fuzzy sweater.

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Happy New Year, almost...

the words spilled out effortlessly at 19:05

Sunday, December 29, 2002

When I was eleven, I compiled a manila envelope's worth of things that meant something to me. Then I forgot about it for fourteen years. Tonight, I discovered all of this stuff in an envelope under my dresser dated 1988, like a little time capsule. And here on my almost-twenty fifth birthday, in this particular mood... yep, I'm feeling a little nostalgic. So, reader, if you please, the contents of the life of my younger self are as follows:

1 Girl Scouts I.D. card, lapsed as of 9.30.88 [hand labeled "please return if lost!!!"]
1 blue "participant" ribbon, Forest Hills Country Club junior golf tournament 1988
3 Piano Guild report cards, dated 1986-1988. According to one judge's note, I "sound(ed) like I enjoy(ed) playing the piano!" Sucka.
1 page of a story written on notebook paper, in obese bubble script, entailing two characters named Brigit and Keith and their dilemma over a magic disappearing potion.
1 "Ye Olde Membership Carde" allowing me the benefits of my elementary school's Birthday Book Club
1 unpatented sketch and description of a "telephone / radio / TV (with or without cable) / cup holder / clock / picture frame / scratch pad & pencil & sharpener" machine which I almost invented but never followed through on.
1 unsent letter, written by me in pink ink, addressed to my best friend Carrie who moved away in the third grade. For your entertainment and my humility, paragraph two of this letter:

"Oh yeah. Yes, I know who Rod Stuart (sic) is. Was it really fun? It sounds like it. Up here, most kids like rap - you know. Run DMC mainly. And heavy metal. I personally like rap better. 'Funky Cole Madeena' (sic) is a good song. But Rod Stuart is good to. I like 'Forever Young'".

Yep. I wrote those words, all of them. I can promise you that I had no idea what I was talking about and was just trying to sound cool. Was that cool, in 1988? Liking Rod Stewart and rap?

Over the past few days, I've spent some time with my twelve-year-old cousin who is the definition of sixth grade cool. Being with her, I found myself reflecting a bit about what I was like at her age, and how totally odd and awkward I was by contrast. Not knowledgeable about lip glosses or movies or music or style or anything anything anything. And then I came home and found this envelope.

I love that I was a weird child. I tried so hard to be normal and inconspicuous, and maybe I pulled it off in some respects... maybe you can't tell from the contents of this envelope. But for me, when I see all this stuff, I remember so well how it really was. Even within the wholesome family environs, with the sturdy upbringing which is probably pretty apparent. With piano and scouts and all of that. That was my parents also trying. To little avail.

Have I mentioned my napkin collection before? Or my failed, roadside, hand-made miniature pillow business? Or the fact that for months after we moved into this house, I would pack a milk crate full of my favorite belongings and leave it by my bedroom door nightly, just in case the house caught fire and I had to escape quickly? ... At this point, I don't know... frankly, I think anyone who wasn't a weird child probably shouldn't be trusted further than they can be thrown.

Anyway. Here's to recollecting.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 22:30

Wednesday, December 25, 2002

This is a very special day for me. For in a few short minutes, I'm going to be a katrillizillionizzle-aire.

I figure the payoff and effects of winning the powerball lotto won't be immediate, and for awhile you, my patient and dedicated fans, might not even notice the subtle changes in my mannerisms and subjects of interest. You'll barely catch wind when I begin talking more and more about extravagent purchases I've made at Barney's, or detailing cosmetic surgical procedures that suddenly seem utterly necessary. Over time, you might slowly come to realize that I'm posting less often, due to the amount of time I spend trotting the globe on my superjet with my team of homiez, all of whom will be people I knew before I was dirty dirty rich because I know I can trust them, even if I don't really like them because they're not ever ever ever going to be as rich as me. I mean, sure I'll have the best computer that money can buy, and will have access to the internet even while flying over the ocean on my way to New Zealand, or taking my submarine to Argentina. But I won't care as much, because with disgusting amounts of money inevitably comes a maddening distaste for the simpler pleasures in life, such as blogging and checking Sitemeter 18 times a day, or cooking for myself, or buying clothes that weren't hand-tailored for me, or talking to people who won't ever ever ever be as rich as me. You'll have to understand. Please try, if you can't right now, to see that just because I'm about to win $280 million and leave this shitty little "good life" behind, it doesn't mean I won't be the same person deep down inside. Deep, deep down.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 21:26

Tuesday, December 24, 2002

being there.
alternately entitled, being here.

being home always makes me want to write introspectively... but I'm going to stop myself this time. Instead, I'm just going to lay out a few simple little details that require no introspection and can fully explain themselves. Sort of.

i had to stop myself from buying a BEDAZZLER today. it seemed like a steal of a deal at $3.99... that's cheap. i still might go back tomorrow.

i parallel parked my mother's car like one bad-ass parallel parker, considering i haven't driven in four months or parallel parked in two years. it felt excellent. A C in driver's ed, puh! Shows how little you knew, Mr. Grodendick. (For real, that was his name, and the fact that I really almost killed him during my permit exam can be very rationally explained upon request).

i played poker tonight for three hours straight with a bunch of other people who can't play poker. and i lost EVERY SINGLE HAND. i might owe someone $400.

today i was trying to get to the DMV and i FORGOT HOW TO GET TO MAIN STREET, in this the town i was born and raised in!

because i didn't have the proper identification, i later went home and renewed my driver's license OVER THE INTERNET. and i find something extremely unsettling in that.

everyone i used to know in high school really truly is either married or fat, or both. except for sarah and me, who are just cooler. it would be hard to be less cool than we were in high school, though.

my grandma cried when she saw me, she was so happy. she kisses on the lips, which we all agree is a little odd, but she's grandma and we love her so we all just let it go. it's still a surprise every time, that she's still doing it.

on the interstate between indianapolis and my hometown, there are approximately 7 billboards advertising GUN AND KNIFE SHOPS.

i got my teenaged cousin an i-zone sticky film camera at Target because i didn't know what else to get him and forgot to get a gift receipt, and now have to give him the regular receipt which also has feminine products on it.

i hung out with a baby for a little while tonight... babies can be so sweet and nice to be around. i forget that when the only ones i see are screaming their heads off on the subway.

that is all.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 02:25

Saturday, December 21, 2002

Herewith, with only the necessary embellishments, my day in downward spiralling steps:

9:30 I wake up bright and early this morning. My flight into Dayton leaves at 2 and I’ve got some packing to do. Also, I tend to function better when I have lots of time in the morning to laze about, eat egg sandwiches, etc.

10:30: Things start to go awry. It would be fair to say that my being completely sidetracked by a M*A*S*H* mini-marathon is the beginning of the end. Hey, I’m sorry, but it was the one where Radar goes home. I felt like crying a little. Like I was going to turn that off.

12:50: I call a car service. They tell me it’ll be ten minutes. Fifteen minutes later, I take my stuff outside and wait on the stoop. Five minutes later, I call to check on the car. “It’s there,” he tells me. I stand up. He’s there. Three doors down, camouflaged among the parked cars. Thanks for honking or calling, I say. We don’t do that, he says. Later, I will tip him in quarters.

1:20: Still on the BQE. It dawns on me that I may miss my flight. I stare out the window wondering, how short should I get my hair cut next week?

1:35: At the airport, the e-ticket machine tells me I’m too late to check in. A nearby attendant tells me I’ll need to get on the next flight, and am directed to a line. At the front of that line I’m told I was supposed to be in another line. I go to the second line and stand for twenty minutes. My batteries die.

2:00: Over the loudspeaker, I hear an announcement. Anyone willing to give up their seat on the Dayton flight will get a free round-trip ticket, she says. I realize that this means I could have hypothetically gotten that free ticket. Instead, someone will get my seat and I will get nothing. I make that face where I raise my eyebrows and stick out my bottom lip a little as if to say, “hmmh.”

2:05: Talking to Anthony at U.S. Air. No more direct flights to Dayton today, he chirps. I can be standby for Pittsburgh, and from there go standby to Dayton if I want… but it’s a long list and my chances are almost nil. There’s no other way, he assesses with a grim smile. Flights to Cincinnati? Booked. Indy? Booked. Columbus? Honey, are you kidding? Don't make me say it. I ask wryly if money or flirting with his manager would help. He chuckles pityingly. I swear a little and put myself on standby to Pittsburgh, thinking maybe it’s my day.

2:45: I am frisked. “Female frisk over here!” the man bellows, and the woman with the wand comes over. Makes me unbuckle my belt. I inwardly rejoice that I decided not to wear the pants with the top button missing. Finding nothing dangerous on me, of course, I’m told to re-dress myself and move along.

2:58: I approach the desk at the gate. I hear someone who seems to be the head guy say something about the flight being full, and no stand-by’s being let on. This means that all of those stand-bys will be ahead of me on the list for the next flight at 5:55. I call my mom.

3:05: Eating a Big ‘n’ Tasty in the food court. No napkins in the bag. Mom calls to tell me she found a flight for tomorrow for $269. I kind of have to go home for Christmas, I tell myself… and I tell Mom to book that bitch. Give her my credit card number. Silently pray that I get some presents I can return for cash.

3:20: Now I’m in baggage claim trying to find my suitcase. There are exactly six identical black Samsonite stand-up rolling suitcases in the cluster by the office. Mine, thanks to a last-minute stroke of sense, has a little yellow string tied to the handle. To be safe, I stand in line for twenty more minutes… only to have the man tell me I could have just taken my bag. All blase-like. This doesn't comfort me.

3:45: The shuttle van lady balks when I tell her I want to take a $10 shared ride to Brooklyn. She belches back, “Brooklyn!?!” as if I had asked for a ride to Johannesburg. I want to sweetly say, Brooklyn? You know, that borough that's five minutes south of where your fat ass is parked right now? “We don’t go to Brooklyn. You need to a cab, sweetie.”

4:15: $60 in cabs and four hours later, I’m back where I started: in my living room. Still not sorry that I watched Radar’s emotional exit. Not even pissed off about the hassle, really. I wasn’t mad at all today... just tired and cynically amused. Anyway, I do it all over again tomorrow. Right now I’m watching The Adventures of Pete and Pete and eating chocolate sorbet. Ooh, DeGrassi High is next! Sweet.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 21:17

Friday, December 20, 2002

My attempt at being friendly with the corporate supply delivery guy, Serge, who just delivered some scotch tape to me:

Me: So, do you have to work next week?
Serge: Only one day. You work next week?
Me: No, after today I'm off until January 2nd.
Serge: Oh... for the holidays?
Me: Yeah. I'm going home to see my family for awhile.
Serge: Really... where you going?
Me: Indiana.
Serge: .... wow. Is far from here, innit?
Me: Sure, sort of... about two hours on the plane.
Serge: You fly?
Me: Yep.
Serge: Is that near Bangladesh?
Me: No, Indiana? It's next to Ohio. And Chicago. In the middle?
Serge: Oh right, right. Heh heh.
Me: Heh heh.
Serge: Is hot there, eh?
Me: Well, about the same as it is here.
Serge: [looking confused] Ah. Heh heh.
Me: Well... happy holidays.
Serge: See you next week?
Me: Uh, I'm off next week. But okay.

I feel a little bad making fun of him. Maybe you had to be here. It was funny. But it's possibly even funnier trying to picture my cornfed Hoosier relatives and I celebrating Christmas in India.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:46

Thursday, December 19, 2002

Indignity is: being wolloped in the head by a man swinging a clear garbage bag full of Cosi potato chips before 9:30 in the morning.

Childlike delight is: finding packages full of toys and mix CD's and slippers on your kitchen table when you get home from a long day busting your hump.

Worthy of perusal is: fredfinder. (Unless you happen to be Fred, in which case it's really nothing that would interest you and you should not peruse).

Realism is: slowly admitting to yourself that not just some but all of your pants fit you badly even though you're sticking to a strict three-cookie-a-day regime.

Brainwashing is: the manner in which this entire country was at some point led to believe that the candy cane was both a good candy AND merited unyielding promotion during the holiday season year after year.

A better nationally renowned holiday treat would definitely be: Christmas Tree-shaped Peeps. . Snowman Peeps. Dreidle Peeps. (Well, the last one isn't out yet. You heard it here first, folks).

I'm on a road to nowhere here. I'll just stop.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:31

Tuesday, December 17, 2002

I think I might possibly be slipping.

Tonight I was watching That 70’s Show and eating dinner, all single-person plate-on-the-lap style, and this commercial for Domino’s Cinna Stix came on. And something happened that I’m really not proud of. I found myself laughing. At a goddamn Domino's commercial. It was this snorty sort of extended guffaw... unfamiliar, but a laugh no less, lasting, like, six or seven seconds. And then I started laughing at myself for laughing at a Domino’s commercial…and I kept on laughing. Like, right on through the next thirty-second commercial. Like a moron, all by myself with spaghetti sauce on my face.

But listen, see... just hear me out. Cut to your standard All-American family dinner setting, six kids, bustle bustle, grabby grabby, pizza pizza. And over the din, the mom cheerfully chirps, “Kids! Keep your oboes off the table!” And you think to yourself, wait… did she say oboes? Surely she said “elbows”, did she not? Well! It’s in that tiny second AFTER she speaks that you realize: the twin daughters are holding oboes. Yes! Oboes! So then: first you’ve got identical twins dressed alike, which is of course ALWAYS a riot... and then you’ve got the pun! Oboes! Multilayered, like. People, I was practically holding back tears. Over a Domino's commercial.

Is that funny?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 21:39

Monday, December 16, 2002

I think I might just be an evil genius.

I was racking my brain trying to think of something to give my roommate that might possibly equate with the Aimee Mann ticket she gave me, and having no luck. I figured I would find her something in an antique store somewhere, something nice but not very personal, and would pay too much for it, give it to her, and she would like it but not LOVE it... you know how it goes.

And then, on Saturday, I was passing by a petstore and It came to me. Almost like an infestation. I was rushing around town shopping with Amber, gathering various presents and growing ever more resentful of commercialism... and yet all the while, this idea of mine kept me going. It wasn't commercial. It wasn't consumer-driven. It was creative, thoughtful, and involved untapped creativity. It involved dressing up cats in ridiculous attire and photographing their indignity.

So I go into the petstore. I emerge with a pair of antlers with a little dangly bell on them. I'm giggling to myself at the sheer genius and absurdity of this plan, but I will not waver! It will happen! I practically run home with Amber and her gargantuan 40-pounds-each shopping bags in tow, who insists to me that though she has never assisted in an animal photo shoot before, she's a "quick study" and can work well with animals despite her near-crippling allergy to cats. I have little choice.

We chase Barbara's cat around the apartment for hours, taking one photo at a time of him with these stupid antlers on in various poses and frames of mind... curiously, with every shot, Jasper is looking more and more incensed, less and less amused. I'm increasingly desperate for the "money shot", as it were... but nothing seems to click! Nothing's working out. But finally, I'm satisfied enough to let him cower in his room without giving further chase. In a thoughtful moment, I shove the antlers on my own kitty's head for one split second, get the shot, and then run the roll over to Rite Aid for some quick developing.

So because Jasper was smart enough to suggest a contract, what you see here is a picture of my girl, as completely resentful and despising as any cat I've ever seen in all my life. Basically mimicking the expression I wore throughout all of my teenage years. Isn't she precious?

Barbara, of course, LOVED the glamour shots. Loved them.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:14

Friday, December 13, 2002

Ahhhhh.

You know, it really is a refreshing change to be able to come in the morning after a big work gathering (this time, the holiday party) and NOT be fearful of what people will tell me I did last night. None of the usual, "You've GOT to remember spanking me!" or "Do you remember telling me how much you wanted to spank me?" or "I didn't know you could swear like that!" or "Should I not have told everyone else what you told me about your boss last night?" or "Hey, Appetizer Whore!" or "Did you ever find your wallet?" or "[cold, blank stare]". This may be because I ran off early after downing a mere four comp cocktails to attend a reading in Brooklyn, and I sobered up on the way. Still, it feels good to not be that asshole. I've discovered the path to maintaining decorum: get out before you get soused.

Unfortunately, not everyone at the holiday party adhered to the simple rules I myself inadvertently applied to myself. As I was strolling home from the subway around 11:30, I pulled out my cell phone and saw that I had three messages. I went to check them, and discovered that all of them were from Amber. Poor little bunny... it was apparent that she was in the back of a car as she detailed instructions to the cabdriver and my voicemailbox. While listening to this, my phone rang-- it was Amber! Jackie-O was soused. If hilariously soused. I just sat and listened. It was entertainment of the sort they probably had in the olden days, when people listened to the radio for fun. [Actual conversation omitted to protect the soused.]

This morning, Dan is confirming that there was "lesbian slut dancing to 'When I Think About You, I Touch Myself'" [not Amber], other coworker-to-coworker grinding, claptrap about bosses touching assistants' asses, drink-downing in the double digits... god, when I think of the mess I narrowly averted. Whew! Maybe it's a sign of my agedness that I don't feel I "missed out" on anything there, but the last thing this girl needs is to be reminded for the next two years about how she was making lewd jokes about the bigwig editor within his earshot at the Christmas party. Again.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:01

Thursday, December 12, 2002

to puke and be tattooed in new york city

Joey: bush wants us all to get small pox vaccinations
Sarah: i was thinking about that this morning.
Sarah: i don't want one of those big ugly scars on my arm though.
Sarah: bush is a toolbox.
Joey: i want a cool scar. not some lame smallpox scar
Sarah: i know.
Sarah: but i bet tattooing will skyrocket.
Joey: to cover it up?
Sarah: "can i get my scar in the shape of a tazmanian devil, please?"
Joey: when are we getting tatoos?
Sarah: you say when.
Joey: right after the party when we're all krunked
Joey: no puking on me though
Sarah: i can't promise that and you know it.
Joey: i know i know
Sarah: wouldn't it be cute if i did, though?
Joey: it would be a great story
Sarah: me: "blech!" you: "awwwww!"
Joey: everyone else on the subway just staring at me. horrified.
Sarah: not staring at me, the puker.
Joey: i would be more freaked out by the person not bothered by puke
Sarah: that would also probably be me.
Sarah: i've puked my way around this town like nobody else.
Joey: they have websites devoted to you. puking girl.
Sarah: i wish.
Sarah: "where will she strike next?"
Joey: police sketches
Sarah: i've also puked in a trashcan on the platform, and in a trash can by the bus stop, and out a cab window on the BQE...
Sarah: in line for the bathroom at a bar on new years 2 years ago, and then again on the door of that bar on my way out, and then on the stoop outside. And somehow in my eye.
Joey: something tells me the party will involve puking
Sarah: all over the floor at a party after bolting from a boy's room who i had been kissing, after having earlier puked in his bathroom...
Sarah: that was a highlight. can you believe he gave me a bogus number?
Joey: were you upset by that?
Sarah: i was a little miffed, but i had already suspected he was a player before i got drunk and started thinking he was just charming. also, i did puke in his kitchen.
Sarah: ohhh, and then i puked into a cup being held by a guy i was out with for the first time, at a party.... that was also hot. he DID call again though.
Joey: you have me beat.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:48

Wednesday, December 11, 2002

Eleven great things about today, for me anyway:

1. Boss is out for the whole entire morning!
2. My new Walkmen CD has been on permaplay for the past three days and I love, specifically, tracks #2, #4, #5, #8, #9, and #12. The rest are also superior. Makes me wish I had never renounced playing the piano for all eternity.
3. I'm flipping through a font book. Picking a font for a project I'm working on that actually doesn't blow.
4. It's holiday cookie time again, and there are free fancy patisserie cookies in the art department! Saving for later.
5. I love wearing my vintage-polyester pink-and-white-wide-collar-shirt-with-black-v-neck ensemble. Makes me feel hip.
6. Definitely not getting Chinese for lunch today.
7. My birthday is in 20 days!!! When I'll be heralding in the big quarter-century mark with momentus excitement. [To my knowledge, no one has yet bought me a tricked-out Mini Cooper... hint, hint?]
8. Mittens.
9. Apparently, because I announced last week that I'm planning to make popcorn balls for this all-girl cookie party (great band name, eh? Way better than stupid Lovepants...that's where the name came from, you know. Anyway, Jon thought of AGCP, but I'd steal it in a white hot minute. if I ever have a band. Which I won't.) on Sunday, I'm on the cutting edge of the world of corn! Who knew.
10. It is officially "Proper Sentence Structure and Sensible Use of The English Written Language is for Suckers and Assholes Day 2002".
11. Margo's mom's chocolate chocolate cake. I'm eating it right now and oh my god, it's good.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:59

Tuesday, December 10, 2002

Sometimes I sit around thinking about how funny my inner monologue is. Sometimes it can get pretty darned hilarious up in my head. So tonight after a few particularly rousing chortles, I decided I was going to write some of my thoughts down for blogging. Only I’ve discovered after doing this that maybe the hilarity doesn’t translate as well as I thought it would. However, since I’ve written it, and since some of you people are so easily appeased, I’m giving it to you anyway.

While on the subway:
“Is she… what the… lady, please! Get that forefinger outta that nostril and… oh, do NOT go for the chocolates now. Nononono…. standing up now. Standing. Walking.” pfah!

“Heh, a mustache... I wonder if there’s a single Two Weeks Notice poster left in the city that hasn’t yet been defaced.” pah!

While watching my lovely cat being manipulated by her veterenarian at her annual checkup:

“Maybe I should go get a checkup sometime. It’s probably about time for my once-every-eight-years checkup.” Ha!

“Oh, man. That [the mew of a cat being anally probed with a thermometer]has got to be hands-down the most pathetic sound in the whole world… and yet… oh my gosh, she’s so pretty!” Snort!

While considering dinner options:

“I had Chinese for lunch. And yet I want Chinese again now… hm. But what the hell. Chinese people do it every day. Lots of them.” hoo-WEE!

While eating sesame chicken from the Chinese place across the street:

“I know I asked for chicken… and yet I have to wonder: would a person actually ever bring themselves to handle and prepare a dead rat? They seem like honorable restaurant-folk… but... this stuff is gross.” Is anyone calling the Improv?

After eating Chinese something, while lying motionless on the couch watching television:

“I could definitely do some sit-ups. Hm. Hey, I should do sit-ups! ... no, of course I won’t.” But seriously, folks!

“Fucking Christmas episodes.” Practically Seinfeldian!

“What's this, a Skippy Squeeze-stick??? …well, it’s about bloody time.” Seriously, this is a fantastic idea.

Yep, it's Showtime at the Apollo all the time around here.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:16

Monday, December 09, 2002

I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.
I will never figure it out.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:10

Sunday, December 08, 2002

I’m just sitting here listening to the Avalanches and thinking about oranges.

I really like oranges, but don’t usually like to eat them because of the amount of energy required for getting into them. All the peeling, and the white stuff getting under the fingernails… sometimes you miss bits and end up eating rind. I don’t like rind. Your hands get tacky. And then if you’ve gone to all that trouble and it turns out to be a sinewy orange, then you just feel duped.

But my roommate recently bought a box of clementines, which I’ve decided are the best that the orange family has to offer. They’re so small, and the peel just comes clean off. Minimal rindy stuff left in the nails. No seeds. Sweet. Delicious. Nutritious. I think this is probably the best deal you can find, orange-wise.

I’m also thinking about blood oranges. Last year I was given my first-ever blood orange… blood oranges are amazing things. I peeled into it and felt like I was seeing color for the first time, it was so shocking to me. And after my first one, it was like the world was painted in a blood orange explosion—I would see them at markets, in coworkers’ lunches, in drinks at bars… I was sorry to see their season end, anticipatory of their return. But here we are one year later, and I haven’t seen any blood oranges anywhere. Is the season not yet upon us? It’s this time of year, I’m sure of it. If anybody knows what’s up with the blood oranges, please tell me.

...and then I says to 'im, I says, "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?!?!" Chortle chortle! Snarf! Wheeze!

Yep, I'll be here all week, folks. Alllll week.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:56

Saturday, December 07, 2002

More than quicksand

What time is it? Game time!

Bonus points go out to anyone who can guess who, among the following, I did NOT run into in the subway after the [spectacular] Aimee Mann show at Beacon tonight, force myself through a few excruciating minutes of awkward smiles and ridiculous chitchat and staring at of shoes, and then madly mumble something about being in the right car and dash from the moment any trains arrived, even if they weren't necessarily the right trains:

A. Aimee Mann.
B. A guy I once really liked and briefly dated this past summer, who looked about as uncomfortable as I felt for an eternal five minutes as we stood around talking about Aimee Mann, and then nothing, and then Aimee Mann again. Oh, and his roommate, who he offered to set me up with after he met some other girl.
C. A guy I once interned for who continually sees me around town and goes out of his way to pretend not to have seen me. Except when we catch each others' eyes deer-in-headlights-style and feel compelled to repeat the same conversation about work that we've been repeating for two years in similarly awkward scenarios.
D. My gynecologist.
E. A gang of thieving carnies.
F. Billy Dee Williams.

Bonus points, folks. The clock ticks!

the words spilled out effortlessly at 00:50

Friday, December 06, 2002

So I'm standing outside smoking a cigarette in the frigid cold with my friend N [a relentless cigarette donor], and I hear a seagull! And I say to N, woah, did you hear that seagull?? And she says, yes, I did! And we ponder it. A seagull, in New York, in December... what are the odds?

Then a crazy guy with a ratty little American flag sticking out of the front of his headband walks by, stops, looks at us and caws. And we understand.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:25

Thursday, December 05, 2002

Hey, so what’d you do tonight?

Oh, really? Fun.

Who, me? What did I do? Why, I’ve been waiting for someone to ask!

First, I went shopping at Weber’s for dollar Christmas presents for friends and loved ones. I really wish I could tell you about all of my finds… but since a number of you will be receiving dollar Christmas gifts from me this year, I’d better keep mum about the booty. But I’ll tell you this: one item was so hideous, so garish and so wholly undesireable (among DOLLAR STORE ITEMS) that the checkout lady (the checkout lady in a DOLLAR STORE) told me I could have this item for FREE.

Okay, okay! So persistent, you guys… it’s a plywood clock cut into the shape of a DOG in a COWBOY costume whose eyes go back and forth!!! (Don’t worry, nobody’s surprise is going to be ruined—this little goody is alllll mine). Free. Oh, how I wish I had a digital camera. Don’t you wish it, too?

After dropping a mere $10, I made my way home in the snow. Barbara made me dinner. She left for the movies. I ran a load of whites. I played with the stuff I bought at the dollar store. I cleaned all the gunk out of my bedside fan with a letter opener. The amount of gunk I extracted was comparable to the amount of hair on a three-year-old’s head. I continued the ever-lengthening search for my toenail clippers. I beat my own personal high score at Snood (under my gaming pseudonym, “Ricky Martin”). I watched all of the Must See TV programs. I snarled contemptibly at celebrities hocking holiday stuff. I did not do the work I brought home to do. I contemplated writing a decent post. Instead, I wrote this thing.

Hot stuff.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:30

Tuesday, December 03, 2002

TV rots your what?

1. I am, as you may know, a lifelong television addict.
2. I own a 1978 General Electric model 10-inch with dials and knobs and wood paneling on the sides. She's old, aye, but she still works like a dream... except that everybody comes in abnormal tones of peach. No bother, I don't even notice it even more.
3. When we got cable on the real tv in the living room back in September, the guy led a second cable into my room and hooked it onto my VCR, informing me that I too would be able to enjoy the benefits of cable tv in the comfort of my own room, even on my dilapidated old box of bolts with a screen attached to the front. He told me I could hook up the cable using my VCR and would be able to flip through channels with ease using the remote.
4. Prior to tonight, even after casual attempts to better my situation, I was stuck with like eight crappy channels. The Travel Channel, Food Network, CBS, an off track betting channel, IFC, countless BCAT channels, and a couple of Asian networks. I just assumed the cable guy was full of crap, or just mean.
5. Tonight, after suffering through long months with nothing better than CBS or IFC, I started yanking stuff out and putting it back in other places. In technical terms, I pulled the thing out of the back of the TV and plugged it into the VCR, then plugged another thing in from the VCR to the TV, and miracle of miracles, I have all the channels now!!!!!!
Well, about half. And they're all on the wrong channels, numberwise. But the remote works!

What's that you say? Nobody gives a crap about my small personal victory over technology? Oh. Well, fine... it felt good to me, though. Right now, I'm watching Elimidate! Whee!

the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:35

For those who like this kind of thing: Sarah's cat's litterbox is now making a grit-studded appearance over at slatch.com!! One day only!!!

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:42

Super happy blue jeans fun Japanese music video, anyone?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:16

Monday, December 02, 2002

Some things I am, or have recently been, delighted about:

- Television.
- The fact that it's probably going to snow overnight.
- The episode of Simpsons where the family is forced to participate in a Japanese gameshow was on at 6:30, and I got home early enough to catch most of it.
- I am 99% sure that my body is completely impervious to nicotine addiction.
- The pants I wore to work used to be too big for me, and now they aren't. This isn't technically a delight, but I do really like those pants. So I guess I'm glad they don't almost fall off anymore.
- The nice mail guy at work who always says "Enjoy the balance of your day!" every time he comes by with a package.
- I've made yet another (who knew it was even possible to improve upon perfection?!) fantastic mix cd.
- I didn't yearn to claw my boss's eyes out even one time today!
- I realized that I have some goals.
- People on the subway. People on the subway tonight were delightful. I love to watch people. Some day soon, I'm just going to ride the subway all day long.
- I was going to skip sending holiday cards this year. I thought I was burned out on written correspondence. But yesterday, I bought some cards on a whim, and I already have half of them finished! Talk about efficiency!

One thing that is not delighting me:
- I have purchased no fewer than three toenail clippers over the past few years, and yet I can't find a single one of them now.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:10

Sunday, December 01, 2002

Today was one of those fantastic, god-i-love-this-city days for me.

Mapsy and I decided that we were going to the already-legendary Target Barge docked in Manhattan. Neither of us had any specific shopping needs... we just thought it would be really neat to go shopping on a barge. We wondered jointly: who thought of this idea? A Target store on a boat! Brilliant idea. Ingenius idea.

So Mapsy and I met up, got cups of overpriced fancy coffee, and walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, our bright eyes scanning the docks for yonder Target Barge as well as the hands of passers-by for the tell-tale Target shopping bags. If you're thinking it was a bit of a chilly day for walking over a bridge spanning a large body of water, you're a sharper cookie than Mary Anne or I. I'm just glad I thought to go back for my scarf... the suede hoodie was indeed warmer than my other coats, but funnily enough, even an awesome jacket like my new suede hoodie was not impervious to ice-cold wind squalls. It was cold.

And if you're thinking that the Target Barge was actually NOT at the South Street Sea Port, but in fact at the Chelsea Piers, you have again bested my smarts. Never mind that I was thinking that the Seaport WAS Chelsea Piers. Never mind that the Seaport is not anywhere near Chelsea. Never mind that we had walked for over an hour, and gotten to within two blocks of the Seaport, before we realized we were a good few miles off course. Never mind that we decided to just walk to Chelsea from the Seaport. In 35 degree weather. With blustering winds pummelling down every abandoned financial district-area street.

Our instincts again took us in the wrong direction once we hit the West side as M.A. had a sudden recollection that she may have heard that the barge was docked near Battery Park. Alas, it was not. I guess it was at the Chelsea Piers. So we never found the Target Barge, or all the bargains it allegedly held... but we did have a lovely afternoon walking together and getting ruddy-cheeked and laughing lots and lots. Eventually we hopped the train back to Brooklyn and had a large Mexican feast at Los Pollitos at 4:30 in the afternoon.

Really, I do love this city. Right now I feel exhausted and warm and satisfied. Sort of like it feels after you've been playing in the snow all day.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:34