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?
Monday, September 29, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
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?
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?
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, September 1, 2008
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.
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.
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