazy). I'm considering going back to what I was blogging about before. Me. Not my slambookish likes and dislikes, but genuine me-ness. The stuff I used to blog about before I started meeting, hanging out with, befriending and dating readers and got all weirded out thinking it was odd to share so much with people that could see my face. It isn't. Well, maybe it is for you and/or for me, but now we'll see because it's sort of a goal I've set for myself. To either really blog or just call it a day and give you your .18 seconds per day back.

I had an idea for what I'd come back with but I think that after asking you to bear with me for as long as I did, maybe I owe you something. That being said, I'd like to offer you the chance to ask me anything you like, as personal as you like, you pose the topic and I'll write about it as candidly as I can. And should it turn out, that you all are as lazy and disinterested in me as I am, I will go back to the idea that I had before and I'll just write that up instead.

And remember, the sooner you want to read, the sooner you ask your question.

*UPDATE*
Senator Tinkerbell posed the first question: What percentage of your readers do you know in real life? Do you use this blog to practice writing skills? To meet people? Its your blog i think you should do what you want with it. I would submit the more personal it is the more interesting it is to the reader. I think what most readers like here is your honesty about your feelings. Whether it be excitement, disappointment or boredom. Everyone can identify with that. And one more question...whats your biggest turn on?

Answer: I'd say I know 40% of my readers. I do use this to practice my writing skills - esp. initially but the more I wrote the more I started to feel like I was using my blog as a barometer. If people identified with whatever I was feeling and writing about, the less insane I am. As for my biggest turn-on, it's not going to come out right but it's aggressiveness - it's a guy who knows what he wants (ideally me) and goes for it, he's not big on questions, not big on feedback, he trusts his well honed instinct and goes with it.

Thanks for participating Tinks!

*UPDATE Part II*
Little Fish asks: I'm so glad to have you back, Ari! Have you ever regretted anything you've posted? If so, what is your biggest blogging regret? Have any of your pre-blog friends and family told you that they were uncomfortable or worried for you over how much you reveal?

Answer: Ironically, the biggest regrets I have in blogging are over things I didn't blog. How furious I was when a "friend" randomly and anonymously slammed me in my comment section. I should have addressed it and I should have defended myself. Not because I think a word that was typed had any truth to it, but because I should always be my biggest champion. And yes, there have been times where I've posted something and then gotten the "really?? You think that was a good idea?!" email from a friend (in my family only my brothers know about my site and no one i s less interested in this stuff less than my brothers) but they've never expressed outright concern for my safety.

Gypsy asks: My question, if you can call it that, is somewhat related to the question above. Does your family know about the blog? How long do you know someone before you tell them about it?Glad you're back! Oh, and one other thing: What was your worst JDate?

Answer: My parents do not (my father is way too serious to look around for stuff like this and my mother is blessedly computer illiterate). My brothers do, but no one interests them less than their (yawn) older sister. As far as how long I wait; well, you may (or may totally not) have deduced that I'm sort of a hard nut to crack. I'm not really forthcoming about myself much to begin with. So I don't think I've ever told a guy about this site before (some guys have known, but in those cases it was more of a pre-existing condition) but when and if I do - there'll probably be a healthy amount of inner turmoil over it. And my worst JDate... god, they were all fairly grim but if I have to choose I'd say my worst was with a guy I adored because the date was fantastic, both the man and the night and that stupid date was just the absolute best because I could have sworn it was the start of something pretty interesting but instead (surprise!!) everything went bust and just like that the .000001% of optimism I work so hard to nurture was again; dead.

Not Carrie Bradshaw asks: Glad you're back! What's your craziest NYC experience? One that really reflects the epitome of the city for you?

Answer: Absolutely, no holds barred, hands down this night. If that isn't the epitome of only in New York then I don't know what is.

Howard asks: What do you look for in a guy besides aggressiveness?

Answer: Oh the usual I'd think; a man who is considerate, honest, level-headed, generous, kissable, smart and FUNNY. You can see why I have such a hard time.

My beautiful Lisa asks: Not including winning the lotto, If you had one wish...what would it be???(an oldie but a goodie)

Answer: To find someone who is as suited for me, and makes me as happy, as J makes you.

Ron asks: Since you like to read, what book moved you the most? And what book that you haven't read would you most like to read?

Answer: The Bible. Like I could ever convince you or anyone else of that... Ok then; To Kill A Mockingbird. It was one of the first school-related books I remember reading and just falling in love with. I'd like to have an interest in reading classic books (Anna Karenina, for example) but the closest I come to classic is Edgar Allen Poe - I just have a very base sensibility in what I read. It's the one area where I'm not at remotely refined, I like all kinds of music and movies, I'll try any kind of cuisine, I love museums but I read complete trash.

With great irony I share the next comment and it is from MeMe: Love your writing. Book suggestions would be great.

Answer: Well if you really want my opinion now, here you go; absolutely, positively anything Jen Lancaster puts on paper and sells. She is the the funniest, bitchiest girl ever and I fucking love her. I recently read this new book and liked it a lot. Scott Spencer is guaranteed goodness, as are; Lisa Jewell, Anna Maxted, Marian Keyes, Jodi Picoult, James Patterson, Harlen Coben, Toby Young and Lisa Unger - hope that's helpful.

Steph asks: Just curious, As a life long north-easterner would you ever consider living anywhere else?

Answer: OHMYGODYES. It's something I'd love to do. I'd love to pack up and move to somewhere totally random (just no Florida, the humidity would make me nuts). Last year I fell in love with the idea (Charleston, Louisville, anywhere, you name it though I think the South would prevail - but I wouldn't go to another big city, London being the one exception). See it turns out that there are massive amounts of the country where I can take the value of my 880 sq foot apt. and swap it for 3-4 bedrooms, 2-3 bathrooms, a garage, a backyard and a basement. That idea appeals to me every single day.

Keep 'em coming guys!!

*UPDATE Part III*
Amy asks: On May 21 you stated what a difference a week can make and that you would have an update on the previous post. What was that update?

Answer: (it refered to the post just before it so;) mainly that I went on a thousand interviews and ended up with a job I felt fairly comfortable taking (if not morbidly depressed over due to the loss of my much adored slackery freedom). My friend also confirmed her elopement/marriage (on facebook even, very official) and I drank a ton of water right around then.

Robin asks: Hey Ari. So, if you would love to move somewhere other than NYC, what is stopping you? Job? Money? Fear of the unknown?Welcome back, btw

Answer: fear of the unknown is a huge component. My aforementioned slackerness is another, I'm sure you can imagine the sheer volume of work involved in uprooting an entire existence. And if I think finding a single guy in NYC is impossible, well let's be honest, what are the odds it would be any easier in Louisville, KY? And thanks, it's good to be back.

Hank... Hank had no question, but he did send me a beautiful welcome back gift which is lit, radiant and delicious smelling as I type. Thank you.

Anonymous asks: Hi! Glad you are back! I've been curious for a while- since you mention your jobs and job searches, what kind of field are you in?And I try to follow along with your NY life, and figure out what your favorite neighborhood bars, restaraunts are, etc- but you never mention them by name! Any favorites you can share?

Answer: thank you as well! My field is office management (accounting, human resources, database crap) and now I've gotten into the education realm. And I'm a total uptown girl. I love the upper east and west sides, I think below 14th Street is overrated and unappealing, but I like the Financial District and have a total soft spot for the South Street area. My favorite restaurants are the regular ones Peter Luger's(!), Atlantic Grill, BLT, Rain, East, any Drew Nieporent place. But I really love the ones that aren't all that well known but have explempary food; Hummus Place, Josie's and Saigon Grill on the UWS, Jubilee and Luca on the UES, Why Curry near St. Marks that a guy I used to date introduced me too.

Casca asks: Which date is the anal sex date?

Answer: the one after the engagement party.

Anonymous Coward, you're always a great cheerleader,thanks.

LS Fran asks: Here's my question, why do you always get jobs on the West Side? It would be much easier for me to meet you for lunch if you worked on the East Side.

Answer: because unless you want to hire me, I go where there are folks willing to pay me and that seems to routinely be westward. I used to work on the east side but of course, that was before I met you.

2008-06-28T19:09:00.003-04:00

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The Ghostbuster Game:

I know, I know, this isn't exactly content. I'm coming back. Slowly but surely. Just thought you might enjoy a brief video I took at the Yankee game I was at just a week ago. Check out the flag whipping around in the pre-storm wind and the ominous sky (yes, it eventually poured and I got wring-my-shirt-out-drenched). There's a loudass clap of thunder that somehow isn't audible but you can hear the crowd react. And most importantly; yes, my Yankees won.

2008-06-24T23:52:00.002-04:00

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Right About Now:

all I can say is, you aren't missing anything (though I have discovered the awesomeness that is chocolate covered cheerios). And I'll be back (soon/eventually).

Pinky swear.

2008-05-21T18:30:00.003-04:00

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...or Maybe I Can:

There is a difference that one little week can make. And as such, it seems I already have an update or two.

2008-05-14T15:36:00.001-04:00

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I Would Love to … But I Can’t (yet?):

accept a fantastic, yet way too low paying job offer
get excited about you
wake up one day and discover zap! morning person
not give a shit that the gods of fate shame the U.S. government to no end when it comes to misappropriating
do nothing other than put myself out there so I can (continue to) be rejected by unadulterated asshats
brush off the fact that you have the worst taste in people
sit down and type myself to financial solvency
pack it all up and move to the middle of anywhere (Louisville, KY is so randomly on my short list)
tell you I have a plan
take my neighbor from upstairs and throw her out the window
afford the things I really need (gym membership, Dog to vet, repainting my apt., utility bill) and want (new summer clothes, trip to anywhere-but-here, pedicure)
figure out what I most want to do, and then get paid (ridiculously) for it
drink more water than coffee
have the perfect (or respirating) date for my friend's wedding (in two weeks!)
not carry a grudge (because honestly; nothing weighs more than a grudge)
wish my friend a huge congrats on her suspected but unconfirmed nuptials
know what the future holds (for me, mainly)

2008-04-24T15:47:00.012-04:00

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Jdated and Jdone:

I'm off Jdate in a week (turns out I've been contacted by my quota of slick, muscle t-shirted, Israeli guys, married Eastern Europeans, and humorless hipsters) and I'm sure I won't miss the carnival. But this morning I logged in/on and saw this email (from, of course, a cute guy all the way in New Orleans);

Date: 04/24/2008 01:41AM
Subject: Just a compliment for you
Message:
Sometimes when I can't sleep, I play "who's online on JDate," and while playing
this silly game, I've sometimes run across/seen your profile. And given the fact
that you're outta here, I just thought you'd like to know... I think your profile
is awesome--like one of the best I've ever read. You're quite attractive (great
smile) and you sound like a blast to be around, and I'm sure if you're anything
like you so beautifully describe yourself to be (and I have no reason to doubt
you, right?),whatever guy you end up with someday will be a very lucky man.
That's all I wanted to say.
Take care, Mark

It's at these moments where I feel like Jdate is rigged and not a guy, but an employee sends out these Hail Mary emails to try and keep you suckered in. I mean really, the spelling and grammar (thanks ron) are completely correct - not Jdate email staples by a long shot. As a matter of empirical fact, the spelling and grammar used on Jdate often make me feel that the site is some sort of ESL precursor. Well, this sucker isn't falling for it. Until the next time I fall for it.

2008-04-16T00:13:00.002-04:00

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Random Question:

So I've mentioned that one of my favorite things, now that I'm unemployed, is to watch late night reruns of Sex and the City. That leads to this random question:

When Miranda had Steve's baby, she named the baby Brady (his father's last name - cute). Now that they're married though, is the kid's name Brady Brady?

2008-04-13T21:51:00.010-04:00

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Oh (holy) Hell:

I was just flipping through the Sunday Post and I've learned something really and truly interesting. The Pope is going to fuck my shit up.

It seems that on Friday the Pope will be visiting a NYC church. I understand this is a Very Big Deal. I know it's massive that a local church is being honored with a papal visit. Yay local church, awesome for you, bestest news ever. Now, it would be really inconvenient if say; the church was in my neighborhood, or on my block. However (so only in New York City)... this church is located about 9 feet away from my bedroom! Literally. Look! This is the view from my bedroom window:

Just a little close, right? I'm not quite sure how his arrival isn't going to coincide with a bevy of law-enforcement personnel (sheesh, just think of it, nypd, secret service, Pope patrol) visiting my apartment. I'm guessing all the apartments that face the church will be visited by cops. I'm also going to guess that at least one cop will be stationed right near my window for most of the visit - just what a stay-at-home pot smoker likes.

I am now fielding offers that will render me out of my apartment for the majority of Friday (I'm even considering heading to CT).

Oh, and in other totally random, unrelated news, Dawn asked (in my comments) if I was dead (she must think so and that would explain why she soundly dissed me for my birthday, not even replying to my emails, ahem) but I'm not, I'm just busy. Dating young men, meeting very attractive age appropriate men, babysitting a very cute tiny man, babysitting an adorable little girl, fishing a secret goodwill $20 out of my purse (thanks Fran, how freaking cute are you??), replacing my recently destroyed cell phone, watching a weekend of baseball, reading and being domestic. Incidentally; They Did it with Love (Kate Morgenroth) and Seeing Me Naked (Liza Palmer) are the last two books I read and I loved them, I highly recommend you check them out.

2008-03-31T00:23:00.007-04:00

~
November 1, 2001:

As I may have mentioned before; I have two brothers. Both of them are younger and big time sports fans. They like to watch the fights, basketball, baseball, football, college hoops, tennis - you name it. They were avid WWF followers when we were all little. But not golf. In regards to golf we three are in agreement; golf is not a sport. It is an activity. I however spent my youth as a girl. Ensconced in the world of Barbie, drawing, my dollhouse, slambooks and lightly stalking the cute boys in my class (Kevin Kotler, I wholeheartedly apologize for all the falsehoods that were employed to drag you off your bike and into your house to answer stupid prank phone calls, in my defense, at least I'll never be 14 again).

Over the years my brothers tried everything to get me into sports, mainly so I'd stop trying to change the channel from Yankees/Mets/Giants/Jets/Knicks/Nets to General Hospital/21 Jump Street/90210. It never really took. Though I remember watching the '86 World Series. Then I went to college and roomed with a ferocious Knicks fan (seemed that her brother's effort paid off). Before I knew it I was a Knicks fan. My dog is named after a former Knick coach.

To the credit of both my brothers, they tried, hard over the years to get me into baseball. I never felt too badly though, they have my mom and she's a huge sports fan. I'd been to Fenway (10 times easily) because my childhood sleepaway camp was in West Stockbridge, Mass. - boring. Through high school I dated a Mets fan who took me to Shea every weekend - eh. The town I lived in during high school was full of Yankees. Everyone had a Mattingly or Tino story. My sophomore year of high school, all I knew about baseball was that Ron Darling was the cutest. So imagine my surprise when one afternoon, while I was working at my part time job at the local dry cleaner, some ridiculously cocky guy strolls in, smiles and just asks for his clothes. Most people offered either a ticket or a last name, very few went the smile route, mainly just the owners or my parents. I asked for his last name, and I kid you not, he smiled broader and asked me if I knew who he was. Ugh. From that day on I knew who he was and I thought; man, Don Mattingly and his mustache are stupid jerks. Years later, when I thought back on that, I decided he must've been fucking with me. Could a major league baseball player really expect a 16 year old girl to know who he was? Doubtful.

But then Thursday, November 1, 2001 rolled up.

I was at work and my brother called. He asked if I had any interest in going to a Yankee game that night.

"Hi." I answered, "have we ever met? Of course I don't, why would you ask me that?"

"You're the only person I know that can afford the ticket this last minute." Good answer.

"Why, how much can it be?"

"You have no idea what tonight is, do you?"

"Other than a night where I plan to go home, order in and watch ER? No."

"Oh god. Nothing I tell you sinks in, huh? World series? Game 5?"

Hmm... that actually sounded like it could be fun. Fun hadn't been had in awhile, keep in mind, it was mere weeks after 9/11, the city was still scared and scary.

It turned out that a friend of my brother's needed emergency dental surgery, he was selling the tickets so that he could get his wisdom teeth taken out. The tickets would be $350 altogether. I thought about it for about an hour. Baseball games, the few that I'd seen, seemed long and boring. But a world series game, that struck me as a once in a lifetime experience. I called my brother back and told him I was in.

I live on the 4/5 line of the subway so before the game my brother met me here and filled up my pocketbook with diet cokes, pretzles and sandwiches. I asked him if we were going to be gone all weekend. Then I ignorantly uttered the complaint that still haunts me 6 years later:

"I need room for my book, you aren't leaving me any room for my book!"

You would have thought I'd asked about getting a pedicure at my seat in the stadium.

"A BOOK!??!"

I shrugged. On tv it looks boring. Apparently, the world series is never boring and the entire world knows this. But me. I grudgingly left my book behind and glared at my still laughing idiot brother as I followed him to the subway. The train ride there was nuts. Everyone was smushed together, decked out in Yankee clothes, cheering and chanting, I'd never been on such a happy train ride. It was about 15 minutes and we were at Yankee Stadium - you can see in the stadium from the subway! How cool is that? We followed everyone else down the steps, and I was a little excited before I even touched Yankee property. My brother was dragging me all through the stadium and when we finally got to our seats we noticed we were sitting no more than 5 feet away from the WTC-9/11 flag - yes, the one that was damaged and in all the pictures. It fluttered around eerily in the breeze.

I have to say, I was more than a little bit amused when Don Mattingly threw out the opening pitch. But that was just the beginning. The game stayed close the entire time and then went into extra innings (12 total). The Yankees beat the Diamondbacks that night 3-2. When my brother and I finally got out of the stadium and onto River Avenue it was a mob scene. People were chanting USA, singing New York, New York, it was very fucking cool. We knew there was no way we were getting on a subway for at least half an hour so we walked over to a diner on 161st and got hot chocolate. When I tried to pay, it was on the house. We loitered a little bit longer and then decided to play our odds at getting on the subway to come home. Just as we got up the stairs an empty 4 pulled in. Me, my brother and another guy who'd been standing on the platform got on the subway, the guy sat across from us.

"Hey, you're Rich Eisen." And for the rest of the ride home my brother and new best friend Rich Eisen compared notes on the awesomeness we'd all just seen. My brother and I disembarked before Rich Eisen (of ESPN fame) and started to head back to my apartment. As we're walking down the block I point out a building to my brother.

"Supposedly that's where Derek Jeter lives. But I've never seen him." At this point we're a mere block and a half from my apartment. I walk a dog 3x a day, everyday. If Derek Jeter lived across the street, the odds are I'd have seen him. At least once.

"Huh?" My brother confesses he was busy thinking about how great the win was and he missed what I'd said.

"I was showing you that building."

"Why?"

"I was telling you that I heard Jeter lives there." Now he watches as I point out a shiny, high rise across from where we are standing. While we're looking at the building three men walk out and start to head towards us. "Where those guys just came out from - that's where -hey..."

"Now what? Come on, it's late, walk."

"Ok Ok, but look across the street!" I don't know how it was possible, but I was looking across the street and seeing Derek Jeter and my brother was looking the street and not seeing Derek Jeter. "Derek Jeter! Look!!"

Idiotically reserved my brother glanced across the street and then back at me. He told me he could see why I might think that was Derek Jeter.

"Because it is. Idiot. You have about five seconds to decide what you're going to say. Don't be a dork."

And as I looked to my brother to see what he was going to do, I realized my brother had turned into a pillar of salt. He was just standing there, mouth hanging open, looking like the offspring of twins. We had about 12 seconds before Jeter passed us and my brother was useless.

"Hi! That was a great game, my first ever, we're just getting home, that was the best!!" Although, when I shouted it I'm sure it sounded more like "Hiderekjeteriamatotallycrazypersonarentyougladidonthaveagunpermit!!".

Derek Jeter turned around and walked over to us.

"Hey," he smiled and shook our hands. I was shocked by how cute and tall he was in person. Very very tall. "I'm Derek, Derek Jeter. This is my friend Jorge Posada. We're glad you guys had fun, sorry we kept you out so late." I think I went deaf about then. "This is my brother." I shoved my brother at them and took a step back. They talked for a few minutes then Jeter and Posada said goodnight and walked up to Elaine's (From Annie Hall) to celebrate their win. I went home to sleep off my induction into the New York Yankees (who would go on to lose that series, but win a place in my heart, for giving me one of the most fantastically, quintessential NYC experiences ever).

And that, dear readers, is how a Yankees fan is born.

I eagerly await Opening day in a few hours and I wish Jeter, Posada and the rest of the 2008 Yankees their best season ever.

GO YANKS!!!

2008-03-27T22:27:00.000-04:00

~
A Reader's Digest:

Part of being unemployed (again) is having to come up with ways to amuse myself. Daytime is harder, nighttime, for whatever reason, is way simpler. I get into bed and read for hours, or watch Sex and the City repeats or toss in a dvd. It’s easier having nothing to do when the rest of the world is asleep.

I’ve been reading like someone whose sight was just restored, it’s ridiculous. I’m flipping through a hundred pages a day easily. It started with a quest to entertain myself and enjoy a decent afternoon about a month ago. My old pattern of visiting the library was to dart in after work and about 15 minutes before they closed, grab the books I’d reserved online and go. I rarely had browsing time. I’d walked over to the library and found the new James Patterson book sitting on the one week only shelf.

A one week book, now that’s a luxury I could never indulge when I was working – I never even looked at the one week shelf. But now? Well, my life is a one week shelf. I checked it out and read it in about two days (the font is huge and the chapters are about a page and a half apiece. It’s easier to keep reading than it is to stop). After that the one week shelf and I were pretty hot and heavy. It used to be that I’d read an article or a blog post about a book, or be wandering through Border’s and a book would catch my eye. I’d go online and reserve it. But with my new found time, I can browse! I’ve found books by authors I’ve never heard of and been reminded of writers I like that I’d totally forgotten about.

If you want recommendations, I’m happy to present you with a few of my recent finds. (But remember, I read nothing of great literary merit (unless accidental), no classics, no philosophers, nothing that’s been translated from an original language… I’m the girl that reads the books with legs and high heels on the cover – I’m not especially proud, but I’m honest).

Slacker Girl, which had an improbably cute storyline that didn’t seem saccharine-y in the least. As the world’s laziest girl I truly appreciated the heroine’s unapologetic slacker lifestyle, hell, I had a crush on her.

A slightly strange little book that I found randomly; The Return of Jonah Gray. The cover intrigued me and the story was unexpected and pretty fantastic. The character is an auditor for the IRS, she has an abacus for a mind and is beyond practical. Until she isn’t. I loved reading about someone so antithetical to myself.

I read Cecelia Ahern’s (of PS I Love You fame) latest (There's No Place Like Here). Very cute, it was like a Disney story. I still like her first book best (the recent two have gone a bit fairytale) but she also writes the Christina Applegate show Samantha Who? and I’d really been enjoying that before the stupid strike made it go away.

I love Tom Perrotta’s other books (Election and Little Children) but his most recent; The Abstinence Teacher was something of a disappointment. The conclusion felt completely rushed and as the reader I felt shortchanged. I kept waiting for the big finale and the book just ended… if he’s not writing a follow up, I’m really curious as to what the thinking there was. Let me know if you read it and what you thought.

Eileen Cook sent me her debut novel Unpredictable and I couldn’t have liked it more. She wrote her heroine as desperate but completely understandably so, and remarkably non-ditzy. Sure, she does some ridiculous things in the name of getting her guy back but she adores him and really, who hasn’t been a little silly? It was a great read and I look forward to more from her. If you like Marian Keyes (and I love Marian Keyes) you’ll like Eileen Cook.

Now, I’m almost finished reading The Opposite of Love. I’m digging this book massively. I love the confused and apathetic Emily, I can relate to her. I don’t know how I’ll feel about the ending when I get to it, but I find it hard to believe that I’ll be let down.

There are also a handful of books coming out that I’m really looking forward to reading:

Remember Me (Sophie Kinsella)
The Beach House (Jane Green)
Change of Heart (Jodi Picoult)
Roommates Wanted (though I own the Brit version and it’s called; 31 Dream Street - Lisa Jewell)
Black Out (Lisa Unger)
This Charming Man (love Marian Keyes)
Such a Pretty Fat… (Jen Lancaster who blogs at http://www.jennsylvania.com/ and whom I adore)

Incidentally, most of these books are on my wishlist - feel free to indulge me.

2008-03-19T16:44:00.009-04:00

~
An Obamination:

(I started to leave the following as a comment on Karol's most recent post but it got a little unwieldy as you may notice)

I really enjoy that Barack called me a racist in his version of explaining his despicable pastor. Last I checked, you're born into your family (grandmother included, and she should be utterly disgusted by her grandson's public slimming of her), not your pastoral relationship. His granny is scared of black men he says. "I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother," he said, though if she's smart I bet she's looking into it. He then added that White Granny "once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe." (Yet when his pastor called this country the U.S.K.K.K.A. he didn't cringe?!) Will he and his esteemed wife swear to never having crossed the street when a tough looking black guy and his friends were walking their way? Is there anyone who can honestly say they've never done that? Is that now the barometer of racism?

Barack's wife is embarrassed by this country and has been her entire life (for the record, I too am mortified by the racial divides we as a country have conquered, the post Oklahoma bombing, 9/11 and Katrina unity and compassion, the falling of the Berlin Wall, all quite shameful moments in our history) . His pastor flat out hates it. If they are who Barack surrounds himself with under normal circumstances, what the hell would his cabinet look like?! And if our country is so awful, aren't we past the hope he keeps preaching?

Barack disgusts me. And his speech, worse than boring and pointless, was incredibly offensive.

*Update* Karol sent me the link to this must read article (written by Mark Steyn, one of my fellow typical white people - and as an aside, how is typical white person different from the oh so offensive you people? Is there any fucking way in hell that isn't the same bullshit!?). If after reading this, you still think Obama's your guy... well ... I hope you at least have someone around who helps you spell your name and identify your shapes.

2008-03-10T22:45:00.004-04:00

~
Indecision 2008:

Thursday is my birthday.

This past Friday I was hanging out with Joe. Joe, was quite disturbed to discover that a mere 6 days before my birthday I'd planned; nothing. That's right. None plans. Now, as Joe knows me and has known me for years this should be no surprise. I'm very blah when it comes to birthdaying. Joe... well to him birthdays are Christmas. To Christ. Big doings indeed.

I'm far less sentimental, I feel awkward being the center of attention. A birthday thing is just a little too much me for my usual taste. Does that even make sense? If had a twin this would be perfect. She could plan it all and I could just ride her birthday coattails. God... I'm lethargic about my own birthday - this is totally shameful, I realize. At first I thought I'd do an out to dinner with a small group of friends this coming Friday. But there's a poker game that night (which would certainly lay claim to Karol and Evil Dawn, not to mention I want to play too, given that I won it last time - not that a repeat is at all likely). Then I thought of Saturday, I have a bridal brunch earlier that day but the flipside is I know my friends are around that day/night.

BlechI'msoindifferentwhatthehelliswrongwithme?

2008-03-04T18:27:00.001-05:00

~
The Tuesday 6:27pm Report:

Did you know that if you try hard enough (or, uh, not at all) you can find Melissa Gilbert on television at least once a day? And(!) keep in mind, I recently learned that Little House on the Prairie isn’t even syndicated anymore. Just thought I’d share that with you.

Also:

In honor of my rapidly approaching birthday I have located two gray (grey?) hairs right on the top of my head. Sexy, oh so sexy.

30 Days of Night was even better than I'd heard it was despite the Hartnettness. Though it would have been helpful if I didn’t keep forgetting that they were vampires and not zombies – I kept marveling at their agility - for zombies. But they were vampires and therefore their agility wasn't that marvelous - though it sure was fucking cool.

I'm bored to death today (crap weather/cabin fever/cash poor) but I have a few things coming up to look forward to and thank goodness for that (pre-birthday dinner with Lisa, another interview Friday, Joe Friday night and as the week is still young who else knows what's coming - whee!)

I just finished reading a book that I liked and am looking for recommendation as to what I read next. A few weeks ago a writer emailed me, she complimented my site and told me she was going to send me her book so I could read it and tell you guys all about it. Well, over a month later her book has still not arrived (and after nearly 7 weeks, I gather it won't). I was looking forward to reading it (the premise sounded promising) and at one point I even emailed her to double check on it. No reply. Uhm? Now, as she sought me out isn't that kind of odd? Maybe I should assume she was sparing me from a really shitty read.

I had food poisoning over the weekend. That was a hoot. I'm like Jerry Seinfeld in "The Dinner Party" episode. I can count the number of throwing-up incidents I've endured in my lifetime (standouts? the Fort Lauderdale/Cool Ranch Dorito incident of 1988 burns brightest though the Freshman Year of College/Thanksgiving Break/Delta House/Tequila/Jager night is definitely a close second. I'm re-gagging just thinking about it).

Here's further evidence of what a weirdo I am. So you know how one of my goals while I'm unemployed is to be writing? Well I'm genuinely working on it(!) but I have just the oddest problem. Shit that I put out there tends to actually happen. So taking that into account I'm kind of freaked out by what I find myself writing and what's actually happening in my real life. The parallels are coming too fast and too furiously for me to not notice and it's a little spooky. I actually stashed it away for the meanwhile because my real life cannot go the way my writing is. I've gotten so ~~batshit superstitious~~ adorably silly, there are currently entire sentences I won't put into words in any form.

2008-02-26T22:48:00.003-05:00

~
My Boyfriend's Back!

How did no one tell me that my 1990's boyfriend; D.B. Sweeney was on tv?!

I now have one reason to watch Jericho.

2008-02-25T01:48:00.003-05:00

~
Whirling Dervish:

Despite the fact that I am actually the laziest person alive; I love being busy. And that, is why I didn’t blog all last week. I was too busy. Little Miss Lazy was bizzy.

Monday I spent the bulk of the day doing job related nonsense. Sending out resumes, talking to the HR chick at my old job, and thanking god for taking it away. Then I met my mom for lunch and aimless walking. Later that night drinks with a nice enough jdate guy.

Tuesday I got an email from PN telling me to go to a trivia night/birthday thing up by Columbia U. I believe her exact words were let's go girl.... i know you ain't working . Unfortunately, PN got sick and didn’t come out. Luckily Karol and Peter were there so I wasn’t without a familiar face (or two). It ended up being a fun night, she’s invited me before and I definitely should have gone.

Wednesday I decided to plan early for the dinner Joe and I were having Thursday night. Knowing that if I made chili, it would taste better the next day, I decided to do just that. I went over to Grosstede’s in the morning, picked up the ingredients and got to chiling. I stirred and seasoned and when I was ultimately satisfied, I set it to the side, let it cool and finally refrigerated a giant vat of chili. After that I cashed the rain check I had for a (non Jdate) date I missed while I was strepped. He’s a really sweet, cute guy and I had a great night. We went to this tiny, insanely delicious Thai place near NYU and afterwards we walked around a bit and then stopped off for coffee and dessert. I tend to complicate things in my head and I’d worried the date might be a bit weird (he’s younger than me. A lot younger than me and I was a bit worried that it would seem glaring – it didn’t, not for a second). The conversation was easy and flowing, the chemistry and compliments were there – all good. We were going to meet up again Saturday night for a late drink but my night went a little a long and it ended up not being possible so we replanned for this Wednesday. I’m looking forward to it as last week was so fun. And just out of curiosity – readers; what’s the big age difference you’ve entertained in the world of dating? I’m curious.

Thursday morning I tragically had no coffee and a job interview (second interview, same place). I woke up late (see above) and in my rushing I ended up arriving 40 minutes early. With nothing better to do I walked around Broadway for a few minutes and found myself at the newish Loehmann’s. Having the fondest Loehmann’s memories from Brooklyn in the 1980’s I went in expecting to fend off amazing bargains. Crap. There was nothing I wanted, though in fairness I didn’t look at the shoes (my kryptonite) and the perfume selection was pretty fantastic. Now having 25 minutes to occupy, I ducked into the nearest Starbucks (which I think is now my bathroom, they’re so damn ubiquitous), claimed a loveseat and sipped burnt, french roast and read a little. When I was finally in the interview, I immediately confessed that I was now far more interested in a job the last interviewer mentioned to me and I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. I figured full disclosure was best, it’s most me and hey, as things stood I didn’t have the job anyway so I couldn’t lose it by trying, right? It’s that circular thinking that I think makes me insane. But I had to be forthcoming because it was what I wanted. I laid my thoughts out very well and the guy told me he actually agreed and he’d talk to the parties involved and give me a call this week. Either way, I at least feel good about it.

Later that day I found out Joe couldn’t make it. We rescheduled for Friday and I cleaned the apartment, took a nap and baked a red velvet cake. Feeling a little cabin fevery I had to get out. I headed over to the library, found a really cute café I never noticed before and then walked a little more to see what else I’ve missed (way cute pet store). Later that night, exhausted I flopped onto the sofa and watched Survivor and Lost (mindblowing! Kate? Aaron?! He did have to get to California after all, if you watch and remember season one. Lost has gotten fascinating lately – I’m completely besotted. Sawyer). After that I spent a good portion of the night on the phone with Heather, catching up on some seriously overdue gossip.

Friday night Joe came over!! I was so looking forward to it. Joe is just my favorite thing ever (and yes, a person is not a thing – suck it). Joe, my brother and I loafed about, smoked a little and played a trivia game Joe made up. Then we had chili with rice and garlic bread while we watched Lost (again for me, anew for Joe – like you could over-watch Lost anyway. Sawyer). After Lost we dissected it, as you must and then just bullshitted for awhile about who knows what. Eventually Joe and I engaged my brother in a friendly poker tutorial (he wants in) and he was a bit overwhelmed but into it. Sadly Joe decided not to move in and eventually he went home. Loser.

Saturday I slept in. When I finally got out of bed around 1pm I remembered the lack of coffee on hand and I suited up. After a quick trip to Rohr’s I was caffeinated and making late night drink plans with the guy from Wednesday night. During the afternoon I watched Terminator 2 on AMC. I hadn’t seen the movie since it came out. Weird but true aside: the summer T2 came out I was interning at a posh Madison Avenue law firm. They had a huge entertainment side, their clients were pretty famous (bear in mind this was the early 90’s; Robert Downey Jr., Val Kilmer, Flava Flav, David Geffen, Steven Spielberg, Lauren Bacall) and I ended up getting set up with the boss’ son on a date to the NYC premiere of T2. Well my date was pretty gruesome and to make matters worse I ran into a bunch of friends from college, I tried to hide him but he kept bobbing to the surface like a body in the Hudson and I had to introduce him. It was 1991 and I was 19 so you can see why it was a big deal to be caught on a date with Lurch’s freaky brother. We sat through the movie and afterwards I tried mightily to bail immediately but I lived in NJ at the time, it was late and he’d offered me a ride. So I had to go to a late dinner with him and the ride home, all of which felt excruciating at the time. He called but I ducked them and never saw him again (though I did see his father, nearly everyday for the rest of the summer. Comfortable!) Of course years later I moved into the city and ran into him literally while I was moving in. Of course I did.

I finally roused myself off my sofa and showered up for a poker tournament I was playing in that night. I smoked a little before I left, ate two bowls of rice krispies and picked up more coffee on my way downtown. The game started at 9:30 and knowing the way I tend to bust out early I figured I’d be freed up around midnight. I couldn’t have foreseen that at 3am I’d be starving and still playing! For starters I was really happy to see KJ there, especially as Karol and Dawn were no shows and KJ is the best - I like happy, familiar faces. I’d started off ahead, I was doing well – playing good cards when I had them and getting out early when I didn’t. There was one hand when I was dealt K10h in the blind. The flop gave me the straight and flush draws and I was priced into the hand so it was hard to walk away. Neither hit, but I rivered a K though I was still beat (by a set of Q's) and then short stack. I had two buy ins behind me but I tightened up and slowly started to build my stack again. I hit a great hand when my pocket K’s went up against pocket 5’s, I rivered a flush with my pocket 4’s and I had a few other really good breaks. Just when I was about tied for chip leader I hit another huge bump and I was short again. I folded a ridiculous amount of my blinds and saved up for the hands I felt good with. A few high kings and aces and before I knew it, it was too late for my potential late night drink but I’d won the tournament!! And we all know that late night pizza is way better when paid for from the pockets of 20 guys (2 that I have a bit of odd history with). I owe my dentist $200 and now, thanks to a little good luck that’s already set aside in an envelope and my bank account is that much happier.

Sunday I touched base with potential late night drink guy and we rescheduled for Wednesday. I emailed L to see I might ever get to see her again or to find out if she's placed in witness protection. Then I agreed to babysit for LS Fran during the week. After all that, I took Dog to the park, ordered in Chinese and watched the Oscars. Until 9pm then I switched to Rock of Love – because is that not a delicious mess? Then I was back to the Oscars. And now I’m in bed and it’s way too late to still be awake.

See this? I’d barely have time for a job anyway.

2008-02-18T00:31:00.002-05:00

~
Now 70% Less Bereft:

As I sit here, just after midnight, still fully dressed and watching an old Sex and the City, vividly caffeinated and yet utterly relaxed I can’t help but think of how my entire body feels like it just let out a breath that has been held for 5 months. And though I typed breath back there, I really mean more of a toxic fart, the sort that your dad would expel in the family car during trips to the beach back when you were about 11 years old – don’t pretend you don’t know the fart I mean, either, the ones that made your mom shriek in a way you rarely heard and would leave you dangling your head out the window searching for clean air.

My job was that fart.

And now, it’s dead.

Thank god.

This brings me to my current dilemma; I can’t stand being bored. I was bored shitless at work and it drove me up the walls. I’m totally cool with being unemployed (again) but I want to be sure that I come up with things to do so I don’t sit home all day every day doing nothing – that would drive me just as crazy. I’m going back to poorhouse, so whatever activities I drum up have to be relatively cheap. The weather will start to slowly get a bit warmer so I can take Dog to the park, I can afford the $20 a month so I’ll join the gym in my building, my apartment is pretty grubby and could definitely benefit from a good, solid, soon-to-be-spring cleaning. My main concern is that I want to stay social and not slip into some sort of unemployed people’s cave-world. I'd love to keep my brain engaged too (because lord knows the job was killing more brain cells than pot ever could). It would be killer - let me repeat in case any of you have good ideas; killer - if I could find a way to make some secret cash while I’m unemployed too.

In other news, I spent this past weekend catching up on my reality tv (The Apprentice, Rock of Love, Scott Baio is Retarded, 46 and Pregnant, Millionaires Club and finally, Project Runway). Spending amazing quality time with my bestest Joe. Cooking and my favorite weekend activity; sleeping.

2008-02-14T01:16:00.004-05:00

~
And Fuck It:

I should feel sad.

I should feel sad and dejected. Worthless and completely off my game. I should be anxiety ridden and on the verge of an alopecia breakout. My stomach should be freaking out and I’d think I’d be calling my friends in utter hysterics.

And yet.

I’m jubilant. I feel like I’m walking straighter. My hair is shinier. My pee is clearer and I swear I can hear my blood whistling a happy tune. I haven’t had a stomachache in three mornings.

I finally believe all those dipshits that sashay onto Oprah’s set and assure the dipshits in the audience that if you put it out there, if you are open and receptive to it, it will come to you. I surrender. They were right, and I was wrong. I put it out there, I was receptive and it came to me. Obviously I plan to employ this strategy in other aspects of my questionably directed life.

Here’s what happened; I wrote this and just before I hit “publish” I thought of this uncanny little thing that tends to happen with me. Me and my brother actually. See, we’ll mention something random and then some tangential thing will actually happen – usually within minutes even. Case in point; earlier tonight my brother and I were watching The Ten (a goofy yet ridiculously hilarious movie from the guys at The State). Gretchen Mol was in it and at one point I commented that she’s totally a young Dianne Wiest. They look alike, share some mannerisms and are equally decent yet totally non-compelling actresses. Well naturally a few minutes later a character marries Dianne Wiest and they have a song about her (she doesn’t actually appear in the movie). So random and yet accurate. But I digress.

I was about to hit “publish” and I got the willies. If I hit this, I thought, I’m taking a big fat hairy risk. Yet, as you can see, I hit publish. Bring it, I figured. Then, the next morning, as I was headed out for work, I shouted “good-bye” to my brother and he (jokingly!) shouted back; “have a good day, don’t get fired!” And I knew.

I was going to work to get fired.

Now rushing to work, only to be headed home minutes later is just foolish. Bearing that in mind, I took off my coat, accepted a shit-hope-I-didn’t-jinx-you-wake-and-bake bowl from my brother, had a small stomachache, smoked a cigarette and strolled into work 40 minutes later. I might as well get fired on my own (relative) timetable, right? Fuck ‘em.

The second I walked in to the office, my boss called my name.

“Ari, can you come here for a second?”

My god, the power is strong. I have got to remember to publish posts about finding wads of money and fucking Christian Bale in my deluxe apartment in the sky.

He tells me that my position is a luxury that they can’t really afford, and they could really use my salary towards a site redesign (wow, understatement) and to be honest it just really wasn’t a great fit anyway and –

“Right, I totally agree with you, here are my keys.”

The second he started his little spiel I just felt so damn relieved I didn’t care what else he said. Finally. Over with. No more anxiety about it. No more waiting, wondering when. No more feeling sick in the mornings because I hated it so damn much. See, when I wrote the previous post, about how yeah, the job was dull and etc., I left out that, ugh, I hated my boss (yeah, again, I know, it’s me, not them). He was such a condescending little prick. He gave me a whole speech on commas once. He commented that anyone who voted Republican should be dragged out into the street and shot in the head. He asked me to work until 10:30 one night and then told me he couldn’t give me petty cash for a cab home – the company didn’t reimburse for non-travel cabfare – have you ever? He patently refused to give me any feedback on work I was doing for a project but then ripped me a new one when he didn’t like the end results – even though I’d actively tried to get direction from him dozens of times. He just ignored emails I’d send him altogether. No matter what I did I was wrong. If he asked my opinion, it turned out I was wrong. If I took initiative, I was wrong. I became so consistently wrong that two months ago I just stopped talking. I gave up on having ideas, I came in, put my head down, did my work and went home. His contempt became so evident my co-worker asked me about it. I told her, there’d never been an incident, one day he just turned total asshole and I knew my firing would be inevitable. Then it started to happen with her. She’s an editor and it slowly dawned on her that every article she brought them sucked. Her ideas sucked. And while the contempt didn’t seem to flow her way, all the other crap did. There are two bosses. They never came to work. They were never around or available for questions but wouldn’t let us take initiative. It started to become completely ridiculous. My co-worker would come in late and flop down on the sofa or watch game shows on her laptop. She was commuting 3 hours a day and she had nothing to do. My one boss shut down and became sporadically available. My other boss got engaged, didn’t show up before noon and sat in his office with the door shut all afternoon. The atmosphere was miserable, divisive and fruitless. Anything we did was wrong so what was the point? My co-worker told me she was already sending out her resume and looking for interviews. My schedule wouldn’t have allowed for that so I just smiled and told her I’d have plenty of time when I got fired. And then I just sat back and waited. And a little bit hoped.

And just like the Oprah-approved dipshits would swear; I wished it and it happened. And I couldn’t be happier.

I was out of the office in under 10 minutes and back on the piece of shit C line, which I intend to never take, ever again. I was back home before 11am, jokingly berating my brother and IMing with Heather who immediately congratulated me before I got off the computer and made a stack of Thank-God-I-Finally-Got-Fired-From-That-Shit-Job pancakes. After that I went back online and set up an interview for the very next day (had it already, went well). I hated that masquerading-as-a-great-job shit job, but I was pretty addicted to the paycheck aspect. I have no intention of being unemployed nearly as long as I was last time but I have all the intent on spending the time way more productively. Mainly writing. I hate working in an office and writing could be the one thing that I can(?) do that sets me free. I’ll be back on employment again, which means I’ll be dead broke again, but to be out of there, well the poverty is welcomed. Though do feel free to send me bags of money. Poverty is a welcomed alternative to that job, sure, but it’s not a preference - just so you understand.

Though I feel pretty fucking free right now. I feel released from Gitmo free. The ride on the C train sucks sure, but I’ll tell you, I grinned like a moron the entire way home Monday morning. It was the best, most positive ride since the one I took my first morning there.

Onwards and upwards.

And oh yeah, Happy Valentine's Day!

2008-02-06T21:37:00.000-05:00

~
9 to Fuck It:

It could just be PMS but I have had the most intolerant workday. I'm out of patience and goodwill and in general; today I sort of want to tell my job to just suck it. I feel like I could preface nearly every work related sentence with "I hate;" and it would be fairly accurate. Like here, look:

my day. There just isn't enough work to necessitate 40 hours a week. 6 hours would cover it. I suspect it's the same with my co-worker and boss because they are never in. I'm alone all the time which is boring as hell. They either work from home or just flat out don't show up. I so do not have that luxury and I am practically sweating the jealousy out of my pores.

the atmosphere. I thought my job was going to be so interesting and energizing, my bosses are really young and I really envisioned us as being a tiny little Google-type office. Yes, we have a basketball hoop and a nerfy little ball but my bosses almost never talk to us (me and my co-worker). We never talk about the minutia of current events, pop culture, last night's episode of The Office or Lost. We don't even eat lunch together. Well, my co-worker and I do, but just to get out of the office because it depresses us. We celebrated my bosses' engagement with cake and wine but no happy hours, no stimulating interaction goes on.

(HATE) the neighborhood, I'm in the Garment District - which I'm not sure if you're aware; is the worstest neighborhood in all of Manhattan. There is never, ever a free square inch on the sidewalk. The second I walk out of my office building to get coffee or lunch, it's like I've been dropped into the middle of the St. Patrick's Day Parade - pure mayhem. You can't walk anywhere. The shopping is decent but the crowds make it incredibly unappealing. I actually turned down a good job offer solely because the office was at One Penn Plaza (that's how much I hate the Garment District) - and yet, this is where the company I took the job with ultimately ended up. Is Fate just not the cuntiest of them all?

the C train which I have to take 2x a day. In the morning getting to work is a breeze. I can take whatever shows up (the C or B) and switch at 59th St., if I need the A, C or E. But coming home? Oh. My. God. A nightmare. There are 4 uptown E's for every C. Which means that at rush hour, at 34th Street/Penn Plaza Station (a massive hub) I am often waiting 25 minutes for a C train. Unfuckingbelievable.

the money. I'm working, all day, everyday and I swear I still feel constantly broke. I pay my apartment maintenance, a few bills, I buy a metrocard and some groceries and I'm back to being practically poor. I'm making an incredibly similar salary as I was at my last job and for some reason I'm poorer, it makes no sense but I tell ya; I'm bored witless of counting every last penny and planning the tiniest of indulgences. This is no way to live.

oh, and as things stand, I have no other (paltry barely cutting it) income and thusly have to keep going back there. ARGH!!!

**rant over**

2008-02-03T23:28:00.000-05:00

~
Strepped:

So, not to be a total whiny bitch but WHAT THE FUCK with the strep?!? Holy Hell.

Why are there PSA's for smoking, diabetes and the variety of cancers but not strep throat? Have you had strep? Do you know about this horrible scourge? Well, you might. From what I hear it's pretty common. Yet until last Tuesday I had remained preciously unafflicted. Never had strep. Never ever. Furthermore, I hear it's a kid sickness. You get it in school, from living in a dorm or from licking your classmates in the lunchroom. 35 year olds with rare access to children or communal living... not so much. I have no idea where I picked it up but it sure did fuck up my week.

Tuesday morning I woke up convinced someone had broken in and burgled nothing but for whatever reason chose only to embed a golf ball in the back of my throat just under my right ear. Sure, it sounds crazy, but after all, New York City does pride itself on having all kinds. So like an ass I went to work anyway. Terrible idea. Late in the afternoon I called my shitty doctor made an appointment for 11am Wednesday and went home. As I couldn't swallow my own saliva, food was ruled out so I took some Nyquil and went to bed. The Nyquil lasted for about 3 hours and after that I didn't get twenty straight minutes of sleep the rest of the night. Delightful. Really.

Wednesday, I didn't so much wake up (because that implies from sleep) as stop tying to sleep. I called the doctor's office again (they are always running criminally late) and she told me they were 45 minutes behind. So in a rush of pure idiocy I leashed up the dogs and tried to rush them out for a quick pee. Well, there were 90,000 mile per hour wind gusts of freezing cold air and the dogs decided they were going to be completely energized my this. They got all jumpy, spin-y and playful. But I was resolute; pee and inside. They peed and I tried to drag them back inside but the little one wasn’t having it. She starts clawing at the street, cowering down and refusing to budge. And here’s me; sick, hungry, sleepless, freezing and covered in fever sweat. I tried cajoling her back in, then begging, then crying and after a few minutes I was beyond trying to be patient. I picked her up by the harness and practically flung her inside. Then I sat down on the sofa and waited. And tried to swallow again. Repeatedly. And each time it was impossible (impossible, impassable – same difference). While I’m waiting my mom calls. Of course while I’m talking to her (whining at her) and telling her what’s bothering me (bitching like an infant) I end up all frustrated and weepy.

“Ok Dramatics, stop crying, you’re making it worse. Just go to the doctor. Call me afterwards.”

Ok Dramatics?? Very nice! I hope she remembers that one day when she’s swearing to me that the nurses at her home don’t turn her over enough and I pull Ok Dramatics.

I walk over to the doctor’s office, I couldn’t really bother getting dressed so I’m wearing the biggest, warmest coat I could find on top of an assortment of things from my closet. My nightgown, panties, grey fleece pajama pants, a t-shirt, zip up sweatshirt, no bra (couldn’t be bothered), no socks and my shitty uggs. And a hat, the scarf I’d inexplicably worn to sleep and gloves. I was sweating non-stop yet freezing simultaneously and I was absolutely certain that I was smelly. Like a two day, sick, unshowered person might be inclined to smell. Yum. I get to the docs and the receptionist asks me for my copay (like I completely knew she would) and I told her I didn’t have it with. Well, I couldn’t really talk so I wrote it down for her. She gave me a dirty look (my doctor’s receptionist is a little pitbull of a girl with sprayed up bangs like a Motley Crue fan from 1989 – we’ve butted heads once before). I stared back at her for a second before writing down on the pad I will be sure you get it before the end of business tomorrow. I’m too sick now. She relented and I followed the nurse into the examining room. As soon as the nurse asked what I was there for… tears again! I kept apologizing.

“I’m so (whaaaa) sorry, I’m really (sob) not a crier (weep). It’s just that I’m tired and I feel so sick and the Nyquil sucked and I’m reallyhungryandIcan’tevenswallowanditjusthurtssomuch.” Finally I had to breathe, “and I really only cry when I get frustrated. If you knew me you’d know that. I’m sorry I can’t stop crying.” She looked at me sweetly, the way you do at a stinky sad crying lady who has no bra but really good blood pressure. The doctor strolls in minutes later on her ubiquitous cell phone (so fucking rude). She asks about my diet and if I’ve been smoking (uhm, hi, can’t speak or swallow, remember? Broken throat?) I shake my head.

“Well, maybe if I don’t treat you, you stay not smoking, what do you think?” She smiles. The second she nears me I’m going to lick her stupid smug face.

“I feel sick, not playful. Could you get started here?” If my voice were any more tense it would shatter and you’d hear the glass shards spill onto the floor. She looks in my ears and down my throat, there’s a tongue depressor involved and naturally (Jewish girl *heh*) I gag. Then she swabs for the culture and I gag again, she jumps back and I’m so pissed that I haven’t eaten anything I can projectile vomit on her. She prescribes an antibiotic that she tells me I have to down like a shot and it will stay in my system for 10 days. “That’s it?” I ask.

“Well you can’t swallow; you want me to give you pills to swallow three times a day for ten days?” Huh. The shitty doctor makes a point. “You take this and you’ll be fifty percent better the next day.” Fair enough. I promise to get the copay to the office the next day and then I, the Braless Wonder skulk back towards my apartment and the nearby Duane Reade.

Duane Reade doesn’t have my medicine in stock. Neither does the Duane Reade around the corner. Nor does the indie neighborhood drugstore. Wary of my Victorian state of teariness I ask the pharmacist what to do.

“Get your doctor to call in a different prescription.”

I call her again, she tells me there’s nothing better and that she filled the same prescription herself at Rite Aid on 70th Street just the other day. I am SO not walking a near mile, I’ll never make it and my body will be recovered in a curb draped in AMNYs. I call Rite Aid and the pharmacist tells me they deliver, but only within a ten block radius. Excellent, I’ll move!

My brother gets home from school and offered to walk over to Rite Aid. He also walked the dog for me. Countless times. Anyway, I suck down my Zmax (it doesn’t taste as gross as I thought it might, think a grainy, sugary Kaopectate, email Laura that I’m too sick to hang out as we’d planned and go right back to bed. I also, tragically, have to cancel a Thursday night date that I was really looking forward to.

Thursday; still no real sleep but the twenty minute intervals grew to about 40 minutes, which was nice and I wake up still unable to swallow but I knew I would because the night was no better.

I call in sick (again), call my mom to wish her a happy birthday and pick up the remote eager for home sick daytime tv. I’m thinking Little House on the Prairie, some Growing Pains and I’m even considering checking into General Hospital to see what’s up in Port Charles – I stopped paying attention in 2000 but surely Sonny and Jason are still up to no good.

Well – devastation. None of what I’m looking for is on. My choices instead range from puppies found nearly dead in a Houston, Texas backyard, a show where a couple is looking to buy a home but for a very unattractive couple they are obsessed with “entertaining” and they’re off-putting as hell or a Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant episode that I’ve already seen. What. The. Hell. I end up watching Tommy Lee Jones in U.S. Marshals, though I’ve seen that already as well. I watch that and go back to sleep, first setting my alarm so that I don’t miss the Lost premiere at 9. I don’t care how sick I am, that’s not to be missed.

I’m up just after 8:30pm, I watch Lost (awesome), then Eli Stone (not bad, not particularly good - but two “Ed” actors on back to back shows is cool). I drink some tea – all I’ve been ingesting for a few days now and head back to my bed. At 4am, after I’ve watched three episodes of the X Files, I accept that I will not be feeling better within hours, email my boss that I’ll be out Friday too and watch yet another episode of The X Files.

Friday I wake up feeling a smidge better. Still mostly shitty but there seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I loaf around all day doing nothing other than drinking tea, trying to swallow, watching Las Vegas episodes on DVD and being bummed about missing a poker game I’d been looking forward to losing in. Then later that night I spent hours on the phone with Joe discussing Britney, Lost, strep and I’m not even sure what else. Afterwards I get into bed with tea and book and read until I ultimately pass out.

Saturday I wake up feeling pretty damn near good. I shower which upgrades me further and it’s while I’m in the shower that I suddenly have a flash. Chicken! I need some chicken. If I eat chicken, I will be over the precipice of feeling good to straight on fantasticness. I get dressed and then take a walk a few blocks down to the local library branch. I have books that are so overdue we’re looking at the double digit dollar range. I’m all for supporting the library but I’m also a bit cheap so over ten dollars is a bit excessive. On the way back I stop by the old timey deli near me, pick up some matzah balls (I already had the kosher chicken soup), roasted chicken and cole slaw. Then I got some random stoner flick from Blockbuster with Anna Farris and Jim from The Office (not especially good, yet not awful).

Sunday (just in time to gear up to go back to ugh work) I woke up feeling perfectly fine. Well slightly irritated because the night before I realized I’d misplaced my stash but health-wise; stellar. I read for a bit before I got up, resumed my 1am stash hunt. Gave up, cleaned my room, made some sugar free strawberry jello and flipped through the Sunday paper. After that I set out some chips and salsa, ordered in the pizza, found the stash under the sofa (whew and yay!) and then the brothers and I settled in to watch the Superbowl and see my favorite Giants player (Brandon Jacobs) and the Giants overall devastate the New England Assfaces. You should know that I declared the Giants “my team” four weeks ago when my brothers demanded that I “man up,” pick a team and start being an NFL fan already. My brothers are local fans but ever so slightly prefer the Jets over the Giants (though they were rooting their faces off – we all hate Boston), I decided if I was being forced into fanhood at the very least I wouldn’t give said brothers the satisfaction of rooting for the team they wanted me to root for (and also, the Giants looked like they had better odds).

Damn. That was fun. Well, the game, not the strep, the strep sucked arse.

(and btw Eric W.B. [I have no way to contact you personally so here goes:], in the midst of my being sick and sad, your gift arrived. The candles are gorgeous and smell absolutely phenomenal {really - even my doorman agreed after he caught a whiff} and I adore them. You are too kind, thanks SO much!)

And for your final enjoyment (if only I could insert a Nelson from The Simpsons laugh):

2008-01-31T17:18:00.000-05:00

~
In Other News:

I have strep. Ow.

2008-01-23T16:49:00.000-05:00

~
My Brother Is Funnier Than Yours:

Me: I heard people think that Belichick has Brady in a cast as a giant fake out.

Brother: Did you say cast or casket? Cause I wouldn't put it past Belichick to put Brady in a casket as a fake out. That what I thought you said anyway.

2008-01-22T12:31:00.000-05:00

~
Nothing From Nothing Leaves Nothing:

There should exist a thing in the entire world that I give a damn about.

But there isn’t.

It is not the job. It is not the man. It is not the family. It is not the hobby nor the passion.

First of all; how can that be?
Second of all; aw… poor little me how sad that it is. Sarcasm folks.

Saturday afternoon found me in New Jersey at a – get this – 60th wedding anniversary party. 60 years. 60 years!! These people have been married nearly double my lifetime. Decades I haven’t even lived yet! Incomprehensible. In other news, my great-uncle is Canadian, I have no idea how I never knew that before and furthermore my cousin gave his two sons the stupidest names I have heard and if they weren’t so unique I would share them with you. But I can’t. Because they are so individually stupid. And unique.

But I digress. It sucks that I can’t have a 60th wedding anniversary. That I can’t share with someone all that these two have shared. This couple, my great aunt and uncle, well into their late 80’s are by far the cutest of old couples. They have three kids and six grandchildren. At the rate that I’m going I’ll be happy if my mom meets her grandchildren much less ever gets to be a great granny. Sorry mom but unless futuristic medicine intervenes I just don’t see it happening.

And it wouldn’t irritate me so fucking much if I thought there was even a shot in hell that the guy I’m looking for exists. But argh. He doesn’t and I know it. I’ve met my own random guys. I’ve met my friend’s friends. I’ve met the guys on jdate. With the rarest of exceptions, they are all the same guy. They rent sad, undecorated, little apartments in outer boroughs or, inexplicably enough, in suburbs. They are an average age of 41. Their social skills are nil. They have one highly antisocial cat. They work mid level jobs and are dull as corpses. They have a sparse interest in sports, pop culture or anything negligible making me wonder if there’s anything capturing their collective interest besides internet porn and serial dating. And here’s the worst part; they’re all 0’s waiting on 10’s. As if. I may be fat and ugly but at least I’m not boring. But these fellas. Christ, you have no idea. It’s so bad it’s actually pretty funny. They are pale, boring, broke and uninspiring. That sucks, yes, but here’s where the funny part arrives - as awful as they are - they are waiting for diamonds. These literal definitions of schlubs think they’re bidding their time with the me's of the world until Gisele, Scarlett, Kiera, Lindsay or Jessica (pick your poison: Simpson, Biel, Alba) show up. Now, when this is the experience with one out of every ten guys then sure, fine, fair enough. But when it’s one out of ten that’s actually different and interesting? That makes you want to shave your legs and buy new bras. Well hell, it’s discouraging but I hope it also means that finding him will ultimately kick ass.

I know that I’m at the age where the pickins start to get a little knotty. I understand that for the most part I’m sifting through the bargain bin of the species and I’m going to get the damaged, slightly irregulars. But hey, I’m in the bin and I’m not that fucked up. I’ve got plenty of unfucked up friends in the bin with me too. Unfucked up – that’s right I said it. These aren’t crazy girls with monster issues and fat asses – these are slim, attractive girls with hobbies and interests and wits. So where are our male counter parts? The ones that act instead of endlessly pondering and vacillating. The ones that eat meat. Because there is little else more unattractive than a man that drones on about his dietary restrictions - I mean really, how sissy is that? That just slip the maitre d’ the extra twenty instead of writing the chowhound a whole freaking post about it. The ones that call you up and ask you out instead of messaging you on facebook like a sophomore (high school). The ones that wear well constructed shoes made of leather and not canvas slip-on sneakers that are more fitting for a 6 year old having shoelace issues. The ones that don’t want to only go to artsy indie shit in Brooklyn and Queens. The ones that know batting orders, shortcuts to AC and own screwdrivers instead of just the super’s cell phone number. The ones that aren’t afraid to stray from group think. Overall I don’t care that much, I know I only have to find one, I’m not marrying or breeding with the masses, but it’s a little scary out there folks. More than a little. Because my perfect or even in the realm of near perfect doesn’t seem exist. Which is confusing, because I know women that have found varieties of these men. Maybe they aren’t in my generation? On my continent? In my solar system? I have no idea. I just know that a fifteen year-ish search really should have yielded me a little more than this. “This” of course being nothing.

But if you know this guy - the cool one, not the sissy one - send him my way. I promise to be gentle.

2008-01-22T10:41:00.000-05:00

~
Diversion Tactic:

I wrote up a whole post last night but this morning I woke up and decided I hated it. So I pulled it for a big ol' retooling. If I may divert your attention for a moment, I think you will find this not at all safe for work (language) but hilarious nonetheless. Enjoy and check back later for actual typed words.

2008-01-15T20:34:00.000-05:00

~
The Definition of a Moron Is:

Taking essentially the same job over and over and shockingly motherfucking hating it.

(though based on the email I got from my boss this morning, it may not be an issue much longer)

2008-01-13T19:42:00.000-05:00

~
Inconceivable:

I am home alone. There is no one here with a gun. And yet, I'm still watching the Giants/Cowboys game and not a Law & Order repeat.

What? The? Hell?

2008-01-10T11:10:00.001-05:00

~
Da Do Run Run. Rerun.

John Kerry just endorsed Barack Obama. It sure is nice to see that ~~inexperience~~ unelectable still recognizes inexperience/unelectable.

*update* fair enough, I stand corrected.

2008-01-07T15:06:00.000-05:00

~
What Are The Odds...

That I volunteered for a presidential candidate's campaign?

(Marginally related; does Ron Paul have teeth? And gums? Because based on what I just caught on Leno, I'm going with no; he sorta doesn't. Someone should mention that to him, if he debates at some point, he just might care.)

2008-01-01T23:52:00.000-05:00

~
Unhappy & Unhealthy:

Let me ask; is there a cooler place to be on New Year's Eve than...

I did not think so. And since I am an idiot...

This was how (and where) I spent my New Year's Eve...

Hope yours was way more fun!!
(I sliced my thumb open - yes, nearly the entire length of the thumb - with a serrated knife. Oops.)

2007-12-22T05:57:00.000-05:00

~
Sleepless in My Bed:

Look it. It's 5:41 in the morning and I'm in bed. Awake. And posting. And watching Rob Zombie's Halloween. Earlier tonight I was at a poker game downtown with Evil and KJ and other people of course. It was a tournament, and I moneyed in the end but I still got knocked out sooner than I wanted, especially given how tight I was playing (at one point I folded pocket A's to a flop with 44Q - did I need to go all in and get killed by a 4? I don't think so). On the hand that knocked me out I was dealt K6h, the flop was KJ8o - I don't think I was short stack but I think I was next to it and the guy ahead of me raised and I was done, I'd been building, losing and rebuilding my stack all night, I thought my K was good enough so I went all in. Sloppy. He turned over a K10 - gah. Oh well, I still made back my ante +20. Not even close to the jackpot I was gunning for. Ah well, one day. Right. Of course while I was playing I was all tired and non-stop yawning and now, at 5:52 I'm cracked out.

I am so sleeping tomorrow. Today. Saturday. Whatever. Tired.

Merry Early Christmas.

Here's your tag Madame Brady.

2007-12-16T23:53:00.000-05:00

~
The Weekend:

I am coming off the most relaxing weekend in recent history and I have to say; I definitely feel that this coming week will be better than last. Not hard because for a week where nothing specifically horrible occurred, it somehow sucked ass anyway. Kinda weird, right? I think so too. So this weekend I just laid low and recouped a little. Friday night I came home, watched a dvd (Reign Over Me - it was pretty good, Sandler has some unanticipated range and I'm always a sucker for Don Cheadle), read a little bit of the new James Patterson book and passed out at about 11:30pm. Yep, the high life.

Saturday I woke up relatively early, did some laundry, got a manicure, wrote out a few holiday/New Year's cards, picked up a few Christmas presents, then folded my laundry and put it away. At 7:15 I hopped on the bus and began the longass trek to Evil Dawn's for her and Karol's monthly poker tournament, I was only about 45 minutes late, which for me is actually progress. The table was full of familiar faces, though it was a much smaller crowd than usual. We played for hours with a relaxed buy-in policy and way more smack talk than usual. It was fun, more so because on this rare night I even lasted long enough to money - a very nice change from the usual early bust-out. I was one of the last three playing, then KJ knocked me out and he and Karol's brother were the winners, there was a chop and I went outside to smoke a cigarette so I'm not even certain who ended up winning (feel free to verify, anyone). And (!) since I won the May tournament I get to ~~play~~ bust-out of their tournament of champions in January. It's all very dorky and exciting.

While we were playing poker in Evil's delightful and warm apartment the weather took a nasty turn. By the time I was ready to go home it was icy out and raining sleet. Since I managed to end the night with some cash in my pocket I was going to take a cab but Karol's brother pointed out how much safer the subway would be versus a Pakistani cab driver and an ice covered FDR. So, sensing the wisdom in his point, I accepted the ride to the Cortelyou Road subway station and began the reverse trek. the platform was empty, the weather was atrocious and I took a risk a lit a cigarette (even though I was really thinking of the one-hitter in my coat pocket - that seemed a little too risky/stupid). A few drags in this blatantly gay guy and two girls come down the stairs. The guy sees me smoking, points me out to his friends and announces; "well if she's going to do it, I am too!" I looked over at him while I sort of smiled and he immediately strode over, lit up a Marlboro light, introduced himself as Brad and suddenly I had a friend for the ride all the way from Cortelyou in Brooklyn, to Union Square where I switched from the Q to the 4. I thought it was a little strange that he blew off the girls he was with but when they transferred at DeKalb he told, me he'd never met them before that night and he thought they were creepy. We talked about Liv Tyler, Harlem's gentrification, the various pot acquisition techniques one utilizes in the city, his disdain for Andie MacDowell (oddly, not the first time I'm hearing this) and our shared appreciation for the Lifetime movie where Meredith Baxter Birney plays the wife who gets left, freaks out, drives her SUV through her ex's home and then kills him and wifey #2, it's pretty fantastic as far as really cheesy Lifetime movies go. As I was getting off the subway at 14th he hugged me goodnight and handed me his card - "Find me! I'm on Myspace, we need to hang out." He was pretty hilarious, I did Myspace him and I would hang out with him but he's so not Joe's type so that's no fun.

When I got off the subway near my apartment it was flat out terrible out. Sheets of icy rain were coming down and the streets were unwalkable. Especially in high heeled boots. I waited for a bus for 15 minutes - which was ridiculous because I was a mere 3 blocks away from home. Then I upped the ridiculousness, got bored of waiting and freezing and hailed a taxi to take me 3 blocks. Yeah, 3 blocks - have you ever? I kept apologizing to the driver for wasting his time - even though it wasn't exactly fares o' plenty out there at 3am - and then to really overcompensate I gave him $10 for a $3.90 fare. Pure foolishness, but hey, I was finally home. Though, I stupidly had some hot chocolate way too late in the night and the caffeine totally got to me. I got into bed, played around a little on the internet, watched some of The Devil's Advocate and couldn't fall asleep until 6am. I was so annoyed. I just laid there, listening to snow pelt the window, the blinds banging around in the wind, the plows and sanders out on the street and the sound of my own boredom. At one point I flicked the bedside light on and read a little bit but I was so over-tired that I knew I wouldn't remember a word I'd read anyway, so I stopped after only a page or two. The puppy was on the bed with me so I snuggled against her (she's always radiating a ridiculous amount of body heat) and told her bedtime stories until I finally passed out.

And now it's Sunday night and I'm still so very (very) slothy. Today I woke up just after noon and stayed in bed til nearly 1pm. When I finally got up I lazed around, read the papers and had some coffee. Then a little later I changed my sheets from cotton to new flannel ones, organized my closet, cleaned the kitchen, waited for a special illegal delivery and started watching The Reaping. I paused it midway so that I could cook. I made meatballs for the first time. Strange that I've never made them before but there you go, there's a first time for everything. I paired it with whole wheat pasta, garlic bread and Fresca. It was all pretty damn yum. And that's convenient because due to some wild miscalculations I have enough to last the next few ~~weeks~~ days. After dinner I was too satiated and lazy to do anything so I watched the Survivor finale - even though I never watched an episode. There's just nothing else on and I figure I'll watch the second half of The Reaping when I get back into bed. Just as soon as I finish posting this and my Mint Magic tea (with the honey that I've been hoarding since my trip to Montana) finishes steeping. Yes, I'm a granny, what of it?

What was the highlight of your weekend?

2007-12-13T13:58:00.000-05:00

~
Because I'm Lazy and Laura Inspires Me(me):

Besides, now you can see how boring I really am.

A: What accessories do you wear everyday? A watch, some jewelry and almost always, my glasses.

B: What is your beauty routine? To call it a "routine" is a bit of a stretch, I wash my face with the same Dove cleanser brand I've been using for ages. I've used all the $30 and $40 stuff but I swear, my skin looks best when I use Dove. Then I swipe on a little Murad zit stuff (yes, even when my skin is zit free) and lastly Aveeno moisturizer which I've really been loving but I just noticed there's no SPF in it, even though I was certain there was. I'm afraid that may be the end of that product.

C: What was the last item of clothing (for yourself) that you purchased? Just yesterday I went to Macy's during lunch (because shopping is way healthier than eating) and picked up two pairs of jeans (Ralph Lauren and INC.) and a gray cashmere sweater. I was iffy on the Ralph Lauren jeans, but last night, while hanging out with L she gave them her seal of approval.

D: Do you use a dresser, closet, or both? Actually... two dressers and a closet. I have a large bureau in my bedroom and a smaller one in my closet that I acquired from Heather when she moved back to Dallas. The larger one has my bras, panties, socks, and t-shirts. And the smaller one in my closet has some sweaters, jewlery, scarves, wallets all my odds and ends (bathing suits, strapless bra from a bridesmaid outfit years ago, a fake fur muffler).

E: What type of earrings are in your ears right now? Sapphire and diamond flower earrings. My grandmother bought them for me when I turned 15. I wear them almost daily.

F: What type of figure do you have? A bigger one than I want. Big chest, round ass, average height. I usually range from size 14 to a 16. I used to be an 8 or a 10. And I thought that I was fat then. At least now, I know I am.

G: Do you wear glasses? Daily

H: What type of handbag do you carry? A chocolate brown, leather Marc Jacobs bag that I got earlier in the year.

I: What is your ideal style? Not at all trendy, jeans, t-shirts, tailored pants, fitted clothes stylish but simple (Jennifer Anniston).

J: What jewelry are you wearing right now? My stainless steel Rolex tank watch, Seidengang Eros ring, the flower earrings, a diamond and gold bracelet and a necklace with aquamarine. And no, I'm didn't rob a jewelry store, my mom just used to work in one and get 50% off - now that was sweet.

K: Do you wear knee-hi stockings? Everytime I wear my nearly knee-hi boots I do.

L: Do you *have* to wear matching lingerie? Have to? Ha. Not even close. I've been known to but it's certainly not a habit.

M: Do you wear makeup? Yes, almost daily.

N: Do you wear nightgowns? sometimes, but usually it's a tank top and a pair of men's Gap boxer briefs - I love their boxer briefs.

O: What outerwear do you put on when going out on a typical winters day? A cashmere scarf (Burberry or Bloomingdale's brand), my fingerless gloves from Target and either a Ralph Lauren pea-coat (super soft black wool) or a Mackenzie Tribe ankle length dark gray coat (both are hand me downs from my mom who spends way more on clothes than I do and therefore has much nicer, better cared for stuff).

P: What is your favorite perfume? I have a few preferred perfumes (Lolita Lempicka, Demeter's honey and grass, Comptoir sud Pacifique) but mainly I'm completely in love with Fresh's Sake scent.

Q: Is your motto "quality over quantity" when it comes to clothing and accessories? For the most part I'm more "quantity over quality". I love Donna Karan's t-shirts but for the same money I can buy 5 t-shirts at Target and I love those as well so I'd usually go towards Target. As long as something is well made and looks good, I can easily scrimp on it. I also favor those stores where you catch "finds" - ie: high end cashmere marked down from Filene's basement, Ralph Lauren cashmere socks and great pj's from Century 21. I'm not averse to thumbing through racks and racks to snag the "find" at a Marshall's either. If I don't get it on sale I don't feel as good about the buy (because I know I'll see it on sale a week later and be annoyed).

R: Do you wear rain boots? No, but I would.

S: Do you wear socks or slippers when your feet get cold? ALWAYS. I'm not a fan of walking barefoot on the same floor that I just walked on after being outside. Ever since college and dorm life - no barefoot-ness in public areas - it skeeves me out. I am always wearing slippers. I have at least 3-4 pairs at all times. Sometimes I'm in my building's laundry room and someone will walk in barefoot - I can't help but wonder why they bother washing their clothes, I mean, at least wash them in the gutter and save some quarters. Barefoot. In the laundry room. Of a large New York City hi-rise building. How fucking gross can you be?

T: Do you have a set of travel luggage? I do. I bought it earlier this year for my superexciting trip to Montana.

U: What is your daily uniform? Knee high black boots (2" heel), a pair of jeans, bra, t-shirt and a sweater of some sort.

V: If you are married, did you wear a veil with your wedding dress? Married?!?! Hi, have we met? Married. Bwahhahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

W: Do you wear a watch? Every day. A stainless steel mens tank Rolex that I recieved as a 30th birthday present.

X: What item of clothing always makes you feel eXtremely beautiful? Beautiful? Something fancy I guess. Sexy? That's easier. High heels (preferably boots), a non-cotton, non full coverage bra, the guy I'm sleeping with's t-shirt and nothing else.

Y: What is your favorite type of yarn? Yarn?! Huh? Weird. I knit a little, when I do I use Debbie Bliss or whtever else I like.

Z: Do you prefer zippers or buttons? Zippers. For whatever reason they create a slimming look as opposed to buttons - I guess the roundness matters.

If you want more of an idea as to what I like or, you want to help me maintain my gorgeousness or, you want to acknowledge my awesome writing with Christmas gifts...

2007-12-06T00:45:00.000-05:00

~
The Story of My Life:

Holy hell. It's been ages since I posted anything. Of substance.

I owe you. How's this?

I'm on Jdate. We know this, right? Ok so. Back in time, during that brief period when the Yankees were still in the playoffs, I was emailing with this guy. Based on his profile and a few of the emails I knew we had a bunch of things in common. Sort of. We're both big baseball fans. He likes the Mets. We're both politically interested. He's so gung-ho Hilary it's ridiculous. We both live uptown. He's on the West Side. We each have our vices. His is snooty alcohol. But hey, we both like playing poker. That's something, right? One night the emails led to a phone conversation. He tells me he just got back from a poker game. Home or club, I asked. Home. Uptown or downtown, I asked. Downtown. Were you by any chance at xxxx xxxxx's game?

"How. The. Fuck. Did. You. Know. That?"

Naturally I told him I was psychic. Then I explained that friends of mine (Karol and Evil) also play there. Well, he knew them. Which more importantly meant; they know him. Info! The next morning I promptly texted Karol to see what she had to report.

"Uh... how do you know him?" Karol asked, kinda slowly too, hm.
"Jdate."
"Dawn and I, we're not wild about him. One of us might flat out not even like him.*"
"Oh no. Why? Wait! Is he cute?"
"He's ok looking. He's sort of annoying at xxxx xxxxx's games though. He just rubs you wrong. But that's just in poker! He could be great otherwise, I don't know, go out with him, see what you think. And, don't repeat any of this to him either."

Fair enough.

At one point, he asked what my friends had said about him. They said they know you, from poker. He didn't push it. So one Sunday night (during the playoffs, when the Yankees were still in it) he and I met up at the bar around the corner from my apartment. A lazy-ass Sunday night date, I don't even think I showered beforehand (during the day, sure, just not predate like I usually do). He called me when we were supposed to meet and told me he'd be 15-20 minutes late. I was a little annoyed. I'm never on time and I hate doing anything (such is my sloth) but damn, if I'm on time, you better fucking be. And it takes him 15-20 minutes to get to me from where he is - so he hadn't even left yet. And did I mention there was a Yankees playoff game taking place?! I just thought it was a little inconsiderate. Also... I a little bit hate everyone so the last thing I need is fuel for the fire. And with the imaginary strikes against him cast by Karol's rather telling "Uh" - well, it wasn't looking so good. He calls me again.

"I'm just getting off the bus."
"'K. I'm at the corner."
"Hey Ari? There are four corners." Ew. You're late, I thought, shut up, shut up, shut up.
"True. In front of the Duane Reade."

I saw him coming towards me and my very first, utterly shallow, already irritated by him thought was; (and I apologize in advance if you aren't Jewish or fluent in Jewisms) neb. A chubby Woody Allen-y sort. You can smell the New York City, neurotic, soft Jewishness from across the street. This/he is every not-secretly-married-or-involved guy on Jdate. There are 8 million people in this city. How can all the guys out there dating fall into two such yawntasticly specific categories? I'm a bitch for saying this, I realize, but I was bored on the date and it hadn't even happened yet. We went to the newer bar a block away. We each got a beer and a stool and watched a few innings of the Yankee game. We talked about sports, jdate experiences, politics, poker... and after just an hour or so he said his goodnights and left. I was relieved, I really wanted to watch the game. I didn't give the date or the boy a second thought. Then, a few days later Karol mentioned that he had mentioned me. She claimed to get some sort vibe that he was into me.

"Can't be," I explained, "our date was nearly two weeks ago and I don't think I've heard from him since."
"I'm telling you."
"I'm telling you."

Sure enough a day or so later I got an email; when do I get to see you again? Hmm, when you ask? For starters? Men are just the oddest creatures. If I recall correctly I may have told him as much. The emails kept coming, but to say he was moving at a snail's pace... well, that would greatly flatter what would have to be a very spritely, BALCO sponsored snail. Finally, I got that coveted invite to xxxx xxxxx's poker game. Nebby Ned was going to be there. I texted him. I'll be at the table tonight. Looking forward to taking your cash. And he replied; Glad to hear it. Looking forward to taking you. WHAT?!? I was flabbergasted. Taking me? Him? All I could figure was that he was planning on kidnapping me. What else could this guy be talking about. I mean, really. I texted back; it seems you plan on kidnapping me, be forewarned. It shall not be tolerated. Additionally, I have a family and am a good xmas gift giver, I will be searched for.

Later that night, after I had in fact taken his money and he was long gone from the game I texted him. Of all the cash in my wallet, yours is the most welcome. He suggested I give him the opportunity to win it back in a heads up game. There was a mention of wine. I told him I'd consider it but first his cash was demanding to be spent. Preferably on something in Yankee colors. He suggested sexy underthings which he volunteered to inspect. And again... I was a little surprised. Giant balls. Giant! Way too much confidence. It was disarming. As I posted a few posts back er, down, his confidence could not be looks based so I started to wonder what it was based on. Karol said it was based on finances. But that could only go so far, right? I considered that it could be, other things. Especially given the racy and definitely bold tone of his emails and texts. He had to know that if things went his way and he got the chance to bat, he had to get a big hit, right? I had a hunch that at the very least, he thought he could back his bravado up. And despite his lack of aesthetic goodness, I grew curious. So a week later, when he asked if I could get together I said sure even though I already had plans with L. I told him it would have to be late and stunningly, he didn't mind (sarcasm). When I got there, late, he was wide awake and witty. I was surprised. I mean, I knew he'd be awake, I just didn't anticipate the wit. He's nearly as witty as he is cocky. We talked for awhile, had some wine, it was all quite PG-13 (aside from the wine). Though not today's dirty, slutty 13 year olds, with their sex and heroin, my day's 13 year olds, which was about when I may have first french kissed. And realized just how overrated the French are. Anyway back to the PG-13ness. It was, completely. But I also discovered that so far my hunch was right. Interesting. A week passed again. I saw him over the weekend. Twice actually. Once at a poker game (where I again outlasted him but still crapped out super early) and again at not a poker game. Again; PG-13. Hunch? Still seems pretty on.

He invited me to go away with him this weekend. Not for the entire weekend, just a night. Here's the thing, as it stands, I'm not so attracted to him. I think he's smart and interesting and all those cerebrally good things, and there is that hunch of mine that keeps proving right but at the same time something feels just the the slightest bit strange. Off. And I don't think he's cute, so there's that. I have no idea what'll happen but since dating's still free and I have little else to do; we proceed. But not away with him for a night. Because that's a bit much for now.

Now I must get back to my Hanukkah shopping. I'm on quite a streak so far.

(* Karol's end of the conversation is merely a retelling of the essence of her side - I'm a stoner, you think I can remember exactly what she said? In October? Madness!)

2007-12-05T12:27:00.000-05:00

~
TV Sucks But the Internet is Getting Funnier. Daily.

Case in point (and Dawn you can watch this, it wasn't on tv. Oh wait; no matter):

2007-12-03T12:23:00.000-05:00

~
Happy Hanukkah (part 1):

So glad to have ya!

2007-11-28T11:15:00.000-05:00

~
Freud Would Enjoy...

Last night I had a variation on this dream. This time, the father didn't factor in whatsoever. All I knew was that I had to name the baby (a girl, in case you care) with the initials "L" and "M" though later on in the dream I realized that the "M" was actually supposed to be a "D".

(Heather has named the baby Mona Lisa)

2007-11-25T22:29:00.000-05:00

~
Part 2:

Back to court tomorrow so no posting. But assuming I don't get sequestered, I'll return shortly with tales of:

boys kissed
strange dates had
cell phones tossed
commuters kicked
poker beats suffered

and god only knows whatever else happens between now and then.

2007-11-21T13:24:00.000-05:00

~
Happy Thanksgiving

(*this is my family's table. Last year. When we had a house. And a dining room. This year, a little different.*)

2007-11-19T10:11:00.000-05:00

~
To Amuse and Distract:

While I caffeinate, so that I can coherently bring you tales of my weekend spasticness, you should go ahead and enjoy this:

2007-11-14T20:07:00.000-05:00

~
Jurist Boredest:

This is how jury duty went.

6:20am. My alarm goes off. Snooze.

6:30am. My alarm goes off. I'm vacillating. Snooze? Wake up? Snooze... wake up... snooze... ugh. I'm never anywhere on time why should the federal court get any better from me? I reset the alarm for 6:50 and roll over.

7:11am. I'm out of the shower, sipping some Sumatran and getting comfortable with the idea of being late. I've decided I'm most comfortable being 20-30 minutes late (tops).

7:50am. A little make up on and hair dried. Jeans, bra, t-shirt, black lace-up boots and white v-neck t-shirt on. I'm staring at my lightweight, wool cardigan... will the jury room be hot or cold? Who knows? I toss it in my bag, leash up Dog and ~~quickly~~ take him around the corner.

8:08am. I'm on the crosstown bus.

8:18am. I just miss the 4 train but catch a 5 a few minutes later. I never take the 4,5 or 6 so I usually forget just how fucking awful it is. I always remember that it's bad but I tend to forget that if I'm really dedicated to procreation I should just ride the 4 or 5 every morning in a skirt with no panties. It would probably take me about 3 stops to get knocked up. The car is quiet aside from two high school aged girls who are really (really) loud. I'm listening to Gang Starr on my ipod when I hear one of the girls shriek; "fool!! Not all white people is Jews!" Hmm.

8:51am. I arrive at the City Hall stop. I see one of those bomb squad-ish looking cops and I walk towards him, he has a rifle across his chest though, so the approach is cautious, lest he's had way more caffeine than me. I show him my summons and ask him where I'm meant to go. "Aw... and here I thought you were going to ask me out." Right on copper guy. You have a rifle, are about 50 and I smoke pot; we are not happening. He points out the building and gives me his card. I walk up towards Worth Street, turn the corner and toss his card.

8:57am. I clear security, having surrendered my beloved cell phone and connection to the outside yonder. I already feel a little bit naked, like I'm wearing assless chaps. Not cool.

8:59am. I arrive at the Constance Baker Motley jury room. At 29 minutes late I'm right on schedule and since the sign at the door says we need to report by 9am, I haven't even missed anything! Even late I'm not late - goddamn I'm good.

9:01am. I'm told I need to go to the front of the massive room, pick up a form, fill it out and get back on the line that snakes the length of the room to turn it in. A cursory scan of the room tells me there are no cute guys here and no celebrities unless that cracky looking guy in the corner is Jamie Kennedy doing an episode of his (former? current?) show. My form is filled out and I'm back on line, it seems to be moving pretty quickly and before I know it there's a clerk asking me if I missed the earlier announcement. As I heard zero announcements I admit that I must have. This is when he tells me I need to toss my coffee. Ooh - guess I did miss something. No cell phone and no coffee? this is inhumane! Attica!! I walk over to the trash can, chug my remaining Sumatran goodness, toss the cup and go back to a seat. A completely unremarkable crowd, no caffeine and no cell phone - this is not good.

9:12. Bored. Already. I've read all of the New York Post that interests me. I don't particularly care that Nancy Grace has been hospitalized. That Stephon Marbury is an awol asshat and that Isiah Thomas is a shady fuck (should surprise no one - as Michael Kay pointed out on his radio show yesterday, the MSG is the Kremlin - perfect analogy) the Knicks are the worst. What else... oh, Hillary Clinton is up to campaign shenanigans? Nooo who could have seen that coming?! She's so moral! Upstanding! ethical! Oh wait... that's Hillary from The Fresh Prince.

9:20am. Finding the Post anemic I thumb through this week's NY Mag before I land on the crossword page. The NY Mag crossword is my most favorite thing! I've almost cleared the top section when they dim the lights and roll the jury video.

9:33am. Oh my god. This is horrid. Is it from 1988? Why is the lady in the video wearing Sally Jessy glasses and a Janet Reno-esque power blue suit, shoulder pads and all? It's really nice of them to reassure me that not getting selected is something I shouldn't take personally. I can't imagine people don't have bigger offenses to address.

9:55am. With the stupid video over the lights are back on and the clerk is talking again. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you need to take a break this is the time. If you need to use the restrooms, please exit the rear doors, the bathrooms are on your left. If you smoke, we ask that you do not leave the building, security will delay your return, so if you want a cigarette please use the smoke room in the back." I'm sorry... holyfuckingshitthesmokingwhatattheendoftheroom? I get up to pee and on my way out, someone opens the door to my left and lo and behold... holyfuckinghell; it's TRUE. There is a room at the end of the jury room indeed. It's wood paneled, outfitted with clean and comfy looking sofas, ashtrays, current magazines and a ventilation system that would suck Calista Flockhart right out of this room. I sit down next to my fellow jurors and just laugh.

"I can't smoke in a bar, but I can smoke in the courthouse I'd have to come to to fight the ticket - this is sick. Does Bloomberg know? Is it a trick?"

I cannot imagine Bloomberg is cool with this. Or ice cream. Puppies. Rainbows. My mind is blown. This little perk definitely compensates for my caffeine being banned (though not the cell phone taking). My high school had a smoking bathroom (I've blogged about it before) but hell, that was like 1998!

10:15am. I'm out of the smoking room and back in jury gen. pop. We're told we'll be asked to fill out a few forms and after we turn them in we're free to go. For real?!

11:00am. Still waiting for my section of the massive room to get our questionnaires in to the clerk. Will I really get to leave? I mean, there's no way in hell I'm going to work. But still, this seems too good to be true!

11:12am. My section is finally called! I get up to the front, the clerk waves me over and gives me a HUGE smile. He flirts with me while he takes my name down, asks if there was a sale on the letter "A" the day my parents named me (there are 4 A's in my name). Then he proclaims my name "beautiful and different, like the girl it belongs to." Yup. See the clerk is in his forties and black. And I have a big ass, this conversation is old hat to me. This guy is 100% my ass' target audience. "So," I ask, "we, er, I get to leave now that I've turned this all in?" He says yes but adds that he hopes I won't. The smoking room is cool and all but I have plans with Laura Thursday, a date Friday and a poker game Saturday - bitch is busy.

11:16am: The clerk announces that we are: "free to leave and your employers don't know how long we kept you today folks, so don't forget to call in next week and enjoy your day!"

And I was at Century 21 shopping for socks and a shower curtain by noon.

2007-11-13T22:49:00.000-05:00

~
On A Tangent:

It's 2004 again. That's right, yours truly is headed back downtown for jury duty first thing tomorrow.

Good parts:
-proximity to discount mecca; Century 21.
-The ability to just open a book or pull out my knitting when I get bored to the point of mental asphyxia (that's sorta frowned upon at work).
-I'll probably get home earlier than when I work.

Bad parts:
-I can't have my cell phone (I text like a teenager! This will be the death of me!).
-I have to be there at 8:30am. I have to be at work at 9:30am. I am NOT a morning person.
-If there aren't cute guys or a cool celebrity to look at the day's sort of a wash.

I'll let you know what happens.

Also -
Does anyone else sort of think Toto (from yes, The Wizard of Oz) is kind of a prick?

What do you wear on your feet in the winter? I have 8 pairs of boots (high heeled black, low heeled black, lace up black, lace up brown, low heeled ankle, high heeled ankle, Uggs and a pair of insulated waterproof ones - a ridiculous amount, I know, but I'm old, my feet aren't going to change sizes and I don't buy the crazy expensive boots either, I'm sorta cheap, after all). Other than my Kimora Lee-like boot collection I have a pair of loafers that I hate and assorted sneakers. Am I missing a genre of shoe? I feel like I am. Help a footed friend out.

Oooh! Here's something I'm pretty happy about; for years I've been angling for Karol to bring me to a poker game she goes to. Well, a scant 3ish years later I finally succeeded! Of course, when she told me I could come I became so anxiety ridden that I required a self prescribed xanax. Worked pretty well though as I made the final four, was the last girl playing and (at least) won my buy-in back, if not a wee bit more. And more importantly; finally got to go to the game! So fun.

Here's another thing - I think the same night or a night earlier I told Karol that lately I've been finding myself not attracted to per se, but intrigued by guys with misplaced confidence. You know the guys too - they're a combination of not especially good looking, have bad bodies, terrible if any hair and no discernable charm (though a decent sense of humor) yet they are confident/cocky as hell. And it intrigues me to a point. I mean, is he good in bed? Where does he get off being cocky? What is it based on? I'm curious. The lastest is a guy I recently met, he's not cute, not charming but can take a joke. He tried to bully me at the poker table (he told me earlier he'd win my money). So I bullied back and outlasted him. Later on, in email, he mentioned his good work at hitting on me (which he hadn't - unless you call trying to put me all in repeatedly flirting) and my decent poker playing that night. I answered back; you can't flirt or play poker for shit but at least you're quick with the compliments. He's too confident to be irked by that. And yet... no reason to be. It's just bizarre. Though I'm sure 97% of it is him knowing how to play the dating game. He can't bank on looking like Christian Bale and he knows it so this is his strategy. It's smart.

I'm loving ABC's Dirty, Sexy, Money and Samantha Who? - what new shows are you all watching and digging? God bless Al Gore for the internet, it has really enhanced my tv watching abilities. What's not to like about shows I can catch when I want?! It's utopia.

And a man is offering to leave his wife for me and give me all his money. No, he's not a Ugandan prince and yes, I've blogged about him before and (incidentally, yes, he does have quite a bit of money). And dear god, why is this the shit you send me?!

And now I'm off to bed so I can be well rested in my upcoming dealings with civil servants and their legendary... um... eptitude(??)!

2007-11-05T15:56:00.000-05:00

~
Stupid Is: As I Do

Things have been a little strange lately.

I can't seem to get a grasp on my brain, I've lost the ability to logically reason things out in my head and then act on them.

Obviously it's delayed retardation or early dementia.

Case in point:

#1:
I've been reading this book and getting really frustrated with it. The book has a lot of characters (and therefore a lot to keep track of) and on top of that it jumps around timewise. The book is written with excerpts from 1984, 1994 and 2004. Yesterday morning, while reading in bed and snuggling with a small brown dog I thought; one more chapter and if I'm still flummoxed, fuck this book, I'm done.

And that was when I realized... the book does not span 3 decades. It spans two. How did I read half the damn book and not catch that?! An inability to reason deductively, ladies and gentlemen.

#2:
The other night I was in bed but unable to sleep. My laptop was on the chair by my bed so I leaned over, flipped it open and starting perusing Amazon.com. Bored there, I headed over to their UK site to check up on my favorite brit-chick-lit writers. Seems two of them have new books out. I trolled American sites to see if I could get them locally but no. It was amazon.co.uk or bust. So I checked my trusty currency converter, decided that $35 was not even remotely outlandish and placed the order.

Ooops! I converted Euros to dollars. It was pounds to dollars though. Hi extra $15 or so dollars. Once again; an inability to reason deductively, ladies and gentlemen.

#3:
This morning I'm at the Metrocard machine. There's a long line, which is really rare at my station but I have no metrocard and so I have no choice. It's taking forever and I'm running (surprise, surprise... late!) so this is a Monday morning nightmare. It's finally my turn. I fondle the touch screen and insert my credit card and discover that my credit is no good. Well, my credit and everyone else's. It's a cash only morning on Central Park West. I hadn't anticipated that. I thought I'd stroll up to the machine and get my monthly metrocard - like I do the first week of every stupid month! But the demand for cash throws me and I stuff a ten dollar bill into the slot, get a 3 trip metrocard and 4 Sacajawea dollar coins back. Great. A too small metrocard, coin dollars I'm going to accidentally use as quarters and I still need a metrocard.

Why didn't I just spent the $2 needed to get to work and buy the monthly card at another station on my way home? And a third time(!); an inability to reason deductively, ladies and gentlemen.

Other than those incidents of unadulterated stupidity my weekend was pretty good. I socialized (despite a completely inconsiderate "date" who bailed incredibly late), caught up on all the tv I missed (Dirty Sexy Money which I am loving and Grey's Anatomy which I am despising), cleaned my place a bit, cooked some, watched a movie, knit a little and ordered a super yummy fall jacket which is awaiting me in my apartment at this very second. I cannot wait to go home and try it on.

I only hope that in my stupidity I make it (to my own) home.

By the way, just to share, I have a song in my head that I cannot get rid of (though it is a pretty great song; it's Citizen Cope's Son's Gonna Rise). Find it, listen to it, love it.

Catch you later.

2007-10-30T11:28:00.000-04:00

~
A-Rid? A-Run? A-Rat?

Either way dear A-Rod, we can get bounced in the first round of the playoffs with or without you. But maybe now you'll be able to afford to feed your family presuming you don't... y'know... choke.

Welcome to the beginning of the Yankees most interesting off season ever.

*UPDATE*

Look at the fun... already underway.

The media coverage on A-Rod is just ... wow. He's being treated with all the class he deserves.

Mike Lupica in today's NY Daily News:

Here was (Scott)Boras the other night, getting his client A-Rod into the World Series the only way he can, having him opt out of his Yankees contract on the night the Boston Red Sox were about to sweep the Colorado Rockies.

Bob Raissman, also in today's NY Daily News:

A-Rod arrived as Elvis.
He leaves a bum.
In his wake there is a trail of scorned fans, and other offended parties, delusional enough to believe this whole situation was ever about something other than max money - A-Rod not leaving a single cent on the table.

Joel Sherman of the NY Post wrote

...that after Boston's win last night, some fans at Coors chanted "re-sign Lowell" and also added in another chant "Don't sign A-Rod."

And then there's Mike Vaccaro - also in the NY Post. He says this;

And if this is indeed his final dash out the side door - and if we are to take the Yankees at their word, it is absolutely that - then it comes as part of a perfect A-Rod opera, a me-first symphony that would be appalling if it weren't so predictable.

- but really his entire article deserves to be read word for word.

2007-10-25T21:43:00.000-04:00

~
All Signs Point to PMS:

I meant to post this week.

But then this week happened.

And aside from a few brief moments - this week sucked motherfucking ass.

Highlights: Peter Luger's for dinner w. the family, couch time w. Karol, the weather turning cooler meaning I may get to use my very cool and exciting new Marc Jacobs (but in dark brown) bag one day (it's very autumny and totally out of place during the recent freak spate of 80 degree October weather), a surprise in the form of a $250 gift card to Bloomingdale's, a new haircut that I'm completely digging, living on the east and not west coast because damn; that state-burning-down-shit is terrifying (I've been worried for my west coast future life partner; Hilary but she assures me she's ok and her folks in San Diego, last I heard, were even being allowed home - whew!!).

Lowlights: working until past 10pm for ultimately no reason and no appreciation, working til after 7 the next night; same results (and if I ever do that again I'm officially a moron) - seriously, not even was it totally unappreciated by my boss was actually kind of an asshole about it. It was after 10pm and pouring out, he'd asked me to stick around and when I asked if I could get reimbursed for a cab home ($20 tops!) he said "sorry, we don't reimburse for personal travel." Great answer jackass, that's the way to insure I don't stick around late to help you out again. The past few days I've started to wonder if I shouldn't consider looking for another job. Every so often I find myself sneaking money out of my savings account which I really shouldn't be doing. Normally I'd never consider making a move in under a year, but there's no nobility in sticking out a mistake. Unrelated but also sucky; I found a mouse on a trap in my kitchen (fucking disgusting!). I was optimistic about a Jdate and when we met up all I could think was that he looked exactly like Shrek. Big teeth sticking out of his mouth and the Suez Canal right between the front two. I absolutely could not see him without seeing Shrek and really, that's just not sexually conducive. I have a cold again which is especially bothersome because my old one still hadn't actually gone away yet. I didn't get to see Joe at all. I got a summons for jury duty. It rained and was crappy out all week which means I couldn't even blow dry my hair and truly enjoy the cut. Here's a good one: this morning as I was rushing off to work, I lost my glasses. In my own apartment. I've never lost them before - not in 20 years of wearing glasses! I looked everywhere. Not in my room in any of the usual spots, not in the bathroom on the shelf or in the living room. They were nowhere to be found. But as I gave up and was about to walk out the door, guess what I saw? My glasses. Sitting on the stove. Of fucking course. Ugh - I honestly can't imagine what set of events could have led to me leaving them there (hmm... pot?). I really want to clean my apartment - like a major cleaning - but I have no time, by the time Saturday and Sunday roll around, I'm so spent from work I just can't.

And (yes Dawn, I totally agree) Heroes sucks too.

2007-10-17T16:11:00.000-04:00

~
Who's the Black Sheep, What's the Black Sheep?

According to today's New York Daily News:

Political differences appear to be all in the family for Dick Cheney and Barack Obama.

The Vice President is an eighth cousin to the Illinois senator and Democratic presidential hopeful. Cheney's wife Lynne stumbled across the connection while doing research for her recent memoir about growing up in Wyoming, "Blue Skies, No Fences."

"This is such an amazing American story that one ancestor ... could be responsible down the family lines for lives that have taken such different and varied paths as Dick's and Barack Obama," Lynne Cheney told MSNBC during an interview on Tuesday.

Ginny Justice, a spokeswoman for Lynne Cheney, said that Obama is a descendent of French Huguenot Mareen Duvall. Duvall's son married the granddaughter of a Richard Cheney, who came to the fledgling United States from England in the 1650s, settling in Maryland.

An Obama spokesman had this to say of the ancestral link between the two pols: "Every family has a black sheep."

Uhm... Barack... dude...

If today was Obvious Day, you and I would have a little chat.

2007-10-11T13:37:00.000-04:00

~
A Strange Condition:

Here are two things pissing me off today.

I hate that I love reading. I hate it because I am desperate to be a writer and reading usually causes me to have one of three end results. (1) I love the book so much I think I can never be good like this and hate myself. (2) I hate the book and find myself frustrated and infuriated that I can't do it and do it 15 times better. (3) I have absolutely no feeling about the book whatsoever and realize that that is possibly the worst reaction of all - what if you knocked yourself out to write something and no one gave a shit. Pretty bad, right? I just finished reading two books (same author) and and the end of both I was feeling very deflated. This author is no joke good - the way she writes dialogue between her characters was what really did it for me, she captures the actual way people talk to each other - the way my friends and I talk to each other and I can't see myself mastering that. Though I am certainly inspired to see if I can do that too.

I'm having a really strange run in terms of dealings with the opposite sex. It's a carnival of weird out there and I'm the center ring. The guys that I'm really not into are running the full court press on me, there's no end to the efforts they'll expend it seems. Whereas at the other end of the spectrum things are decidedly bleak. I lost a good one. A guy I dated earlier and truly believe I may have been in love with got "away" and it has depressed the hell out of me for weeks now. I'm not the chasing sort, so to try and "win" him back... well, it's just not me. I wouldn't even know what to do and even if I were successful... I wouldn't like the method or means I'd employed to get there. It's hard to explain. And here's another thing... Tattoo Jew who I see often and genuinely like (in some utterly confusing capacity) is convinced I don't like him. He insists that I use him for sex (though... single-digit-times in a year, is that really using someone? And if it is; do I not suck at it? I'm the lousiest user ever. It's not that I'm not interested in him - I am, it's that I got a vibe off him, a he's-good-for-a-fun-time-but-will-hurt-you-if-you-let-him vibe and I let it dictate the way I'd feel about him. I'm open to dating him, I like him, of course I'm open to dating him, but he's certain I just like his body (which just so happens to be fairly terrific). A few nights ago we were out, having some drinks, the alcohol making our hands flirtier than our language and he reached over and held my hand for a minute. A very long minute. Then he said;

"I have just about the most fun with you - why the hell did we ever stop dating?"

I smiled for a second - but maybe only in my head. This is going to be awkward, I thought.

"You broke it off with me. Remember? Something about having re-met someone else..." And to show him that it's water under the bridge I smile, stick out my tongue and then polish off the rest of my wine.

He immediately drops his head. "God, it's been what years?" I nod. "And I still feel like shit about that". Anyone else and I'd feel great, vindicated, that that was his reaction, but with Tattoo Jew I just felt badly. Shit happens and I get it. I'm not mad, I'm not irked, I'm nothing but bummed that now he is. "Honestly though" he continues, "the whole time we were dating, I just never got the impression you were all that into me".

And with this, I want to kill him. I want to lean over the table, smash the glass he's drinking from and slash his jugular with the stem. What. The. Fuck. I was there! We were staying over nights at each other's places, what on Earth did he chalk that up to? Homelessness?!

What is that? Why would I have been with him if I didn't like him? Are these thoughts that men really have? What must go on in their brains I wonder.

The men that I like think I don't like them.
The men that I don't like, think I love them.

(*post title is a Pete Yorn song. a favorite.)

2007-10-09T09:49:00.000-04:00

~
Fat Lady Takes A Bow:

I've had men disappoint me before, but rarely 25 all at once.

I was hoping they'd fire Torre before the final pitch. A-Rod wasn't as terrible as I thought he'd be and Wang was worse than I'd thought possible.

Every pitcher we sent up gave the Indians a 3-2 count. When our batters weren't hitting into double plays, they were popping up. And, we couldn't score with men on base.

I think Torre should go. I thought so this time last year. When your batters are swinging at the first pitch, every damn at bat and you see the manager just sitting there, not even twitching... well, fuck him, he's useless. Maybe he got us there before but in 7 seasons he hasn't been able to motivate his team. He doesn't even seem able to move. We absolutely need new blood. We need Donny Baseball or Joe Girardi - Pinella, I don't care but Torre's reign should be over. He brings an air of calm that would be great in a spa locker room but is worthless in the Bronx. I think a HUGE part of the problem is that we don't play like a team. Every batter that goes up assumes if he doesn't hit a home run, the next guy will get it done. We don't need a team of home run hitters. As this series (and each before it so deftly) proved we need small ball too. We need a starting rotation that's young and capable (ie: Hughes) and it's time to look into new closers. If the Yankees were consistently being beat by one specific team that just had our number it would be one thing. If year after year the Angels killed us - well then; fair enough.

But that isn't the case. It's every team we face. Seeing us on the schedule is starting to be a relief for other playoff teams. We just can't get it done in October anymore. Maybe we do no scouting (mistake). Maybe we don't watch tapes of the other team (mistake). Maybe we refuse to realize that we have to play other teams but we do and the Yankees can't make the same exact mistakes against every team they face season after season. And yet... they do. You want to say we were beat, we faced a team that was simply better. But even that isn't really the case. The Indians were 0-6 against us this season - we should have beat them.

If Jorge wants to go, fine. I love him, but whatever. If A-Rod wants to go, fine too. I love the guy, have the shirt, but being the MVP is nice for him. I want to see us win the World Series, and he too is useless if he gets us there and then shuts down. I want us to keep Hughes, Joba, Cano, Cabrera and Jeter. Aside from them I don't give a damn what Steinbrenner and/or Cashman do. If Abreu, Matsui, Giambi, or Mussina end up elsewhere; fine by me.

Getting to the post-season isn't nothing. It's something - it's good, but it isn't what we as fans are used to and it isn't what we as fans are happy with. Maybe we're greedy but it is what it is. We get a lot of shit year round about our payroll and it's (clearly) true; money doesn't buy a championship. Real fans know this. But it should buy something. It should buy a team that is driven and motivated. It should buy athletes that are dedicated. It shouldn't buy a team full of guys certain that the next man up will take care of business. As the summer came to end I really and truly started to believe. I believed this could be our year. I bought into it. But. This season was a massive, heartbreaking disappointment. We watched the Yankees languish and then claw their faces off to make it to the post-season. To have the ride end this way, with no offense and shit defense, is disgraceful.

(though still not as bad as the Mets, whew)

*read Karol's post too.

2007-10-08T09:46:00.000-04:00

~
Fat Lady On Hold:

Breathe. Pause. Pray.

Yesterday; third inning before I headed out to watch the game at a local bar, I was sitting on the sofa watching the game with my brother. The game was not going particularly well (every batter was getting a 3-2 count off Clemens, he'd allowed three runs, our offense was looking anemic; hitting into one double play per inning). I said to my brother;

"I feel nauseous, my body feels like one big heartbeat."

His reply?

"Oh yeah, welcome to the playoffs."

Indeed...good game guys. And another tonight, please!

*picture from NY Post

*pictures from NY Daily News

2007-10-06T00:25:00.000-04:00

~
Are You Fucking Kidding Me?!

Yeah... this could be going a lot better.

Swarms of bugs? What the hell is this? (and how does a stadium with a bug problem not plan for this? Nice little home advantage scumbags)

2007-09-26T23:26:00.000-04:00

~
Rooting Right Feels Right:

Clinchers:

GO YANKEES

Not so much clinchers:

2007-09-25T16:15:00.000-04:00

~
Mama's Boy?

Yesterday I told him I wasn't so sure we should keep seeing each other. I told him I didn't really feel us "going the distance". Just awful, I know this, but it's how I feel and despite all evidence to the contrary I really am trying to be better about speaking my mind and not expecting others to read it. That said; he was bothered.

He wanted to know why. How long had I felt this way. What could be done to change my mind. The fact is, as I told Hilary over IM earlier in the day, I'm just not sure I'm into him. I have reservations. And while I wouldn't be opposed to a wee bit more dating to see if I like him or not, I know it's awkward to ask to him to stick around and twiddle his thumbs while I decide. It's also so obnoxious, no? But obnoxious or not, it's how I feel. And I knew the risk I was running just mentioning it. But then again; he asked.

He asked where I saw us going. And despite the fact that he's cute and beyond sweet (I've had killer allergies for a few weeks now and for our second date he brought me tissues and Vicks nose spray - romantic? Not especially. Sweet and thoughtful? Very.) I just couldn't help but pay attention to things that were concerning me.

I've never claimed to be magnanimous. If anything I've claimed (quite honestly) that I am the antithesis of. I can be petty. I can be shallow. I can be erratic. (I can be good things too but who wants to hear about that, yawn). My "concerns" are definitely not all that deep. They aren't quite as stupid as "he roots for the wrong baseball team" (though, of course he does). Maybe they are. I don't know. I do know that he is far more serious about me than I am of him. He spelled out his seriousness yesterday.

When I asked him what he envisioned his life to be in five years he answered and I gulped. Hard.

"I see us married, living in Westchester, raising our two kids and maybe preparing them for the third."

Wow.

And how fucked up do I feel for what I'm thinking? Because I'm thinking he freaks me out by living at home. I mean who the fuck does that? For that reason alone I'd pretty much stop seeing him. Men, mark my words (go get paper and pen, it's important enough that I'll wait. No really. Go on. GO get the fucking pen and paper!!! OK. Thank you.) NO WOMAN WANTS A USELESS MAN. Not one. I swear it. We don't want a boy that comes directly from mommy. And lest you think I am being harsh, yes, he told me he's living at home so that he can save money for a home of his own. Admirable. However... he has never left home and he's 36. He didn't go away for college, he went to a commuter school. He never spent a summer at sleepaway camp. Who never leaves home? That creepy guy down the street who lives with his mom, has a lazy eye, collects McCall's Magazine, can't seem to tuck his shirt in and spooks the kids on the street who tell legendary tales about the time they swear they saw him eat a stray cat. That's who never leaves home. Sexy. So saving money is good, but seriously, 20ish years of saving should have been about enough time, don'tcha think? I mean, a little wanderlust, a need to get away, a chance to learn something about yourself - who has NO interest in any of that? I think something is a bit fishy. I don't really like it. Women aren't as complicated as men and magazines make us out to be. We want men who can tend to their own needs and have considered possibly tending to ours. Not a boy that is clueless on doing laundry, cooking a dish or two or taking care of himself. I don't mind doing that stuff (usually) but I certainly don't want to feel like I have to do because he can't. Every woman wants a MacGyver. Seriously, (some *ahem* hi Heather) even want THE actual MacGyver, but to some extent, every woman wants a capable guy, a guy who "gets shit done". I fear that this, is not that guy. Being sweet is important. Absofuckinglutely it is. But it isn't the only criteria. I need a little wit, I need a little creativity. I need a man and not a boy. But how do I find out what I'm dealing with? Short of secretly signing him up for Survivor and seeing what happens - I got nothing.

What say you all?

*UPDATE* ... and now he's dead (metaphorically but same difference). Now, onto the next disaster.

2007-09-25T15:16:00.000-04:00

~
My Boys of Post-Summer:

(Joba Chamberlin, Ian Kennedy, Shelley Duncan and Phil Hughes)

Suit up Cleveland, you're about to be rocked.

2007-09-19T14:00:00.000-04:00

~
Random (and certainly offensive) Thought:

If you're a pedophile, why wouldn't you just hook up with a midget? (I get that it's not the same, but it's pretty close and [more importantly] legal.)

2007-09-19T13:49:00.000-04:00

~
Random (and non-offensive) Thought:

One of you darling readers was sweet and kind enough to send me a new James Patterson book.

Well, just want you to know that my plan was to thank you (I am a bitch but one with manners) once I got the book and saw who sent it. But Amazon has yet to send it (for whatever reason) so I have no book and you have no thank you.

Just wanted you to know it isn't my bitch factor preventing me from properly thanking you - it's Amazon.

2007-09-09T19:58:00.000-04:00

~
Mostest Fun Summer Ever:

Because:

It was kicked off by an amazing trip to Montana, as a guest of the Jakes, along with Karol, Dawn and PN. Where we stayed in their insanely beautiful home and I experienced Yellowstone, my first rodeo and a Sawyer from ABC’s Lost sighting (hottest guy ever!Look!)

I spent an inordinate amount of time with my family, both in New Jersey and Connecticut. The same place in Connecticut where I had the most hilarious weekend of my life with Joe and his dog Tyler.

I dated my face off. M.J. who despite inviting me to Greece two weeks after we met, thought that maybe I was too into him. The friend of a friend, who after our first date spoke of lingering feelings and chemistry, but then spent the lackluster second date gushing over some random girl. Works Near Me guy who listed himself as 5’9” on Jdate but was, in actuality, two inches shorter than 5’4” me. Slips Into Faux Euro Accent guy who was nice enough but just so lame. And now we’ve met someone else new… we’ll see what happens there. No doubt it’ll be a fun story at some point. Hell, they all are and that’s just part of the fun.

Heather came back to NYC to visit! There were martinis, late nights out, champagne and filthy conversations were moderate sized groups at quality dining establishments – it was phenomenally fun.

I saw almost enough of Joe. Almost.

I attended Yankee games galore. And they won every single game I was at. How fun is that?

I didn’t lose any significant amounts of money playing poker.

I’m still digging my job. But hating the neighborhood.

I started watching Weeds after a co-worker lent me the first two seasons on dvd and I’m loving it and now all caught up and watching I on Showtime. I also picked up How I Met Your Mother (season one) at Target, to catch up on the episodes I missed by only watching the show sporadically this year. Absolutely hysterical. Last night I brought it over to Dawn so that she could enjoy it – it’s so her sense of humor.

Speaking of caught up, I have read an insane amount of the books that have been sitting on my bookshelf (though I still have several more to get to). I’ll just tell you about the ones I liked though; Tramps Like Us by Kristen Buckley. I just love the way she writes, the way she chooses to describe things – love her. She wrote The Parker Grey Show a few years ago and I thought surpassed well done – it rocked. I randomly picked up Dedication at the library awhile back and liked it so much that as soon as I finished it I picked up Citizen Girl at Borders. Jen Lancaster is a blogger, she runs a site called; Jennsylvania that’s pretty damn funny, butt she also has written two books that might be even funnier, this was her second one. Fun, light, summer reading. Though I also read some compelling murder mysteries as well. Good stuff.

Pretty much, this summer was all I would have asked for (male companionship not withstanding). I saw my family, my friends, my baseball team and several potential boys… maybe a boyfriend is just more of a summer 2008 thing.

2007-08-29T11:56:00.000-04:00

~
Joba Well Done:

Last night, I and 55 thousand (plus) other Yankee fans watched Joba Chamberlain perplex the Red Sux.

I did not know that a squirrel did too.

Can you blame him though? I know I loved watching Matsuzaka, Ortiz and Manny get totally shut down. Hopefully Karol gets to see something similar tonight.

Maybe more of this:

Go Yankees!!!

2007-08-21T00:42:00.000-04:00

~
Adventures in Dating:

It was the most reluctant date I'd ever been a party to. I just wasn't feeling it. Remotely. But I couldn't figure out how to get out of it so at 7pm I was on the phone with Heather and approaching the restaurant (pig; slaughter, prisoner; gallows, dramatic; me).

"Is it possible that I possess no self esteem and simultaneously too much self esteem?"

"Oh god, what have you done now?" Heather (sensibly) asked.

"Well the part where I possess no self esteem is just run of the mill me-ness. I go on dates I shouldn't be on, y'know. The too much self esteem is the part where I feel bad for the poor guy because I know I look good and it's just mean." What? Who am I? But at the very least I know I look significantly better then I did the first time he met me. So while I'm not setting any pavement on fire with my innate hotness I know that I look good for me. It's all relative.

"You're ridiculous. Cancel!"

"I can't," bereft "he's standing right in front of me."

"Sucks." Heather commiserates.

"Uh yeah." Because I'm the jackass stuck on this date.

As soon as we're seated he orders sake for us. I just stare at him for a second. The waitress does the same.

"I texted you, the restaurant is byob. You answered the text..."

He looks incredulous; "I thought you were kidding." Why would that be a joke? What is funny about that? This guy is weeeeeeird. I'm not getting an appetizer. Then he won't either and this will all move faster. He leaves to pick up a bottle of sake from the liquor across the street. I grab my phone and text Heather:

why would date have thought i was kidding when i told him restaurant was byob?

A second later she answers:

dump him NOW!

I can't. I wish I could but I'm not that girl.

I need to get off this date

She asks: Should I call with an emergency?

Can't so obvious no?

Sudden migraine? Could you throw up on him?

Uh yeah, I could. And I feel bad, because he's fine. He's nice, he's enthusiastic, he's just not the guy I'm going to kiss. He's too not. he's also randomly speaking in Britishisms and taking on their accent. What the fuck is this? I feel like Elliot Reid on a Scrubs date.

Could i ever

I wish i could help? Hmm. I don't know that a "?" denotes a genuine desire to help. I will kill her.

Oh god want OUT. hate you.

Ha! you do not

Fine. I may not hate Heather but I'm so jealous of her not being on my date that I sure do like her less. Just for now. And just for being a niblet smarter.

We get dinner. The restaurant is good and the food is fantastic and I barely even think it's weird that the 52 year old lady, that lives upstairs and swears my 28 year old brother is stalking her, is dining alone right next to us. Dining alone, not weird. Her thinking that my brother is stalking her, very motherfucking weird.

A little bit of sake makes date guy loud. Slightly uncomfortably so. There are two women dining together on the other side of us and every so often we get an odd glance from them. Yes, I think my date is too loud too. Yes, I wish he'd shut up. Please stop giving me dirty looks. We (I) empty the bottle of sake, more so me after I realize that I handle it better (hell, I'm being considerate) and he asks for the check. He hands her his credit card and she explains that they only take cash. Of course. He's off to the ATM now. More dirty looks from the ladies. Hate you. Both. Mollified I try to make nice, it's wrong to hate people for no reason. So I've heard.

I smile at them and say; "Sorry if we're being a little loud." One of the women actually sniffs!! I awkwardly continue; "In my next life I'll be the girl that sneaks out now." The Sniffer just glares at me. Is my date her son? What the fuck? Well, I reason, if I looked like her I'd be plenty pissy too.

Date returns and pays the bill. We take a short after-dinner walk during which he invites me to his friend's annual Labor Day gathering in New Hampshire. Oh dude. As I'm trying to figure out how to put an end to the date I feel a vibration in my pocket. It's a new friend.

"I have a tiny dark chocolate cake and two forks. See you?"

Well, I can't say no to dark chocolate.

2007-08-20T15:53:00.000-04:00

~
Spare Me (part 2):

Why is it that every first date I have been on in at least 5 months, has taken place at a sushi restaurant? Is there a manual of some sort that I haven't seen?

And yes, in case you hadn't guessed it, yours truly is having sushi tonight. Again.

2007-08-20T13:34:00.000-04:00

~
Spare Me:

When I tell you I "tivoed" it - I really just regular ol' taped it (yes, just like an Amish person) I simply don't feel like hearing the "tivo will save your soul" speech. Jehovah's Witnesses proselytize less.

2007-08-15T13:01:00.000-04:00

~
Like A Beaver:

So so busy. And I fucking love it.

Friday I was out of work early. My mom was having surgery, I was all worried and my boss closed up shop at 3pm which was just fantastic because I was fairly useless that day anyway. IMing with Heather, Karol, Hilary and Laura all day is insanely unproductive (yet, very fun and gossipy). So I went over to Macy's, bought a cute outfit and met the tattoo Jew for dinner, drinks and dessert though not all three took place in the same place. I want to not like him, but I can't help it. He has the best sense of humor and he totally gets me - yet; I still can't see it.

Saturday I woke up earlier than necessary and bused it out to NJ where I've been helping the parents empty out the old homestead. We spent hours in the basement going through all the scrawly, macaroni filled artwork and history that the parents of three children can amass. There were old birthday cards to reminisce over, love letters that my father wrote to my mom (in hebrew), letters from my great-grandfather to a 3 and 4 year old me. Yes, I cried when I read them. I never knew they existed, I adored my great-grandfather (who I called Daddy Ben) he died when I was in third grade.

I now offer you a rarity - a picture of me. Of four generations of my family and especially; my Daddy Ben:

(My grandma, [her father] my great-grandfather, two year old me on his lap, my smoking hot 29 year old mom - and yes, the fact that it is 1974 accounts for the awesome sparkly butterfly wallpaper - god bless Fort Lauderdale)

I am now walking around with some of them and toying with the idea of framing them. When I was in college, my normally non-demonstrative father wrote me the sweetest letter - it is now framed on my dresser and I love seeing it everyday - I think I feel the same way about these). There were old report cards, baseball cards (a Barry Bonds rookie card, a Jeter rookie card) and then I found another letter addressed to me. The letter was in Hebrew, I managed to read quite a bit of it but I couldn't figure out who it was from. I asked my mom and she said "oh, your dad's sister". Oh, my Aunt Jacqueline, fair enough. But then she added "Look Jack, Celestine wrote Ari a letter".

"Celestine?" My brother and I look at each other for a minute. Who the hell is Celestine??

"My sister." Says dad.

"Dad, your sister's name is Jacqueline - who is Celestine?"

"My other sister. My half sister. There was a half brother Charles too. Ah... they're probably dead by now."

Right. So, at 35 years old I find out I have another aunt. And uncle. And that my dad gets stranger everyday.

Later that day, my brother and I headed over to Target (Mecca) and I bought about $150 of stuff, had it rung up and bagged when I realized my credit card was still at home, perched happily on my bookcase. Fuck!! So I (choicelessly) abandoned Target, drove back into the city and met a friend for a few drinks before going home and passing out.

Sunday I spent the day in CT where I got a lovely tan, wrote a ton and finally bought those items from (a different) Target.

Monday I met a jdate guy for drinks after work. He was fine and I stayed out a little later than I had intended. We're supposed to have dinner Friday night but I just emailed to see if we can do another night because I'm very protective of my weekend time (and there's a poker game I want to be in/at) and I'm not so sure he's a Friday night yet. He's definitely a weeknight at the moment - I'm not even sure about a Thursday. If I'm spending precious weekend time with you, you ought to be worth it, and so far... this has not been a summer of weekend dates.

Tuesday my bestest Joe came over afterwork. We smoked, drank and talked - it got a little heavy and then not so. I love my Joetime. You really don't know. After Joe left my brother and I decided to broach the issue of the living room lights which simply ceased to work about two or three days ago. I went to a hardware store, bought a new switch and together brother and I set out to remedy the darkness. We turned the power off, unscrewed the current switch and connections, rewired and reattached the connections, turned the power back on, hit the swotch and voila!! We did it! We made the light work and neither of us were electrocuted - it was a very exciting evening.

Wednesday Heather is coming to town and staying with me for a few days and I cannot wait! I have missed her terribly and I just feel badly for my brother as she and I will be beyond irritating to him. We have a serious Elliot Stabler jones to fix. Much gossiping to do and chocolate chip cookies to bake (brother will enjoy that aspect for sure).

Thursday Heather and I are having dinner with Laura (ah yes, the triumverate). We haven't been together in way too long.

Friday I'll bail on jdate guy and go to Brooklyn.

So that's my week in a nutshell. Saturday I may try to recover during the day so I can go out cavorting at night. Sunday I have to be back in NJ for a "farewell house party" that my parents are hosting.

It may be my last chance to smoke on the roof.

2007-08-09T11:54:00.000-04:00

~
Bigger:

I was going to post (again) about men and dating (again) and I even had a question all ready for you to opine over (again). But I'm not in the mood right now. Seems my mom has to have a non-routine, non-not-big-deal surgery tomorrow (in other words, it sort of is a slightly big deal - are you not fluent in AriSpeak yet?! Get with it people!) and I'm quite preoccupied with trying not to freak the fuck out.

So please, even if you hate me and wish me eternal dissatisfaction, please think good thoughts for my mom who is the sweetest and is even nice to assholes.

**UPDATE** Mom is home, feeling awesome and back to driving me nuts - thanks all of you. Really.

2007-08-06T16:17:00.000-04:00

~
It's More Than the Pot:

As Karol's post just reminded me - this is plainly hilarious. I'd gotten little sleep the night before and had a long Sunday but this clip... well, it brought up the laugh reserves that I thought had gone to sleep for the night.

2007-08-03T18:01:00.000-04:00

~
One Word:

I swiped this from Joe Grossberg’s MySpace page.

You. Can. Only. Type. One. Word.

Not as easy as you might think.

1. Where is your cell phone? Pocket
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend? Imaginary
3. Your hair? Dark
4. Work? Paycheck
5. Your father? Inspirational
6. Your favorite thing? Loves
7. Your dream last night? Sad
8. Your favorite drink? Coffee
9. Dream car? Pickup
10. The room you're in? Cozy
11. Your pet? Dogs
12. Your fears? Loss
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Happy
14. Where did you hang out last night? Bed
15. What you're not good at? Restraint
16. Eyebrow rings on the preferred sex? Juvenile
17. One of your wish list items? Books
18. Where you grew up? Brooklyn
19. The last thing you did? Typed
20. What are you wearing? Clothes
21. What aren't you wearing? Sombrero
22. The website GoofyAuctions.com (filled with eBay spoofs)? Unfamiliar
23. Your computer? Purposeful
24. Your life? Mine
25. Your mood? Relaxed
26. Missing? Riches
27. What are you thinking about right now? Weekend
28. Your car? Pipedream
29. Your work? Office
30. Your summer? Exhilarating
31. Your relationship status? Freebird
32. Your favorite color? Orange
33. When is the last time you laughed? Tonight
34. Last time you cried? July
35. School? Excelled

2007-07-30T21:10:00.000-04:00

~
Blinded By The Like:

As a (perennially) single girl, I’ve often been asked;

What’s your type?

And after all these years, I still don’t really have an answer.

There is no common thread between the boys/men I’ve thus far dated. No really, there isn’t.

In no specific order there was the emotionally unavailable Deadhead. The older guy (I was a junior in high school, he was a sophomore in college) who was too available (he uhm… cried. With abandon - I don’t do tears well, not even my own). The too much guy who asked me to marry him the night I met him. The too unavailable for a relationship man who dwelled with his girlfriend. The slightly younger guy who was still too immersed in his recently vacated collegiate existence. The player who was busy swearing he wanted a relationship but was still way too out there.

The only commonality between them is the “too”. Too much, too little, too there, too gone.

One had reddish hair, one was blonde, one was covered in tattoos the way one other was covered in hair (really, he was a fucking Monchichi), one had a beard, one was over six feet and another was barely skimming five foot seven. I mean, aesthetically there is no “type” to be found here. The deadhead never wore a pair of jeans that weren’t ripped to shreds, tattoo boy was uber fond of the sleeveless t-shirt, redhead always looked like he was off to The Club to play a round, beard was all about the Alex P. Keaton blazer and polo look, blonde restricted his wardrobe to a scant four colors (blue, black, grey and white).

So it’s not about packaging. They weren’t all Jewish. They weren’t all the same height. They didn’t all smoke. They weren’t all faithful. They all weren’t even all that bright. The only thing they actually all have in common is … me.

And today on the busride home from work my little peabrain started to wander and it landed on this guy I’ve been thinking about on occasion. From there it was an easy little slide on over to... what he hell it is that leads me to the ones I kiss? Repeatedly?

They may have nothing in common but the relationships I’ve had with them, well that’s a different story. Here’s the thread of consistency that a little applied thought made clear to me. At the start of every single one, I completely went blind. Blind to little things that I so should have noticed. Things that other girls would notice and walk away from. It’s always taken me a longer to catch on. And honestly, I’m really not a short-bus girl. It isn’t stupidity. It’s some sort of mélange of a crush and hysterical blindness. And it’s fucking obvious, screaming out shit that I’m blind to.

He was obviously:
an addict and please, I’d have been happy it had been mere pot
clingy to the point where eventually he would have gone crazy
not ready
a risk junkie, not in the cool skydiving way but in the bad lose one's rent sort of way
never going to be truthful/faithful/trustworthy

And I let it all slide. Eh, it's not like I've been tortured. In their own ways they were all fun. And I've learned from each, most of which I wouldn't take back, even knowing now what I didn't then.

But hey, at least I’m learning. No matter how late in the game (so late). And that's got to count for something.

Right?

*Update* so I get into work this morning and I have an email from some genderless individual (I'm guessing a male). He opines that it's painfully obvious that I am too picky, and am also most likely, fat, ugly and in possession of many cats. I email back and retort:

Picky?! Dude, I'm talking about a man to sleep with and one day (possibly) a man to procreate with. ie: a man that I will forever be attached to in some way. I should be picky. It's not like I'm talking about picking up a yogurt for breakfast or a book off the shelf. And yes, to answer your other astute observations, I am fat. And dear lord am I ugly, but god dammit, my dog is not a cat.

2007-07-25T23:28:00.000-04:00

~
Fine, But My Dog Is Not A Cat:

Today, Gawker posted a ‘how do you know you’re/she’s single’ list. I present it (with my commentary) below:

• Piles of magazines everywhere, comprised of tons of pretentious ones that are clearly untouched and then severely thumbed-through Vogues and Luckys (at least I don’t have the faux highbrow ones!)

• Overflowing shoe rack and nothing in the fridge (both shoe rack and fridge are overflowing. Thanks Stew Leonards!)

• Scented candles (duh, am disgusting, villainous smoker)

• Slovenly heaps of little-used makeups in the bathroom (nope, it’s stashed on my desk in a lovely little box)

• Stuffed animals in the bed (just the one that breathes)

• Cat hair on the furniture (breathing dog!)

• Cat smell (dog again!)

• Cabinets full of mugs featuring the likeness of lady who looks like those hypertrophically-
limbed Daily Candy illustrations, bearing the legend "I Love Shopping" or whatnot (not unless they mean that (ONE of) Ariel from The Little Mermaid, because yeah, I have that mug the rest of them are plain)

• Anything pink (some panties? Lipgloss? Pillowcases and gingham sheets? Check. Check. Check.)

• Ornamental pillows (yeah, so not me ever)

• Unedited bookshelves, esp. if they include He's Just Not That Into You or anything along those lines (rows of Jane Green, Marian Keyes and other books with high heels – equally scary, I'm sure)

• Nair (am I a philistine? It’s called getting waxed at the salon)

• Lite cottage cheese in the fridge (no, but my zero percent, strained Greek yogurt can’t be much better)

• Anything lite or diet around. Cases of Diet Coke. Weight Watchers 'Just 2 Points' bars (3 half cases of diet coke lay prone on the kitchen floor as I type)

• Inspirational or thinspirational things on the fridge (my fridge isn’t magnetic, not that I’d have them there anyway. The fridge door is for offensive materials only, like the ad I used to have that read 'impotence is optional' because, no. It's so not an option. Might as well learn that early on.)

• Framed posters (yep, two and they're highly collegiate ones. I still love ‘em. Fuck you.)

Scary huh?

2007-07-23T00:02:00.000-04:00

~
And Oh, There Were Bats!

Holy god, what a weekend.

What a weekend.

Holy.

God.

For weeks now, Joe and I have been planning a weekend in CT. This past weekend was it and we were both retardedly excited. Here is how it went:

FRIDAY NIGHT - I pulled up outside Joe’s place at precisely 7:38pm and he was waiting curbside with his puppy and his belongings. We piled everything into the car, drove down John Street and hopped on the FDR heading north. Quite possibly the first thing Joe said was; “wow, you were on time! When you said 7:30-8:00, I thought you meant 9!” See? My status as a person-who-is-always-late is unquestioned. Progress. The drive up to Near-Danbury was totally uneventful. We played name that tune and sang along with the ipod (at the moment I only remember us singing along with the Divinyl’s, but obviously there were others, maybe Joe will remind me in the comments. Ahem). There wasn’t much traffic and we made it there in the hour and a half that I predicted. All good.

We get to the house and let ourselves in. I give Joe the tour, we hang out for a bit and then we go out back to smoke a bowl on the patio. We’re out there smoking and gossiping. We must have been out there for hours before I decided to dart back in and grab a drink (oh, we were gossiping, smoking and drinking – shut up, it’s not like we were watching small kids, handling hypodermic needles and driving tractors. Wow, you guys are judgmental).

“Oh no.”

“Oh no?”

“Oh no, when the door closed, it locked!”

“Oh no!!”

“Oh yes.”

“FUCK!”

“Oh yes.”

First we ransack the great outdoors looking for the spare key that my parents keep at the house. Or, should I say; kept? We look everywhere and come up with nothing. It’s not in the light fixtures, under the doormat or any rocks, it’s not over any doors or windows. It isn’t near the backup generator or hiding under the garbage cans. Joe, needlessly guilt ridden, starts trying to scale the house hoping to slip in through a window. We don’t stop to think that if Joe fails to get into the house and only, say, breaks his leg, we’re so much more fucked. I think it’s safe to say that Joe and I did not enjoy a Socraticly cerebral weekend. So he’s trying to Spiderman the house, I’m still scouring the grounds for a key and we finally decide to give up and smash a basement window.

How impressed am I that my parents have shatterproof glass? Very. And I simultaneously hate them. The brilliance of shatterproof glass and the idiocy of no hidden key. They’re like Polish geniuses.

The obvious thing to do is go over to our neighbors to check if they have an extra key.

If only it weren’t 2:30 in the morning and if only my neighbors were in their 20’s instead of their 70’s.

So we relent, and sag down onto the steps, having been utterly defeated by a house. We accept that we will have to sleep outside (because we are stupid) and that we will be bitten to death (CT is The Mosquito State, right? Right.). But then, Joe has a tourette’s moment of brilliance and says;

“Well, it won’t just be us, we have the bats to keep us company.”

THEWHATTHEFUCK?!?!?

Yes dear readers. There are bats in CT. Specifically in the trees on and near our property. Bats.

We moved from the back of the house to the front and finally flag down my neighbors on their way home. They find a ladder and get us back into the house. At 3:30am.

And the neighbors looked like lunatics. Joe and I were fairly certain they were running a meth lab out of their basement. The woman was about 12 seconds away from picking at the invisible centipedes crawling up and down her bony arms and her husband looked like he belonged on the bathroom floor of the Boar’s Nest with Daisy Duke prancing around just outside the door.

But the second I saw Joe’s legs disappear over the ladder and through the window, I loved Mr. and Mrs. Methlab. Loved them so much that Sunday Joe and I ran over to Target and bought them a gift card.

SATURDAY - Joe misplaces his stash of pot. Not wanting my parents to be the finders keepers, we commence Operation Ransack again. This time inside the house opposed to the day before’s outdoor ransacking.

By 6pm I realize I never want to be a search and rescuer and I am bored witless of looking for shit.

We take a break and go to Stew Leonard’s as Joe has never had the “experience” and the house is devoid of anything edible. After buying $100 worth of food and watching Joe shoplift one item just for kicks we go home. And start looking again. Not a damn thing. And we’re beyond frustrated so we take yet another break and I clean up a little while Joe cooks us the most delicious dinner! Steak, corn and asparagus. Too good to describe. We chow down and Joe has his cherry-popping viewing of one of my favorite guilty pleasures; St. Elmo’s Fire. He’d never seen it before. I’m not sure how. We stayed up until 5am, hanging out on the patio and having one more of our infamous late night talkfests. By the time we went inside the sun was starting to emerge. But still not the pot.

SUNDAY – we get up around noon and neaten up the house even further (such is my responsibility as the daughter of HouseNazi’s). We look for Joe’s pot a little more (because I am absolutely terrified that my HouseNazi’s, er, parents, will manage to unearth what has eluded Joe and I for a full day). Still empty handed and now, finally, resigned. It’s gone. One day I’ll have to explain myself to my parents and that’s pretty much that. Awe. Some. Or, not. The house all tidy and pristine, we go outside, load the car up and I do a final check before I set the alarm (I will subsequently discover that in addition to looking for things, alarm setting is not my forte). The alarm has a hair-trigger and instead of setting it, I set it off. I go outside to call my brother and see what he knows about alarm setting when I see Joe’s bag of pot just sitting on the small garden wall near the front door.

WHATTHEFUCK.

We looked there. We looked everywhere but in the back of each other’s eyesockets! We’re so damn glad though that we don’t even question it (much). I do something with the alarm (I think it was set, who knows) and hop into the car.

The battery is dead.

The battery is dead.

Of fucking course it is!!

We head over to the neighbors, they have no jumper cables. I am now forced to go to the house on the other side. No big deal, except last summer my parents and the neighbors went all Hatfield and McCoy because of an errant kids toy and oh, because my parents are idiots.

Luckily, there’s another family renting the neighbor’s house and they not only agree to give us a boost, but they give me the keys to their brand new Lexus and merely ask that we jump the battery ourselves and return the car by dinner, because they are sitting down to lunch.

(Note to readers; if you want access to a house that you don’t own and a free new Lexus, you should hook up with my neighbors in CT, they’re just giving that stuff away.)

I drive their car over to the house and as Joe turns the key in our ignition, the dead battery summons a tiny pocket of life and springs back into action. The dead battery? Dead no more, it seems. We return the car and leave CT before we accidentally burn the house down or reintroduce the plague.

(And obviously, the version my parents will hear will be strictly PG-13. The late night smoke that got us locked out will be changed to a dog walk. It will have happened at 10pm vs. midnight. And the pot will become a wallet.)

Best parts?

Despite everyfuckingdamnthing Joe and I never argued or snipped at each other, not once. Joe brought along his dog who was far better behaved than the two of us. I found a great parking spot immediately. And Joe and I both learned that we have a lot more practice to do before we go to Israel together someday. If this past weekend was any indication, we’re not quite ready to go international yet.

2007-07-19T01:18:00.000-04:00

~
The Just About Nadir:

"I wanted to know a little about you" he said on our way for a drink, "so I read some of your blog".

You mean the part where I was summarily dumped on my ass? Celibate for a year? Slept with one guy before I dated another just to get it out of my system? The part where I describe violent acts carried out on my ahem by gynecological practitioners? Uhm... dammit? Crap?!?!

And just as I was trying to determine what level of mortal embarrassment I was at, and how preferable tripping and ending up face first, skirt over head, on Water Street might be; my shoe strap broke.

2007-07-09T12:35:00.000-04:00

~
Just Like in Heathers; A Lunchtime Poll:

Turns out that while he might be Tall, he’s also very very small.

*Tallman put a (classy) end to our courtship on Friday. Two hours before the Yankee game that we were to attend he IMed me this nonsensical crap:

*TallAsshole: there's something on my mind
Me: ok. share.
*TallAsshole: i dont know that i can go to the game with you tonight. i am afraid to say that i'm not feeling the way i should about this (whatever this is)

So despite the fact that it was him who invited himself over Friday night, and despite the fact that whereas I never spoke of the future he did little else, it was my ragingly-lustful-towards-him-feelings that scared him off. Wow, dude. Way to inflate your own head. I guess that when he talked about the future I was supposed to cut him off? Maybe I should have laughed in his face when he told me he’d never liked a girl as much or as fast as he liked me. Maybe I should have gone to his office and splashed a carafe of ice cold water in his face? He was busy planning things for us to do in the future and I was focused on getting to know him in the present. He would tell me how much he liked me, he’d ask if I felt the same and I always answered the same way;

“I am enjoying getting to know you.”

But he wasn’t sure he could match my feelings. Like I ever even shared them. Like 20 years of dating hasn’t fucking taught me that much. So, even classier than Berger and his Sex and the City post-it was *TallAsshole and his IM. He thought he was being honorable. I mentioned that in my world honorable involves face to face and not over IM two hours before a date (certainly not one that he kept telling me he couldn’t wait to be on). He maintained that he wasn’t dating anyone else and that he couldn’t explain a complete 180.

Just Friday morning (mere hours before our date) he IMed me;

*TallAsshole: i'm looking forward to tonight and the weekend in general which will make today fairly great either way, I’m excited to bring you to the game, have fun and try to resist kissing you. At least until the seventh inning stretch when I can’t promise not to lean over and kiss you. After that, we can get a bite and then I’m just going to look forward to seeing your face first thing in the morning.

I had already told him that the night would be PG-13 at best but he swore he didn’t mind.

At this point I can’t even fathom what was true and what wasn’t. I did not invite him over. I did not plan to sleep with him though I thought I would eventually. I was definitely attracted to him. And sure, maybe it's ego talking here but I blame myself for one thing only. I should have listened less to what he was saying and focused more on how he was acting. Had I remembered that at their cores men tend to lie more than any women I know, I would have ignored what he said and taken his behavior into consideration. But I didn't. I lost my head a little bit and I believed what he said at face value because I forgot the way these things go and dammit - because in part, I guess I wanted to. I would love to date men in a world where dating men wasn't worse than; having your asshole waxed and bleached (not that I'd know), delivering a baby through your cornea, having your wisdom teeth removed by cavemen, eating off the subway tracks.

He claimed to have felt badly about calling off our date a mere two hours before it was to happen. Whatever buddy. I told him I’d leave the ticket with my doorman and he could pick it up. He said that since he felt bad he’d give me the other one instead. He told me to bring whoever I wanted and enjoy myself. Him taking himself out of the equation made that a little difficult though.

But, I took the ticket and went to the game because fuck him. FUCK HIM. Why shouldn’t I go out and have a fun night and why shouldn’t he be deprived of one. The seats actually were amazing, the Yankees had a sick game and I hope *TallAsshole regretted missing it as much as I know he will regret missing out on me. (Though I am sure that in some circles, completely hair-covered men who live at home [albeit temporarily] and have limited social graces are all the rage).

Now here’s where the lunchtime poll takes effect:

I have discussed this with several people.

I think he deserves nothing from me. Not a fucking thing. Aside from scurvy or lyme disease, which sadly I cannot give him. When he offered the ticket to my brother I thanked him on behalf of my brother. That was the last thing I said to him before deleting him from my IM list and shutting down my computer.

My mother thinks I should send him a very brief email saying thank you - she's inherently sweet and very big on manners. (I maintain that I did that and I have no further obligations.)

My father thinks I should have brought him to CT anyway. So we could drown him in the lake. (I am so my father’s daughter - wow!)

Friends have fallen on both sides of the fence.

So… out of curiosity, I wonder what you guys, my readers, think.

What would you do if you were in my flip-flops? (Truth be told I really do not see myself having any further interactions with this jackass, but I’m still a little curious as to your opinions)

(*and oh!!! As Heather would say; the name has been changed to protect an asshole named MJ who still lives at home with his Daddy.)

2007-07-04T15:39:00.000-04:00

~
From Me to You:

HAPPY JULY 4TH

2007-07-01T20:38:00.000-04:00

~
Chris Wants to Play Tag:

First, the rules:

The Rules are: Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

Now, between you and me, I completely recall having done this before but Chris asks so little of me I‘m sure I can come up with 8 more bits of weirdness in regards to myself. Let’s see:

1. I am (almost) never on time no matter where I’m headed.

2. I have a near pathological dislike of the dentist. Not a specifically cruel dentist either, just the general, painful profession of dentistry.

3. Few things make me as happy as throwing garbage away. I love to tidy up and toss extraneous things that I possess. Yet, my apartment is habitually debris strewn. I cannot account for that discrepancy.

4. Despite my status as a lifelong New Yorker I am constantly being confronted with streets I never knew existed. Latest example; Thames Street in the financial district.

5. I am so anal, that when I put silverware in the dishwasher, I put them in groups (big spoons together, small forks together – you get the idea, oy, I’m not well people).

6. If there’s any substance to those “just say no” ads, then I probably smoke enough pot to single handedly fund two terrorists. Annually.

7. I can never get out of bed the first time the alarm goes off. It's always on that second trill that I'll finally get moving.

8. The other night, after dinner with Tallman, we were at my apartment making out with the Yankee game on in the background. We’re kissing away when, with bases loaded, A-Rod came up. He hit it deep to left field and we simultaneously stopped kissing (yet kept our mouths attached – weird, I am aware) to hear if Michael Kay would call the homerun. It was caught on the warning track and we went back to what we were doing. But man if we didn’t appreciate one another’s sports fanaticism.

The rules of this meme direct me to tag eight other people. Can we call it even at 4? I say yes.

1. Crazy Dawn eats these up. (By the way, have we all noticed that Dawn and Karol never comment here anymore? Clearly I've been blacklisted. Well I've decided that I will not even look at Dawn's Amazon wishlist until I get a comment from her greedy ass. Let's see how long it takes her to notice.)
2. I feel like Plantation might have something to say on the matter.
3. The L will probably have fun with this.
4. And I think Ron probably wants to share some weirdness.

Now, remind me to post about being picked up by an "exotic dancer". Eeeeeew!

2007-06-30T15:17:00.000-04:00

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Because I'm In The Mood To Post:

...but not yet about last night's date with Tallman which went very well and was quite fun. And completely PG-13. And not about the Yankee game which is on tv rightthisverysecond and progressing dismally. Not about the pervading smell of dead mouse emanating from somewhere within the walls of my apartment (horrifying and so odorous). Not about Joe's very exciting 30th birthday bash taking place later tonight (mainly because it's a secret and to which Tallman may accompany me and by extension meet [and be evaluated by] Joe). So instead I'll give you this, which I saw on a friends's MySpace page and thought; fun time waster!

Your Name:
Ari

Famous Artist/Band/Musician:
Aretha Franklin

4 letter word:
Ally

Vehicle:
Automobile

TV Show:
Alice

Boy Name:
Andrew

Girl Name:
Amanda

Occupation:
Anesthesiologist

Something you wear:
Argyle socks

Celebrity:
Andrew Shue

Food:
Asparagus

Something found in a kitchen:
Aluminum foil

A Reason for Being Late:
Alarm clock didn’t go off

Cartoon Character:
Alvin (& The Chipmunks)

Something You Shout:
Attention!

2007-06-28T15:11:00.000-04:00

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Feelin' Hot Hot Hot:

Today (like yesterday and the day before) is disgusting. Sweaty and fetid, like Rosie O'Lunatic's crotch I'd bet. If not slightly breezier.

Normally I'd be enraged. A moody, sullen bitch, prone to obnoxious outbursts and uncalled for elbowing of fellow straphangers. I mean, it's hot and foul and I'm not even going to discuss the shit that are my NY Yankees (for shame boys, for fucking shame, have you no damn pride? Power? Pinstripes?) Only...

I'm not sure where the bitch went. Maybe she went away for the summer? I couldn't really say. The girl left in Moody Bitch's place though... well she's certainly interesting. I mean me, obvs.

I am massively digging my new job with my virtually pre-teen bosses. Last week we hung Bert (in effigy until we can get Windows Vista to heed our commands). We have nerf basketball championships and if I ever have to dress up (my boss wears shorts) I might die of shock. Arrival and departure times are of little to no consequence as long as it's close and the work gets done. Last week when I told someone they "live a nerfy life" it was my boss that raced online so we could recall which 'The Office' character said that to Michael Scott (Daryl from shipping, in case you care). It's a great environment and possibly one of the better situations I've managed to insert myself in.

I have been spending quite a bit of time with aforemention delightful tall man. Oddly, the more I learn the more I like. And his neat facial hair isn't scratchy at all. I'll need a better moniker than that but eh... let me not get ahead of myself. Our first date was a walk in the park with my dog serving as chaperone and after that I had to immediately race downtown to Joe's to gush. (since then there have been dinners and entire days whiled away on IM. This weekend is shaping up to be rather full of him and next week we're headed to Yankee Stadium - please fellas, wake up by then!) Yes. Gush. Me. Never happened before. I think poor Joe was scared that I took a turn for insane.

But nope. I just met a boy that I like. Go fucking figure.

And no, I didn't watch Paris Hilton on Larry King, as I told Joe, my opinion of Paris is that if she were just slightly smarter, she could be retarded.

And for no other reason than this is one of my most favorite clips in the world (from the BBC Coupling):

2007-06-20T22:58:00.000-04:00

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(Literally) The Best Laid Plans:

I’ve been rolling this post around for months. Hand to god. MONTHS. I wanted to write about it but I really couldn’t figure out how. I would email L; I want to write about it, I mean, lord knows I have nothing fucking else to write about but I can’t get it going. She would try to help me and then we’d wander off and end up emailing about the patheticness of Britney, the retardation that is Paris, the burgeoning demise, if not death, of Lindsay. Heather tried to help, and yet; no matter what wall I threw it to it wouldn’t fucking stick. I had the title. That’s it, the title and not one other word. My brain has never been so closed off to thought – eh, maybe when I took the SATs. The title was going to be “Vag Mahal” - L and I were equally entertained by that. Ok so! I’m sitting here, trying to figure out how to tell the internet this “big thing” when like all good plans… it all went to hell.

Two weeks ago I was going to tell you that I’m a virgin.

Well… not really a virgin in the Virgin Mary or Queen Elizabeth sense but in a born again sort of way. Internet, I had not had sex in a full year. Plus. How do you like that shit? It’s deranged, ain’t it. It’s beyond words really. Maybe now you can see why/how I was literally rendered wordless. Me. Wordless.

I’m tempted to say it was ghastly. It was awful! It was worse than what happened to that young girl in Amsterdam back in the 1940’s! But eh, what, short of imprisonment, is really all that bad? Precious little. It wasn’t that bad. And oh, I was also scared to death of my vagina. Motherfucking horrified. You may remember that when we last spoke of it, my girl parts were under scrutiny and duress. I’d been surgerized and I was miserable. Well I’m mortified to say that while my ahem… parts healed quite nicely, the rest of me moved a bit slower.

First, I had weeks then months of insomnia and nightmares. Then, I became overcautious, I had to be extremely careful. I couldn’t let just anyone going romping around in there after what I’d dealt with. Then no one was good enough. Then I realized I had lost my mind and I was just not ready, I hadn’t really ruminated over what had happened, the whys and hows. In case I never mentioned it, I’d (apparently and carelessly) slept with a man who wasn’t clean, that in turn sullied me and I ended up being cut up by surgeons one fine morning. Dating is fun!!! Heh.

And then I spent an afternoon in Connecticut with my parents. My dad was down on the dock fiddling with the boat and my mom and I were on chaise lounges on the grass watching waterskiers speed by. ~~She was nagging me to death~~. We were talking about me dating. We were talking about her and my dad dating, my brothers, the neighbors and my parents were just so fucking cute and fun that day I knew if I ever wanted them and possible grandchildren to enjoy each other I’d have to get a move on. And that means dating. So the following Monday, during lunch, I put myself back out there (Hello jDate; my evil nemesis – I’m baaack).

So I’m on jDate a few hours when I get an interesting email.

“Well, you sure look familiar.” And so did he. Two Saturdays ago, we met up again and just like that… born yet again. All (fantastic) four times. But as fun as he is, I just don't see him as a long term prospect. Even though he called before he left for 30 days in Israel and asked if he can see me when he gets back. I've dealt with him before, and before I was ditched for a single mom (not that single moms are bad). Understand, I felt I needed to be normal with sex before I could date again. I know, that reads a little weird but unless I got the sex part out of the way it was going to be the 500lb gorilla on the date. I was scared I might lose my mind and rape my date - it'd been over a year -there was no telling what I'd do. That said, I have no plans on behaving like this on future dates. Duh. So with one need met, I went back to jDate to see what else they could do for me.

I was going to write a lot more but I changed my fickle little pea brain. For now I’ll say this, he’s very tall, has incredibly attractive eyes, loves dogs and the Yankees and Thursday night he’s taking me for sushi. Our second date.

2007-06-19T16:24:00.000-04:00

~
How Helen Keller Felt?

I have so much to write about and not a second in which to write/type any of it. And the longer it takes me to post the more the stories amass. So if you know how I can blog while not near a pc please do tell (I need a Blackberry, don't I?). I'm dying to dish with you guys.

If this is added incentive, there are men and tales of kissing.

2007-06-10T14:31:00.000-04:00

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Dorky Goodness:

Called the "world's largest dairy store" by Ripley's Believe It or Not, this is the market by my parent's place in CT. This place is like Disneyland for groceries. There are animatronic singing displays, food samples everywhere and insanely cheap prices. There's a petting zoo on the grounds and a picnic style BBQ tent out back. Karol, PN, Lisa and I stopped for a delicious BBQ lunch on our way back to NYC after a weekend in CT awhile back.

And in case you think the kitsch aspect is overhyped... (the voices you hear in/on the clip are mine and my brother's)

2007-05-31T00:41:00.000-04:00

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Greg:

A lonnnnnng time ago I met a guy named Greg. Greg was, on paper, about 85% of what I look for in a fella. Jewish. Not objectionable looking. Bears no ill will towards his family. Likes kids, dogs and the Yankees. Great sense of humor, gives and gets sarcasm. Smokes pot (and not the crappy backyard brown shit). Has a great job that he loves. You know; the important shit.

So we went out a bunch of times, did what young people do. We went to a few more games, out for some drinks and dinners, went to my parents empty house to hang out and see some stars, shopped, walked around, had deservedly sub par sex in my office. And then his hedge fund transferred him to China. China! He’d lived there before and he liked it. As far as I could tell that was the end of that. And it was. I went on and dated other jackasses and he… well he ate a lot of chicken fried rice and whatever else an American in China does.

And then, two years or so later, he was back.

He still looked good. I looked better. It was on. We started up again. Couple-y ~~crap~~ things all over Manhattan, ridiculous amounts of text messaging, rounds of work-time emails, you know the drill. I knew he’d moved into a new apartment since he got back to the city and naturally I eventually asked to see it (of course by then I was surprised he hadn’t invited me himself – yes, it did seem fishy at the time but what can I say? He was an 85%-er! Yes, I’m aware I am/was pathetic. Moving along….)

Internet; I shit you not. Greg turned to me, and the way a stranger says “4:15” when you ask for the time, he said, “oh, I just moved in with someone.” When he even had the time, I’ll never know. I guess he was just incredibly efficient in matters of time management. We were at a bar on the Upper East Side at the time and I remember I just stood up and walked away. What was I going to say? The conversation had gotten too boring to have. One. More. Time. I should wear a mini cassette player around my neck. I should have that thing that Ferris Bueller created that just regurgitates my parts of the conversation where necessary.

All of this was well over a year ago.

What was not well over a year ago was his incessant calling and texting. And when I say incessant, I’m not trying to flatter myself, this guy would text me 40 times in a day. He was never threatening – never. It was sad, yet flattering. But it was ridiculous. And it had to stop. I changed his i.d. on my cell phone so that instead of “Greg,” when he called it read “filthy cheat.” I gave him a distinct ring so that I’d know when to not even bother budging towards the phone (phone and I are usually located in separate rooms). I kept telling him avoiding him and it didn’t click. I’d be bitchy and he’d tell me that was hot. The meaner I got the more it turned him on. A mommy’s boy with issues? Not my problem. It was enough that I detected the problem and knew to run, I’m not a therapist and I’m not inclined to care. I tried freezing him out, he called just as much. Re. Lentless.

One night; a few weeks ago, I felt my phone vibrate as I made my way to the 4 to catch a poker game in Brooklyn. Thinking it was Karol I answered. It was Greg. Of course it was. Now, he’d called before and I’d accidentally answered before. But when I did that I’d hang up immediately. This time I didn’t.

“Greg, you need to leave me alone. You need to stop calling me.”

He did the “can’t live without you” shit. The “I’ll do anything to have you in my life” shit. He sounded like any old Wednesday on Days of Our Lives. Sami talking to herself about Austin/Lucas, whichever, while he stands a scant foot and a half behind her. So damn predictable. I knew every line before it left his mouth.

I got to the poker game late. I spent at least 15 to 20 minutes on the phone with him, pacing up and down Lexington Avenue. I’d tried ignoring him. I’d tried being so mean he’d have no choice but to go away. Since none of it worked, I had to try a genuine appeal.

“I’ll give you anything you want.” He pleaded.

“Greg,” if I was going to go for niceness I was going to be wading through uncharted territory. Nice and I, we don’t bump into each other all that often. “There’s nothing I want from you.”
“Of course there is.”
“No. There isn’t.”
"Ari..."
"Greg, there is nothing you can offer me. There is nothing innately yours that I can't find in someone else. You need to go away."

He went through at least 17 rounds of bargaining. He’d be my “slave”. He’d buy me things. I could set all the rules. We could have threesomes. He’d choose me.

It’s like being offered a gorgeous purse with someone else’s initials monogrammed on it. It’ll never really be yours and you’ll always know it. And others probably will too. There’s no cheaper victory.

So I paced the street while explaining to him that sloppy seconds were not what I was pursuing. That I deserved better and I’d wait for it.

“For how long?!”
“...forever.”

2007-05-29T11:51:00.001-04:00

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Mama Works the Pole:

This morning, while getting ready for work, I saw on segment on The Today Show about the "empowering new trend of pole dancing as exercise for women" (italicized emphasis mine. Obviously.)

Empowering?!?!

Have I fallen, cracked my skull opened and lost all cognitive reasoning skills? Surburban mom/milfs are now striving to emulate strippers. Oy. What's next? Why not actual hooking? I mean street walking is still walking which is still exercise.

2007-05-23T23:30:00.000-04:00

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Classy:

The Red Sox don't know how to win in Yankee Stadium and their fans don't know how to stay in Yankee Stadium. In other news; Yankees 8 - Red Sox 3.

Suck it Tinkerbell ;)

(click below and enjoy the first "video" I've taken and posted online!)

2007-05-22T10:15:00.001-04:00

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Who Had Fun Last Night?

Oh, that's right! I did!

(*I don't know the guy but dig the shirt*)

And I'm doing it again on Wednesday - GO YANKEES!!

And unrelated - but did you watch the season finale of Grey's Anatomy? I did. Do you care what I think? Well if you do, see what Heather and I had to say about it.

2007-05-15T23:07:00.000-04:00

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Too Random To Title:

I’ve already come up with a rule for the children I may or may not have one day. There will be no gum chewing indoors. Not only do I not chew gum (yech), ever. But, I’m starting to really have issues with the whole gum chewing thing. If a person would never consider eating food with an opened mouth, why on earth would they chew gum with their mouths agape? Who thinks anyone else wants to hear them masticating away? It’s such a gross sound too. The other day I was stuck sitting next to a gummer and the sounds emanating from them made me want to dry heave. If you have to chew gum, (possible reasons being that Osama says so, it’s the only way to convince Bill Clinton that your mouth is busy right now, if you don’t seal that dam the whole town’ll go!!!) CLOSE YOUR FUCKING MOUTH. Jeez… have some manners, quit grossing me out.

I sat next to Joel Goddard on the bus the other day, on my way home from work. Joel Goddard is the announcer and frequent butt-of-the-joke on Conan O’Brien. On Conan he usually comes across a little creepy and lecherous. But we were seated next to each other on the bus and got to talking. I told him how bummed I was about the Andy Barker show (with Andy Richter) being canceled and he said he was too. I mentioned that I thought being produced by Conan, the show would get a little more leeway. He told me that Conan was blindsided and very upset about it as well. Then we talked about our dogs and he told me something his wife likes but I forgot what that was because I was a little taken aback by the “wife” thing. I don’t think I thought Joel played on that team. Interesting. Anyway he was really sweet and I definitely don’t think he’s creepy anymore.

Friday night was awesome. Out of nowhere, the usually very very busy Joe found himself with his rarest commodity; free hours - and he called me! After convincing me to pay his cabfare home he packed a duffel bag (a duffel bag!) and came right over. He brought a delicious champagne, board games (Simpsons Jeopardy - natch), some pot and his bestest self. I had planned to go home and watch Grey's Anatomy Friday night (it's still unwatched by the way) but Joe coming over was just the best and hanging out with him is always my first choice, it was so fun. and I didn't even get to play Simpsons Jeopardy, Joe and my brother played and I had to be Trebek.

Last night I played in a poker tournament at CrazyDawn’s apartment. There were 18 of us. I think. The buy-in was $30, no rebuys. So knowing me, I knew it would be an early night. I got there about 8:15pm and they’d already started (because I was late. I am always late. Heather could tell you all about it. I’m chronic though, so reliably late – I always tell people to lie to me, they rarely do though). Anyway… so I took my seat and off we were. I was sitting next to a friend of Karol's on one side and her brother on the other. Karol has the best brother who isn't mine (no one beats my brothers, of course, but you really should see them together, they're obviously best friends). Every hand I was dealt, sucked. I’d get a 6 and 4 off. That would be followed by an 8 and a 2. Off. If I was lucky enough to see a King it was accompanied by a 3 - and it was, repeat after me; off. Eventually I had to start playing some of my shit hands. And bluffing some others. I also got a much needed pep talk from Karol's brother at one point. My stack got ridiculously low but I held on to enough for awhile. And then, slowly, my luck started to change. I was dealt pocket K’s. I hit a set here and there. My pocket 5’s took a guy’s stack when I hit another set. I had a full house once or twice, an ace high flush, I just got repeatedly lucky - I mean, it had to happen once in a year, right? And before I knew it I was playing head’s up for first place!! (I have never made it to the “final table” at Dawn’s – at least not that my holey mind can recall! – Much less head’s up.) At best I break even (in the cash games - I always lose in tournaments) and when I have gotten ‘lucky’ it has merely meant that I broke even. And in the end, I won. Oh yes, for once I won the pot!! I turned my $30 into $285 and it was insanely fun. Though I did get home after 2am and I couldn’t fall asleep until just about 3am and I was awake again at 7:15am. I am tired.

Since Heather decided that it was more important to have; an affordable way of life, an extra thousand square feet and constant access to ducks than be my neighbor, I have started pestering the wits out of poor Laura. First I made her come over and then I got stuck at work and got home an hour later but I've also taken to emailing her my inane ravings and musings all day long. And how lucky am I? She plays along and answers! Today we discussed Nars blush colors but yesterday it was potential names for Britney’s eventual daughter. Sapphire, Cristal, CanDee, Emerald were mentioned. Feel free to contribute your own. And if you watch local news and care about real estate here's a tidbit for you; channel 7 and sometime The View guest host; Lori Stokes turned up with an agent at my parents home in NJ the other day to look at it - obviously said house is for sale. And if you really care, my mother said she is stunning.

And oh, Jerry Falwell died. 73 years too late. A fairy angel got its wings. Sweet.

2007-05-09T14:23:00.000-04:00

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I'm Confused:

Tobey Maguire is being paid to act as though he's in love and quasi-decent yet perpetually dirty seeming (think Pigpen and his swirling rings of dirt and detritus from Charlie Brown) actor that he is, fine... for 3 hours I'll not buy it, per se but rent the plausibility of it all.

But oh. My. Goodness. This is supposed to be a "hot" girl?!? I happen to think that Kirsten Dunst is one of the ugliest (female - relax Mr. DeVito) movie stars I've ever seen and I find it mind wracking to believe that she is ever cast as a heart breaker. Or a femme fatale. Or something that any guy would wantonly kiss.

If you are a man, or a lesbian, and what you see below stirs your loins could you please explain to me what it is. Because I don't fucking see it. I see an unattractive girl that cannot dress for shit and has fangs. Yep, fangs. Teeth more nightmare inspiring that Jewel's. Teeth that only Tim Burton could be attracted to.

*picture taken from here.

2007-05-05T23:00:00.000-04:00

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180:

I’ve barely had a second.

I had Heather’s moving away party.

Which was the same night as Karol’s 30th birthday party.

Which was apparently the same night that the air was replaced with pollen and my allergies launched a vicious attack. I spent all of Sunday either sound asleep or drinking tea. As a result I then spent Monday starving and constantly peeing. I spent the rest of the week exhausted from trying to acclimate to working and feeling crappy from being 999% congested in the head.

If I got sick last Saturday (now two Saturdays ago) then the next weekend was even more fun! Friday night, after getting home from work I promptly broke a crown. I bit into a twizzler and the crown came down with it. I freaked out. I finally called my dad, who has suffered the same sheer joy and he directed me to Duane Reade. I got it back in but it so bothered me all around that it fucked up the rest of my weekend. Which was fine because really, what sort of extravagant, selfish, rude and thoughtless little pig wants to enjoy their weekend?

Tuesday night Joe came over for a few hours after work, we did our usual. Smoked, drank, noshed and gossiped. One of my favorite things to do with one of my favorite people. That was a good night.

Wednesday I finally got several scraggly inches cut off my hair before meeting up with Karol. We went downtown to watch a charity poker tournament at City Crab. It was fun but I still felt like crap from allergies and I left jonesing for a poker game that I could play in. I did garner an invite for a Friday night game but that wasn’t meant to be.

Because Friday, after getting home from work, I rushed to change and meet up with Fran and her family for a Shabbat Across America dinner at the nearby synagogue. There was nary a cute guy to be found but the night was so fun I didn’t even care. Fran’s gang and I sat at a table with two semi-random couples, a friend of hers who was there by herself, another couple that are actually very good friends of hers (I’ve met the wife before on several occasions) and Fran’s husband showed up an hour into the evening. I played with Fran’s oldest, who I adore. I did a little light davening (look it up kids), ate and drank with about 200 other Jews, which sounds so cheesy and lame, but it was more fun that you’d think. And also, I’m 31% dork. Eventually Fran’s husband cracked the half keg he had with him and the true drinking began. While the rest of the table drank beer, wine and some scotch that the rabbi brought over, I was mocked for drinking the kosher wine, which if you’re familiar with, then you know it contains about 87 parts fructose. Mmm… wine that a small child could imbibe fairly safely, perfect! Besides, I kept reminding Fran’s husband (who has only known me for about 8 years), we all know I prefer herbs to grains. We stayed until just after midnight, we were the last ones out actually. We walked home, Fran insisting on the brood getting me to my door because I was likely to be murdered, and her oldest and I walked hand in hand until she got too sleepy to walk anymore and I picked up her up. Cradling the cutest almost two-year old in the universe and still walking fairly competently in 3 inch heels I felt my uterus flip over. It was the culmination of a few hours with the best toddler in history (no matter how tired she got there were no tantrums) and Shabbat dinner surrounded by young families. I want my own. Though I was able to broker a dinnertime deal with Fran. If she and her husband exceed 4 daughters, I get one. They procreate with cuteness so I’d make out really really well.

Tonight, Saturday night, I regretfully bailed on plans with L. I really wanted to see her, as planned, but I was so congested Friday night and Saturday that I just couldn’t. I logged on to the weather channel site last night and saw that the pollen advisory was listed as ‘severe’. Uh yeah. No shit. My nasal passages can completely confirm. If Heather hadn’t ditched me, er, New York, she’d be on my sofa with me while I whined endlessly until she plied me with medication. Damn I miss Nurse Heather. But at least L was understanding and the new plan is for this coming Wednesday night. Not Tuesday, because I have fancy dinner plans with Joe. Very exciting!

In addition to the endless running around, I got paid. And that netted its own insane response. This past week I went a little shopaholic. I started at Sephora which is tragically/conveniently located around the corner from my office. A few days ago my mom mentioned not having a decent pink blush. So of course I promptly reported to Sephora where bought her this and this (but in the Angelika color instead). Feeling that perhaps that wasn’t enough, I logged on to the Bobbi Brown site where I picked up these two items as well (I bought her the sand pink color blush). After that it was a small bottle of perfume for myself. But I wasn’t quite done yet. A few days later, during lunch, in my office, I was again playing around online. Before I knew it I’d found myself on Yankees.com. I started checking out their upcoming schedule and within minutes I was the proud owner of 3 tickets to the May 23rd game against the Red Sux. (Yes Senator Tinkerbell, I plan to cheer down your idiot, lost fans that are way too comfortable in Yankee Stadium). I’ll be there with both of my brothers and we’re stoically united in our hope that Chein-Ming Wang is that day’s starter. I wouldn’t mind Pettitte pitching that day either though.

So I’ve spent the past week or so going out and shopping my face off. My little spending spree is absolutely coming to a close though – I literally can’t afford any more craziness. I’m settling into work nicely. My boss is pretty decent though he’s younger than me and so much so that he actually looks like a high school kid. I keep wanting to offer him a juice box and some ‘nilla wafers. Is that wrong? Probably just a little. I’m also trying to adjust to the absence of my favorite former neighbor. This coming week I’ll actually have to get a mani/pedi all by myself which I haven’t had to do in ages. Phooey.

Now it’s time for me to down some NyQuil (not proven to help with allergies, but unlikely to exacerbate), slip into bed and watch as much of this past weeks’ Grey’s Anatomy as I can stay awake for.

2007-05-03T16:20:00.000-04:00

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It's No Landlord Clip But Still:

And, am I imagining things or do I see Posh's right nipple?

And: this was the Landlord one in case you missed it:

2007-04-25T12:19:00.000-04:00

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It Could Only Happen To Me:

You know how you never use your hand to flush a toliet in a public restroom? You use your foot. Everyone knows that. Well...

I just did. And the handle came flying off. And went into the toliet. And flushed itself away. Far, far away.

Who would this happen to besides me (and maybe Dawn)? I mean really.

2007-04-17T14:08:00.000-04:00

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To Hell With You Too:

Yesterday was my first day at my new job. I would tell you how it was but apparently you already don't care.

(and no, I'm not retarded, I know what happened in VA. I just have a hard time imagining that each of my friends has a relative there - call me narcissistic and cynical [you'd be right].)

2007-04-13T16:56:00.000-04:00

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Complete Hilarity:

Thanks to My Bestest Joe for sending this to me.

Click here immediately.

(*contains Will Ferrell and language not safe for work)

2007-04-12T00:26:00.000-04:00

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Tawana Brawley 2.0:

Someone should throw her filthy, lying, opportunistic ass in a hard core prison (I'm thinking a men's prison wouldn't be totally out of line - she certainly does look like a hearty thing, no?). Sure, someone like Crystal Gail Mangum isn't the problem. Imus (another fucking genius) is. Look, they're both wastes of life, neither of them will evolve to contribute much to society. At some point it isn't so much racism as it is that we're all jointly appalled by the complete human trash that we have to share our depleting ozone with.

I can't wait to see good ol' Jesse and Big Fat Al down there apologizing to the Duke lacrosse players. I wonder what Al's Action Coalition will do to help right the wrong.

Aren't we all a little too old for this shit? We're all still playing race cards? Spewing hate, intolerance, misogyny. It's just so fucking boring.

2007-04-05T20:17:00.000-04:00

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The Party’s Over:

*yes, quite sadly it's Heather*

Ain’t it ever.

Part One:

One of my favorite Manhattanites is ditching NYC. She says it’s just a year. She says she’ll be back. She isn’t the first to say, or to mean, those things but you get entrenched in a life. You buy a sofa too cumbersome to move, you befriend a girl you really like at the gym, you decide that it really is fantastic to live in the same state as your mom when you’re feeling sick, you remember that you love having a car and a driveway. That the snow was always too brief and not all that majestic after all. That margaritas taste better when they’re $8 instead of $14. That in some supermarkets the dairy section is just that; an entire damn section. And anyway, moving is a bitch and rarely is it done capriciously. I am deeply saddened to think I am losing geographic proximity to one of my very favorite people.

No more manicures at Angels (where we dissect everyone and everything). No more dinners on the sofa. Cereal parties or phone calls along the lines of “I’m bored of my own walls, can I come stare at yours?”. No one to fight with Little Brother over shotgun on the drives up to the lake house in CT. No one to borrow vicodin from. No more petsitting. No one to tell me about the awesome out the way Indian and falafel places. No one else single to go speed dating with (and other weird shit that only single people have to put up with). THIS SUCKS ASS!!. I really hate it when people I like move away. Especially when you factor in that there are really only 5 to 7 people that I truly like.

I’m going to miss my friend. As I told earlier today, I’m going to miss her deeply. In my bones.

Part Two:

Well folks, it looks a lot like I’m headed back to a world of alarm clocks, The Today Show, hurried dog walks, the M86 at 8:10am and meetings. I’m a little excited but I’m sad. I reveled in unemployment the way no other human ever could. I do lazy so well; really, to do it any better I’d have to be on a respirator. I’m going to miss sweatpants, sleeping late, CSI at one in the afternoon and riding the subway at strictly off peak hours. I mean my god, that’s SO ME!!

But then again, I am excited. It’ll be nice to return to the days where I was spending new money instead of money some dead relative considerately squirreled away for me decades ago (I was feeling guilty as hell about spending that green anyway). It’ll be fun to meet new people and discover why I hate them (I’m really going to try to stem that off for as long as possible but it’s me so it is inevitable). I’ll relish the opportunity to wear refined clothing, the sort that come replete with buttons, zippers and the like. I’m also looking forward to the excuse to buy new clothes.

Here’s the deal; I’ve accepted a job!!

A week from this coming Monday (the 16th to be precise) I will begin my new position as an office manager at SomeRandomInternetCompany.com. It’s run by some very young folks and backed by some very non-young, big money types (thereby upping the odds of some level of attainable success). Their office is a new-to-them space in Midtown and their staff currently numbers about 10. Today I asked the director what sort of dress code he was envisioning (when I say “director” I mean I seriously think he may be 13 years old. Ok fine, maybe 23) he laughed and said very very casual. I sure do like that. I have the closet for that.

When he offered me the job a week ago I told him I would have to get back to him. He told me he was away until today which gave me way too much time t think. I realized I couldn’t accept the salary he offered me. I could definitely live on it but I couldn’t accept it. So I had to call him today and ask him for more.

I am not good at asking for things. For at least two decades now, when it came to asking for things from my parents, I have utilized my brother as my intermediary. I just feel weird about it. So awhile back I asked you all. I also called my old boss and asked him. I called my mom, dad and some of my friends. Today I decided to just man up and do it. Sure, it was a measly $2000 I was hoping for but it was also a measly $2000 that I didn’t want to spend weeks regretting not have pursued. I emailed the guy and asked when we could briefly chat and he emailed me back 4pm. We played a few rounds of phone tag. I talked to Heather and my mom several times. At one point I told Heather I was certain my stomach would feel more comfortable outside of my body. I think it wants a hug, I said. Then the guy and I finally caught one another. I asked for the extra money. I pled my case, he listened and then he said he’d have to talk to someone else and call me back Friday.

“How is it I feel sicker after having called?” I asked Heather during the post-groveling phone call debriefing. Heather assured me that I’d “get it, you deserve it!” We hung up and I went online. Karol IMs me that she wants to stop by for a second. Sure enough, as she walks into my apartment fifteen or so minutes later the job guy calls. The dogs go wild barking and I have to duck into the corner of my closet to hear him but when I finally can, I hear him say;

“You got it. It’s all yours. I’ll send you a new contract tomorrow. And Ari?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re really excited that you’re on board with us.”

Me too!!