Thursday, June 09, 2005
hey, don't talk about my husband like that!
"My sperm was 'well above average'! My count was 105 million! What's yours, George Clooney?"
baby, baby
Two friends got additions to their families yesterday:
Jodi has a new niece, Zoe. 6 lbs, 15oz, red hair, born at 11:30 Wednesday night.
And the bachelor has a new nephew, Ian. No details on that one, sorry.
Congratulations, happy families!
Jodi has a new niece, Zoe. 6 lbs, 15oz, red hair, born at 11:30 Wednesday night.
And the bachelor has a new nephew, Ian. No details on that one, sorry.
Congratulations, happy families!
losing it
Last night, in a lovely bar on the LES, I totally lost my shit at a dear friend. It was good that it happened, he understood why I was upset and hugged me and apologized, and we are so much the better for it. But it highlighted an issue that it would probably be worth mentioning here as well.
When I have major shit going down, I don't really talk about it, I just deal with it. The stuff I talk about during difficult times is the minor crap, because that's easier. Bachelor problems, Tom and Katie? Sooo much more fun to talk about than illness and death.
Now I know this doesn't make me unique. Lots of people cope/avoid like this. But lately, when I only tell my friends about the minor irritations, a few have been responding by giving advice or telling me what I "should have" done, instead of being comforting and supportive. Certainly they would never act like this about the big stuff, but what maybe none of us were aware of was that the minor stuff was standing in for the major. So when I whine that "my new shoes hurt my feet," it's because I'm not saying, "I'm afraid that my grandfather might die soon." And what I need is a "Poor dear" and a hug, not to be told that I should have bought more sensible shoes. When I want advice, I do ask for it, but sometimes I just want support and love.
Please let me make it perfectly clear that only a few people have been doing this, and I do know that they love me regardless. My friends are magnificent and so patient and giving with me (as in Monday's Perfection post); some of us were just having a miscommunication.
So, in the interest of better communication, here's a more complete update on all the shit that's been going down to date.
My grandfather is still in the hospital. He had a tracheotomy, because he'd been on the respirator for so long that not only was it irritating his mouth, but he was running the risk of permanently damaging his vocal cords and losing his speech. Now he seems to be doing better lung-wise, and they're trying to wean him from the resp. But now they've found gallstones, and they're trying to decide whether or not to remove his gallbladder. The question being: is it worth putting him through the trauma of another surgery, the third in a month, for gallstones?
Two things really worry me about this situation --
1. We keep getting these panicked reports from Chicago that this time it's the end, and then it's not. Which is emotionally draining, and also makes it hard for us to know how to react. What will happen when it really is the end? Will we be able to recognize it? Will we believe it?
and 2. the continual addition of problems to his roster, despite him then overcoming each one, is really making this feel like the end to me. First he went into the hospital for bronchitis, then it was pneumonia, then they thought they'd found a perforated colon and did emergency surgery, then they discovered that it wasn't his colon, it was a stomach ulcer, then they couldn't get him off the respirator, then they did the trache, now he's doing better with the resp but they found gallstones...what's next? How much more can he take? He is 90, after all.
In the meantime, my grandmother is all alone in their house with the nurses, and she's wasting away. Mum says that between Mother's Day (when we last saw her) and now, she looks like she's aged 10 more years. She just lies there, not talking, not walking, not even reading or watching TV. And I'm worried that in the midst of us trying to handle all these problems with my grandfather, she will just slip away and die while we're not looking.
Also, work has been nuts. My boss quit, which might mean I'll be getting a promotion, or I might have to quit myself, if working here without him becomes sucky. I really admired him, and he inspired me to stick it out here whenever I was frustrated because I felt like I could learn so much from him. With him gone, in the absence of a promotion, I don't know what my motivation will be. To add salt to the wound, the reason he left was because the major project I've been working on has been tearing the company apart. I know I'm doing a good job on it, and I know that everyone all the way to the top of management thinks so. But it's hard to accept that I'm struggling with something so incredibly hopeless that even my boss got sick of dealing with it and had to leave.
Then there's the car accident from back in April. I'm still dealing with the fallout from that, which continues to annoy. But on the importance scale, it falls squarely between death and Scientologists, and as such is still not worth talking about in either the serious or frivolous capacity.
When I have major shit going down, I don't really talk about it, I just deal with it. The stuff I talk about during difficult times is the minor crap, because that's easier. Bachelor problems, Tom and Katie? Sooo much more fun to talk about than illness and death.
Now I know this doesn't make me unique. Lots of people cope/avoid like this. But lately, when I only tell my friends about the minor irritations, a few have been responding by giving advice or telling me what I "should have" done, instead of being comforting and supportive. Certainly they would never act like this about the big stuff, but what maybe none of us were aware of was that the minor stuff was standing in for the major. So when I whine that "my new shoes hurt my feet," it's because I'm not saying, "I'm afraid that my grandfather might die soon." And what I need is a "Poor dear" and a hug, not to be told that I should have bought more sensible shoes. When I want advice, I do ask for it, but sometimes I just want support and love.
Please let me make it perfectly clear that only a few people have been doing this, and I do know that they love me regardless. My friends are magnificent and so patient and giving with me (as in Monday's Perfection post); some of us were just having a miscommunication.
So, in the interest of better communication, here's a more complete update on all the shit that's been going down to date.
My grandfather is still in the hospital. He had a tracheotomy, because he'd been on the respirator for so long that not only was it irritating his mouth, but he was running the risk of permanently damaging his vocal cords and losing his speech. Now he seems to be doing better lung-wise, and they're trying to wean him from the resp. But now they've found gallstones, and they're trying to decide whether or not to remove his gallbladder. The question being: is it worth putting him through the trauma of another surgery, the third in a month, for gallstones?
Two things really worry me about this situation --
1. We keep getting these panicked reports from Chicago that this time it's the end, and then it's not. Which is emotionally draining, and also makes it hard for us to know how to react. What will happen when it really is the end? Will we be able to recognize it? Will we believe it?
and 2. the continual addition of problems to his roster, despite him then overcoming each one, is really making this feel like the end to me. First he went into the hospital for bronchitis, then it was pneumonia, then they thought they'd found a perforated colon and did emergency surgery, then they discovered that it wasn't his colon, it was a stomach ulcer, then they couldn't get him off the respirator, then they did the trache, now he's doing better with the resp but they found gallstones...what's next? How much more can he take? He is 90, after all.
In the meantime, my grandmother is all alone in their house with the nurses, and she's wasting away. Mum says that between Mother's Day (when we last saw her) and now, she looks like she's aged 10 more years. She just lies there, not talking, not walking, not even reading or watching TV. And I'm worried that in the midst of us trying to handle all these problems with my grandfather, she will just slip away and die while we're not looking.
Also, work has been nuts. My boss quit, which might mean I'll be getting a promotion, or I might have to quit myself, if working here without him becomes sucky. I really admired him, and he inspired me to stick it out here whenever I was frustrated because I felt like I could learn so much from him. With him gone, in the absence of a promotion, I don't know what my motivation will be. To add salt to the wound, the reason he left was because the major project I've been working on has been tearing the company apart. I know I'm doing a good job on it, and I know that everyone all the way to the top of management thinks so. But it's hard to accept that I'm struggling with something so incredibly hopeless that even my boss got sick of dealing with it and had to leave.
Then there's the car accident from back in April. I'm still dealing with the fallout from that, which continues to annoy. But on the importance scale, it falls squarely between death and Scientologists, and as such is still not worth talking about in either the serious or frivolous capacity.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Stats are fun
My stats have been all full up this week with boys who've been repeatedly checking in to see if I've written about them yet. So..
Hi, boys!
There you go.
Hi, boys!
There you go.
Lungooege-a Tuuls
The clue to what this accent is supposed to be is in the URL. Without that, I would have thought it was Scottish, for sure.
If you don't get it, here's a translation tool to help you out.
Right now there's some Frank Lloyd Wright architecture in the logo because it's his birthday today, but that should be gone by tomorrow. In the meantime, anyone know what the first building, the yellow one, is? (yes, we know the other two, thanks.)
If you don't get it, here's a translation tool to help you out.
Right now there's some Frank Lloyd Wright architecture in the logo because it's his birthday today, but that should be gone by tomorrow. In the meantime, anyone know what the first building, the yellow one, is? (yes, we know the other two, thanks.)
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
sensitive artists or nut job careerists?
I know I have a few readers out there who would agree with this assessment.
NASA naps (courtesy of haneway)
As I've said before, I have some crazy sleep disorder, and some very bad nighttime sleep habits. As such, I love a good nap. More people should nap! We should have nap time scheduled into the work day, like lunch breaks! Let's order hammocks for my office!
Or maybe I should get a decent night's sleep more often. Right.
Or maybe I should get a decent night's sleep more often. Right.
perfection is...
....coming home from a really rough day at work to find a letter from my darling three-year-old "niece" (in that she calls me Auntie) in Florida. Just for me, just from her (though I suspect her mum helped her write the address on the envelope).
Also wonderful is getting off the subway after a really rough day at work, to find a message on my cell phone from an old friend, telling me that she loves and misses me.
And did I mention how nice it is, after a really rough day at work, to go to friends' apartment, and have them give you hugs, hand you a beer, order dinner, and listen to you vent on and on? With unquestioning support, and helpful perspective.
I love my friends.
Also wonderful is getting off the subway after a really rough day at work, to find a message on my cell phone from an old friend, telling me that she loves and misses me.
And did I mention how nice it is, after a really rough day at work, to go to friends' apartment, and have them give you hugs, hand you a beer, order dinner, and listen to you vent on and on? With unquestioning support, and helpful perspective.
I love my friends.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Squirrel Invades Park Slope Apartment
..and it wasn't mine, surprisingly. But, to be honest, ever since the rabid squirrel attacked in my Manhattan apartment, I've always been afraid he might follow me to Brooklyn to wreak more havoc.
For the record, if a squirrel does invade your home and terrorize your children, call 911. When I faced the Grey Menace that night back in Manhattan, first I called the precinct house directly, who said to call animal control or something. Then I called the SPCA (the only animal-control-type number I could find), but they were closed for the weekend. Then my neighbor, who told me to ignore it and went to bed. Then my super, who told me to call 911, but I wouldn't, because it wasn't life or death -- yet. So he came over. In the meantime, I called my ex-boyfriend, who stayed on the phone and tried to keep me calm. The squirrel attacked the super, we called 911, I remained hysterical, and the cops had a nice laugh at the crazy lady who was afraid of little furry animals. That hiss and attack. But the nice cops subdued the rabid beast and prodded it out the window with a billy club.
At least I think they did. I was busy hiding in my bedroom closet, per their request, because every time the damn thing moved I would scream bloody murder, and it was irritating the cops. They did lock the window for me before they left; I wasn't taking any chances.
For the record, if a squirrel does invade your home and terrorize your children, call 911. When I faced the Grey Menace that night back in Manhattan, first I called the precinct house directly, who said to call animal control or something. Then I called the SPCA (the only animal-control-type number I could find), but they were closed for the weekend. Then my neighbor, who told me to ignore it and went to bed. Then my super, who told me to call 911, but I wouldn't, because it wasn't life or death -- yet. So he came over. In the meantime, I called my ex-boyfriend, who stayed on the phone and tried to keep me calm. The squirrel attacked the super, we called 911, I remained hysterical, and the cops had a nice laugh at the crazy lady who was afraid of little furry animals. That hiss and attack. But the nice cops subdued the rabid beast and prodded it out the window with a billy club.
At least I think they did. I was busy hiding in my bedroom closet, per their request, because every time the damn thing moved I would scream bloody murder, and it was irritating the cops. They did lock the window for me before they left; I wasn't taking any chances.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
am I missing something?
Remember Washingtonienne? The Staff Ass on Capitol Hill that caused such a scandal last year? I never understood what the big deal was. I mean, I never thought her blog was all that scandalous or raunchy. But maybe I'm jaded.
Anyway, her book came out yesterday (if you're wondering why I mention this now). A book-length blog that you get paid for; we should all have one.
Anyway, her book came out yesterday (if you're wondering why I mention this now). A book-length blog that you get paid for; we should all have one.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Okay, okay, Woodstein confirmed
So yay to Vanity Fair. After two years of negotiations, they got the scoop of a generation. They even outscooped the Post on their own source!
Media Bistro and Poynter Institute were kind enough to send links to every story you'd ever want to read about this. We journalists are a bit obsessive; here's a sample.
Washington Post
Slate
LA Times
Chicago Tribune
NewsHour
Baltimore Sun
New York Times
Editor and Publisher
Huffington Post
Media Bistro and Poynter Institute were kind enough to send links to every story you'd ever want to read about this. We journalists are a bit obsessive; here's a sample.
Washington Post
Slate
LA Times
Chicago Tribune
NewsHour
Baltimore Sun
New York Times
Editor and Publisher
Huffington Post
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Deep Throat revealed?
BREAKING NEWS at CNN.com:
"Vanity Fair: Ex-FBI official W. Mark Felt says he's Watergate source known as 'Deep Throat.' Details soon."
I don't know ... Vanity Fair? I'll believe it when Woodward, Bernstein, or Bradlee confirm it. Keeping an eye on CNN and Vanity Fair; more soon.
"Vanity Fair: Ex-FBI official W. Mark Felt says he's Watergate source known as 'Deep Throat.' Details soon."
I don't know ... Vanity Fair? I'll believe it when Woodward, Bernstein, or Bradlee confirm it. Keeping an eye on CNN and Vanity Fair; more soon.
washed away
I got in the shower this morning after my run (yes, I'm still training, congratulate me all you want) and it looked ... different. Things were out of place, bottles left open, general disarray. At first I thought, "what the hell, did someone break in and use my shower while I was away this weekend?"
Then I remembered, I hadn't showered in Brooklyn since I'd done so with the Bachelor Thursday night. And just like that, tidying up went from chore to pleasant memory. Next time, baby, I'll show you the ropes (where I keep them, that is).
Then I remembered, I hadn't showered in Brooklyn since I'd done so with the Bachelor Thursday night. And just like that, tidying up went from chore to pleasant memory. Next time, baby, I'll show you the ropes (where I keep them, that is).
Friday, May 27, 2005
circus freaks
For some as yet unexamined reason, Bachelor #2=circus sex. We didn't break anything this time (neither furniture nor body parts), and we managed to stay indoors, but we did sort of flood the apartment. The cat coped with that pretty well.
Then (or maybe first) there was the bizarre drunkenness episode. After work, a few of us got together for a drink. The third round arrived while I was still only half-way through with my second beer, but I let it wait, I wasn't rushing. And though I didn't have dinner last night, I'd had a big lunch. So halfway through beer #2, I go out for a smoke, and I'm slightly wobbly on my feet. Try to shake it off, go back in, finish second and third beer, and am suddenly totally woozy. If I didn't know my companions better, I'd think someone slipped me something.
Luckily the subway was right next to the bar. We got on, I failed at small talk, and soon I was asleep, waking just in time to get off at my stop (hello, GAP!). As soon as I exited the station, I was stone cold sober. Total time of drunkenness, extreme though it was: 40 minutes.
No hangover this morning. And for the record, the reconcilliation with B#2 and the decision to go home together happened well before any wobbliness.
So yes, we're talking again.
Then (or maybe first) there was the bizarre drunkenness episode. After work, a few of us got together for a drink. The third round arrived while I was still only half-way through with my second beer, but I let it wait, I wasn't rushing. And though I didn't have dinner last night, I'd had a big lunch. So halfway through beer #2, I go out for a smoke, and I'm slightly wobbly on my feet. Try to shake it off, go back in, finish second and third beer, and am suddenly totally woozy. If I didn't know my companions better, I'd think someone slipped me something.
Luckily the subway was right next to the bar. We got on, I failed at small talk, and soon I was asleep, waking just in time to get off at my stop (hello, GAP!). As soon as I exited the station, I was stone cold sober. Total time of drunkenness, extreme though it was: 40 minutes.
No hangover this morning. And for the record, the reconcilliation with B#2 and the decision to go home together happened well before any wobbliness.
So yes, we're talking again.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
This terror thing shouldn't be quite so funny
Gawker has some great additions to this list of ways to beat the terrorists at their own game. My favorite speculation? "Terrorists might pan the new U2 album, throwing all hope of third-world debt relief into disarray."
BUt if Bono's leadership can so easily be undermined, who then can guide us toward victory?
A comparison to help you decide.
BUt if Bono's leadership can so easily be undermined, who then can guide us toward victory?
A comparison to help you decide.
The Art of American Barbecue
"Grilling is a quickie on the kitchen table. Barbecue is tantric."
God I love Slate. Someone get me a job there, quick!
God I love Slate. Someone get me a job there, quick!
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn
I am infatuated with Brooklyn, and more specifically, addicted to the Slope. I really love my neighborhood. I went running in Prospect Park this morning at 6 a.m., even. And I think that Manhattanites who snub Brooklyn out of some misguided sense of fabulosity... well, they just don't know what they're missing. Anyway, isn't it sad when you deprive yourself just to project an image?
My desire to share the beauty and perfection of the borough of Kings has been tempered, however, by a fear that once everyone figured out how great it is, it would get overcrowded or too expensive or etcetera, etcetera. You know that New York tragedy. And now it's happening, of course, but I will keep my chin up and just spend more time in the park, while I wait for the inevitable crash.
My desire to share the beauty and perfection of the borough of Kings has been tempered, however, by a fear that once everyone figured out how great it is, it would get overcrowded or too expensive or etcetera, etcetera. You know that New York tragedy. And now it's happening, of course, but I will keep my chin up and just spend more time in the park, while I wait for the inevitable crash.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Gawker stalked my husband!
Apparently, my darling George was at the Union Square W last Friday, and I missed it. Another lost chance to meet my future husband.
tell me that you love me and I'll do the same
As I included in my resolutions, I've been trying to tell my friends that I love them as often as possible, because it's too easy to forget to do that. But lately I've been feeling a bit out of sorts or taken for granted, which have resulted more often in fights than in love fests.
This starts a vicious circle, of course, where I hold back myself. McSweeney's gave me a good reminder today, to return to the good fight.
Thus endeth the touchy feely post.
This starts a vicious circle, of course, where I hold back myself. McSweeney's gave me a good reminder today, to return to the good fight.
Thus endeth the touchy feely post.
Friday, May 20, 2005
bhangra, baby, bhangra
Dammit! Vineel and I have been talking about going bhangra dancing for, like, ever. And I've been dying to see the inside of Capitale since it stopped being a bank.
Last night, because I'm so bad about reading my flavorpill NYC e-mails, we missed the perfect opportunity to do both. Sorry, baby!
Last night, because I'm so bad about reading my flavorpill NYC e-mails, we missed the perfect opportunity to do both. Sorry, baby!
where is this place anyway?
Intriguing new service HousingMaps combines GoogleMaps and Craig's List. Doesn't matter though. Everyone lies and the market is inflated. Just stay where you are.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Darth Tater
As much as the Coop may now be pissing me off on an almost daily basis, I still believe in the organic rebellion.
chilly reception
"Kitty in the fridge, kitty in the fridge, kitty in the fridge."
This is the absurbity that my morning is reduced to. The cat snuck into the fridge and has camped out. She absolutely refuses to get out, and I am late for work and don't have time to fight with her about it. So I have to keep reminding myself that she's in there, so I don't leave for work with her still holed up in her chilly retreat.
How she does love the cold, though. Born and raised in New York City, but always yearning for the frozen wilderness of her breed's namesake state. Geez -- crazy monkey!
This is the absurbity that my morning is reduced to. The cat snuck into the fridge and has camped out. She absolutely refuses to get out, and I am late for work and don't have time to fight with her about it. So I have to keep reminding myself that she's in there, so I don't leave for work with her still holed up in her chilly retreat.
How she does love the cold, though. Born and raised in New York City, but always yearning for the frozen wilderness of her breed's namesake state. Geez -- crazy monkey!
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
my calling card
So I'm thinking of having calling cards made, since I never carry my business card on me, and I don't want people calling me at work anyway. Should I be bold and use one of these hot silhouette babes, or should I stick to something a little more tasteful? Vote in the comments, please!
The Best Places for Making Out, Part 1
From the fabulous Matt Levy over at nonsensenyc --
He promises to tell us the *number one* spot next week, and I promise to pass it on. (maybe I'll test it out first for you, you never know.)
In response to the overwhelming (actually, a half-dozen) responses to last week's column (actually, column title), Officially would be delighted to share with you an extraordinarily subjective list of best places to make out in NYC.
The list is organized by the type of couple you and your honeybunny are, and reflects the highly disorganized mind of the author. Keep in mind, many of these also qualify as great places for a picnic. Without further ado, the highly diversified and totally subjective NYC Makeout Hotspots:
Traditionalist: Atop Belvedere Castle in Central Park, overlooking the Great Lawn and the Boat Pond.
Brooklyn Bum: Under the Soaring tower of the Brooklyn Bridge in Brooklyn Bridge Park, DUMBO.
Mentally Unbalanced: Govenors Island's abandoned Octogon: a former mental Ward.
Urban Explorer: The crumbling and soon-to-be renovated Shipyard buildings along Beard St in Red Hook.
Exhibitionist: Father Duffy Square, the tiny triangle in the smack-middle of Times Square.
Nature Freak: Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge marshes.
Aviation Geek: Floyd Bennet Fields collapsing airplane hangers.
He promises to tell us the *number one* spot next week, and I promise to pass it on. (maybe I'll test it out first for you, you never know.)
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
the ole In-N-Out
If you don't know about the cult of the In-N-Out and their Secret Menu, well, welcome to the fold.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Mink and Bologna
A mink pea-coat as a bathrobe? Fabulous!
God, I'm bored (or as the title claims, restless). Save me from this rut.
God, I'm bored (or as the title claims, restless). Save me from this rut.
Dustup over FLT
There's a typo in this article; they didn't put the superscript in the equation. So I'm looking at
xn+yn=zn
and thinking, have I lost all my mathematical skills? This is totally solvable; what greater mathematical truth am I missing here?
Don't tell me proofreading isn't important. Also, Nova wins again.
xn+yn=zn
and thinking, have I lost all my mathematical skills? This is totally solvable; what greater mathematical truth am I missing here?
Don't tell me proofreading isn't important. Also, Nova wins again.
I am not in Chicago...
... my grandfather did not die, and I got a full refund on my bereavement/emergency fare plane ticket. Thanks to all of you who were so supportive yesterday while the misguided melodrama was unfolding. I'm back at work; I still need to tell my neighbors that they don't have to feed my cat all week.
My grandfather has been in the hospital the last few days with pneumonia. Yesterday afternoon, we were told that tests had revealed a perforated colon. Without surgery to repair this, he would die of peritonitis within a couple of days. However, surgery itself was very risky for a 90-year-old man with pneumonia and fever. He would probably die in surgery, but he would definitely die without it, so the operation was scheduled for later that night. I booked a flight out of LaGuardia at 6 this morning, and my parents would leave Boston at 2 this afternoon. We were all sure that we wouldn't make it back to Chicago in time to see him alive.
At 11 last night my mother called. The two-hour surgery was over in 45 minutes. What the doctors had misdiagnosed as a perforated colon was actually a stomach ulcer. My grandfather is doing fine; he's expected to recover with no complications. And the family in Chicago has asked us to save our vacation/bereavement days for when we really need it. If I hadn't just seem him six days ago, I would have gone anyway, but as it is, I'll do as I was told.
Yes, there is clearly a huge issue regarding the quality of care that my grandfather is receiving, when his doctors misread an ulcer for a perforated colon in multiple tests. That will be dealt with soon, I hope.
I slept hard last night, and I expect to do so again tonight. Thanks again to all of you for your support. The silver lining of these crises is you get to see how great your friends can be.
My grandfather has been in the hospital the last few days with pneumonia. Yesterday afternoon, we were told that tests had revealed a perforated colon. Without surgery to repair this, he would die of peritonitis within a couple of days. However, surgery itself was very risky for a 90-year-old man with pneumonia and fever. He would probably die in surgery, but he would definitely die without it, so the operation was scheduled for later that night. I booked a flight out of LaGuardia at 6 this morning, and my parents would leave Boston at 2 this afternoon. We were all sure that we wouldn't make it back to Chicago in time to see him alive.
At 11 last night my mother called. The two-hour surgery was over in 45 minutes. What the doctors had misdiagnosed as a perforated colon was actually a stomach ulcer. My grandfather is doing fine; he's expected to recover with no complications. And the family in Chicago has asked us to save our vacation/bereavement days for when we really need it. If I hadn't just seem him six days ago, I would have gone anyway, but as it is, I'll do as I was told.
Yes, there is clearly a huge issue regarding the quality of care that my grandfather is receiving, when his doctors misread an ulcer for a perforated colon in multiple tests. That will be dealt with soon, I hope.
I slept hard last night, and I expect to do so again tonight. Thanks again to all of you for your support. The silver lining of these crises is you get to see how great your friends can be.
Friday, May 13, 2005
The Literary Critic's Shelf of Shame
Hee, I've never actually finished reading Ulysses either, despite my oft-mentioned love of it and my literary pilgrimage to Dublin last year for the 100th Bloomsday. I did, however, listen to the whole thing on CD in my car, twice.
Honestly, were I to play such a game of Humiliations, I might do rather well, as I prefer magazines to books in general, despite my English Lit degree. However, I suspect that most of my friends would rather discuss how many O'Reilly books they've clocked.
Honestly, were I to play such a game of Humiliations, I might do rather well, as I prefer magazines to books in general, despite my English Lit degree. However, I suspect that most of my friends would rather discuss how many O'Reilly books they've clocked.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Bacon Strips
I don't really think I need these, especially since I'm addicted to the space-age bandages. Still, I giggled.
Is this a date?
Seriously, what is wrong with single people in New York? How many articles about confusion and vagueness in dating do I have to link to? We have lost our communication skills, friends.
For example, Bachelor #1 disappears for weeks at a time, and then shows up out of the blue, expecting me to adore him. When I don't, because he's a self-absorbed absentee freak, he actually seems wounded. But he doesn't talk to me about it; he just disappears again.
Bachelor #2 also got a bit vague after the back-and-furniture-breaking events of last weekend. He's been busy at work and I've been out of town, so I'm cool with that. But last night at 1 a.m., I heard from someone else that B#2 had been raving about our little performance. I mean, I appreciate the props, baby, but if it was good enough for boy talk, you could have told me, too! Girls do like compliments.
So I called him on that, and he laughed. And yet, I'm still waiting for my flattery.
I know, I need a real man, and not a married one. Currently taking applications; feel free to post to the comments.
For example, Bachelor #1 disappears for weeks at a time, and then shows up out of the blue, expecting me to adore him. When I don't, because he's a self-absorbed absentee freak, he actually seems wounded. But he doesn't talk to me about it; he just disappears again.
Bachelor #2 also got a bit vague after the back-and-furniture-breaking events of last weekend. He's been busy at work and I've been out of town, so I'm cool with that. But last night at 1 a.m., I heard from someone else that B#2 had been raving about our little performance. I mean, I appreciate the props, baby, but if it was good enough for boy talk, you could have told me, too! Girls do like compliments.
So I called him on that, and he laughed. And yet, I'm still waiting for my flattery.
I know, I need a real man, and not a married one. Currently taking applications; feel free to post to the comments.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
In memoriam: the end of dr fact
My fellow Rockstars,
It saddens me greatly that there will be no Night of 50 Questions next Monday, or any other Monday, for that matter. Dr. Fact has passed to his final tequila bar. We have been asked to try to contain our grief, and to go on with our lives.
If you'd like to keep the Rockstar flame burning, let me know. There are countless other trivia nights in this trivial city. If you'd rather lay your rockstar aspirations to rest along with Dr. Fact, it was nice being clever with you.
It saddens me greatly that there will be no Night of 50 Questions next Monday, or any other Monday, for that matter. Dr. Fact has passed to his final tequila bar. We have been asked to try to contain our grief, and to go on with our lives.
If you'd like to keep the Rockstar flame burning, let me know. There are countless other trivia nights in this trivial city. If you'd rather lay your rockstar aspirations to rest along with Dr. Fact, it was nice being clever with you.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Hudsonblick -- Life on the river
My friend Charles is blogging in Germany! Though not actually in German.
Windows on the soul
This weekend I finally got the other living room window chiseled open to wash it. It was painted shut way more firmly than the first one, but I persevered. Now it's clean and sparkling, and the spring sun pours into my freshly polished living room.
It wasn't all happy window karma, though. I seriously wrenched my back and right hip while bent backwards out the kitchen window, and now I'm limping. But I (the bendee) got off easy. When the window came loose and fell down on him, I think Bachelor #2 (the bender) might have cracked a rib.
It wasn't all happy window karma, though. I seriously wrenched my back and right hip while bent backwards out the kitchen window, and now I'm limping. But I (the bendee) got off easy. When the window came loose and fell down on him, I think Bachelor #2 (the bender) might have cracked a rib.
Friday, April 29, 2005
One of my own to play with
Wednesday night, I was seven different types of id on display. I know this is hard to believe from a blogger, but most of the time I hold quite a bit in. I don't speak my mind half as often as I'd like, and that's probably in everyone's best interest (particularly mine; see musician uproar).
But the other night at Daddy O, I was at ease among good friends, so I was telling stories that were, as TK puts it, surprisingly frank. I think that the comfort level, not the martinis, was how we got to talking about morning sex. Oh, and the fact that I was sort of trying to seduce Bachelor #2, or maybe just mess with him a little bit.
Back when I was first dating the cokehead alcoholic, he lived on the Lower East Side, in a nicely renovated apartment with a bedroom that flooded with morning light. My bedroom on the Upper East Side looked out onto an air shaft, and never got any natural light at any time.
Unaccustomed as I was to daylight, I was awake at the crack of dawn whenever I slept over his place. Accustomed as he was to the conditions of his own apartment, and usually sleep-deprived from the activities of the night before, he was most definitely not awake.
Oh, how I tried to be good.
I would cover my head with the blankets. I would look for something to read. I would repeat sleep-inducing mantras in my head.
But when I'm awake that early and next to the boy, there's only one way I'm going back to sleep, and that's post-coitally.
I'd start with the foot. I'd wrap my foot around his ankle, while still trying to keep my body away from his. I was turned away, but the foot would reach back. Slowly I'd creep back over to his side of the bed, trying very hard to be good, and failing miserably, until finally he'd say, without opening his eyes, and having given no indication of when he'd woken up, "You're not going back to sleep anytime soon, are you?"
Then he'd jump me.
Then we'd both call in sick to work (if it was a weekday), we'd have some breakfast, watch some cartoons, fool around some more, and eventually have a nap.
This one morning, though, when he woke up, he reached under the bed and handed me a wrapped box. In it was a strap-on, complete with harness.
I was lying in bed, in his t-shirt and soccer shorts, and I strapped it on right over the shorts. But I'd put it on facing upside-down, so I had to check his to see which way it goes. Then I turned mine around so it was right-side up. Then I was prancing around the apartment with this thing over my shorts. He just watched me and laughed a bit.
Finally I got back in bed. I lay there, flicking at it,
ping
ping
ping
and giggling. And he said, "See, that's why I gave it to you. Because I knew you just wanted one of your own to play with."
I know I totally forgot about him in the last post, and then what I appended wasn't too flattering. So let me say once, for the record -- I will always love him. When I see someone who looks like him on the subway, my heart still skips a beat. But I wish it didn't. It's more than the drinking, and the (probably continuing) drug use. We have different expectations from life, and I always felt like I was holding myself back by staying with him.
But he made me laugh, he gave me some drama to keep it interesting, and believe it or not, I was happy.
But the other night at Daddy O, I was at ease among good friends, so I was telling stories that were, as TK puts it, surprisingly frank. I think that the comfort level, not the martinis, was how we got to talking about morning sex. Oh, and the fact that I was sort of trying to seduce Bachelor #2, or maybe just mess with him a little bit.
Back when I was first dating the cokehead alcoholic, he lived on the Lower East Side, in a nicely renovated apartment with a bedroom that flooded with morning light. My bedroom on the Upper East Side looked out onto an air shaft, and never got any natural light at any time.
Unaccustomed as I was to daylight, I was awake at the crack of dawn whenever I slept over his place. Accustomed as he was to the conditions of his own apartment, and usually sleep-deprived from the activities of the night before, he was most definitely not awake.
Oh, how I tried to be good.
I would cover my head with the blankets. I would look for something to read. I would repeat sleep-inducing mantras in my head.
But when I'm awake that early and next to the boy, there's only one way I'm going back to sleep, and that's post-coitally.
I'd start with the foot. I'd wrap my foot around his ankle, while still trying to keep my body away from his. I was turned away, but the foot would reach back. Slowly I'd creep back over to his side of the bed, trying very hard to be good, and failing miserably, until finally he'd say, without opening his eyes, and having given no indication of when he'd woken up, "You're not going back to sleep anytime soon, are you?"
Then he'd jump me.
Then we'd both call in sick to work (if it was a weekday), we'd have some breakfast, watch some cartoons, fool around some more, and eventually have a nap.
This one morning, though, when he woke up, he reached under the bed and handed me a wrapped box. In it was a strap-on, complete with harness.
I was lying in bed, in his t-shirt and soccer shorts, and I strapped it on right over the shorts. But I'd put it on facing upside-down, so I had to check his to see which way it goes. Then I turned mine around so it was right-side up. Then I was prancing around the apartment with this thing over my shorts. He just watched me and laughed a bit.
Finally I got back in bed. I lay there, flicking at it,
ping
ping
ping
and giggling. And he said, "See, that's why I gave it to you. Because I knew you just wanted one of your own to play with."
I know I totally forgot about him in the last post, and then what I appended wasn't too flattering. So let me say once, for the record -- I will always love him. When I see someone who looks like him on the subway, my heart still skips a beat. But I wish it didn't. It's more than the drinking, and the (probably continuing) drug use. We have different expectations from life, and I always felt like I was holding myself back by staying with him.
But he made me laugh, he gave me some drama to keep it interesting, and believe it or not, I was happy.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
8, 8, I forgot what eight was for...
The other day, after I told Stan that I was done with all three bachelors (yes, I know I never wrapped up that story, did I mention the car accident? Give me a little more time!), he pointed out to me that I've had stories for him about eight different guys in this calendar year. Eight seemed a lot, but we counted it out and it was true. Scandal!
Well, not really, because of those eight, I only kissed four of them, and I only cared about two. The rest were flirtations, distractions, or speculations. To review:
1. the Musician. For those of you who thought my little weekly update on him was mean, let me assure you -- he is an attention whore, and he's probably more upset now that I don't write about him anymore. Exhibit A: When I stopped writing about him, he took me off his mailing list.
2,3. the London brothers. The Atlantic is really wide. Also, brothers? Such a minefield.
4. the 24-Year-Old. Yes, I dropped the ball on that one. He was sweet, cute, and attentive, and I sent him packing without giving him my number or getting his. Michelle has a friend who knows him from school, so I could try to pursue this further. Maybe after a little hiatus; for now I could use a break.
5. Bachelor #3. In the wake of the other two bachelors imploding last week, I have been tempted to resurrect this distraction. But I know I can't -- it's not right, not nice, not fair. Such a bad idea; I will be strong.
6. Bachelor #2.
7. Bachelor #1
Wait, that's only seven. I forgot one. If anyone remembers, please let me know. I'm worse than I thought!
Update: Stan finally remembered; the eighth was my cokehead alcoholic ex, who I got in touch with while I was delerious with bronchitis, had one dinner with, then never wanted to see again. Worth having forgotten, I'd say, and doesn't change the stats of 8/4/2.
Well, not really, because of those eight, I only kissed four of them, and I only cared about two. The rest were flirtations, distractions, or speculations. To review:
1. the Musician. For those of you who thought my little weekly update on him was mean, let me assure you -- he is an attention whore, and he's probably more upset now that I don't write about him anymore. Exhibit A: When I stopped writing about him, he took me off his mailing list.
2,3. the London brothers. The Atlantic is really wide. Also, brothers? Such a minefield.
4. the 24-Year-Old. Yes, I dropped the ball on that one. He was sweet, cute, and attentive, and I sent him packing without giving him my number or getting his. Michelle has a friend who knows him from school, so I could try to pursue this further. Maybe after a little hiatus; for now I could use a break.
5. Bachelor #3. In the wake of the other two bachelors imploding last week, I have been tempted to resurrect this distraction. But I know I can't -- it's not right, not nice, not fair. Such a bad idea; I will be strong.
6. Bachelor #2.
7. Bachelor #1
Wait, that's only seven. I forgot one. If anyone remembers, please let me know. I'm worse than I thought!
Update: Stan finally remembered; the eighth was my cokehead alcoholic ex, who I got in touch with while I was delerious with bronchitis, had one dinner with, then never wanted to see again. Worth having forgotten, I'd say, and doesn't change the stats of 8/4/2.
Monday, April 25, 2005
FBI Identification Record Request
You know you've always wondered what the FBI has about you on file; why not just ask them?
BlogShares?
Can anybody tell me what this is about? Apparently my blog has been assigned a monetary value in some alternate stock exchange. Odd.
does this look like me?
Ooh, this is so much fun, a site where you can make your own avatars and icons. I've made a few, you'll have to tell me which you like best.
Yes, I should be giving you updates on the bachelors (down from three to none, and feel the better for it), and I should also tell you all the details of my traumatic car accident this weekend, but for now you'll just have to entertain yourselves with the pretty pictures.
Yes, I should be giving you updates on the bachelors (down from three to none, and feel the better for it), and I should also tell you all the details of my traumatic car accident this weekend, but for now you'll just have to entertain yourselves with the pretty pictures.
Friday, April 22, 2005
pompous prof gets sent up
You did hear about the prof who was really careless about his laptop with unsecured data? And then it got stolen? And then he tried to pass the buck and blame the thief for his own irresponsibility? He had this coming.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Habemus Papam
"I think this homily shows he realizes he's not going to be elected. He's too much of a polarizing figure," said the Rev. Richard P. McBrien, University of Notre Dame theologian. "If he were elected, thousands upon thousands of Catholics in Europe and the United States would roll their eyes and retreat to the margins of the church."
Monday, April 18, 2005
Platonic ideal: the perfect man
Another chick blogger, Stephanie Klein, has been offered a book deal. While combing her site today looking for some perfect pearl of writing to justify that, I found a list of qualities her perfect man should have.
Gotta give the girl credit here, she makes some good points. Clearly, we have similar taste in male behavior, but from what I've seen elsewhere on her blog, we also have similar willingness to settle for less.
more soon.
Gotta give the girl credit here, she makes some good points. Clearly, we have similar taste in male behavior, but from what I've seen elsewhere on her blog, we also have similar willingness to settle for less.
more soon.
Luxe glass tower planned for Prospect Heights
Richard Meier is planning a deluxe mid-rise, which will go up right across Grand Army Plaza from me.
Does this mean I will never be able to afford to buy something in my neighborhood? I'm still kicking myself that I didn't buy that two-bedroom with fireplace and new kitchen on Fifth a month or two ago, and now I hear that area is becoming good-grocery central, in addition to having all my favorite restaurants.
Oops, maybe it won't be so deluxe after all. But that raises new questions: Can I leave my beloved brownstones for a glass and steel tower? And how will I be able to get in on this deal? Will I miss out for not being connected, like I missed out on DUMBO seven years ago?
Does this mean I will never be able to afford to buy something in my neighborhood? I'm still kicking myself that I didn't buy that two-bedroom with fireplace and new kitchen on Fifth a month or two ago, and now I hear that area is becoming good-grocery central, in addition to having all my favorite restaurants.
Oops, maybe it won't be so deluxe after all. But that raises new questions: Can I leave my beloved brownstones for a glass and steel tower? And how will I be able to get in on this deal? Will I miss out for not being connected, like I missed out on DUMBO seven years ago?
Friday, April 15, 2005
double, double, toil and trouble
Yes, there's more news about the bachelors, but I don't even want to get into it. Right now work is driving me nuts, and my parents are on their way down to Brooklyn to spend the weekend. We'll all be heading to the Walkathon tomorrow -- remember it's not too late to donate!
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Triple Threat
Over the past week or two, I've been, shall we say involved with three men (my hairdresser has been amused). It's probably easiest to identify them Dating Game-style:
Bachelor #3: First hooked up with him minorly and randomly. Hooked up with him again because I felt like having a guy around. There's no real connection or draw, and there's lots of potential for trouble. As it is, I've already been sort of dismissively rude to him about it once, and I don't want to be that person. So this absolutely cannot happen again.
Bachelor #2: Old friend, new hook-up. The first time, it was silly fun; the second time was way intense, but we laughed it off. After all, he's like my little brother, right? Well, maybe not. We had a date of sorts -- dinner, drinks, and a long chatty walk in the park -- that was sweet and fun and inspired admiring comments from park onlookers. And he's got a dark streak that could temper the little brother thing and make it interesting. Most importantly, we're friends, we're comfortable and honest with each other, and so we don't play those games that drive me nuts, but which I'm too often guilty of myself.
For all those reasons, last Thursday morning I'd decided to give B.#2 a real shot. I invited him dancing, and was going to ask how he'd feel about trying out dating. But he turned down the dance invite. And before I even had a chance to reschedule the proposal, Bachelor #1 called.
Ah, Bachelor #1: Love of my life, or just a Herculean trial visited upon me to test my fortitude (or stupidity)? I met him a few years ago, and was convinced early on that he was the one. None of my friends saw the attraction, which added the bonus element of "I'm the only one who understands and appreciates him" -- always good for soap opera drama.
Months of flirtation led to nothing but confusion, and a feeling that I'd made a big fool of myself. Then a few weeks ago he told me what had held him back in the past, and followed that up by taking a new job and nullifying the Coworker Complication.
Since then, it's felt like a holding pattern, just waiting to get this thing started. Not very romantic, I know, especially compared to the teen love OC plot lines I've been obsessively saturated with of late. With all the obstacles addressed and still no progress for weeks, is it any wonder I considered moving on and giving B.#2 a chance?
Thursday he called and asked if we could get together. Dinner and a fainting spell later, and we were snuggled on his bed. (-- redacted salacious details that are none of your business anyway.) By the time I left, we'd had some serious talk, made plans for the weekend, and he'd even said something sweet (seriously -- all my friends went "aww"; no one said "ewww") about growing old together. I really thought that all the games were over and a sane relationship was starting. I even dared to speculate that I might have a boyfriend.
And I haven't heard from him since.
Of course! Had she known, Eurotrash would have had a good laugh, really.
So tonight I'm getting my taxes done, then I'm going out with B.#2. Anyone care to hazard a bet?
Extra bonus drama: in two weeks, I'm supposed to go to AC with both B.#1 AND #2. And we're all sharing a room. Hell, at this point I should just invite B.#3 and make it an unmitigated disaster.
Bachelor #3: First hooked up with him minorly and randomly. Hooked up with him again because I felt like having a guy around. There's no real connection or draw, and there's lots of potential for trouble. As it is, I've already been sort of dismissively rude to him about it once, and I don't want to be that person. So this absolutely cannot happen again.
Bachelor #2: Old friend, new hook-up. The first time, it was silly fun; the second time was way intense, but we laughed it off. After all, he's like my little brother, right? Well, maybe not. We had a date of sorts -- dinner, drinks, and a long chatty walk in the park -- that was sweet and fun and inspired admiring comments from park onlookers. And he's got a dark streak that could temper the little brother thing and make it interesting. Most importantly, we're friends, we're comfortable and honest with each other, and so we don't play those games that drive me nuts, but which I'm too often guilty of myself.
For all those reasons, last Thursday morning I'd decided to give B.#2 a real shot. I invited him dancing, and was going to ask how he'd feel about trying out dating. But he turned down the dance invite. And before I even had a chance to reschedule the proposal, Bachelor #1 called.
Ah, Bachelor #1: Love of my life, or just a Herculean trial visited upon me to test my fortitude (or stupidity)? I met him a few years ago, and was convinced early on that he was the one. None of my friends saw the attraction, which added the bonus element of "I'm the only one who understands and appreciates him" -- always good for soap opera drama.
Months of flirtation led to nothing but confusion, and a feeling that I'd made a big fool of myself. Then a few weeks ago he told me what had held him back in the past, and followed that up by taking a new job and nullifying the Coworker Complication.
Since then, it's felt like a holding pattern, just waiting to get this thing started. Not very romantic, I know, especially compared to the teen love OC plot lines I've been obsessively saturated with of late. With all the obstacles addressed and still no progress for weeks, is it any wonder I considered moving on and giving B.#2 a chance?
Thursday he called and asked if we could get together. Dinner and a fainting spell later, and we were snuggled on his bed. (-- redacted salacious details that are none of your business anyway.) By the time I left, we'd had some serious talk, made plans for the weekend, and he'd even said something sweet (seriously -- all my friends went "aww"; no one said "ewww") about growing old together. I really thought that all the games were over and a sane relationship was starting. I even dared to speculate that I might have a boyfriend.
And I haven't heard from him since.
Of course! Had she known, Eurotrash would have had a good laugh, really.
So tonight I'm getting my taxes done, then I'm going out with B.#2. Anyone care to hazard a bet?
Extra bonus drama: in two weeks, I'm supposed to go to AC with both B.#1 AND #2. And we're all sharing a room. Hell, at this point I should just invite B.#3 and make it an unmitigated disaster.
Not just a walk in the park
The Parkinson's Unity Walk is this Saturday, April 16 in Central Park. I actually don't walk it; I volunteer, driving a golf cart around the park, giving rides to Parkinson's patients who can't walk much, or who get tired out. But I still raise funds too.
If you want more info on the Walk and associated Parkinson's organizations, check out their website. If you'd like to sponsor me, drop me a line and I'll send you a link to the online form.
If you want more info on the Walk and associated Parkinson's organizations, check out their website. If you'd like to sponsor me, drop me a line and I'll send you a link to the online form.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Papacy 101
Everything you ever wanted to know about Papal Transition, including a link to a betting sheet with odds on who will be chosen, how long it will take, and what he'll choose for his new name.
Bonus trivia: I found out that my birthday saint, St. Charles Borromeo, was one of the few cardinals to be canonized, *and* he turned down the papacy.
Bonus trivia: I found out that my birthday saint, St. Charles Borromeo, was one of the few cardinals to be canonized, *and* he turned down the papacy.
Quarterly Report
Last night I fell asleep on the couch, and didn't wake up until 8:00 a.m., which meant a grand total of zero hours in the bed last night.
That may sound like a massive failure in my New-Years-Resolution efforts, but in fact, it was a huge victory. Why? Because that was the first time in as long as I can remember that I slept on the couch at all, let alone all night.
!!!!
You still think it was a failure, or at least a slip-up? Well, you may have a point, but this is why I'm happy about it: I felt like utter crap this morning, like I had a killer hangover (which I did not, have been very good since Martini Sunday), or maybe as if I'd been hit by a truck. And this is good news, because it means that my body has gotten used to sleeping in a bed, and was complaining! I have reconditioned myself! I never thought it would happen.
Seems like the new quarter is a good time to take a look at how I'm doing on all my resolutions. Let's review.
I resolved there should be more of:
I resolved there should be less of:
Obviously there's still a lot of work to be done, but I think I've made pretty good progress in three months. More news next quarter.
That may sound like a massive failure in my New-Years-Resolution efforts, but in fact, it was a huge victory. Why? Because that was the first time in as long as I can remember that I slept on the couch at all, let alone all night.
!!!!
You still think it was a failure, or at least a slip-up? Well, you may have a point, but this is why I'm happy about it: I felt like utter crap this morning, like I had a killer hangover (which I did not, have been very good since Martini Sunday), or maybe as if I'd been hit by a truck. And this is good news, because it means that my body has gotten used to sleeping in a bed, and was complaining! I have reconditioned myself! I never thought it would happen.
Seems like the new quarter is a good time to take a look at how I'm doing on all my resolutions. Let's review.
I resolved there should be more of:
- blogging -- Success. I've been posting several times a week, the stats are way up, and I even get an occasional comment.
- writing -- eh, not so much, aside from the occasional longish blog post
- honesty -- trying really hard. One avenue in which I'm doing really well is telling my friends that I love them, as often as possible. I may not always be too good at being honest with my feelings, but I should let the people I care about know that I do.
- boys -- Five so far this year, with varying degrees of involvement and success. (more news on them later, if it seems appropriate or necessary.)
- whiskey -- success. Jameson's on the rocks is my poison.
- dancing -- going out tonight, but I think it's the first time this year. Unless you count me occasionally being the only one dancing in a club or at a show.
- going to bed at a reasonable hour (possibly difficult re: the last three list items) -- I am regularly asleep before 2:00, which is pretty good for me. More importantly, my sleep pattern is more consistent.
- getting to work reasonably on time -- utter and abject failure.
- trips to the gym -- failure. But I have been doing sit-ups and push-ups every morning.
- new job -- well, my old job has become something completely different, but it's still the same job. Enjoying it more, though it's still in New Jersey.
- salary -- no such luck. Not yet, at least.
- organization -- did some major filing and sorting. Still have a lot more to do.
- eye makeup -- gave it a good shot, but have been slacking recently. I still maintain that I get treated way better when I'm wearing it.
I resolved there should be less of:
- negativity -- working on it. The telling my friends I love them helps a lot with that.
- self-doubt -- ditto.
- size of my ass -- have been on a diet for a few weeks and have already dropped a pants size. The ass has been getting particularly good reviews.
- sleeping on the couch -- total and utter success!
- smoking -- hah. Smoking more than ever.
- pouting -- doing okay, could use some more work.
- belittling gossip -- I only gossip about myself these days.
- criticism -- jury's still out, will have to get back to you next quarter.
Obviously there's still a lot of work to be done, but I think I've made pretty good progress in three months. More news next quarter.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
I have to stop.
Seriously, I have to stop. I've watched 14 episodes of The O.C. in three days. Someone accused me of being on a bender because I drank twice last week, though only once to excess (and yes, I'm still feeling guilty, like I owe someone somewhere an apology). A least my pants are falling-off-loose. And I haven't even been to the gym in months!
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Drumroll, please!
I'd like to introduce you all to Haneway, our new contributing field editor from far across the raging East River. Take a bow, Hane!
Urban Fishing 101
So Dad is visiting this weekend, taking an early morning stroll (really an excuse to have a cigarette) through my very boring UES nabe. A pickup truck pulls over to an empty parking space in front of a hydrant on First Ave, and the driver reaches in the back of the truck and pulls out a hand-held fishing net and scurries down a side street. My Dad, ever the fisherman, figures there's some hidden stream that he doesn't know about and scurries after him. The guy walks up to a bunch of pigeons and the pigeons, being notoriously stupid, just stand there. Swoop, swoop, swoop, he *nets them*, and after he has 4 or 5, gets back in his truck and drives off!
Pigeon pie for brekkie, anyone?
Pigeon pie for brekkie, anyone?
Monday, April 04, 2005
John Paul II's other legacy
I consider myself a good Catholic, and yet I shed no tears for the pontiff. I have long felt that under his reign, the Catholic church has suffered greatly. he concealed and supported a long-term policy of abuse, and sheltered the criminal priests instead of tending to his flock, the victims of the abuse. I can never forgive this. In the past quarter century, Catholics have become hated, despised, and ridiculed, all on his watch.
Bernard Law was an evil, unholy criminal, a sinner of the highest order, who broke all his vows. I rejoiced to the high heavens when he left the Archdiocese of Boston. I am not alone in thinking this.
Here's hoping that the next Pope will clean house, right some major wrongs, and tend to his people with loving kindness instead of manipulation and oppression.
Bernard Law was an evil, unholy criminal, a sinner of the highest order, who broke all his vows. I rejoiced to the high heavens when he left the Archdiocese of Boston. I am not alone in thinking this.
Here's hoping that the next Pope will clean house, right some major wrongs, and tend to his people with loving kindness instead of manipulation and oppression.
OD'd on the O.C.
Dave brought over the complete first season of The O.C. on DVD last night, and we watched over dinner and martinis. I'd never seen it before, and now I'm totally addicted already. Thank God I have the coop shift tonight, so maybe I won't stay up watching until 3:00 a.m. like I did last night.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
Schiavo Case a Chance for Journalists to Lead
Over at the Poynter Institute, Kelly McBride, the resident ethicist, has some interesting questions for us all to ponder. She's not telling us what to think, but rather how to think about it, and I appreciate that.
And by the way, it's pronounced SKYAH-voh, not SHY-voh. Please stop torturing my poor Italian ears.
And by the way, it's pronounced SKYAH-voh, not SHY-voh. Please stop torturing my poor Italian ears.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
The One Ring, the first mistake
Oh, dear God. Why on earth would anyone want a replica of the Ring of Power for a wedding band?! I've thought long and hard about the engraving (come on, sing along, you know the words):
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.™
and it seems to me that this would only be appropriate for polygamous cult leaders.
(thanks to Veiled Conceit. We love you forever!)
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.™
and it seems to me that this would only be appropriate for polygamous cult leaders.
(thanks to Veiled Conceit. We love you forever!)
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Office Gossip: more affairs of the heart
What is it about love and dating today? Everything I have read and blogged about seems to have led up to what just happenned.
My office crush, my thwarted workplace affair that never really went anywhere, is now officially over. He's got a new job; his last day is Friday.
Just a week ago, we reopened that file, and though I wasn't quite planning to make it an active project again, it was there. Then yesterday, I suddenly had this urge, this need, to have a man's hands on my hips. That's all I needed, hands on hips, maybe an arm around my waist. It was an odd craving, I'll admit. And I was all set to grab a snuggle, when the rest of the world decided to join us out back for a smoke break. So my hips went unsatisfied.
Today, I hear the news not from him, but from my boss in an official announcement. Immediately, the boy and I headed out back to talk, but it was snowing, so the security guard decided to show us all the secret passages in our Byzantine building where you can grab a smoke indoors (thinking that's what we were loooking for). Abandoned corners, secret nooks. That was great of him, but then he didn't leave us, instead hung around to make small talk. As we worked our way back into the main building, the boy whispered, "Now you know all these places where you can sneak off for an office tryst," and I would have grabbed him right then and there and put one of said corners to good use... were it not for the over-attentive guard. I didn't even have a clever response.
We lingered in the hallway outside my office until one too many coworkers walked by with an insinuating comment. Tomorrow he'll be swamped with meetings, and Friday I'm off for Good Friday, and will miss the goodbye party. We'll go out to dinner next week to toast him, and I know I'll see him again after he leaves. But right now, in this moment, my heart is surprisingly achy.
Update: I'm taking Easter Monday off instad of Good Friday, so I'll be here for at least part of any send-off festivities. I'll let you know what happens.
My office crush, my thwarted workplace affair that never really went anywhere, is now officially over. He's got a new job; his last day is Friday.
Just a week ago, we reopened that file, and though I wasn't quite planning to make it an active project again, it was there. Then yesterday, I suddenly had this urge, this need, to have a man's hands on my hips. That's all I needed, hands on hips, maybe an arm around my waist. It was an odd craving, I'll admit. And I was all set to grab a snuggle, when the rest of the world decided to join us out back for a smoke break. So my hips went unsatisfied.
Today, I hear the news not from him, but from my boss in an official announcement. Immediately, the boy and I headed out back to talk, but it was snowing, so the security guard decided to show us all the secret passages in our Byzantine building where you can grab a smoke indoors (thinking that's what we were loooking for). Abandoned corners, secret nooks. That was great of him, but then he didn't leave us, instead hung around to make small talk. As we worked our way back into the main building, the boy whispered, "Now you know all these places where you can sneak off for an office tryst," and I would have grabbed him right then and there and put one of said corners to good use... were it not for the over-attentive guard. I didn't even have a clever response.
We lingered in the hallway outside my office until one too many coworkers walked by with an insinuating comment. Tomorrow he'll be swamped with meetings, and Friday I'm off for Good Friday, and will miss the goodbye party. We'll go out to dinner next week to toast him, and I know I'll see him again after he leaves. But right now, in this moment, my heart is surprisingly achy.
Update: I'm taking Easter Monday off instad of Good Friday, so I'll be here for at least part of any send-off festivities. I'll let you know what happens.
Love and the Too-Much-Information Highway
The blogosphere is a dangerous place for sweethearts, but you already knew that, right? You would never stalk a love interest online, never Google a guy you just met, right?
Eurotrash nails NY dating scene
Sometimes she's sad, but sometimes she's brilliant:
"Dating is boring and futile and all about pretending you don't want to go to bed with someone because you are a *nice* girl and not a *slut*. Or rather in New York, it's all about seeing someone once every six weeks for sex but not having to admit you're in a relationship."
That is a perfect description of my first New York dating experience, with the Idiot, also known as Roommate the First. We saw each other on occasion, but he really preferred it not to be on a weekend. The sex was phenomenal, but at least as sporadic as every six weeks. I was not to dare think that we were in a relationship, because that would be pathetic, sad, and somehow manipulative on my part.
Funny, the only time he finally admitted we were involved at all was after I started dating his roommate, the Idiot King (also known in other contexts as the cokehead alcoholic, if you're trying to keep track). At which point he got upset that the King was dating his "ex-girlfriend", and I got whiplash. Ex-what?
Nice to know that I'm not the only woman in New York who dates emotional fuck-wits.
"Dating is boring and futile and all about pretending you don't want to go to bed with someone because you are a *nice* girl and not a *slut*. Or rather in New York, it's all about seeing someone once every six weeks for sex but not having to admit you're in a relationship."
That is a perfect description of my first New York dating experience, with the Idiot, also known as Roommate the First. We saw each other on occasion, but he really preferred it not to be on a weekend. The sex was phenomenal, but at least as sporadic as every six weeks. I was not to dare think that we were in a relationship, because that would be pathetic, sad, and somehow manipulative on my part.
Funny, the only time he finally admitted we were involved at all was after I started dating his roommate, the Idiot King (also known in other contexts as the cokehead alcoholic, if you're trying to keep track). At which point he got upset that the King was dating his "ex-girlfriend", and I got whiplash. Ex-what?
Nice to know that I'm not the only woman in New York who dates emotional fuck-wits.
power to the Peeps
...and joy to the masses. We can now make our own Peeps, right at home! I need to get one of these for the egg-coloring session with the nieces on Saturday, but I'll still let them get all stale and crunchy before I eat them.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Viva La Roombalución!
Ooh, now I want a Roomba more than ever. Because if Sars thinks she has a problem with cat hair out of control in her apartment, she should walk up the hill and visit me sometime. There's a reson the monkey has her stomach shaved, and it's not fashion.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Karma
Sometimes UserFriendly truly rocks. If you want to mete out the justice yourself to those Nigerian scam artists, try playing their own game back at them.
Senate Democrats Erect Shield to Obstruct "Nuclear Option"
Are you aware that we are on the verge of a Constitutional crisis? On the surface, what the Republicans are proposing sounds like a minor procedural point, but in reality it totally undermines the system of checks and balances that is inherant to what makes our Constitution so brilliant.
What amazes me the most is the implied arrogance. The Neo-cons want to give a type of absolute, unfettered power to the majority party. Do they assume that they will be in the majority forever more? Don't they realize that once the Dems take control once again, as always happens eventually, then they will have removed their own voice of dissent?
Oy, I hate our political climate these days. It boggles the mind, the bullshit that's going on and that we just accept like beaten-down dogs.
What amazes me the most is the implied arrogance. The Neo-cons want to give a type of absolute, unfettered power to the majority party. Do they assume that they will be in the majority forever more? Don't they realize that once the Dems take control once again, as always happens eventually, then they will have removed their own voice of dissent?
Oy, I hate our political climate these days. It boggles the mind, the bullshit that's going on and that we just accept like beaten-down dogs.
Mash it up
A Stroke of Genius is one of my favorite songs ever, and it even kinda made me a Strokes fan. Anyone else know any good mashups?
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Ides of March
Yep, that would be today, folks, with all of its attendant foreboding. But what exactly is an Ides? Glad you asked.
A trivial matter
Last night my bar-trivia team, the Schoolhouse Rockstars, pulled off a third-place showing with a skeletal crew of pinch-hitters, and word around the Buttermilk environs is that we are a Team To Beat.
Clearly, this team still has glory writ large on its destiny.
Come back, young rockstars! Come back to the warm bosom of Trivia! Dr. Fact welcomes you with open arms.
Trivia takes a holiday in April. The next Night of Fifty Questions will be on Monday, May 9. Let's make a good showing and knock Steve Gutenburg's Bible (two-time winners) back to the Middle Ages! Cash prizes, free beer, and trivia groupies await. Mark your calendars now!
Clearly, this team still has glory writ large on its destiny.
Come back, young rockstars! Come back to the warm bosom of Trivia! Dr. Fact welcomes you with open arms.
Trivia takes a holiday in April. The next Night of Fifty Questions will be on Monday, May 9. Let's make a good showing and knock Steve Gutenburg's Bible (two-time winners) back to the Middle Ages! Cash prizes, free beer, and trivia groupies await. Mark your calendars now!
Thursday, March 10, 2005
a blanket of spring snow
This will be my third spring on Prospect Park, and this year I am determined to not miss one moment of cherry-blossom season at the Botanic Gardens. So I was thrilled to find, and bookmark, this handy Brooklyn Botanic Garden: Guide to the Cherry Tree Collection, and I'll be checking it often and spending as many afternoons as possible in my back yard (the Park itself is my front yard).
Speaking of cherry blossoms, check out this fabulous menu for a cherry-blossom dinner at the James Beard House. It's so incredibly lovely in concept, presentation, and collection of foods that I love, that I'll go alone if I have to. But it would be nice to have a dinner companion. Anyone interested?
And speaking of snowy imagery, the Ashes and Snow exhibit that just opened looks breathtaking, so I'll be trying to catch that this weekend, if I can squeeze it in between all the birthday parties.
Speaking of cherry blossoms, check out this fabulous menu for a cherry-blossom dinner at the James Beard House. It's so incredibly lovely in concept, presentation, and collection of foods that I love, that I'll go alone if I have to. But it would be nice to have a dinner companion. Anyone interested?
And speaking of snowy imagery, the Ashes and Snow exhibit that just opened looks breathtaking, so I'll be trying to catch that this weekend, if I can squeeze it in between all the birthday parties.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Things that go "wha..?!" in the night
Last night, still wiped out and sleep-deprived, plus beaten down by a shift at the Co-op (that used to be an uplifting event), I fell asleep on the couch. I know, I'm bad, I broke my New Year's resolution. And I was doing so well!
When I woke up at 3-ish and went to bed, Siena was poking her head through a hole in my bedroom window. The glass was cracked when I moved in, but now it had fallen out of the frame and become an actual hole. A hole with sharp edges that my beloved monkey was putting her little neck way too close to for my comfort.
I grabbed a square of cardstock out of the recycling bag and taped it over the hole, and today I talked to my landlord about it. But after finding Seece risking life and limb in pursuit of the pidgeons in the airshaft, I wasn't going to sleep any time soon.
So I decided to clean out the nightstand drawer. You know, the infamous place where you store everything you need quick access to, but you don't want out on display? Well, after Sunday morning, it was in a general state of disarray.
First odd discovery -- an entire box of condoms was missing. Last I remembered, there were at least eight in there, and on Sunday we'd been using the stash of giveaways from Valentine season which were still on my living room floor, as I am in winter Slob Mode and haven't put anything away in weeks.
Next odd discovery -- the smaller travel pack was also empty. What the hell, had I gone on some wild orgy-vacation and didn't remember it? The last trip I'd taken was to London, which was chock-full of sparks and flirtation, but devoid of any actual hanking or panking.
The oddest discovery -- a prescription bottle, with four Viagra pills in it. Although I'd forgotten that I had this, this isn't yet the odd part. Remember the cokehead alcoholic ex-boyfriend? All that substance abuse was none too good for performance, but one night he came over and displayed all the stamina of a... well, of a 24-year-old. Uncharacteristic, to say the least. When I questioned him about it, he credited my good influence towards healthy living, and a chunk of time off the sauce.
By morning he had bolted so fast, he'd left his Dopp kit hanging in my bathroom. As I packed it up for him, I noticed the little bottle from an online pharmacy shop, the kind that advertise in spam mail. Healthy living my ass! Although I'd appreciated the effects, I wasn't too thrilled with the lying, nor what it meant about the actual cleanliness (or lack thereof) of his lifestyle. After all, if he didn't even get it from his real doctor, then I wasn't the only one he was hiding something from.
So I stole a few, and stashed them in an old Allegra bottle of mine. I planned to do some experimenting with the next boyfriend and see if that Sex and the City episode was true. And then promptly forgot, of course.
Here's the thing. I had stolen six, not four. So now there's about a dozen condoms, and two Viagra pills, missing from the goody drawer. What the hell? Had someone been partying in my room while I was at work, or out of town? Or maybe the 24-year-old had found the pills, and the 90-minute feat wasn't due to his youthful stamina after all?
Jaye pointed out that the condoms had probably expired, and I had thrown them out. This sounds plausible, and even familiar, and yet so incredibly sad that I don't even want to think about it. But she was at a loss to explain the missing pills. I'd blame the Monkey, but the bottle has a child-proof cap.
After all that excitement, mystery and drama, I had to read a few chapters of Brad & Jen: The Rise and Fall of Hollywood’s Golden Couple just to put myself to sleep.
When I woke up at 3-ish and went to bed, Siena was poking her head through a hole in my bedroom window. The glass was cracked when I moved in, but now it had fallen out of the frame and become an actual hole. A hole with sharp edges that my beloved monkey was putting her little neck way too close to for my comfort.
I grabbed a square of cardstock out of the recycling bag and taped it over the hole, and today I talked to my landlord about it. But after finding Seece risking life and limb in pursuit of the pidgeons in the airshaft, I wasn't going to sleep any time soon.
So I decided to clean out the nightstand drawer. You know, the infamous place where you store everything you need quick access to, but you don't want out on display? Well, after Sunday morning, it was in a general state of disarray.
First odd discovery -- an entire box of condoms was missing. Last I remembered, there were at least eight in there, and on Sunday we'd been using the stash of giveaways from Valentine season which were still on my living room floor, as I am in winter Slob Mode and haven't put anything away in weeks.
Next odd discovery -- the smaller travel pack was also empty. What the hell, had I gone on some wild orgy-vacation and didn't remember it? The last trip I'd taken was to London, which was chock-full of sparks and flirtation, but devoid of any actual hanking or panking.
The oddest discovery -- a prescription bottle, with four Viagra pills in it. Although I'd forgotten that I had this, this isn't yet the odd part. Remember the cokehead alcoholic ex-boyfriend? All that substance abuse was none too good for performance, but one night he came over and displayed all the stamina of a... well, of a 24-year-old. Uncharacteristic, to say the least. When I questioned him about it, he credited my good influence towards healthy living, and a chunk of time off the sauce.
By morning he had bolted so fast, he'd left his Dopp kit hanging in my bathroom. As I packed it up for him, I noticed the little bottle from an online pharmacy shop, the kind that advertise in spam mail. Healthy living my ass! Although I'd appreciated the effects, I wasn't too thrilled with the lying, nor what it meant about the actual cleanliness (or lack thereof) of his lifestyle. After all, if he didn't even get it from his real doctor, then I wasn't the only one he was hiding something from.
So I stole a few, and stashed them in an old Allegra bottle of mine. I planned to do some experimenting with the next boyfriend and see if that Sex and the City episode was true. And then promptly forgot, of course.
Here's the thing. I had stolen six, not four. So now there's about a dozen condoms, and two Viagra pills, missing from the goody drawer. What the hell? Had someone been partying in my room while I was at work, or out of town? Or maybe the 24-year-old had found the pills, and the 90-minute feat wasn't due to his youthful stamina after all?
Jaye pointed out that the condoms had probably expired, and I had thrown them out. This sounds plausible, and even familiar, and yet so incredibly sad that I don't even want to think about it. But she was at a loss to explain the missing pills. I'd blame the Monkey, but the bottle has a child-proof cap.
After all that excitement, mystery and drama, I had to read a few chapters of Brad & Jen: The Rise and Fall of Hollywood’s Golden Couple just to put myself to sleep.
Monday, March 07, 2005
speaking of young love...
How do I love 24-year-olds? Let me count the ways...
--they don't care if you have a better job, make more money, have a nicer apartment then they do.
--they don't feel competitive, because they know they're not on the same playing field.
--they don't think you're old, they just think you're cool.
--they love that you can teach them things, and they're eager to learn.
--they're very respectful and attentive.
--they have so much energy and stamina.
Okay, maybe that last one isn't exactly a plus, if it means you get no sleep all night. Seriously, at 9:15 in the morning, we were still going at it, and I thought I was going to break. He let me sleep for a little while, but was up for more by ten.
Clearly I need to get back to the gym if I want to keep up. And I do, so I will.
I know you've been dying for other boy news, so here's a quick recap:
The CB was under the mistaken impression that this here blog is all about him. He must have skipped right over my obsessive posting on Deep Throat and the Gates. So I put him on a me-free diet for a while.
As for the dinner at Tenement, not so much to say. He's still drinking, still smoking, still boring and still refuses to accept any responsibility for anything. Ever. He was exactly the same as when I left him three years ago, and he thought this was a good thing. "Isn't it great, we haven't seen each other in so long, and it's like we haven't lost a day!" Um, no, that's not a good thing. Please don't call me again.
In sum, bring on the young, smart, pretty, funny, worshipful boys. (Damn I hate it when Andrew has a girlfriend!) All I need is a steady stream of younger men to keep me happy.
--they don't care if you have a better job, make more money, have a nicer apartment then they do.
--they don't feel competitive, because they know they're not on the same playing field.
--they don't think you're old, they just think you're cool.
--they love that you can teach them things, and they're eager to learn.
--they're very respectful and attentive.
--they have so much energy and stamina.
Okay, maybe that last one isn't exactly a plus, if it means you get no sleep all night. Seriously, at 9:15 in the morning, we were still going at it, and I thought I was going to break. He let me sleep for a little while, but was up for more by ten.
Clearly I need to get back to the gym if I want to keep up. And I do, so I will.
I know you've been dying for other boy news, so here's a quick recap:
The CB was under the mistaken impression that this here blog is all about him. He must have skipped right over my obsessive posting on Deep Throat and the Gates. So I put him on a me-free diet for a while.
As for the dinner at Tenement, not so much to say. He's still drinking, still smoking, still boring and still refuses to accept any responsibility for anything. Ever. He was exactly the same as when I left him three years ago, and he thought this was a good thing. "Isn't it great, we haven't seen each other in so long, and it's like we haven't lost a day!" Um, no, that's not a good thing. Please don't call me again.
In sum, bring on the young, smart, pretty, funny, worshipful boys. (Damn I hate it when Andrew has a girlfriend!) All I need is a steady stream of younger men to keep me happy.
The bipartisan romance continues
Yeah, sure, Clinton slept on the floor. Who are they kidding? We know they were all snuggled up together.
A Pint for St. Patrick
There was a time when I'd have spent St. Patrick's with my alcoholic ex-boyfriend. We first hooked up while we were plastered on St. Pat's, and after that I was always trying to keep him away from the temptations of excess.
Now that I no longer have that burden, I can drink all I want next Thursday. And since I still seem to have a thing for the nice Irish boys, as proven by this weekend's activities, I intend to be out in full force. Check out these suggestions, or give me some of your own, and let me know if you want to go out!
Now that I no longer have that burden, I can drink all I want next Thursday. And since I still seem to have a thing for the nice Irish boys, as proven by this weekend's activities, I intend to be out in full force. Check out these suggestions, or give me some of your own, and let me know if you want to go out!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
More insidious Saffron
The scandal over the doctored cover photo of Martha Stewart inNewsweek this week misses the real point. Look at those saffrom drapes she's clutching. Martha's out of prison! She went to see The Gates!
More on the Good Doctor's passing
So many stories about the details of HS Thompson's death, and none of them seem to agree. Rocky Mountain News says that his wife and kids were home with him, but in other rooms of the house, when he shot himself. The Boston Globe said he was on the phone with his wife, and shot himself in the middle of the conversation.
No butter, no lemon
You know how I love the lobster, but this is too much even for me. Sadly, he didn't survive the relocation. Looks like we should have made a vat of lobster salad after all; shame to let it go to waste.
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