This morning in the midst of the torrential downpour we've been experiencing, a man was wandering outside of Grand Central Station, clearly lost. He asked another man, also lost, where 3rd Avenue was. The 2nd man barely spoke English, and basically said so. So the first man kept on walking. I walked up to him and told him how to get to 3rd Avenue and right as I finished giving him directions, I slipped on a wet spot and went flying face first down to the ground.
Now, I would like to say that the man did not see me do a face plant into the sidewalk. I mean, it's possible. Except that, we were walking side by side. And my umbrella flew out of my hand, nearly poking out the eye of the second, non-English speaking man. The non-English speaking man, bless him, at least grabbed my umbrella for me. The first guy, not so much. He actually just kept on walking. Hurriedly, might I add, still in search of 3rd Avenue.
I hope that dude gets hit by a yellow cab. Not enough to kill him. But just enough to ensure that he needs to be airlifted back to the flyover which is undoubtedly where he came from.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
A Part Time Gig
So, instead of continuing to complain about my money or lack thereof, I've been thinking a lot about getting a second job.
It wouldn't have to be forever...mainly it would be to pay off some outstanding debts that are looming over my head, in the hopes that once said debts have been paid, I can resume stashing money away for the future and not have to keep stealing from myself all the time.
I used to have quite the savings account...and was relatively debt-free. And then all hell broke loose...I became single, I started paying my own way, I stopped relying on a second income from my live-in partner...it got ugly, real fast.
So here I am...still struggling...making more than I ever did. It's nuts.
I was perusing Craigs List last night, thinking I'd find some weird odd job type of things that I could do...maybe some personal assisting for an old eccentric, and the like. I did find this, which I was seriously considering:
a"Beautiful Friendly Girls Make 100+ An Hour Doing Fantasy Role Play"
I was so THERE. Until I read "Must be bikini skinny. NO PLUS SIZE."
So much for that idea.
But then I started thinking...what about nude modeling?
I mean, they need all shapes and sizes for art classes, as well as photographers' portfolios...you don't necessarily have to be a twig to do it...of course, I would wish that all of the students were, in fact, BLIND...and maybe mute as well so I wouldn't hear their gasps of horror as I disrobed. But hey, nude models make good money...and it's for the sake of art.
There is the small fact that, I've never REALLY nude modeled, at least, not outside of the comforts of my own home, for more than two people at a time. I guess that could be a problem...having stage fright right as an entire class is staring at you, waiting for the moment of truth, could be kind of embarrassing.
Seriously though, any of my 3 readers that has experience and wishes to share, feel free!!
It wouldn't have to be forever...mainly it would be to pay off some outstanding debts that are looming over my head, in the hopes that once said debts have been paid, I can resume stashing money away for the future and not have to keep stealing from myself all the time.
I used to have quite the savings account...and was relatively debt-free. And then all hell broke loose...I became single, I started paying my own way, I stopped relying on a second income from my live-in partner...it got ugly, real fast.
So here I am...still struggling...making more than I ever did. It's nuts.
I was perusing Craigs List last night, thinking I'd find some weird odd job type of things that I could do...maybe some personal assisting for an old eccentric, and the like. I did find this, which I was seriously considering:
a"Beautiful Friendly Girls Make 100+ An Hour Doing Fantasy Role Play"
I was so THERE. Until I read "Must be bikini skinny. NO PLUS SIZE."
So much for that idea.
But then I started thinking...what about nude modeling?
I mean, they need all shapes and sizes for art classes, as well as photographers' portfolios...you don't necessarily have to be a twig to do it...of course, I would wish that all of the students were, in fact, BLIND...and maybe mute as well so I wouldn't hear their gasps of horror as I disrobed. But hey, nude models make good money...and it's for the sake of art.
There is the small fact that, I've never REALLY nude modeled, at least, not outside of the comforts of my own home, for more than two people at a time. I guess that could be a problem...having stage fright right as an entire class is staring at you, waiting for the moment of truth, could be kind of embarrassing.
Seriously though, any of my 3 readers that has experience and wishes to share, feel free!!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Crazy Cat Lady
The other day my friend Akat was over and she remarked that Igbot was looking a little skinny.
Now, for those of you who have never met Igbot, trust me when I say that skinny is not a word you would use to describe him. "Big-boned" if you're being diplomatic...."fat as fuck" if you're just being honest.
But Akat insisted that he had lost some weight. She pointed to his hip area and said, "look, right there, he's smaller."
Now, Akat has recently lost two of her own kitties, within six months of each other, so she might be a little on high alert right now with regard to other people's animals...so I dismissed her. But every single day after that I couldn't help but notice that she might be right. And then someone else was over and asked about his fat sac. "That's always been there" I replied. "But it's more hangy now" he observed. Hmmmm.
Fast forward two weeks and I have decided that Igbot is emaciated. He seriously must have lost at least a pound a day... my cat was disappearing before my very eyes! To the vet he must go!
I piled him into a carrier as he cursed at me. We sat in the waiting room while strange dogs walked up and sniffed my poor cat...did they know something I don't know? Don't animals always know when another animal is sick?
The vet called us in. The first thing he commented on was what a big boy Igbot is. "Really? Because he's lost a lot of weight, and he's all skin and bones as far as I'm concerned" I explained very matter of factly, as if the vet couldn't see with his own eyes.
He threw Igbot on the scale, and started mumbling..."7.9..."
"7.9??? Last time we were here he weighed 16 pounds! OMG my cat is dying!"
The vet looked up and snickered. "We weigh in kilograms. Your cat is 17.5 pounds. He's gained 1.5 since the last time you were here."
Wha???
"Are you sure?" I demanded he weigh my poor cat again. This couldn't be right.
(The last time I was at this vet I had brought Igbot in because he had thrown up the night before. When I said that Igbot was acting weird in the morning, the vet said "you would be too if you threw up." Touche).
The vet spent the next 15 minutes literally laughing at me. He basically said Igbot was one fat motherfucker...and that I needed to get a life and stop obsessing about my cat so much.
Stop judging me, Vet!
Even though he may be right ;)
Now, for those of you who have never met Igbot, trust me when I say that skinny is not a word you would use to describe him. "Big-boned" if you're being diplomatic...."fat as fuck" if you're just being honest.
But Akat insisted that he had lost some weight. She pointed to his hip area and said, "look, right there, he's smaller."
Now, Akat has recently lost two of her own kitties, within six months of each other, so she might be a little on high alert right now with regard to other people's animals...so I dismissed her. But every single day after that I couldn't help but notice that she might be right. And then someone else was over and asked about his fat sac. "That's always been there" I replied. "But it's more hangy now" he observed. Hmmmm.
Fast forward two weeks and I have decided that Igbot is emaciated. He seriously must have lost at least a pound a day... my cat was disappearing before my very eyes! To the vet he must go!
I piled him into a carrier as he cursed at me. We sat in the waiting room while strange dogs walked up and sniffed my poor cat...did they know something I don't know? Don't animals always know when another animal is sick?
The vet called us in. The first thing he commented on was what a big boy Igbot is. "Really? Because he's lost a lot of weight, and he's all skin and bones as far as I'm concerned" I explained very matter of factly, as if the vet couldn't see with his own eyes.
He threw Igbot on the scale, and started mumbling..."7.9..."
"7.9??? Last time we were here he weighed 16 pounds! OMG my cat is dying!"
The vet looked up and snickered. "We weigh in kilograms. Your cat is 17.5 pounds. He's gained 1.5 since the last time you were here."
Wha???
"Are you sure?" I demanded he weigh my poor cat again. This couldn't be right.
(The last time I was at this vet I had brought Igbot in because he had thrown up the night before. When I said that Igbot was acting weird in the morning, the vet said "you would be too if you threw up." Touche).
The vet spent the next 15 minutes literally laughing at me. He basically said Igbot was one fat motherfucker...and that I needed to get a life and stop obsessing about my cat so much.
Stop judging me, Vet!
Even though he may be right ;)
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Bitter Truth
After a bizarre week, and in my opinion, a slightly stressful Saturday night, I had a kickass day with UK. I came home and caught up on Entourage, checked in on the Emmys, read some blogs, listened to some of Remax2's music, and have found myself with the shittiest case of insomnia on record. Which leads to... oh crap, the reflecting and regurgitating of the failures of my lovelife over the last 7 months.
After a bevy of faux/non-relationships and false starts, I find myself pretty much back at square one. This is not to say that I haven't been having fun since becoming single. Believe me, much fun has been had. I'm not knocking the midnight rendezvous and back bar makeout sessions...the dirty emails and even just the new guy friends I've churned out from all of the above...but I'm starting to worry that I'm becoming way too accustomed to living in this sort of unstructured, unconventional "dating" parallel universe.
Not that I can even call it dating. Seriously, when was the last time I went out on an actual DATE? Do guys even do that anymore? ....I can't remember the last time someone fucking called me up and said "let's go to dinner". Or even called me up, for that matter.
I'm the girl that gets the texts at 2am. I'm the girl who is "the other woman". I'm the girl who responds quite favorably to dirty emails, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe he will like me again. I'm the girl who is sort of ok with not getting the fancy dinner or even dinner, at all. I one time suggested a dinner date with someone who I'd been out with BEFORE, and he thought dinner made the date too "important". I do believe the exact phrase he used was "not tenuous". Yet somehow, he thought I was going to end up in his bed. I do not need dinner to end up in someone's bed. But it would be nice.
I haven't had much luck meeting people in real life--that is to say, I meet tons of people in real life, but none of them seem to be overwhelmed by me, or vice versa. I'm starting to wonder if I might be getting reallllllly picky in my old age. Or else I've gotten reallllllly ugly in my old age. Or a combination of the two.
The online dating thing is just getting old, pure and simple. How many more times can I watch myself be rejected, over and over again, on the basis of merely a few pictures and some ridiculous blurb that I have written about myself. It's tiresome. Yet I continue on, in the hopes that maybe I will be one of those success stories that we see in the ads...the douchey couple giving each other moony cow eyes, talking about how crotch.com brought them together. I hate those fuckers. But yet I still want to be them.
After a bevy of faux/non-relationships and false starts, I find myself pretty much back at square one. This is not to say that I haven't been having fun since becoming single. Believe me, much fun has been had. I'm not knocking the midnight rendezvous and back bar makeout sessions...the dirty emails and even just the new guy friends I've churned out from all of the above...but I'm starting to worry that I'm becoming way too accustomed to living in this sort of unstructured, unconventional "dating" parallel universe.
Not that I can even call it dating. Seriously, when was the last time I went out on an actual DATE? Do guys even do that anymore? ....I can't remember the last time someone fucking called me up and said "let's go to dinner". Or even called me up, for that matter.
I'm the girl that gets the texts at 2am. I'm the girl who is "the other woman". I'm the girl who responds quite favorably to dirty emails, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe he will like me again. I'm the girl who is sort of ok with not getting the fancy dinner or even dinner, at all. I one time suggested a dinner date with someone who I'd been out with BEFORE, and he thought dinner made the date too "important". I do believe the exact phrase he used was "not tenuous". Yet somehow, he thought I was going to end up in his bed. I do not need dinner to end up in someone's bed. But it would be nice.
I haven't had much luck meeting people in real life--that is to say, I meet tons of people in real life, but none of them seem to be overwhelmed by me, or vice versa. I'm starting to wonder if I might be getting reallllllly picky in my old age. Or else I've gotten reallllllly ugly in my old age. Or a combination of the two.
The online dating thing is just getting old, pure and simple. How many more times can I watch myself be rejected, over and over again, on the basis of merely a few pictures and some ridiculous blurb that I have written about myself. It's tiresome. Yet I continue on, in the hopes that maybe I will be one of those success stories that we see in the ads...the douchey couple giving each other moony cow eyes, talking about how crotch.com brought them together. I hate those fuckers. But yet I still want to be them.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
My Wingman
Last night, my friend Sexy Pilot was in town.
Sexy Pilot and I have not seen each other in a looooong ass time. I'm not going to admit how long, because it will make me sound like a grandmother. It's been that long.
Sexy Pilot hadn't been to NYC in a while so I dragged him down to the LES and we did a little Ludlow Street bar crawling...and crawl we did, after the amount of alcohol that was consumed.
We found ourselves at 151 Bar, which incidentally is where I always seem to get lucky :) Not that I was thinking about that when I dragged him down Rivington after we had already had oh, 40 vodka tonics or so...at least, not consciously ;)
We'd been sitting at a table for a while, had a few drinks, when Sexy Pilot found his way to the little boys' room. I looked up for a split second and made eye contact with a dude across the bar who seemed to be making crazy eyes at me..although I couldn't tell for sure.
Until he waltzed up to me and plopped himself down right across the table where Sexy Pilot had been sitting.
Now, I'm not sure why these things always happen to me, but clearly I have a sign on my forehead that says "Crazy, and Weird Names, Please" because he started going in for the kill immediately and told me his name was "Omigod".
No, seriously.
"That cannot be your name," I snorted. He looked at me with the crazy eyes and said "Yea, it's Egyptian."
I'm pretty sure that it's not....
He then proceeded to tell me his life story...he worked on Wall Street...he quit Wall Street...he was working on the great American novel....he was a coke addict and was in the bar for one reason only, to get his fix.
All the while, I've got one eye in the direction of the bathroom. Where the fuck was Sexy Pilot? Why was he taking so long? Did he fall in the toilet? Did he run away with a dirty hipster?
As Omigod continued droning on..."I swear all I do all day is smoke pot and bump"...I think his parents named him Omigod because he never fucking stops talking and you're just like "OH MY GOD"...I excused myself to run to the bathroom, and I saw Sexy Pilot chatting with the bartender.
"WTF are you doing?" I hissed.
He thought that I was enjoying the conversation with crazy eyed cokehead, so he had gone to sit at the bar and give me some space...I looked at him in disgust and was about to ream him a new one...and then I took a good look at my new friend across the bar with the intervention in his future, and realized that the wildly unkempt hair and "starving" artist persona IS, indeed, completely my type. ARGH. Note to self: get new type.
With a wingman like that, who needs enemies???
Sexy Pilot and I have not seen each other in a looooong ass time. I'm not going to admit how long, because it will make me sound like a grandmother. It's been that long.
Sexy Pilot hadn't been to NYC in a while so I dragged him down to the LES and we did a little Ludlow Street bar crawling...and crawl we did, after the amount of alcohol that was consumed.
We found ourselves at 151 Bar, which incidentally is where I always seem to get lucky :) Not that I was thinking about that when I dragged him down Rivington after we had already had oh, 40 vodka tonics or so...at least, not consciously ;)
We'd been sitting at a table for a while, had a few drinks, when Sexy Pilot found his way to the little boys' room. I looked up for a split second and made eye contact with a dude across the bar who seemed to be making crazy eyes at me..although I couldn't tell for sure.
Until he waltzed up to me and plopped himself down right across the table where Sexy Pilot had been sitting.
Now, I'm not sure why these things always happen to me, but clearly I have a sign on my forehead that says "Crazy, and Weird Names, Please" because he started going in for the kill immediately and told me his name was "Omigod".
No, seriously.
"That cannot be your name," I snorted. He looked at me with the crazy eyes and said "Yea, it's Egyptian."
I'm pretty sure that it's not....
He then proceeded to tell me his life story...he worked on Wall Street...he quit Wall Street...he was working on the great American novel....he was a coke addict and was in the bar for one reason only, to get his fix.
All the while, I've got one eye in the direction of the bathroom. Where the fuck was Sexy Pilot? Why was he taking so long? Did he fall in the toilet? Did he run away with a dirty hipster?
As Omigod continued droning on..."I swear all I do all day is smoke pot and bump"...I think his parents named him Omigod because he never fucking stops talking and you're just like "OH MY GOD"...I excused myself to run to the bathroom, and I saw Sexy Pilot chatting with the bartender.
"WTF are you doing?" I hissed.
He thought that I was enjoying the conversation with crazy eyed cokehead, so he had gone to sit at the bar and give me some space...I looked at him in disgust and was about to ream him a new one...and then I took a good look at my new friend across the bar with the intervention in his future, and realized that the wildly unkempt hair and "starving" artist persona IS, indeed, completely my type. ARGH. Note to self: get new type.
With a wingman like that, who needs enemies???
Bush Hour
Yesterday I found myself on the 4 train at the height of rush hour.
i don't take the 4 train for a number of reasons. Too crowded, TOO crowded, TOO FUCKING CROWDED. Especially before the 9am hour. Unfortunately for me, that is the hand that was dealt to me that day, so I sucked it up, put my ipod on full blast and jammed out to some Les Savy Fav to tune everyone out around me.
When I got off at my stop, 4 bajillion people got off with me. I tried to dart around all the assholes who were in absolutely NO hurry to get to work on a Monday morning, preferring to shuffle through the subway station like a bunch of zombies. I'm guessing nobody had had a chance to get their coffee yet or else everyone was feeling more than slightly shitty at the financial downturn and disaster we are about to experience. But I digress.
I found myself behind an older gentleman who was carrying a few plastic bags. I was hot on his trail as he moseyed through the turnstile. Right behind him, I pushed through, and then found myself stuck.
Somehow, the old dude's plastic bag handle had wrapped itself around the turnstile while I started to go through it, and after he extricated the bag...the turnstile wouldn't move. I was trapped inside of it, and realized that the only way I was getting out was to do a high kick over the offending piece of metal that had me in its grasp.
As I am known to do, I was wearing the miniest of minis, with the tiniest of thongs underneath, so my high kick was basically a free show to the old man, and basically the entirety of the subway station.
Throw in the fact that I have given up all but the bare minimum of grooming essentials, and well...I'll just let you use your imagination there.
And another case of the Mondays was born..
i don't take the 4 train for a number of reasons. Too crowded, TOO crowded, TOO FUCKING CROWDED. Especially before the 9am hour. Unfortunately for me, that is the hand that was dealt to me that day, so I sucked it up, put my ipod on full blast and jammed out to some Les Savy Fav to tune everyone out around me.
When I got off at my stop, 4 bajillion people got off with me. I tried to dart around all the assholes who were in absolutely NO hurry to get to work on a Monday morning, preferring to shuffle through the subway station like a bunch of zombies. I'm guessing nobody had had a chance to get their coffee yet or else everyone was feeling more than slightly shitty at the financial downturn and disaster we are about to experience. But I digress.
I found myself behind an older gentleman who was carrying a few plastic bags. I was hot on his trail as he moseyed through the turnstile. Right behind him, I pushed through, and then found myself stuck.
Somehow, the old dude's plastic bag handle had wrapped itself around the turnstile while I started to go through it, and after he extricated the bag...the turnstile wouldn't move. I was trapped inside of it, and realized that the only way I was getting out was to do a high kick over the offending piece of metal that had me in its grasp.
As I am known to do, I was wearing the miniest of minis, with the tiniest of thongs underneath, so my high kick was basically a free show to the old man, and basically the entirety of the subway station.
Throw in the fact that I have given up all but the bare minimum of grooming essentials, and well...I'll just let you use your imagination there.
And another case of the Mondays was born..
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Just Passing Through
Hey Buddies! It's me, Cheese, passing through for a quick post so that you don't think I forgot about you!
Not much is going on in these parts, at least nothing that I really want to talk about at the moment. I've had some confusing ass shit going on, which I've decided to just ignore in the hopes that it will either go away, or at the very least, I will cease to give a crap about it eventually. Probably the latter, cuz I'm cool like that.
I've had some good conversations with people that I was afraid to have...putting thoughts and emotions flat on the table and not being laughed at or looked at cross-eyed. That was cathartic, I must say.
Have a few new crushes. Nothing worth discussing, but fun to think about.
Working too late, trying to stay social, trying not to get fat by continuing to go the gym when I have time.
Some birthday parties this weekend. Three, to be exact. An art opening tomorrow night and hopefully, Half King. Yoga. Brunches. LAUNDRY. I need to do laundry.
I am really grasping at straws here to keep you people from giving up on me. Bear with me. It's been that kind of week.
Not much is going on in these parts, at least nothing that I really want to talk about at the moment. I've had some confusing ass shit going on, which I've decided to just ignore in the hopes that it will either go away, or at the very least, I will cease to give a crap about it eventually. Probably the latter, cuz I'm cool like that.
I've had some good conversations with people that I was afraid to have...putting thoughts and emotions flat on the table and not being laughed at or looked at cross-eyed. That was cathartic, I must say.
Have a few new crushes. Nothing worth discussing, but fun to think about.
Working too late, trying to stay social, trying not to get fat by continuing to go the gym when I have time.
Some birthday parties this weekend. Three, to be exact. An art opening tomorrow night and hopefully, Half King. Yoga. Brunches. LAUNDRY. I need to do laundry.
I am really grasping at straws here to keep you people from giving up on me. Bear with me. It's been that kind of week.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Weird Pheromone Wednesday
Yesterday morning I was leaving the Starbucks in Rock Center with my usual order of a tall iced coffee in a grande cup (room for milk, baby!) and a spinach and feta wrap (how I love prepackaged food), ipod blasting Weezer's Red Album..when I faintly heard through "Troublemaker" someone yelling out "miss! excuse me! miss!" while running in my direction.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and freaked the fuck out, assuming the worst...did I drop something? Did I take someone's coffee by accident? Did i get my period all over myself? WTF?
I turned around to see a short, but attractive dude in a suit smiling at me and muttering, "This is so embarrassing...so embarrassing."
"What? What is it?" I started to panic.
He laughed. "I was getting my coffee when I noticed you standing next to me, and you are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
I mean, the guy is pretty much right, but I can't really recall the last time someone chased me down to tell me so ;)
I giggled like a schoolgirl and thanked him for being so nice. I totally admitted that I thought he was going to tell me my underwear was showing.
He then asked if he could take me out for a drink. To which I had to say no. I kicked myself for a little while over it, but it was too early in the morning for me to think straight, and I hadn't had my coffee yet! Plus, I'm a New Yorker, I can't just say yes to a dude in the middle of Starbucks...he could be a psycho!!
In addition to this, Remax2 spent the entire day telling me all of the salaciously naked things he wanted to do to me.
I didn't want to push my luck, but I seriously wanted to call up every single guy I ever had a crush on and see if they were feeling some inexplicable pull towards me. My pheromones are clearly detectable over cyberspace, and quite possibly, cell phones!
Date later that night was so enamored with me that he asked me out for Saturday...before our date even ended.
And on my way home from date, yet another man felt the need to stop me on the street, tell me how gorgeous I am, and ask me to join him for a drink. Actually insisted, that second, that I join him for a drink. Of course, he was already drunk, and might have been missing some teeth. Or something.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and freaked the fuck out, assuming the worst...did I drop something? Did I take someone's coffee by accident? Did i get my period all over myself? WTF?
I turned around to see a short, but attractive dude in a suit smiling at me and muttering, "This is so embarrassing...so embarrassing."
"What? What is it?" I started to panic.
He laughed. "I was getting my coffee when I noticed you standing next to me, and you are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
I mean, the guy is pretty much right, but I can't really recall the last time someone chased me down to tell me so ;)
I giggled like a schoolgirl and thanked him for being so nice. I totally admitted that I thought he was going to tell me my underwear was showing.
He then asked if he could take me out for a drink. To which I had to say no. I kicked myself for a little while over it, but it was too early in the morning for me to think straight, and I hadn't had my coffee yet! Plus, I'm a New Yorker, I can't just say yes to a dude in the middle of Starbucks...he could be a psycho!!
In addition to this, Remax2 spent the entire day telling me all of the salaciously naked things he wanted to do to me.
I didn't want to push my luck, but I seriously wanted to call up every single guy I ever had a crush on and see if they were feeling some inexplicable pull towards me. My pheromones are clearly detectable over cyberspace, and quite possibly, cell phones!
Date later that night was so enamored with me that he asked me out for Saturday...before our date even ended.
And on my way home from date, yet another man felt the need to stop me on the street, tell me how gorgeous I am, and ask me to join him for a drink. Actually insisted, that second, that I join him for a drink. Of course, he was already drunk, and might have been missing some teeth. Or something.
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