A couple years back I was at a going away party for a friend that I used to work with. It was at some no name bar in midtown, you know the ones I mean...part Irish pub, part old man bar, always playing pop music from the '90s and serving free buffalo wings. Men in loose ties guzzle beer and pick up on women half their age, and a lot of office rendezvous begin in such places.
Viva the midtown bar!
I showed up a little on the late side, probably already a little buzzed, and greeted all of old friends. A couple guys that I had crushed on at the office (non tie wearing ones, might I add) were there, which made the night even more thrilling if not just to be able to flirt and be girly for the night.
One of the crushes, a 22 year old guy we'll call Derek, had recently broken up with his longtime girlfriend and was most certainly on the prowl. I was not disappointed, as you can imagine. We spent a lot of time standing outside smoking, and at one point the conversation somehow turned to my underwear. "So what are you wearing under there?" he coyly asked.
Well, you know me, I couldn't just TELL the man...so I reached into my skirt and showed him my black lace thong.
For the rest of the evening, I was called BLT-for duh, BlackLaceThong, and thus began a long and interesting evening of debaucherous behavior.
We would sneak off into dark corners and make out, not knowing if someone was going to catch onto our scandalous ways. Somehow we managed to escape disapproving stares of others, but eventually the sneaky dark corner kissing was getting old.
He suggested we get out of there, and I, being the demure and proper lady that I am, suggested we go to my place.
A cab was hailed, and snogging ensued in the backseat. I remember trying really hard not to think about the fact his hands were on my butt, because the reality was starting to set in..."oh my God, I'm going to have sex with Derek, my ex-coworker and almost little brother. WTF?
I lived in Queens at the time, and we were stuck on the 59th Street Bridge for what seemed like days. The kissing continued, and I finally made peace with what was about to happen, and just sank into it.
The cab ride took forever, and by the time we got back to my place and up the stairs, we both sort of realized what we were doing.
"Oh my God" I said. "Are we really going to do this?"
He, of course, was all for it, and went for my boob.
"No, no, really, we can't seriously do this." I sat up. He sat up. He looked around and it dawned on him that he was in my house, on my bed, and I was about to do things to him that he couldn't have even imagined a couple hours prior. It suddenly seemed like the worst idea in the world to both of us.
Sadly for him, he lived in New Jersey, and now had a 2+ hour commute home.
Ah, the power of the black lace thong. Never underestimate it!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
How I Dodged Imminent Death During My Morning Commute: A Truly Existential Moment
The other morning I was on my usual 4 train ride into work, and nothing seemed amiss.
The regular degenerates mixed with Wall Streeters surrounded me, all with their standard looks of boredom/disgust/indifference. The guy with the Bible got on at Nevins, reminding everyone that we're all going to die one day. The kid with the M&M's tried to get me to spend $3 bucks on a bag of peanut...you know, the usual suspects.
As we pulled out of the Brooklyn Bridge stop, the train slowed, then jolted, hard. Hard enough to make the indifferent Wall Streeters gasp into their New York Times. The only person that didn't move was the woman slumped over next to me, holding a wheezing baby in her arms.
We sat for what seemed an eternity, with the only sound being the generic announcement, "There is a train crossing in front of us, we will be moving shortly" But there were no trains. Eerily, there was nothing at all.
After 10 minutes or so we were told by a barely comprehensible female MTA employee that there was a power outage on the tracks and we would be stuck indefinitely until it was fixed.
Great. I was already a trillion hours late for work due to a rough night prior, and people were starting to squirm. We were in the tunnel, with no way of escape, and I was starting to think I was in the sequel to Cloverfield, waiting for a giant monster to come out of nowhere,swoop up the train and hurl it into the East River.
The thing that was the most annoying was how nobody would give us updates. We literally sat in wonder for half an hour, with no one getting back on the loudspeaker to tell us much of anything...people around me started to panic. Which made me panic. Eventually, someone announced that they would be letting us off the train through the back car. WTF? Were we going to crawl through the tunnel to civilization? Again, fucking Cloverfield entered my mind. I was wearing a cute dress and fuck me boots and I did not want to be crawling around with the rats in the subway tunnel. No way.
We all stood up, waiting to walk through the cars as they had announced, and like assholes, waited for what seemed like hours. As we stood, the train began to move slightly, and then jolted yet again, tumbling us all on top of each other like fallen soldiers in battle. Now we were all getting pissed. Either let us off, or tell us what's going on, or pass out some xanax 'cause the indifferent Wall Streeters are starting to show signs of life, and it ain't pretty.
An MTA guy suddenly appeared and walked right through the car, ignoring pleas for help and information. He literally walked straight ahead, didn't flinch or look at any of us as he trudged right through, where the fuck he was going I have no idea.
One woman started to scream "There's something wrong. There's something really WRONG."
This is when i started to freak.
I sat there, thinking to myself, what if the train blows up right now? Have I done everything I wanted to do in life? I have no cell service, I can't even call people and tell them I love them. Should I die, would anyone know that I was here on this train? How would they find me?
I felt the tears welling, and then the train began to move. No jerking and jolting, just went straight ahead, and as if nothing happened, continued on to Union Square, then Grand Central. No explanation, no apology, no remorse.
Why I expected anything less, I have no idea.
The regular degenerates mixed with Wall Streeters surrounded me, all with their standard looks of boredom/disgust/indifference. The guy with the Bible got on at Nevins, reminding everyone that we're all going to die one day. The kid with the M&M's tried to get me to spend $3 bucks on a bag of peanut...you know, the usual suspects.
As we pulled out of the Brooklyn Bridge stop, the train slowed, then jolted, hard. Hard enough to make the indifferent Wall Streeters gasp into their New York Times. The only person that didn't move was the woman slumped over next to me, holding a wheezing baby in her arms.
We sat for what seemed an eternity, with the only sound being the generic announcement, "There is a train crossing in front of us, we will be moving shortly" But there were no trains. Eerily, there was nothing at all.
After 10 minutes or so we were told by a barely comprehensible female MTA employee that there was a power outage on the tracks and we would be stuck indefinitely until it was fixed.
Great. I was already a trillion hours late for work due to a rough night prior, and people were starting to squirm. We were in the tunnel, with no way of escape, and I was starting to think I was in the sequel to Cloverfield, waiting for a giant monster to come out of nowhere,swoop up the train and hurl it into the East River.
The thing that was the most annoying was how nobody would give us updates. We literally sat in wonder for half an hour, with no one getting back on the loudspeaker to tell us much of anything...people around me started to panic. Which made me panic. Eventually, someone announced that they would be letting us off the train through the back car. WTF? Were we going to crawl through the tunnel to civilization? Again, fucking Cloverfield entered my mind. I was wearing a cute dress and fuck me boots and I did not want to be crawling around with the rats in the subway tunnel. No way.
We all stood up, waiting to walk through the cars as they had announced, and like assholes, waited for what seemed like hours. As we stood, the train began to move slightly, and then jolted yet again, tumbling us all on top of each other like fallen soldiers in battle. Now we were all getting pissed. Either let us off, or tell us what's going on, or pass out some xanax 'cause the indifferent Wall Streeters are starting to show signs of life, and it ain't pretty.
An MTA guy suddenly appeared and walked right through the car, ignoring pleas for help and information. He literally walked straight ahead, didn't flinch or look at any of us as he trudged right through, where the fuck he was going I have no idea.
One woman started to scream "There's something wrong. There's something really WRONG."
This is when i started to freak.
I sat there, thinking to myself, what if the train blows up right now? Have I done everything I wanted to do in life? I have no cell service, I can't even call people and tell them I love them. Should I die, would anyone know that I was here on this train? How would they find me?
I felt the tears welling, and then the train began to move. No jerking and jolting, just went straight ahead, and as if nothing happened, continued on to Union Square, then Grand Central. No explanation, no apology, no remorse.
Why I expected anything less, I have no idea.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Some Things are Meant to Be Shared
The other night I was at a dinner party thrown by my buddy Steve at his amazing apartment off of Prospect Park.
He made a shitload of brisket, and there were tons of gorgeous accoutrements to go with, and loads of beautiful wine flowing for eternity.
I noticed somewhere in the evening that one of my friends was crushing on me a little, and I couldn't figure it out...until I had the fifth glass of wine. We sat across the table from each other and flirted uncontrollably until I had an epiphany.
"Oh my God!" I shrieked. "You're obsessing about the ass photo!"
He laughed, blushed, and left the table.
The ass photo, unbeknownst to most of you, is a camera phone picture taken many months ago by my ex, in a moment of passion, that is the most amaazing unbelievable photo of my barely clad ass that I have ever seen.
It is so incredible, in fact, that another friend of mine stole it from my phone and forwarded it on to other friends of ours...
It's quite legendary, this photo, and comes up in conversation every once in a while, to which I just fake embarrassment and blush, "aw shucks"
I suddenly remembered that this particular guy friend had exclaimed complete and utter disbelief at the sight of my perfect ass, and had even said to another friend of mine (who I once had a crush on) "Dude, you could have had that."
So as I'm sitting there across from said friend at the table the other night, I recalled that dialogue and called him on it, forever shaming him into admitting that he is slightly enamored with my bare ass.
God I love wine, being a girl, and having a fabulous ass.
He made a shitload of brisket, and there were tons of gorgeous accoutrements to go with, and loads of beautiful wine flowing for eternity.
I noticed somewhere in the evening that one of my friends was crushing on me a little, and I couldn't figure it out...until I had the fifth glass of wine. We sat across the table from each other and flirted uncontrollably until I had an epiphany.
"Oh my God!" I shrieked. "You're obsessing about the ass photo!"
He laughed, blushed, and left the table.
The ass photo, unbeknownst to most of you, is a camera phone picture taken many months ago by my ex, in a moment of passion, that is the most amaazing unbelievable photo of my barely clad ass that I have ever seen.
It is so incredible, in fact, that another friend of mine stole it from my phone and forwarded it on to other friends of ours...
It's quite legendary, this photo, and comes up in conversation every once in a while, to which I just fake embarrassment and blush, "aw shucks"
I suddenly remembered that this particular guy friend had exclaimed complete and utter disbelief at the sight of my perfect ass, and had even said to another friend of mine (who I once had a crush on) "Dude, you could have had that."
So as I'm sitting there across from said friend at the table the other night, I recalled that dialogue and called him on it, forever shaming him into admitting that he is slightly enamored with my bare ass.
God I love wine, being a girl, and having a fabulous ass.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Let It Be
As if it's not enough that I have created pure drama for myself in the last month or so, I was sucked into someone else's drama recently that I truly believe will enable me to walk forward in a straight line and never look back.
I have learned that you can do all the "right" things, say all the "right" things, and be the best person you can be, yet somehow, it may never be enough. And I guess I have to be ok with that.
I have experienced massive amounts of confusion, been down the road to sad, back to angry, up to hatred, back down to love, and landed here, at utter indifference. I have no idea if this is where I will stay , but for now, I will take it.
I have learned that karma does exist, and we should all be careful what we wish for. And I have learned that feeling sorry for someone can sometimes replace utter feelings of anger and dismay.
I am ready to take the next step of my journey on this earth and although it is not in the way that I had hoped for, I am happy that I am able to take it at all. Onwards and upwards. I can't wait to see what happens next. :)
I have learned that you can do all the "right" things, say all the "right" things, and be the best person you can be, yet somehow, it may never be enough. And I guess I have to be ok with that.
I have experienced massive amounts of confusion, been down the road to sad, back to angry, up to hatred, back down to love, and landed here, at utter indifference. I have no idea if this is where I will stay , but for now, I will take it.
I have learned that karma does exist, and we should all be careful what we wish for. And I have learned that feeling sorry for someone can sometimes replace utter feelings of anger and dismay.
I am ready to take the next step of my journey on this earth and although it is not in the way that I had hoped for, I am happy that I am able to take it at all. Onwards and upwards. I can't wait to see what happens next. :)
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The Walk Home
After seeing a KICKASS National show at BAM last night (review to come), and a few drinks at Cherry Tree, I decided to call it a night and make the long trek back to Prospect Heights.
My bud Brooklyn Boy was kind enough to escort me the 15 minutes or so to the Q train on 7th Ave, where I bade him adieu and continued on my trek.
On the way to the train, we encountered no one and nothing, I guess at 2am the "Gowanus/Park Slope" neighborhood doesn't have much going on, because it was pretty damn deserted.
I did, however, manage to spot this little gem in a snowbank, that for some reason I found completely hilarious and blogworthy:
I could only imagine the person who had slugged down that entire bottle of Bacardi and ditched it in a snowbank. I half expected to see him or her passed out, head first in a pile of sludgy snow, pool of puke nearby. No such luck, unfortunately.
But can't you just SEE it??
Someone's Been Watching a Little Too Much 9 1/2 Weeks
Last weekend I found myself down in DC visiting a friend for the long weekend. I hadn't seen this friend in a year or so, so it was great to catch up, and, as we are wont to do, drink far too much.
Sunday started out at a popular brunch joint, with multiple bloody marys to kick off our day and, you know, hair of the dog and all that. We attempted to sightsee and walk off our brunch buzzes, but we made it as far as the White House before we decided that his favorite bar was calling our name. Off we scurried to The Bottom Line, where many beers were consumed.
The crazy thing about DC is that you can be smack dab in the middle of downtown and then, when the mood strikes, you can hop on a train or in a cab (we cabbed it) and find yourself in a completely different state in a matter of minutes.
Well, the mood struck, and we decided to meet up with some other friends at a bar in Virginia (God that sounds so weird) to watch Nascar, which I have decided is my new favorite sport. Let's face it, I never understood football, no matter how many times it was explained to me...Nascar is a bunch of hot dudes driving fast cars, THAT I can understand!
Moved onto vodka tonics at the Nascar bar, and just as I was getting comfy, the posse decided to go down the street for Trivia Night, at which I majorly kicked ass. Can anyone out there claim to remember the periodic elements sign for Tin and Silver? Yea...didn't think so. (fyi, it's SN and AG) More beers at Trivia Night...and Cheesy Poof was drunk.
After roughly 8 hours of straight drinking, I needed to get my ass back home, or my friend was going to have to carry me home on his back, which would have been entertaining for me, maybe not so much for him. So we stumbled out of the bar, found a cab, and had a very confusing ride back to Bethesda, MD, which is where my friend lives...see how weird this all is? Drinking in VA, sleeping in MD...what kind of fucked up town is this, anyway?
At any rate, we made it back to MD in one piece, and as it was only 10 or so, we decided to drink MORE, and watch Eurotrip, which I had apparently never seen, and was severely chastised for. Let me just say, between the Sarah Silverman "I'm fucking Matt Damon" vid (which we also watched about 400 times in a row) and his cameo in "Eurotrip", I can honestly say that I wish *I* was fucking Matt Damon. Rowr.
Now, anyone that knows me knows that after I drink too much, all I want to do is eat chocolate. And during the 359th viewing of "I'm Fucking Matt Damon", I demanded chocolate. "Where the fuck do you keep the chocolate?" I growled, while storming into the kitchen and pulling items out of the cupboard. "What the fuck? Ramen Noodles? Who eats this shit? Cinammon Granola Bars? Close, but not chocolate. I NEED CHOCOLATE."
My friend was frightened. He had never seen this side of me, as far as I know. He didn't know what to do. He offered to go out and find me chocolate...but seriously, have you ever seen Bethesda at midnight on a Sunday night? There would be no chocolate. And Cheese was getting upset.
He decided to text his roommate, who we left at Trivia Night. "Bring home chocolate." he messaged.
This seemed to calm my inner beast, it seemed...just knowing chocolate was a few hours away was enough to satisfy..so I shut the fuck up, and proceeded to watch Eurotrip.
The roommate finally came home, to find my friend and I jumping up and down on the bed, dancing to David Hasselfhoff's "Hooked on a Feeling", which we also played about 754 times that night. I had never been so happy to see someone. "CHOCOLATE????????" I jumped off the bed and lunged at him.
He pulls something out of his pocket. It looks suspiciously NOT like a chocolate bar. Or cookies. Or anything of that ilk.
It was a jar of chocolate sauce.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
He gave me a look and set it down on the nightstand.
Thankfully, by that point I was beyond inebriated, and before I could open that jar of chocolate sauce and stick my entire face in it, or do anything else with it for that matter, I passed out.
Kim Basinger I clearly am not! At least not after 12 hours of straight boozing.
Sunday started out at a popular brunch joint, with multiple bloody marys to kick off our day and, you know, hair of the dog and all that. We attempted to sightsee and walk off our brunch buzzes, but we made it as far as the White House before we decided that his favorite bar was calling our name. Off we scurried to The Bottom Line, where many beers were consumed.
The crazy thing about DC is that you can be smack dab in the middle of downtown and then, when the mood strikes, you can hop on a train or in a cab (we cabbed it) and find yourself in a completely different state in a matter of minutes.
Well, the mood struck, and we decided to meet up with some other friends at a bar in Virginia (God that sounds so weird) to watch Nascar, which I have decided is my new favorite sport. Let's face it, I never understood football, no matter how many times it was explained to me...Nascar is a bunch of hot dudes driving fast cars, THAT I can understand!
Moved onto vodka tonics at the Nascar bar, and just as I was getting comfy, the posse decided to go down the street for Trivia Night, at which I majorly kicked ass. Can anyone out there claim to remember the periodic elements sign for Tin and Silver? Yea...didn't think so. (fyi, it's SN and AG) More beers at Trivia Night...and Cheesy Poof was drunk.
After roughly 8 hours of straight drinking, I needed to get my ass back home, or my friend was going to have to carry me home on his back, which would have been entertaining for me, maybe not so much for him. So we stumbled out of the bar, found a cab, and had a very confusing ride back to Bethesda, MD, which is where my friend lives...see how weird this all is? Drinking in VA, sleeping in MD...what kind of fucked up town is this, anyway?
At any rate, we made it back to MD in one piece, and as it was only 10 or so, we decided to drink MORE, and watch Eurotrip, which I had apparently never seen, and was severely chastised for. Let me just say, between the Sarah Silverman "I'm fucking Matt Damon" vid (which we also watched about 400 times in a row) and his cameo in "Eurotrip", I can honestly say that I wish *I* was fucking Matt Damon. Rowr.
Now, anyone that knows me knows that after I drink too much, all I want to do is eat chocolate. And during the 359th viewing of "I'm Fucking Matt Damon", I demanded chocolate. "Where the fuck do you keep the chocolate?" I growled, while storming into the kitchen and pulling items out of the cupboard. "What the fuck? Ramen Noodles? Who eats this shit? Cinammon Granola Bars? Close, but not chocolate. I NEED CHOCOLATE."
My friend was frightened. He had never seen this side of me, as far as I know. He didn't know what to do. He offered to go out and find me chocolate...but seriously, have you ever seen Bethesda at midnight on a Sunday night? There would be no chocolate. And Cheese was getting upset.
He decided to text his roommate, who we left at Trivia Night. "Bring home chocolate." he messaged.
This seemed to calm my inner beast, it seemed...just knowing chocolate was a few hours away was enough to satisfy..so I shut the fuck up, and proceeded to watch Eurotrip.
The roommate finally came home, to find my friend and I jumping up and down on the bed, dancing to David Hasselfhoff's "Hooked on a Feeling", which we also played about 754 times that night. I had never been so happy to see someone. "CHOCOLATE????????" I jumped off the bed and lunged at him.
He pulls something out of his pocket. It looks suspiciously NOT like a chocolate bar. Or cookies. Or anything of that ilk.
It was a jar of chocolate sauce.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
He gave me a look and set it down on the nightstand.
Thankfully, by that point I was beyond inebriated, and before I could open that jar of chocolate sauce and stick my entire face in it, or do anything else with it for that matter, I passed out.
Kim Basinger I clearly am not! At least not after 12 hours of straight boozing.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Ad World at its Finest
I just saw an ad that disturbs me and tickles me pink all at the same time.
Two people on a motorcycle, wearing helmets. They come to a stop, and the woman on the back gets off.
She takes off her helmet, and reveals that she is THE HOTTEST OLD WOMAN I HAVE EVER SEEN.
While all this is going on, the VO is talking about Depends Adult Diapers, and how no matter who you are or how active you are, you are going to be ok, cuz Depends Diapers are going to change your life.
There is NO FUCKING WAY that hot grandma is wearing Depends.
In addition, I've decided that I'm so going to be that hot grandma, and yea, it will probably take me until I'm 70 to get the balls to ride on a motorcyle...but I will certainly not be wearing Depends while it happens. I'm just going to piss myself, and sport it like a badge of honor.
Two people on a motorcycle, wearing helmets. They come to a stop, and the woman on the back gets off.
She takes off her helmet, and reveals that she is THE HOTTEST OLD WOMAN I HAVE EVER SEEN.
While all this is going on, the VO is talking about Depends Adult Diapers, and how no matter who you are or how active you are, you are going to be ok, cuz Depends Diapers are going to change your life.
There is NO FUCKING WAY that hot grandma is wearing Depends.
In addition, I've decided that I'm so going to be that hot grandma, and yea, it will probably take me until I'm 70 to get the balls to ride on a motorcyle...but I will certainly not be wearing Depends while it happens. I'm just going to piss myself, and sport it like a badge of honor.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Just Curious
So, perusing the internets tonight, I found myself on Craiglist in the personals section. Not because I am looking to meet some skank that way, but I'm curious as to what would draw someone to that type of connection in the first place.
I myself have never gone on the Craiglist personals, and was extremely intrigued by what I might find. Pictures of scantily clad women in sexy lingerie, offering promises of mind-blowing sex? Pictures of nice, cute girls, lonely and looking for love? Not so much. In fact, there wasn't even a picture to be found.
What would draw someone to go on such website, when there are so many other websites that offer at least photos, information, a little insight as to who the person might be? I'm certainly perplexed as to how someone could just log in, and what, randomly pick someone, based on what? "I'm cute, curvy, and live in Hoboken. Email me." How is that enough information to decide that you might want to meet someone?
I mean, I'm not a complete idiot. I get it, one wants to get laid, and fast. Ok, fine, but how do you even know who to pick? That is enough info to go on?
Has our society as we know it completely gone to shit? All for a little casual encounter with a stranger? Relationships have gone the way of shopping on Ebay. And it's fucking terrifying.
I myself have never gone on the Craiglist personals, and was extremely intrigued by what I might find. Pictures of scantily clad women in sexy lingerie, offering promises of mind-blowing sex? Pictures of nice, cute girls, lonely and looking for love? Not so much. In fact, there wasn't even a picture to be found.
What would draw someone to go on such website, when there are so many other websites that offer at least photos, information, a little insight as to who the person might be? I'm certainly perplexed as to how someone could just log in, and what, randomly pick someone, based on what? "I'm cute, curvy, and live in Hoboken. Email me." How is that enough information to decide that you might want to meet someone?
I mean, I'm not a complete idiot. I get it, one wants to get laid, and fast. Ok, fine, but how do you even know who to pick? That is enough info to go on?
Has our society as we know it completely gone to shit? All for a little casual encounter with a stranger? Relationships have gone the way of shopping on Ebay. And it's fucking terrifying.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Cheesy Loves Chachi But His Dad Got in the Way
A couple weeks ago I was at a bar celebrating Fat Tuesday with some friends downtown. I'm not really all that into Mardi Gras, but one of my friends went to Loyola in NOLA and is majorly into all of the festivities, so I said fuck it, I'm always down for a Hurricane or two.
As the Hurricanes flowed, people started to get friendlier and friendlier, and beads started flying left and right.
We were accosted by a group of younguns, probably around 22 or so, who sidled over to our table to chat us up. One of them looked insanely like Scott Baio, who, many of you might not know, has been my guilty pleasure since I was about 12 or so.
Being the witty gal that I am, I made sure to dub him "Chachi" and proceeded to call him that for the remainder of the evening.
I found myself outside smoking a cigarette with my new friend Chachi. Things were getting cozy, and as my beer goggles started to fog up a little, I imagined that we might have a little snogging session outside the bar. We joked about the difference in our ages, and how he couldn't believe I was as old as I said I was. I showed him my ID. He seemed impressed.
I offered him a cigarette, and as I started to pull the pack out of my pocket, he saw the bright yellow box of American Spirits Ultra Lights being offered to him.
"Ho, shit" he bellowed. "My fuckin' dad smokes those!"
Well. There went my boner. I suddenly sobered up, kissed him on the cheek, and scurried back into the bar.
Oh Chachi. Just stick to looking pretty and keep your big ole mouth shut ;)
As the Hurricanes flowed, people started to get friendlier and friendlier, and beads started flying left and right.
We were accosted by a group of younguns, probably around 22 or so, who sidled over to our table to chat us up. One of them looked insanely like Scott Baio, who, many of you might not know, has been my guilty pleasure since I was about 12 or so.
Being the witty gal that I am, I made sure to dub him "Chachi" and proceeded to call him that for the remainder of the evening.
I found myself outside smoking a cigarette with my new friend Chachi. Things were getting cozy, and as my beer goggles started to fog up a little, I imagined that we might have a little snogging session outside the bar. We joked about the difference in our ages, and how he couldn't believe I was as old as I said I was. I showed him my ID. He seemed impressed.
I offered him a cigarette, and as I started to pull the pack out of my pocket, he saw the bright yellow box of American Spirits Ultra Lights being offered to him.
"Ho, shit" he bellowed. "My fuckin' dad smokes those!"
Well. There went my boner. I suddenly sobered up, kissed him on the cheek, and scurried back into the bar.
Oh Chachi. Just stick to looking pretty and keep your big ole mouth shut ;)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Je Suis Fatigue
I sit here watching Seinfeld but nothing can penetrate my mind other than the hideous bullshit that floats around and around.
I'm sitting in a fog of disgust that nothing seems to be able to clear. Cigarette after cigarette I smoke, creating even more of a cloud that refuses to dissipate, reminding me that everything I thought I knew has changed.
I fool myself into thinking that life goes on as always, that I am the same person that I was a week ago, a year ago. But I don't feel like me, I feel like I'm faking every living, breathing cell that I expend.
It's tiring.
I'm sitting in a fog of disgust that nothing seems to be able to clear. Cigarette after cigarette I smoke, creating even more of a cloud that refuses to dissipate, reminding me that everything I thought I knew has changed.
I fool myself into thinking that life goes on as always, that I am the same person that I was a week ago, a year ago. But I don't feel like me, I feel like I'm faking every living, breathing cell that I expend.
It's tiring.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Closure? UPDATED!
The other night I was with my sister tooling around Facebook, trying to find my "first love's" profile.
"Why don't you just become friends with him?" she asked.
Such a simple question deserves a simple answer, but sadly, I had none.
I was talking about it the next day with someone, and it suddenly dawned on me why I couldn't bring myself to be Facebook friends with someone that I hadn't seen or talked to in a really, really long time.
We are so immersed in the idea of the "right" amount of time that we need to allow after a break up in order to contact a person. It's always a gamble--is two weeks enough? 3 months? a year?
I seriously hadn't thought that 19 years was enough time to give a person to get over it. 19 years.
I emailed him immediately.
And he replied!
UPDATE: So, ReMax broker just sent me a REAL email, on my gmail. As opposed to the wimpy little "nice to hear from you" on Facebook. I opened up my mail and I'm like "who the hell is this?" It was him. It was nice. He's happy, and I'm happy for him. But wow, it makes me realize how much people change, and how I really, somehow, have not.
"Why don't you just become friends with him?" she asked.
Such a simple question deserves a simple answer, but sadly, I had none.
I was talking about it the next day with someone, and it suddenly dawned on me why I couldn't bring myself to be Facebook friends with someone that I hadn't seen or talked to in a really, really long time.
We are so immersed in the idea of the "right" amount of time that we need to allow after a break up in order to contact a person. It's always a gamble--is two weeks enough? 3 months? a year?
I seriously hadn't thought that 19 years was enough time to give a person to get over it. 19 years.
I emailed him immediately.
And he replied!
UPDATE: So, ReMax broker just sent me a REAL email, on my gmail. As opposed to the wimpy little "nice to hear from you" on Facebook. I opened up my mail and I'm like "who the hell is this?" It was him. It was nice. He's happy, and I'm happy for him. But wow, it makes me realize how much people change, and how I really, somehow, have not.
Oh Baby
So I got a text today from a friend of mine that said "V's a mom!"
V is a single, 39 year old woman who decided she was done waiting for the "right" guy to come around, got her self impregnated in a lab and, well, now she's a mom.
I give her kudos, I mean, if you know you want something that badly, and you can afford to the means to get it, as well as raising it alone, good for you.
I spent the entire day on a photo shoot, with 2 sets of twins. They were small, blonde, and adorable. Yes, even I thought they were adorable.
I never really thought I wanted kids. I've made it this far without them, and have enjoyed every second of my life, never thinking that I was missing out on something.
I have another friend, my age, married, who never wanted kids either. She suddenly decided that she needed to start trying, because SHIT we're almost "this age" and what if we lose our window of opportunity.
The babies on set today, they made me cry. Cry! And that was really weird.
I'm not sure if it is my sudden singleness, my realization of my age, or an actual yearning, but man, I finally got it. Babies. Soft, pink, little babies.
Don't get me wrong, I am not like "V". I do not want to go about it on my own. I would like a partner in crime, thank you very much. And if it doesn't happen, I might regret it, or I might not.
Just thinking out loud, I guess.
V is a single, 39 year old woman who decided she was done waiting for the "right" guy to come around, got her self impregnated in a lab and, well, now she's a mom.
I give her kudos, I mean, if you know you want something that badly, and you can afford to the means to get it, as well as raising it alone, good for you.
I spent the entire day on a photo shoot, with 2 sets of twins. They were small, blonde, and adorable. Yes, even I thought they were adorable.
I never really thought I wanted kids. I've made it this far without them, and have enjoyed every second of my life, never thinking that I was missing out on something.
I have another friend, my age, married, who never wanted kids either. She suddenly decided that she needed to start trying, because SHIT we're almost "this age" and what if we lose our window of opportunity.
The babies on set today, they made me cry. Cry! And that was really weird.
I'm not sure if it is my sudden singleness, my realization of my age, or an actual yearning, but man, I finally got it. Babies. Soft, pink, little babies.
Don't get me wrong, I am not like "V". I do not want to go about it on my own. I would like a partner in crime, thank you very much. And if it doesn't happen, I might regret it, or I might not.
Just thinking out loud, I guess.
O Come Let Us Adorn Her
Somebody once told me that I was "all show and no go". Of course, it was freshman year of high school, and he was referring to me being a severe cocktease, but hey, the phrase stuck with me for the last *ahem* "10" years or so, and I've never quite forgotten it.
I'm happy to say that I can indeed say that I got a tattoo last night.
Oh yes, I did.
I'd like to say that I was eagerly skipping to the chosen place, with a happy smile across my mug, but sadly, this was not the case.
I was pretty much near hyperventilating when I met Kristen on 2nd Avenue, scared shitless and ready to run far away. What the hell was I doing? Why was I going to put myself through this? Has anyone ever died from tattoo ink? Or had a stroke? Mooommmmy!
When we walked inside, we discovered that my artist was running a half hour late, which turned out to be a good thing, because, did you know you're actually supposed to EAT before purposely losing blood? ha. Yea, eat..not doing that so much anymore
(10 pounds and counting!)but the tattoo artist was nice enough to point us to a place on St Marks for a slice and soda special. "Why not the place across the street?" we asked. "Bad sauce," she replied. 'Nuff said.
Once I filled my tummy with a slice and a Dr Pepper, we made our way back to our final destination, where I met with Dan, my artist. He sketched out my design, and we followed him back to his station.
I don't know what I was expecting..but I kept picturing me, topless, lying on my stomach on a bench, or on one of those comfy massage tables with the hole where you put your face, you know, kind of sensuous..not so much. Instead it was me, topless, sitting in a straight back chair like what they put in high school auditoriums, poor Kristen holding my hand really tight while having to be subjected to my lily white fishbelly.
Dan started to apply the stencil, and I already started wincing, expecting the worst.
Kristen politely pointed out that he hadn't actually started using any needles yet, which I became relieved about, until suddenly..
whirrrrrrrr the sound of the needle, and a slight, annoying pressure. After a few minutes, I sort of got into it. Might I dare say that it was a pleasurable pain. It was really sexual. Damn sexual. It made me feel more alive than I've felt in a long time.
So for twenty minutes or so, I sat there, feeling sort of sexy, sort of turned on, sort of repulsed..it was kinda like a one night stand with someone you met in a dirty bar, you know exactly what I mean. I only had to stop once and have some Gatorade, but all in all, a mighty success, if I do say so myself.
When the ordeal was over, I took my brave friend (more for having to see me topless than anything else) for a glass of wine at Von, and we celebrated feeling alive.
And now I walk around smelling like diaper rash, thanks to this lovely A&D ointment I must keep applying to my left shoulder blade.
I'm happy to say that I can indeed say that I got a tattoo last night.
Oh yes, I did.
I'd like to say that I was eagerly skipping to the chosen place, with a happy smile across my mug, but sadly, this was not the case.
I was pretty much near hyperventilating when I met Kristen on 2nd Avenue, scared shitless and ready to run far away. What the hell was I doing? Why was I going to put myself through this? Has anyone ever died from tattoo ink? Or had a stroke? Mooommmmy!
When we walked inside, we discovered that my artist was running a half hour late, which turned out to be a good thing, because, did you know you're actually supposed to EAT before purposely losing blood? ha. Yea, eat..not doing that so much anymore
(10 pounds and counting!)but the tattoo artist was nice enough to point us to a place on St Marks for a slice and soda special. "Why not the place across the street?" we asked. "Bad sauce," she replied. 'Nuff said.
Once I filled my tummy with a slice and a Dr Pepper, we made our way back to our final destination, where I met with Dan, my artist. He sketched out my design, and we followed him back to his station.
I don't know what I was expecting..but I kept picturing me, topless, lying on my stomach on a bench, or on one of those comfy massage tables with the hole where you put your face, you know, kind of sensuous..not so much. Instead it was me, topless, sitting in a straight back chair like what they put in high school auditoriums, poor Kristen holding my hand really tight while having to be subjected to my lily white fishbelly.
Dan started to apply the stencil, and I already started wincing, expecting the worst.
Kristen politely pointed out that he hadn't actually started using any needles yet, which I became relieved about, until suddenly..
whirrrrrrrr the sound of the needle, and a slight, annoying pressure. After a few minutes, I sort of got into it. Might I dare say that it was a pleasurable pain. It was really sexual. Damn sexual. It made me feel more alive than I've felt in a long time.
So for twenty minutes or so, I sat there, feeling sort of sexy, sort of turned on, sort of repulsed..it was kinda like a one night stand with someone you met in a dirty bar, you know exactly what I mean. I only had to stop once and have some Gatorade, but all in all, a mighty success, if I do say so myself.
When the ordeal was over, I took my brave friend (more for having to see me topless than anything else) for a glass of wine at Von, and we celebrated feeling alive.
And now I walk around smelling like diaper rash, thanks to this lovely A&D ointment I must keep applying to my left shoulder blade.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Change
Tonight I am meeting with an artist to discuss this:
I've been wanting to get a tattoo for 10+ years. My long-ago ex and I used to fantasize about me going down to the place, with him accompanying me, and how hot it would be to have him watch me get inked up in some naughty place on my body that only he could see.
Well, that never happened, for numerous reasons...mainly that I am chicken shit and scared to death of change...and needles.
I've decided that I'm tired of being chicken-shit, and that it's time to grow some balls and do something that I'm weary of hearing myself talk about.
So what do you all think? The design is of a comet and the sun. I feel that the symbolism of the comet, an expression of wrath throughout the heavens, wreaking havoc and causing a ruckus through the universe, fits my mindset right now, perfectly.
And it's also just really cool lookin'!
I've been wanting to get a tattoo for 10+ years. My long-ago ex and I used to fantasize about me going down to the place, with him accompanying me, and how hot it would be to have him watch me get inked up in some naughty place on my body that only he could see.
Well, that never happened, for numerous reasons...mainly that I am chicken shit and scared to death of change...and needles.
I've decided that I'm tired of being chicken-shit, and that it's time to grow some balls and do something that I'm weary of hearing myself talk about.
So what do you all think? The design is of a comet and the sun. I feel that the symbolism of the comet, an expression of wrath throughout the heavens, wreaking havoc and causing a ruckus through the universe, fits my mindset right now, perfectly.
And it's also just really cool lookin'!
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Seven Days
Every morning I wake up and I have the exact same feeling of panic and confusion.
What the fuck happened? Why do I feel so shitty?
And then I remember why.
Last night I had a dream. You were standing behind me, with your arms around my waist. Your cheek against my face, holding me super tight. We were looking out the window and it was a beautiful, sunny day. We just stood there like that for what seemed like forever, and I felt so safe and so happy and so loved.
Just like I did whenever I was with you.
I woke up, and for just a few minutes I felt good. Really, really good.
And then I remembered.
What the fuck happened? Why do I feel so shitty?
And then I remember why.
Last night I had a dream. You were standing behind me, with your arms around my waist. Your cheek against my face, holding me super tight. We were looking out the window and it was a beautiful, sunny day. We just stood there like that for what seemed like forever, and I felt so safe and so happy and so loved.
Just like I did whenever I was with you.
I woke up, and for just a few minutes I felt good. Really, really good.
And then I remembered.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Rub a Dub Dub, Three Friends in a Tub
Saturday afternoon I found myself at the home of a really good friend of mine, and her husband.
Said friend has a giant house in Park Slope, and spending time there is akin to being on some sort of holiday, complete with gourmet cooking, good wine, and beautiful surroundings.
My friend had sent her hubby out to the liquor store so she could whip me up some of the Blueberri Stoli cocktails that she is famous for (mind you, it was 4pm). We sat in the living room perusing Teen Vogue (hubby has teen daughters) and laughing at British actors with bad teeth in Hello Magazine, until hubby returned with the booze.
As we stood around the kitchen, whipping up our drinks, my friend decided that I needed to take a bath.
"You need a nice, hot bath to make you feel better. There's nothing more relaxing than a good soak in the tub with a cocktail at your side."
I felt a little weird about this. I mean, this is a good friend, but seriously? A bath?
Did I mention that they have a jacuzzi?
Yea, I didn't know they did either.
Next thing I know, girlfriend's upstairs, getting the tub ready for me, complete with fuzzy white towels, a mud mask, scented candles, and my Blueberri Stoli cocktail.
A threesome may or may not have been proposed (remember who we're dealing with, after all).
Whether I acted on it or not, I'll let you decide.
Said friend has a giant house in Park Slope, and spending time there is akin to being on some sort of holiday, complete with gourmet cooking, good wine, and beautiful surroundings.
My friend had sent her hubby out to the liquor store so she could whip me up some of the Blueberri Stoli cocktails that she is famous for (mind you, it was 4pm). We sat in the living room perusing Teen Vogue (hubby has teen daughters) and laughing at British actors with bad teeth in Hello Magazine, until hubby returned with the booze.
As we stood around the kitchen, whipping up our drinks, my friend decided that I needed to take a bath.
"You need a nice, hot bath to make you feel better. There's nothing more relaxing than a good soak in the tub with a cocktail at your side."
I felt a little weird about this. I mean, this is a good friend, but seriously? A bath?
Did I mention that they have a jacuzzi?
Yea, I didn't know they did either.
Next thing I know, girlfriend's upstairs, getting the tub ready for me, complete with fuzzy white towels, a mud mask, scented candles, and my Blueberri Stoli cocktail.
A threesome may or may not have been proposed (remember who we're dealing with, after all).
Whether I acted on it or not, I'll let you decide.
Monday, February 04, 2008
And This is MY So Called Life
When something horrible happens to me, I, like probably most people, go through a few phases. First, there's the not showering, wearing the same clothes for three days straight phase. Then, there's the "dammit, I'm not letting this get to me" phase, where I get my shit together and become a rockstar.
I'm not quite at the rockstar phase yet, but you'll all be glad to know that I changed my outfit, finally. I think those jeans I was wearing could probably walk on their own, and the sweater, well, let's try to forget that I hadn't worn deoderant since like, Thursday.
Luckily for me, I completely lose my appetite when my heart is broken, so in addition to wearing a cute outfit, it's also hanging loosely on my body. Nice.
I had to go to Tekserve today to finally get my computer keyboard fixed, after a nasty mishap with some white wine (half of the letters had stopped working--including the shift key, which you could probably tell from my last few posts).
I will blatantly say that the cute computer nerd behind the counter had a look of lust all over his face that I haven't seen from a stranger in a while (or, more likely, I just hadn't been paying attention). From the minute I set my ibook down in front of him, he was mesmerized.
After joking around about my being a psychic for knowing how much he was going to charge me, he started asking me the usual questions about my computer, in between sneaking looks at me here and there. "You have OS 10.4, right?"
Me, not knowing much about these things, shrugged and said, "I might have 10.3, not sure."
He checked, then said "Well, unless you downgraded for some reason, you definitely have 10.4."
I smiled, flipped my hair and giggled. "You never know with me. I might have pressed some special button and got myself back to OS 9."
He looked into my eyes and said, "I'd like to press your special button."
Could you friggin' die?
As I walked out of the store, laughing to myself, I realized that, oh fuck, I left my "My So-Called Life" DVD in the drive.
Now he's gonna know what I do every night before I go to bed. Pressing my magic button to Jordan Catalano.
Great.
I'm not quite at the rockstar phase yet, but you'll all be glad to know that I changed my outfit, finally. I think those jeans I was wearing could probably walk on their own, and the sweater, well, let's try to forget that I hadn't worn deoderant since like, Thursday.
Luckily for me, I completely lose my appetite when my heart is broken, so in addition to wearing a cute outfit, it's also hanging loosely on my body. Nice.
I had to go to Tekserve today to finally get my computer keyboard fixed, after a nasty mishap with some white wine (half of the letters had stopped working--including the shift key, which you could probably tell from my last few posts).
I will blatantly say that the cute computer nerd behind the counter had a look of lust all over his face that I haven't seen from a stranger in a while (or, more likely, I just hadn't been paying attention). From the minute I set my ibook down in front of him, he was mesmerized.
After joking around about my being a psychic for knowing how much he was going to charge me, he started asking me the usual questions about my computer, in between sneaking looks at me here and there. "You have OS 10.4, right?"
Me, not knowing much about these things, shrugged and said, "I might have 10.3, not sure."
He checked, then said "Well, unless you downgraded for some reason, you definitely have 10.4."
I smiled, flipped my hair and giggled. "You never know with me. I might have pressed some special button and got myself back to OS 9."
He looked into my eyes and said, "I'd like to press your special button."
Could you friggin' die?
As I walked out of the store, laughing to myself, I realized that, oh fuck, I left my "My So-Called Life" DVD in the drive.
Now he's gonna know what I do every night before I go to bed. Pressing my magic button to Jordan Catalano.
Great.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Saturday, February 02, 2008
a little comic relief
on my way home from the gym, i stopped at a bodega for a pack of cigarettes.
'american spirits lights' i asked the guy at the counter.
i reached for my money and realized i only had a five and a ten. since i have not purchased cigs in over a year, i honestly have no idea how much they cost these days. he watched as i pondered over this.
'how much' i finally asked, feeling like an utter fool.
'7.5o' he replied, and then he looked at me curiously. 'do you even smoke' he laughed.
'i guess i do now' i smiled.
yes, i realize that purchasing the cigarettes makes me an even bigger fool, but that's a whole other story.
'american spirits lights' i asked the guy at the counter.
i reached for my money and realized i only had a five and a ten. since i have not purchased cigs in over a year, i honestly have no idea how much they cost these days. he watched as i pondered over this.
'how much' i finally asked, feeling like an utter fool.
'7.5o' he replied, and then he looked at me curiously. 'do you even smoke' he laughed.
'i guess i do now' i smiled.
yes, i realize that purchasing the cigarettes makes me an even bigger fool, but that's a whole other story.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)