i believe i can fly

There was a bird in my apartment yesterday. The idea that I might have been in the same closed-in area with a bird while at my most vulnerable (i.e. straight out of the shower... I don't know why I feel that way, but I do. I guess it's the thought of running out of my house naked in blind fear. The bird would only be the beginning of my problems.) is both thrilling and terrifying. Let me explain: apparently, Sunday night, my cousin, while letting her dog out to do its business in our backyard through the basement back door, accidentally allowed a black bird to fly into the house. I will blame this entire thing on that dog, although it is very nice, because it is extremely badly behaved and almost tore my finger off in its choke chain once when I was trying to walk it... but that's another story. Anyway, she did what any typical woman would do (me included) and ran back to her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. Monday afternoon, she went back to the basement and couldn't find the bird. She had happened to call her father (our landlord) to come fix a heating issue in the house. In doing so, they both went upstairs to my apartment to check the thermostat. All three occupants were at work, but my cousin heard a rustling noise in the living room and slowly went to investigate, at which point, she found the bird trapped in the curtains behind my couch. My uncle somehow grabbed it in a towel and set it free off my back porch. I'm sure my neighbor will have some reason to complain about this incident, too. The bird was probably making so much noise, he couldn't hear his television.

When I got home yesterday evening, all that remained of the bird were some wrinkled curtains and a few droplets on my couch that resembled white out. But the scariest part of this is that there was no contact with this bird from Sunday night, till Monday afternoon, which means that it could very well have been in my living room, sitting in the dark, while I was getting ready for work. I just can't even imagine how terrified I would have been had I heard a noise, gone to check it out, and been hit in the face with a camouflaged and panicked bird. I'd probably still be crying.

I wonder if I'd be this afraid of birds if a seagull hadn't tried to steal my turkey sandwich out of my hands when I was eleven. I mean, I got the sandwich back, but ultimately the seagull won, as my parents wouldn't let me eat it after the bird's claws had been sunk into the roll. I can still see that bird flapping in my face and my cousin, Michael, then sixteen, sitting on a beach chair nearby, laughing.

Don't tell me I'm not scarred.

i'm a loser, baby...

Seven days in and I think the New Year's resolution is coming along pretty well. I am actively trying to stay positive but I hope that, eventually, I won't have to think about it anymore and it'll just happen. Like breathing.

I'm also part of a Biggest Loser competition with some of my family members. I was asked by my cousin if I wanted to take part in it, and her question was prefaced with, "I don't want to insult you by asking this, but..." I'm glad she thinks I am fit enough to be insulted by being asked if I want to lose weight. Anyway, I have to kick in $20 at the beginning and then, for every week I gain, I have to throw in another $5. I believe we're doing this until some time around Easter. I usually hover around the same weight anyway, so as long as I don't gain, I won't lose all that much money. I've tried before to switch my diet over to healthy foods, which for me, mostly means grilled chicken instead of fried. But this time, I think I'll try a little harder, being that there's money involved. I also did a 22 minute Exercise-on-Demand in my living room last night, ignoring the fact that I actually belong to a gym to which I NEVER GO. I swear, if I ever try to pay money to a gym again, someone direct me to this post. Unless I am doing Fenix Down full-time and have free mornings and afternoons in which to make myself attractive to our millions of fans. Then, it's all right.

I'm also trying to do some other good things for myself in this new year. I cooked myself an actual dinner last night (grilled chicken... see?... and rice) as opposed to eating ramen noodles or a grilled cheese. I've also been wearing my glasses at work, like I'm supposed to. I'm taking care of myself this year. All I have to do is actually fill out that 401K paperwork and I'll really be on the ball. I've only been sitting on that for over a year... I'm sure I'll get to it any day now.

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.