Jealousy, thy name is Maggie

Damn those lovely, witty, brilliant Fugsters. Not only do they have the Best Intern Ever. But to add to my torture, it seems he gives great footrubs too.

Sigh.

Thank you, Dan Savage....

So I'm warming up to my workday by catching up on a few back episodes of Something Positive, when I overhear one coworker say to another "I knew you were a sensitive guy like that. I had you pegged!"

Good thing I had not just taken a sip of my tea, or there would have been some Dean Martin-style spewing going on...

Some creepy imagery

Just checked the stats, which I haven't done in forever. Good news is that I've crossed the 10,000 hits mark! You like me, you really like me!

Bad news is, people all over the place have been coming here by searching for creepy images. The most popular referrer by far is a Google Image Search to that NOT SAFE FOR WORK Anna K. picture I posted over a year ago. The next most popular referrer is a Google Image Search for my profile image. Which either means I'm going to get sued, or that someone's trying to figure out who I am. Neither of which is very nice.

For those of you who've never met me ...

... I've got a great rack.

Seriously, ask everyone who has already met me. And this is a lucky thing, because apparently A isn't much of a butt man, so my rockin' ass, which you all have seen on this blog, is totally wasted on him.

And that's all I'm going to say about A, becasue unlike all the other guys I've written about here in deliciously inappropriate detail, I actually like and respect him. And Manda says he makes me happy, and sometimes I need to be reminded of obvious stuff like that, but she's right, he does.

So remember when I was interviewing for this faboo new job, and I kept trying to keep it secret, because I didn't want to jinx anything? Same story here. The only person I'm telling all to is my realtor, because he is my New Best Friend and must know Everything About Me to find me The Perfect House. Or something like that.

The Clooney is such exquisite torture

Oh,this is killing me! Daily tips on where to see my husband, right after I leave town! It's not FAIR! I'm on the verge of moving back, just for him, and the new walls and floor in my old apartment, and to get my taxes done...

I Walk the Line -- of Shame

This kind of info would have been very useful in my Jersey-working days, becuase when you live in Brooklyn and work in the armpit of the Jersey ghetto where there are no decent stores for emergency clothes shopping at any time -- well, you can bring your hookup to your place or you'd better find someplace near the PATH that's open early.

Of course, I didn't know, so I used to bring them home.... Poor Siena.

And now this is all useless to me, but soon I'll put together my own list of resources for the Boston area. Inthe meantime, may it serve all my beloved New York peepstresses well. Walk the shame proudly for me!

Don't buy for me, Argentina

I know how much you all love me, and how much you New Yorkers are missing me already. So I just want to let you know, I already picked this up. But it is the thought that counts, so thank you!

Quick, make a wish!

This morning, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 a.m., the time and date was 01:02:03 04/05/06. If you're not committed to military time, you have another chance to catch it this afternoon.

A clean, well-lighted place

I wish I didn't mind, I really do. Driving out to my parents' house, a cute, fluffy little white bunny ran across the street ahead of me. Awwwww. (no, I did not hit it. It was not suicidal; I just saw it in my headlights waaay ahead of me.)

Driving around my parking garage at the apartment, trying to find a space, a HUGE rat ran out from under a car and into a trash can. Eewwwwww.

I mean, they're both just little animals -- disturbingly, of roughly equivalent size (that was one large rat) -- going about their lives. But now I'm creeped out. Like I wasn't freaked enough by the underground garage, between my mother's panicked calls to make sure I wasn't mugged on my way home, and perpetual viewings of old episodes of Alias, with Sidney getting attacked in a garage every other episode. Already I've been trying to park near the elevator vestiblues, and stay away from the low-clearance creepy damp end of the garage. But now I'm all afraid something's going to scurry up my ankles.

Fucking Big Dig construction, displacing all the poor, homeless rats and putting them in my path.

Oh, and the other freaky thing that happened in the garage last night. I never got a tour of my building, and apparently it's chock full of secret passages and back entryways. So last night I get in the elevator (18th floor views of the river, baybee!), on my way out to the folks, and there's a guy in there already. Very nice, pushes the button for me, lets me off first, holds the door open. I turn left and he turns right. When I get to the elevator to the garage (I told you it was a complicated building), he's coming from the other end of that hallway. We laugh, and I tell him I still don't really know my way around, and he tells me about the back door to the garage, and shows me the way. We get to the garage, I say goodbye, and walk towards my car (blissfully unaware at that time of the Rat Menace).

I hear a noise behind me, a strange building-type grinding noise, turn around, and see the guy right behind me. I'm not afraid of him or anything, but I take my key out to push the beep-beep button to unlock the car for quick getaway -- and the lights of the car next to me flash. He's parked next to me!

Too weird. At least when we exited the garage, he turned right and I turned left. I was half expecting him to be headed out to suburbia....

Get yer mitts off my husband, Gawker!

Oh. My. God. Gawker has now dedicated an entire channel to my husband. It all seems to be in good fun, but I'm just thrilled to have one-stop George news I can subscribe to.

Of course, I am equally sad to learn that he checked into the Peninsula and is filming in Midtown just as soon as I left town. That's just mean.

But that's okay. My new job is so incredibly kick-ass alsome that soon I'll be a super-famous but really nice columnist, and by June I'll interview him for said new film he's working on... and then we'll get maaaa-reeeeeed. For real, yo.

Not to sound ungrateful ...

... but when you come home to find your front door locked differently, the bathroom door shut when you'd left it open, the blinds opened onto the patio door -- oh, and the bed made and the rug vacuumed, it's a kind of disconcerting way to discover that your corporate apartment includes maid service!

Chopped Pickles

Ah, to be back in Boston, where you can get chopped pickles and minced hot peppers on your sub, like a sub is supposed to be!

Hey, remember the bachelors?

Seems like Daily Candy does; they've described them each pretty spot-on, too!

Let Si Get This? I never had the chance...

Five years at Advance, and I never managed to break into the glamourous set. Sometimes you have to cut your losses...

Yes, a Leprechaun!

Did I ever tell you about the Tarot-reading leprechaun who told my future inteh Burlington Mall Macy's? He said I'd meet a guy who made me laugh. I love leprechauns.

Who knows how to make love stay?

Tell love you are going to Junior's Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if love stays, it can have half. It will stay.

Weep

As I walked out of my building just now, I was seized with an overwhelming feeling. I mean that literally: overwhelming, as in I couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and definitely couldn't shake it off. Feeling, as in I physically felt as though something had grabbed hold of the soft spot just below my solar plexus, took a big handful and yanked hard.

I am deep in it. As sure as I was when I first heard about the new job and I just knew it was perfect for me, that it would make me happy and that I had to have it -- so too am I now sure that Chris is the guy. So what the hell is his problem, why is he fucking it up? Is this just part of the movie's plot, something I have to live with before the romantic, tear-jerking last scene? Or is this my punishment for talking about it too soon, unlike my long secretive silence about the job, for fear of jinxing it. I hope it's not some punishment or curse for breaking someone's heart in the past -- I've tried to be kind and not too much of a heartbreaker.

Haneway says that I need a guy who's sure that he wants me and is strong enough to go right out and get me, with none of this pussyfooting confusion bullshit. And a part of me agrees with her, but my solar plexus says otherwise. I need him to find the balls to be that guy.

My beloved friends, your positive thoughts helped seal the deal on the dream job. Can you spare a little more of those good vibes to secure my romantic happiness as well?

Closer: an old, incomplete, long-uppubbed post

A few months ago, I bought the DVD of Closer, my favorite movie of 2004. After watching it, I started to write the following post, but never finished it, because I couldn't put the words around what I was trying to say.

I really do love that movie, and I think everyone should see it. Come on over sometime and we can watch my DVD together. More importantly, I think anyone trying to understand my romantic inner workings should see it (similar to how when I was in grad school anyone who wanted to date me should have really watched Chasing Amy first, if only to spare us both the inevitable jealous blow-up).

Anyway, in the context of my recent posts and love-life dramas, it suddenly seemed worth posting, even if unfinished. So here you go...

"Hello, stranger"
So yes, I share salacious details of my sex life with strangers in this space. And true, those details tend to be somewhat wild, if at the same time dismissive of the co-stars. You can choose to believe them or not, as you wish.

I'm not sure if I've been in love since I moved to New York. I'm not even sure how long it had been before I came here. Memory is tricky. But I can assure you that I have loved, and loved fiercely.
It burns through all your resources, love like that. It's intimidating, even frightening. Maybe I could have found the fuel to keep that up, maybe I'm weaker than I'd like to think.

What I cannot tolerate is the empty return. To not have that intensity reflected back at me, or to have it twisted and distorted. . . that broke me down, eventually.

There's a scene at the beginning of the movie Closer when Jude Law and Natalie Portman's eyes lock from a distance as they walk towards each other on a crowded London street....

Of Heartache and Hanks

For all my cynicism, my running around with inappropriate men and treating them like tissue to be used and discarded, there's a part of me deep down that's a total romantic. And it is true, I have been known to fall in love, even at first sight once.

These transitional times, when you're uprooting yourself, making major changes, have a tendency to bring drama out. Suddenly nothing is status quo anymore, and people take action on stuff they would have let lie indefinitely without the shakeup. (yes, I will clean up this post later to get rid of cliches and bad writing, I promise.)

Over a year ago, a new guy started in the office upstairs from mine. We met while he was being taken on a tour of the building, and there was an instant spark. I can't explain it, but you know what I'm talking about anyway. A shared look, a smile you can't hide, a flip in the pit of your stomach. Later, we ran into each other on the PATH train, and talked and flirted as much as being surrounded by coworkers would allow. I wanted to invite him to PubNight, but we were interrupted by a coworker before I had a chance, and then we were at his stop.

And then I didn't see him for months. We don't work together, we had no reason to run into each other, and our paths never happened to cross.

Last August, the editor of the office upstairs quit, and I went to his goodbye party. And this guy was there (see, I don't even have a nickname for him!). After a little bit of proper party behavior, us both talking first to the editor and then with his friends, we eventually settled deeply into rudeness by only talking to each other.

For hours. We closed down the party.

We talked about career goals and our families, his father's death and my sick grandmother, running training -- everything from silly to deeply personal. We played questions and held nothing back. And he asked for my phone number, and very properly asked if he could call me to take me out soon. He even offered to run my September race with me, to keep me company and help me stay motivated.

We dismissed the fact that we worked together, because we didn't really work together. I tried to ignore that he's in sales, a field I'm always suspicious of, and that he was saying exactly what every woman wants to hear. We kissed outside the bar, but agreed that it shouldn't go any further, because we wanted to do it right and get to know each other, not hook up randomly and never see each other again. We promised we'd visit each other more often in the office, but we'd have to be professional and try not to distract each other when we were busy. And he took a picture of us together that is so cute I still have it on my digital camera. I'd love to show you, but you know I never put my face on this blog. Trust me, we look really happy.

I left the bar, and half an hour later got a sweet text message from him, which I gushed over, saved, and showed to all my friends.

In the following days, we e-mailed and IMed a bit, but nothing magical. And I was crazed with the work situation that was the first step in my ultimate decision to leave the company.

Then I got the call that my grandmother was dying (though she didn't until months later), and I had to leave for Chicago right away. I e-mailed him to explain, his response was tepid. I figured he had played me after all, and when I got back from Chicago I tried to let it go.

But I couldn't, not really. On the rare occasions when I did see him around the building, my stomach would leap. I tried very hard to ignore him and avoided going up to his office. It was childish, but I had work to do, and he distracted me no matter how hard I tried.

After he smiled at me in the hall one day, I IMed him "damn you for still having such a cute smile. not fair" and then immediately logged off, not wanting to give him a chance to not respond and break my heart.

That was the last I said to him, though my stomach still flipped on the rare occasions when I saw him around the building. His friend who I met on that same night in August, however, I had no problems talking to, and chatted amiably with every time I saw him.

Said friend had heard about my goodbye party and promised to be there.

moving is hard

I have all this cleaning to do, the last days at work were bittersweet, I got my heart broken (yes, it's possible), and my landlord is being a jerk about the subletting.

And I just changed the address on all my magazine subscriptions, and came to two disturbing realizations:
1. I don't know what my new address will be (I just forwarded everything to my parents)
2. My subscription to Newsweek ran out in July, and I hadn't even noticed. Clearly, I have way too many magazines, but we knew this already...