let's make a resolution, (i'll drink to that.) let's always stay friends...

I feel as if I'm supposed to be reflecting on my life today. In all honesty, it hasn't been the best year for me, although, if I really thought about it, I could probably come up with some that have been worse. I've been called a selfish person by some, so, in the spirit of trying not to be, I've got to stop complaining about what I don't have and focus on what I do. I need, in 2009, to become a glass half-full girl (woman?... nah, I'm still not ready for that), something it's become increasingly harder for me to be. I'm constantly thinking about how sad I'll be when the fun is over and not enjoying it while it lasts.

So 2009 is going to be the year of optimism. No more worrying about what may or may not happen. I'm just going to live my life, take each day at a time and whatever happens, happens. I'm going to go out on a limb here and make the call that I am too awesome to die alone. Unless I die in the immediate future... see, there's the pessimism I was telling you about! I am going to get all of that out in the next twelve hours, I swear.

Also, to all my friends, I love you more than I can say (unless I'm wasted). I am so happy to have you all in my life and I will appreciate your help in turning over my 2009 leaf. I am allergic to leaves, so I'd rather not handle it all on my own.

Happy 2009!!

baby come back

I'm sitting here watching Larry King Live and he's talking to a few lawyers about the Caylee Anthony murder and I am literally crying on my couch. How can someone kill a baby like that? How can you look in that baby's eyes- especially when she's YOUR DAUGHTER- and end her life? I just can't imagine how fucking desperate a person has to be to do something like that. And with all the people who want a baby in this world... leave her at the fire department or the police station or at Church.

I wanted to call someone and vent about this but I'm pretty sure my mother is sleeping and neither of my roommates are home and there's really nothing to say about it anyway, other than whining about how people are fucking sick and have no souls. I guess we all knew that anyway but still... I just don't get it. I would have taken her. Anyone out there who is thinking about murdering their babies, just leave them on my doorstep. They'll probably have to eat Ellios and mac and cheese for every meal, but at least they'll be alive.

Also, there is nothing on TV, which is why I was watching Larry King Live in the first place. I blame network programming for making me cry.

what's in your head

Did you ever think something about a person- not "Ew" or "Ugh" but an actual, rational thought, like, "You are disgusting"- and then immediately worry that the person might be telepathic and come after you in a mindless rage?

This happens to me more often than you'd think, as I am constantly talking to myself, inside my own head, in complete sentences. I'm well aware that this may be lunatic behavior but I've been doing it too long to stop now. The above-mentioned phrase, "You are disgusting", was directed this evening at a heavy, ratty-looking male sitting across from me on the N train. I was so engrossed in the book I am currently reading- I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley (which is probably the catalyst for the post you are currently reading, since I only ever write things after being jealous that someone else wrote them first)- that I didn't notice the gentleman until I stood up to switch trains. At this point, I heard him making a sucking noise and looked at him for the first time. He was eating a bag of some kind of nuts (grown on a tree, not out of a human male) and spitting the shells onto the floor of the subway, like he was at a baseball game. Even at baseball games, I find that practice vile, since even though you are technically outdoors, you really aren't outdoors, you are inside the stadium and it's someone's job to clean up those discarded shells after you leave to pack yourself into a sweaty subway car. I guess a person could say that spitting the shells is good for the economy, since not spitting them would take away one more job, but that person would not be me. In fact, I can't think of a single place, recession or no, that I would condone people spitting their food on the ground. But I digress... inside of a subway car is certainly not the place for it and I took a moment to look down upon this man, perched on his clearly lower rung of the evolutionary chain, and think to myself, "You are disgusting."

In the literal five seconds it took the train doors to open and me to exit onto the platform, I envisioned a scenario wherein this man would look up at me, hatred blazing in his lidded eyes, and suddenly leap from his seat to chase me onto the platform, beating me into submission and yelling, "Who's disgusting now!?" Obviously, this did not happen and could never happen. Unless of course, my brain and mouth one day fail to function as the wonderful partners they have become and my terrible thoughts spew forth into the audible world. Although, then again, a chubby guy who is slouched on a train spitting food onto the floor is probably in no mood to chase a pretty healthy young woman down a subway platform anyway. I wasn't wearing heels and I have a feeling I could run pretty fast if I thought my life depended on it. The fastest I think I have ever run was away from my friend chasing me with a butterfly. Of course, that was over ten years ago, when I was considerably lighter and... less-developed, but I imagine the adrenaline would carry me through.

...I think the nuts were cashews.

white wedding

Back from Baltimore, where I celebrated the wedding of my cousin Billy and his new wife, Megan. The whole weekend was a ridiculously good time. We left at 9am on Saturday from Brooklyn and got to Baltimore around noon. We then headed to Mick O'Shea's, which is Billy's favorite Irish pub/restaurant and was directly across the street from our hotel. We ate there, then went to the rehearsal, then ate again at the dinner, then went back to Mick O'Shea's to drink.

Most of the weekend was eating and drinking, but there were some other highlights. On Saturday, a few members of my family (after having an awkward breakfast at McDonald's... see? More eating) went to the Inner Harbor, which is sort of like South Street Seaport with more pigeons... or, at least more pigeons gathered in tight clumps. I don't know what the obsession is with being on vacation and feeding birds. Do they not have birds where you are from? I could see if they were strange and exotic birds, if they were beautiful or did some tricks or something, but these are the same dirty, diease-ridden, flying rats that you probably see everyday. Unless you are from a place that doesn't have pigeons, in which case a) where do you live and do they have apartments to rent? and b) ...no, fuck it, pigeons are gross either way. Stop feeding them and stop letting your children touch them. They can sustain themselves.

Anyway... the wedding was at the Loyola College chapel, where my cousin Billy and his brother went to schoool. The campus was beautiful and every time I visit an actual college campus, it sort of makes me sad, because all I ever got to see was the Great Lawn. I never went out on the Quad to play frisbee or Hackeysack (Did that hit Crazy Stairs?!). But then I really think about my college years and all the good friends I made and how annoying it was to walk to class in the rain and how much worse it would have been had I actually had to walk a significant distance. Plus, I've never played Hackeysack in my life and, quite frankly, am pretty sure I don't even know how to spell it, so it was probably all for the best.

The reception was in the Baltimore Museum of Industry. Very strange but interesting and perfect for the wedding of two chemists. (Ah... nerd love.) The dance floor was underneath a hanging plane, which I still insist was a model but some members of my family thought was real and my brother assumed his point had been proven when we saw an exhibit nearby with pictures of the plane... but I still say it proves nothing. This doesn't really matter because, model or not, if that thing had fallen, it would have been a pretty sad wedding. I also decided I would like to have my wedding underneath the blue whale in the Musem of Natural History, which I think we can all agree is definitely a model. Don't ask why I would like to celebrate my marriage surrounded by glass cases of taxidermied mammals... I just would. So step one: find a ridiculously rich man who would like to marry me and pay for that wedding. Additional steps to follow.

All in all, it was a great weekend. I even got to sing with the all-black band in Mick O'Shea's on Saturday night. My father has to go up to literally everyone who steps behind a mic and tell them that his daughter also sings in a band. Thankfully, they did not know "Sweet Child of Mine" which is the song that everyone always wants to hear me sing but- sorry, Axl- it is starting to become the bane of my existence. Much like "Summer of '69" is the bane of Perry's.

america the beautiful

I've pretty much steered clear of posting anything on this blog or on Facebook detailing my political views. Mostly because I am in the dead center of the opposition... which I just typed as "poopsition" and that's too funny not to share. My family (most of them, anyway) are all Republicans, from my grandfather to my youngest brother. Or, if they're not all Republicans, they at least all voted for McCain. The only exceptions are my cousin, Katie, who is a hardcore Obama fanatic, and my cousin-in-law, Andrea, who lived in Illinois most of her life and also supports Obama. She's pretty vocal about it as well, which is something I would be hesitant to do when I was just about a year into the family. But that's not my call, I guess.

I voted for Obama. I figure there's no sense in hiding it anymore since he won and I might as well support the President we're going to have, especially since I helped put him there. I like Obama. I'm not going to lie and say some of it didn't have to do with how charming he appears on television. But I did watch at least one of the debates and I agreed mostly with what Obama had to say, so that's the way I went. I didn't hate McCain. I wouldn't have flipped over any cars if he'd won. But it does feel pretty inspiring to have been involved in the election of the first African American man to the presidency. Although, an incident in Lord & Taylor bothered me yesterday and is probably the only reason I wouldn't have wanted Obama to win.

I was in there with a guy I work with, who is half Puerto Rican, and the woman who was helping us was also Puerto Rican. So she asked him, "Did you vote for Obama?", he said, "Yes," and she slapped him five and said something to the effect of how all Puerto Ricans should have voted for Obama. Besides the fact that he is not Puerto Rican, I just hate that people voted for him simply because he's a minority. I understand, like I said above, wanting to be part of something historic and a great leap forward for the African American community. But, at least pretend that you listened to something he said or knew a little about his proposed policies. Don't vote for him just to get a black guy in the White House.

Okay, I'm done. No more poltical talk until next year when I will discuss whether or not Mike Bloomberg is trying to become the King of New York, a title that can only be rightly bestowed upon Bill Pullman and the cast of Newsies.

it's all been done

I just started a new blogspot page where I will be posting things I've written that I've actually finished. First up? My comic, called "Normal." I only posted the first issue right now. I'll see if any of you read it (some of you already may have but it's been edited slightly) and then if people do enjoy it and no one rips my writing to shreds maybe I'll keep posting. Seeing as how only about five people read this blog (that I know of), and you are all my friends, there probably won't be much ripping to shreds, even if you don't like it. But I do appreciate constructive criticism on everything I write.

Anyway, the link is: http://completedworks.blogspot.com. I'll eventually post other things as well, but as the site is called "Completed Works", it won't be bursting at the seams, since my main problem with writing is actually finishing what I start and not getting distracted by a shiny object halfway through. Knowing people might be interested in what I write could help me, though, so like I said, feel free to comment as you see fit.

crazy

I didn't realize it until this morning but, other than Michelle's birthday Saturday night, this was a wholly depressing weekend.

It started out with Gelo's mother's wake Friday night. I almost hate attending wakes with my friends because whenever we get together, no matter what the circumstances, we have a good time. Normally, this would be a wonderful thing but not at a wake and I feel awful standing outside the room laughing when someone is lying in a coffin mere feet away. Of course, we weren't really disruptive and I can't remember minding that at the wakes I have attended over the past two years or so. It helps sometimes to get the person's mind off of where they are and what they're doing. I can't even fathom how Gelo was feeling that night but I have to imagine that I'd want my friends to keep being my friends and acting like my friends, and not stand around staring at me morosely. Although, at the burial Saturday morning, when one of Gelo's sister's friends broke into "Wind Beneath my Wings" just before we stepped away from the coffin for the last time... well, I shed more than a few tears then. It's that moment that kills me the most (and the Bette Midler song didn't help)... the moment when it is the last time you are seeing that person. You're going home... and that's it. Your life continues, you're expected to move on and just live the way you did a week before. It's possibly one of the worst moments a person can experience in their life. You know, other than torture in a foreign country or something.

To build off of that happy paragraph, Sunday afternoon, my mother, father, Ricky and I drove out to visit Mema (my mom's mom) in a psychiatric hospital. She's always been depressed, my whole life she's had ups and downs, but since my grandfather passed away in October of 2006, her downs have been much lower than they ever were. She was very depressed right after it happened (as we all were... and I still am sometimes, at random moments of my life, like when Derek Jeter got the most hits in Yankee Stadium. Papa was a rabid Yankee fan.) but then, it seemed for a while like she would be all right. She got back out and started taking part in her community again. She even had a "companion" which is just what young people call old people's boy/girlfriends because it's gross to imagine people over sixty-five doing it... although I don't think they were doing it... ANYWAY, she was doing okay. Then, a while ago, the depression all came rushing back. She's been taking a bunch of different medications and sometimes, she wouldn't be eating. A woman from some agency was even going to the house to spend time with her a few hours a day, which helped a little, but in the end, she had to check herself into this hospital so her medication could be monitored. She's only supposed to be there for a week, which would end this Tuesday, but she doesn't look in any condition to leave from what I saw yesterday.

First of all, the smell of the place made me want to run. It's a normal hospital smell I guess. People who haven't showered, different types of medication... and since this was the geriatric ward, this was all coupled with the generic small of "old". You know what I'm talking about. And it was horrible because there are certain people who seriously belong there, like my grandmother's roommate, who is just propped up in the day room all day long in front of the TV (on which they can't change channels) and then changed out of her clothes at night and put to bed. Mema does not belong there. This is the woman who did a pole dance a few years ago at a party she and my grandfather attended. She is funny and smart and... ugh, it's so frustrating. I watched my other grandmother suffer with dementia until she was a shell of a human being... until I was actually HAPPY when she died, which still makes me feel like shit but I didn't want to look at her like that anymore. I wanted her to be free of that stupid body and actually be herself again wherever our souls go when we die. And I don't want Mema to go out like she did, laying in a hospital bed with someone changing her clothes for her. That's not who she is, and it wasn't who Nanny was either but I know that Mema can pull herself out of it.

I guess Depression is as much a disease as Dementia and I shouldn't assume that it will be easy for Mema to just turn around and be her old self again. My grandfather always used to tell Mema she better die first because she wouldn't be able to do anything without him. It wasn't as bad as it sounds, because clearly, it's true. I just wish there was something I could do to help her. Something besides sitting in the hallway of the hospital (because you can't go inside the rooms with visitors), waiting for my father to come back with the water he smuggled in from Wawa (because you can't bring any outside food or drink into the place).

And now I'm depressed. Happy Monday. Seriously, if no one else could get sick or die for, like, two good years, I'd really appreciate it.

maybe it's just me

So fucking Allstate is still screwing me over with this car. Apparently, something was broken that the garage didn't initially report and they fixed it, but they can't give me the car back until someone from Allstate goes down there and confirms that they are going to pay for it. This has been almost three weeks without a car now. Thankfully, almost everyone in my family has their own car, so I have been able to get around. Although I haven't asked my father if I can borrow his brand new Pathfinder yet. The thing is the size of an H3 and I would be totally paranoid driving it. Not that my father would even let me.

Gelo's wedding was a lot of fun on Friday. I was slightly annoyed that not every woman was in a gown and no one I knew- except the guys in the wedding party- was wearing a tux. I guess people do what they want. But I couldn't really be mad because I was in love with my dress. The drive up and back was pretty uneventful, although it was only three hours long, so I don't what sort of wacky hijinks I expected to get into. BJ, Christie and I stopped at a rest stop on the way up and I picked up a Burger King crown... I guess that's wacky.

I got recognized as a member of Fenix Down on Saturday night by the lead singer of Underwhelmed, who then proceeded to imitate my dancing in the Ready to Believe... excuse me, I'm Ready (don't even know the name of my own song) video. I don't know if I would have been recognized if not for my close proximity to Joe, but it was pretty cool. Maybe my odd point/bounce dance will be the thing that rockets me to fame.
I also remembered why I never go to clubs, although I really like dancing. The rock portion of the club (Delancey's) was in the basement and smelled like stale beer but the line for the bar was practically non-existant and each person had at least a few feet to him or herself. Upstairs, in the "cool" portion of the bar? The people were packed in like cattle and the bathroom was all the way on the other side of the pasture. I don't think I've ever said "Excuse me" as many times consecutively as I did on that trip to the back of the bar. So maybe upstairs would have been a better place to meet people but I'd rather sit on the couch in the corner downstairs and talk about random movies with people I know. I don't even mind the smell of stale beer. It's very rock.

lucky star

So my friend Vanessa sent a bunch of us an email last week, saying that she knew someone who followed this particular astrologist religiously (is that an oxymoron?) and that she herself had found that some of the things on the website were true. So I clicked it and read the ridiculously long Gemini entry for October. The only thing I remembered from it was that October 4th and 5th was a good weekend for love and that I should be out. Then, I spent Friday watching TV on my parents' couch and Saturday watching TV on my couch. I don't know if this means I am not ready for love, I don't care about finding love, or I just don't believe in astrology. Either way, it was a pretty uneventful weekend.

The thing is, I don't really have anyone to go out to bars with anymore. Everyone is coupled and I mean everyone (every girl). As I have often complained, it has been nearly impossible for my two roomates and I to have boyfriends all at the same time. And I am not even exaggerating, it literally happened like this:

We move in to the apartment. I have a bf, Nancy has a bf, Liza does not.
Liza meets Peter, Nancy breaks up with her bf, I still have a bf.
I break up with Tony, Liza still dating Peter, Nancy gets a new bf (sort of... technically)

So, somewhere in the deep blackness of my soul, I am hoping that one of their relationships breaks down so I can meet someone else. (Not really... I think)

I am going to a black tie wedding this weekend in a dress that is awesome and, if I do say so myself, makes me look pretty hot. However, as much as I have heard that weddings are good places to meet people, I find this not to be true. I usually find that people tend to stay at their own tables and talk to people they know. Unless all the matchmaking is just happening around me. Maybe I'm the eye of the coupling storm... ah, whatever.

good and evil

I'm getting pretty obsessed with "Heroes" again. Three episodes in and I think it is sincerely making up for last season, which I did enjoy but kind of fell apart all in a rush at the end. This season, as I have mentioned to a few friends already, has featured Zachary Quinto in a suit and I have decided that is all I need to classify a show as "worth watching." Isn't it strange? A man would prefer to see a woman wearing less clothes, yet men can look incredibly sexy all covered up. I mean, I wouldn't sneeze at a guy without his shirt on but I have a feeling that is probably saved for Milo Ventimiglia on this show (and whoever plays Mohinder, (it's Sendhil Ramamurthy, why was I pretending I didn't know that?) but when your skin start peeling off, it kind of loses that sexy factor.)

Anyway, in summation, there are a lot of hot men on TV right now. Suffice it to say, this does not help my current situation as they are very far away and mostly, not real people. Unless Elliot Stabler is really kickin' ass and takin' (rapists) names mere blocks from my office. More on this as it develops...

Also, a few questions for you to ponder:
If it makes you happy and doesn't hurt anyone, is it wrong?
Why can't three roommates have boyfriends at the same time?
Why, God? What's your plan? I can't help her, no one can... okay, that's a lyric from 'Miss Saigon'. Sorry.

what i got

So New York baseball is over. It feels really over, since both stadiums are going to be demolished before next season, which is probably a good thing because last time I was at a Yankee post-season game, the entire tier was rocking when people got excited. Nothing to get excited about lately... I didn't even really care to watch the Red Sox series this weekend, although Moose did get his 20th win, so at least that's something. As I commented on my friend Krista's Facebook, "It's a small light in a dark tunnel."

However, there is a larger light at the end of that tunnel and that light is called The Rangers. Not that it was an especially bright light this weekend. I went with Ricky to my first of many games this season (I hope) and the Rangers lost 4-1. I always feel like, whenever I go to games, the Rangers never seem to have the puck as much as the other team does. Is that just because they're bad? Or am I just imagining it? Either way, the guy I really wanted to see play (and I can't even remember his name now, but he's new and it starts with a P) left the game because of a rough hit (that he gave, not received). Although, ask any of the amateur refs in my section and it was boarding and a clean hit. Whatever, the game is always fun, much more fun than baseball games, really. I think it's because it's inside, the seats are comfortable and a hot dog and beer is a mere hundred feet or so away. I really am an inside girl... that might sound dirty but take what you will from it.

Saturday night, we went to Dan and Tony's to watch the new Chris Rock special, which was really heavily political and slightly racist but I loved it anyway. And yesterday, I did pretty much nothing (as most Sundays go). I vacuumed the stairs and watched "90210" and "SVU" and wished Luke Perry would stop guest starring on "SVU" and go back to "90210" where he belongs. Just ride up on a motorcycle or something and sweep Kelly off her feet while Brenda seethes in the background somewhere and plots revenge by sleeping with Kelly's cute, young, quasi-boyfriend. That's the "90210" I remember.

Ugh... it's still Monday, isn't it?

shut up and drive

I left my house at about 6:30 last night, the way I always do on Wednesdays. I had gotten home from work about 15 minutes earlier, to see my uncle (my landlord... and actually my cousin, not my uncle, but that has no bearing on anything) installing a new sink in my bathroom since, about two weeks ago, Tom touched it and then the hot water wouldn't stop running. So now we have a shiny new sink. Thanks, Tom! But anyway, I was happy that the sink problem had finally been resolved and was looking forward to a fun night at Fenix Down practice, since we were planning to go over some new cover songs, in preparation for next year when we hope to be playing a lot more often.

I walked to the spot where I believed to have parked my car the last time I got out of it, which was Monday night, after practice. I remembered that a group of kids were walking by my car and, since I was on the overpass, and it's slightly deserted there, even at 9:30pm, I waited until they had passed to get out of my car and walk toward the house. I remembered all of this quite vividly as I stared at the spot where my car should have been and saw only some tiny pieces of... well, of car. I walked up and down the block, hoping that I had misremembered, that the memory I had in my mind was from another night. This has happened to me before, both the forgetting where I've parked and my car being actually missing. The first time it happened, I was about to call the police when my parents' neighbor (who is actually dead now... rip) came out and told me that, since the city was doing work on the street where I'd parked, they had taken it upon themselves to tow my car to another street and not tell me. I found it there, safe and sound, so I was hesitant to raise any alarm this time until I was really sure that the car was gone. After about ten minutes of strolling up and down Bay Ridge Parkway, with no sign of my very distinctive car, I felt sure that I had cause for concern.

I called my father, hoping that maybe he had taken it that day for some reason and parked it somewhere else. He has my second set of keys, so this was my last hope. When he told me hadn't moved it, I responded with, "I'm entertaining the idea that my car has been stolen." My father came by a few minutes later, called the precinct and reported the car missing. When he gave them the plate number, the police (one very lovely woman in particular of whom who my father only had nice things to say...) told him that my car had been impounded. However, they could offer no further information, since the car is registered to my mother and not to him, and they told him he would have to bring my mother to the precinct to find out why exactly my car, with no outstanding parking tickets, had been basically stolen off the street.

No less than ten minutes later, with my mother in the car, we headed to the precinct. While there, I overheard a woman filing a report on a six-year-old boy who had been beating up her son on the school bus. Have I mentioned I love the world? The cop we dealt with gave us the name of the towing company who had taken the car but had no other information, saying we would have to call them to find out. They did, however, inform me that it was probably because I was parked illegally or slightly blocking someone's driveway. I told them that was impossible, since I was parked absolutely legally and nowhere near a driveway. I only received blank stares in response.

My father called the company last night but a dispatcher answered, telling him they'd be open at nine this morning. He proceeded to inform the guy that if this was some kind of scam operation, they were going to be in a lot of trouble. At this point, I was almost wishing that my car had been used in some kind of crime or even been involved in some interesting scam, if only because I have grown to hate my car so much that a cool story like that could redeem it in my eyes. As much as I did (and still do) hate it, it gets me from point A to point B and in relative style (when it's not snowing), and I really did want to know what the hell had happened to it.

This morning, the mystery was solved. My car had been involved in an accident on Tuesday afternoon, over a full day before I actually went to look for it. A car service had swerved and hit both my car and a Sebring that was parked either in front of or behind me. The Sebring was totaled; my car was not. And since my car is registered to an apartment my father owns in SI, there was no contact number, so a letter was mailed out yesterday informing Donna Diffendale on Maryland Avenue that her car was in the trusted hands of Finest Towing on Baltic Street. They told my father it would take about seven to ten days to fix.

This was kind of a blessing in disguise, since I wanted to sell the car anyway, and now can get it all fixed up before I do. I just find it fascinating that this has happened to me twice with two separate cars. My last car, the Elantra, was totaled by an elderly woman who didn't know the gas from the brake and smashed my little sedan between her Oldsmobile (I never realized the humor in the name of that car until right now) and the van in front of it. In retrospect, I hated that car, too. Maybe I'm doing this subliminally... anyone else want a new car?

down with the sickness

Can I honestly still be sick? Is this really happening? Am I going to be blowing my nose for the rest of my life? Seriously. It's not even funny anymore. I'm starting to think I pissed off some allergy god somewhere and he has struck me down to suffer for all eternity. I am almost excited about the winter coming so everything will be dead and bare. Maybe then I can go a day without using up an entire box of tissues. I mean, granted... I haven't really been taking anything. My Allegra-D just doesn't cut it anymore but I didn't want to take anything else because I still have half a bottle of pills in my medicine cabinet. It's probably like eating Luden's cherry cough drops to me now. (I used to love those things so much. That would always be the candy I picked out in the drugstore on the way home from Church with my grandparents on Sundays... because I grew up in the 50s.) I had a big plan to buy Zyrtec and vitamins last night on my way home from work but of course I forgot. Maybe I can get down to Duane Reade some time today and pick some up.

I'm sure this is literally the most thrilling thing you've read all week. You can thank me in person the next time you see me.

I'm reading "The Stand" right now, in which a deadly plague starts out as the common cold. Maybe I should stop reading it and see if I get better. "The Dark Tower" started coming to life around me; why shouldn't this novel do the same? Maybe I won't stop reading though, because if I did, and suddenly felt better, I may not be able to be friends with Tom anymore.

back in the saddle

I am sitting at the reception desk right now because one of the receptionists called out for the second day in a row and the other guy, who's supposed to come in at 9am, just doesn't answer his cell phone when people call him to come in early. Now, I understand not wanting to come in but he knows that there isn't anyone else to cover and that one of the admins (me) is going to have to sit up here and not do their actual work for an hour. And somehow, he doesn't feel badly about this at all. I have a feeling that both of these receptionists are not long for this office. I have nothing with which to back that up, it's just a feeling.

Also, why didn't anyone tell me that literally every store I shop in is on 34th Street between 5th and Broadway? I decided this morning that I am going to take the N to work instead of the 4, because in only a week and a half, I genuinely loathe Grand Central Station, or at least the platform in GCS on which I catch the 4, because it literally has the most people I've ever seen packed into the smallest space. I'm pretty sure I was anally raped on the 4 yesterday from Union Square to Grand Central but I don't exactly have the proof. The N is farther away from my office but at least I have more than a centimeter to myself and I find I enjoy that space in the mornings. Time will tell if I'm still game for the walk when it's below zero in about three months but I have a feeling I'll take being cold for 10 minutes over the prospect of another subway rape. That's just me, though.

Okay, it's 8:57, and I'm starving and have done none of my work yet. Where the hell is this guy? I am firing him myself.

...ha. He just came in and I had to quickly save this before he read it. That was awkward. Oh, well. Not like he couldn't find it if he really wanted. Okay, now to begin the actual day's work. And eat an egg sandwich.

who needs sleep?

I was an hour late for work this morning. I'm supposed to get up at 6:00 but I sometimes (usually) can stretch it to 6:30. However, this morning, I leisurely rolled over at 7:09, about five minutes after I am supposed to leave my house. I know I set my alarm last night, so this means I shut my alarm off and went back to sleep, which I never do. I will blame two nights of Yankee games for this sudden attack of exhaustion and hope that this shutting off of the alarm does not become a habit. Thankfully, there are only two guys who get in before me who actually knew I was late and neither one of them give a shit. And then, I posted it on the Internet and got fired. The End.

Oh, Yankees. Great game Monday. Okay game Tuesday. You lost in miserable fashion but at least the weather was great and two fly balls fell in our immediate vicinity and Tony and I bought matching Yankee hats again, because we continue to be losers together even when we aren't dating. But the Yankees are ending the FINAL SEASON in the current Stadium without making the playoffs for the first time since I gave a shit about them. It's very disheartening. I mean, they haven't been amazing every year and sometimes, it's come down to the wire but they've always made the playoffs. Now Torre's gone and suddenly, I'll have nothing to watch in October. I mean, Manny Ramirez even left Boston for them and they still couldn't win! Ah, well. We'll get 'em next year. Or the year after that, whenever. I'm just hoping no one else catches up to those 26 World Championships before the Yankees start remembering how to win again.

Also, I realized today I have been sick/suffering from allergies for every single day in September. That's gotta be some kind of record.

lazy sunday

I kind of love Sundays. It's usually the one day when I have the least to do. In fact, right now, I am sitting in my pajamas watching the Yankee game (they're winning 6-3 right now, even though Carl Pavano's body double is pitching) and handwashing all my delicate clothes. Basically doing absolutely nothing. I had a slight inclination to call a few people and see if they wanted to go somewhere and have a drink and apps and sit outside to enjoy the good weather while it lasts, but then I remembered that it's football season and most everyone I know is sitting on their couch the same way I am and enjoying the Giants' game right now. I also remembered that I really don't feel like going out and I will not let the sun guilt me into changing out of my pajamas.

Yesterday was the second day of shooting of our video for "Breathe Again." It was supposed to be the final day but we definitely do not have enough footage to get a whole video, so we'll have to finish it up on an as-yet-to-be-determined date at an as-yet-to-be-determined location. The penthouse we were in yesterday was pretty sick, although it was owned by two old, white people and was decorated as such. Of course, unbeknownst to us, we needed a permit to shoot on the roof, so we had to all sneak up there quietly and hope that none of the neighbors heard the radio and drums playing. But we got away with it scot free! Until the video makes it huge and the building management notices and the guy who was house-sitting for the old couple gets arrested or something... but does that really affect me anyway? I think not.

My outfit yesterday was pretty interesting. Perry's comment about it was definitely my favorite: "You look like a hooker from hell." So I'll leave it up to the people who haven't seen it to imagine what that looks like. You know, until Robin sends me her pictures from yesterday and I immediately place them on Facebook. I think I looked pretty good and the black hair definitely added to the whole "I will kill you" look. It's so the opposite of how I really am. Unless, of course, someone is trying to get me out of the house before 5:30 on a Sunday. Then, I really might commit murder.

who says you can't go home?

I'm home from Roxbury and all my pictures from the weekend are up on Facebook. I'm a little proud of myself that I waited six full hours after getting home before posting them. Although I think the reason I did wait is that my exhausted body would not allow me to move off my couch. The most complicated thing I've done today was cook some ramen noodles... does that technically count as cooking?

The weekend was pretty amazing. It's always fun but some years just end up better than others. 2005 is still the best year in recent memory but this year wasn't very far behind it. We had just enough room in the house for everyone to sleep, although it does help that my mother and father wake up two to three hours after most of us go to bed. They also wake up when five or six people come traipsing into the house at 5am and my little brother marches into everyone's rooms and informs them that he hooked up with a 30-year-old. That's my little brother. This is part of what makes Mardi Gras so amazing.

I wish I could invite all my friends for the weekend because I know you would all enjoy it so much. Maybe one day when I am filthy rich, I will rent a huge house in Roxbury and put everyone into costumes and hand them red cups of beer and the party will begin.

vacation, all i ever wanted

Ahhh... I am officially finished with work until Tuesday. I usually hate people who flaunt the fact that they are off when others have to work but...actually, I just don't give a shit this time around, especially since I am going to be working most of next weekend on moving our office to Madison Avenue, plus that entire work week is just going to be the biggest headache ever and I am dreading it like you can't believe. So I am going to enjoy my couple of days off and the hell with anyone who makes me feel badly about it.

I'm watching "The Snuke" episode of "South Park." Did I ever mention this show is brilliant and Matt Stone and Trey Parker are two of my heroes?

I bought a new digital camera last night. Same camera, a Canon Elph, but 8.0 Mega Pixels, and I can't imagine ever needing anything higher than that to take pictures of my friends and I drinking, which is pretty much the only thing I take pictures of, as evidenced by my Facebook page. That and my really cute baby cousins.

I'm too entranced in "South Park" to write anymore. Everyone have a fantastic weekend and I'll see you all when I get back from my hangover.

working for the weekend

This short work week (for me) is being sandwiched by two pretty awesome weekends, the latter much more so than the former. At least for me. Last weekend began with an awesome show at Rum Runners. We filled the place up pretty well and I think we made a good impression on the owners. I kept circulating through the place, trying to get my friends to agree to making Rum Runners "the new Carriage House." It's sad how much I miss a bar but really, it was such a great place to hang out, not to mention the fact that I pretty much drank for free whenever I was there. I have begged my father countless times to open a new bar but he adamantly refuses. I guess I honestly have no idea how much work goes into it, so I shouldn't try to put that on him. But anyway, people were iffy at best about Rum Runners becoming the new CH, but they did seem to like it, especially Pete, as referenced by his blog entry. So I can probably get people to go back there another time, since I'm sure we'll be playing there again. And next time, I won't drive so I can fully partake in the beer pong table and not play one game versus Matt and Mike and get wholly embarassed upon.

Saturday was Kim and Dave's wedding in sunny, beautiful Connecticut. Seriously, no one could have asked for a more perfect day for an outside wedding mere feet from a beach. It was amazing. It would have been better for me had I not sat in over an hour of traffic and had less than 45 minutes to shower and get ready. Have I mentioned how much I love New York City highways? They really get you where you need to be, lickety split! Anyway, after the mad rush to get there, the rest of the day ran smoothly. After the wedding, which ended at 9, a bunch of us hung out in the hotel bar, watching drunk people dance to two guys playing acoustic guitars. I also spent a good portion of the night talking to a guy who had edited "Tropic Thunder." If you haven't seen it, the first 10 minutes are my favorite part. I'm sure you'll agree when you do see it.

As for the upcoming weekend... it's almost too good to put into words. I've never been anywhere else but Roxbury for Labor Day weekend and I hope to never be. It is the weekend of weekends. Not even just because of the drinking... oh, the drinking... but because of the food and the costumes and the dancing and the family. The family is really the most important part of the whole thing. I see my family an awful lot, even more so now that I don't have a set date every weekend, but this weekend really epitomizes what we are: a great big group of people who love each other and love to party. I am so, so haopy to be a part of that.

ironic

I was listening to the song "Ironic" on my iPod during my commute this morning... are we seriously expected to believe that every single person who heard that song being created, from Alanis herself, to the musicians, to the producer, to the engineer, to the record executives, failed to realize that the word ironic was being used incorrectly? I guess when you have a catchy beat and a good hook, nobody cares that the song is going to be confusing people for years about the correct definition of a word. Take these lyrics:

Mr. Play it Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase, kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down, he thought, "Well, isn't this nice?"

Couldn't they have gone with something like this?:

Mr. Play it Safe was afraid to fly
Every flight he booked and cancelled flew safely through the sky
When at last, he decided it was finally time to go
That was the plane that crashed and he died in a fiery inferno

Now granted, it's still in the beginning stages... but that is the correct definition, right? Every flight was safe except for the one he went on? Now I'm not even sure. Someone back me up on this.

everybody else is doing it, so why can't i?

Okay, I already have a blog over at LiveJournal, but for some reason, I feel tempted to start a new one. Probably because I'm having so much fun reading my friends' efforts and Blogger just looks so neat and spiffy... of course, when I'm feeling geeky, I can't post a tiny picture of Aragorn the way I can on LJ but, you know, you can't have everything.

So, I'm here.

Things have been okay lately in my life. I'm not going to say they're great because, although I'm happy, I'm really not HAPPY. That uppercase really does make a difference. When I think about how lucky I am, I sometimes feel ashamed that I am not constantly bouncing off the walls and spreading cheer everywhere I go... which sounds like a hybrid between Gummi and Care Bears. But, honestly, I have a wonderful family, I have a great apartment with good roommates, some awesome friends, and a job that, for the most part, allows me to live the lifestyle I want to live. I can't complain about any of that. But, you know... not everything is perfect.

Is it wrong to want everything to be perfect?