So I recently reprised my role as "booth bitch" for the Dead Sea Pavilion working for a week at the Columbus Circle street fair. I have worked a lot of street fairs and I have seen a lot of crazies. I have gone loopy and come back again, only to find I am still loopy, but often not as loopy as those that visit the booth. I can't even recall all of them, and that makes me sad since they definitely thrust me into a pseudo reality wondering if I was in some strange dream as they spout out unintelligible gibberish with behavior only seen on SNL, Mad TV, and In Living Color. People say strange things, and do even weirder things, such as accepting a free Q-tip we were offering just to be silly and walking away staring at it with a gleam in their eye as though they had just won the lottery. My favorite thing ever uttered in the booth happened this past week when a pretty normal looking woman came in and was interested in the face cream with the Dead Sea Minerals in it, but what she said was... "Umm...hi! Do you have any of those face creams with the dead sea...monkeys....or whatever?" Instantly I smiled, as I always seem to when monkeys are involved. Then the brilliance exploded when I realized there is such a thing as Sea Monkeys...and she was not only requesting Dead Sea Monkeys, but in a face cream! I immediately got visuals of microscopic sea monkey cadavers rubbed all over her face. I started cracking up, and she looked at me like I was insane. She thought I was insane for laughing at her having asked for face cream with dead sea monkeys in it. A last she walked away wondering what was wrong with me. What's most wrong is that I didn't tell her that the dead sea monkeys cost extra.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
I'd like to share with you the bizarre subjects of the spam I have been receiving lately in my yahoo account. They perplex and amuse me. I spend at least a few seconds wondering not only what the purpose of spam is, but then...how and where "they" (whoever "they" are) could pair up such random words and why....I have been collecting my favorites and thought I would share them with you. Perhaps they will inspire you in some way.
Not waggle no yachtsman
All of us havestrayed away like sheep.
He rod a canny
Have unicorn the vicksburg
Monday, November 27, 2006
Okay, so the cutest kid in "The Sound of Music" is always the youngest, Gretl. The girl playing Gretl in our production is absolutely adorable. I can't possibly do her justice in words, but she is so cute you just wanna chop off her sweet little head and use it as a keychain. Big brown eyes with soft and thick black lashes, and just the slightest natural blush to her cheeks. Stick her in a white dress and she's an angel. She is just 5 years old, and already a consummate professional. She knows all her lines, and songs. Just when we thought she couldnt' get any cuter, she has taken to hugging me and a few others every time she sees you. Several hugs later I mentioned that to her and she said "I'm Gretl, I just want to be loved." That is a line Maria says in the show explaining each child to the Captain. That cute bitch is getting into character! She hands me edelweiss at one point in the show, and after working with it for the first time she asked me where I put it. I told her I put it back on the prop table. She said she wanted to check. So we both walked back to make sure I put it where it goes. She's checkin' her props! I know adults who don't check their props. She is incredible. Some of the kids take a while to warm up to, but not her. She is just unbelievable.
Friday, November 24, 2006
I rode the Greyhound bus home from upstate last night so that I could spend Thanksgiving with my friends (couldn't make it to see the family). The bus ride was less than pleasant, but I was totally expecting this. At least I had my two roomies from the show to enjoy it all with me. Aside from the coughing of a wee child who refused to cover his mouth the ENTIRE way here, there was the obnoxious ghetto couple in front of us with a few kids (think Whitney and Bobby on even more crack). Upon sitting down they acknowledged that their baby just pooped his pants and it was starting to stink...within just a few seconds there was a baby's ass with poo in our face as they wiped it clean. mmm. They set the tone for the trip, but we were all in relatively good spirits. We even had some fun moments with the little baby when she was turning around to smile at us. At some point the man was suggesting that they play some music instead of trying to run the dvd, which was only playing audio and nothing on the screens. Out of nowhere he asked me if I had any Sarah Mclachlan. What? I do have a lot of her music at home, but don't have it on my ipod (damn me), so I mentioned that...asking if he liked her, to which he replied "Umm, she's okay I guess, she's a bit prudish." This makes little sense, regardless of the question of why he would even bring her up in the first place. So then he listed a few of her songs that have been played a lot on the radio as ones he liked. That was totally random. Finally they fix the dvd running and we can SEE it and sort of hear it...it's Lindsay Lohan in "Just My Luck". Not my choice, but it'll pass the time, and it turns out to be a great choice if you want to watch Ms. Lohan experiencing several misfortunes. We are all struggling to hear the movie for a bit when the people in front of us get another call on their cell phone and answer it (again) in the freakin' walkie talkie mode. I hate that fuckin' walkie-talkie phone bullshit. I don't want to hear your conversation. I don't want to hear the loud and unnecessary BEEP before each of you speak to one another. I don't want to hear you shouting into it. I don't have any idea why anyone uses these in public, let alone on a bus or subway with tons of other people. Why do you want other people to hear your entire conversation? Why are you such a fucking asshole? These always piss me off. I don't care if it doesn't use up your minutes to talk to someone that way...do that at home! So we seeth about it for a while as we learn that it's her brother calling her...and he is wasted...and she finds this incredibly amusing, and wants her man to talk to him...loudly...but, as we are having difficulty hearing the stupid movie, they must be having difficulty hearing her brother, so they turn up the volume and speak louder. Finally one of my traveling companions speaks up...sort of as I do a bit as well, though it was more her. We ask them if they could please open their phone and talk ON it, because it's too loud. It was in that moment that this woman sat straight up and turned to look at these horrible people who asked her something SO inconsiderate, and in the dark I could see that she wanted to punch us. She held her gaze a few seconds longer, in case we didn't get what she was saying, but she turned back and opened her phone and angrily explained something about what just happened...saying something about her need to physically hurt "someone". She soon was off her phone, but she steamed over this for a little while longer and I guess eventually got over it. I must say that I am surprised she didn't try to start something when we were getting off the bus later. I don't know why it surprises me when people behave this way. I don't know why this isn't the first time I sat someplace where ignorant people are completely disturbing everyone's experience as it ruined whatever I was trying to do, and all I could think was "if I say something, they are going to hurt me." It is times like that I wish I were large, and strong, and knew karate. Or something. It is those moments that I stand up, walk over to them and kick them hard in the face with my heel...in my head. So we said something, and we didn't die. Woo hoo. Everyone who speaks on the walkie-talkie feature on those phones should be palmed in the face with their own cell phone, repeatedly, while they are mid conversation, so the person on the other end might hear as well.
And yet, this was definitely not my worst experience on the Greyhound.
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
So I was heading out of my house yesterday...VERY early evening hours...trying to get some errands done before the Halloweeners were out and about. I walk down the end of my street and see one of the strangest things. In one of the little driveways on my quiet little street, I see a mexican man passed out flat on his back, in between his legs is his cellphone which appears to have lost it's battery. So I start to worry...is this man drunk? Did this man get mugged? Is he alive? I see his beer gut moving which means that yes, he is still breathing. He doesn't look distressed. He looks like he is having a sweet sleep there on the sidewalk. I am just baffled. This wouldn't stun me so much in midtown, or even where I used to live, in Sunset Park, Brooklyn where I know there were plenty of drunk mexicans, but here it was, like 4:30 or 5pm on a Tuesday Halloween afternoon, and nothing close to this ever happens on my street in Astoria. But the BEST part of this was, as I was still trying to process what might have happened, I noticed something else. This man's dentures from his top row of teeth were lying a few feet from his...feet. The man lost his teeth. Now I definitely thought there had to have been fowl play. But the sweet smile on the sleeping Mexican's face said otherwise. All sorts of images flooded my mind as I imagined him tripping to his sidewalk bed dropping his teeth and phone along the way...or I saw him wobbling sideways up the sidewalk with his drunk mouth agape, no longer able to control the position of his jaw, or the placement of his fake teeth...perhaps that is when they slid out, and he grabbed his phone to tell his friend how drunk he was and passed the fuck out. All I know is that a mexican man and his teeth were on the sidewalk on my street at 5pm on a Tuesday. Luckily he was gone when I returned home a few hours later. His teeth were gone too.
Friday, October 13, 2006
"The last time I had tank tops and flowing skirts on, I was happy to be spending time with you." "There's that place we used to grab dinner when I was falling in love with you." "It felt so great when you'd lean across the table over the food to kiss me sweetly just because you needed to." " I remember when the weather changed last year I was happy and thinking I might be love with you." "The last time I put on this hat and scarf I was happy and still in love with you." My mind is booming with thoughts like these. The pangs of hurt that once were present every single moment now only return each time I do something that reminds me of you. When I pass a corner we kissed on. When I smell the perfume I wore when we were together. When I think of how you were one of the best things that happened to me all throughout last year when other things didn't seem to be working out...and in that instant I am sad again. I am sad because we are no longer together, and I remember how much you meant to me. In that moment I also remember that you didn't ever feel exactly the same for me and that is why we are no longer together. I remember denying that what I felt was love, even though I knew that was what it was, because I knew you didn't feel that for me. I don't want those moments anymore. I am sick of feeling sad about you. I know we shouldn't be together. I don't want to be with you again. I haven't wanted to be with you since just after you broke up with me. You ended it because we both knew I couldn't even though I knew things weren't right. Will these memories I have of you ever be good or happy? We were very happy quite often. When will these memories stop hurting so bad? I want to be in love again, but not with you...so stop haunting my heart! I want to be in love again, but this time with someone who loves me. I won't stand for anything less ever again and it feels so far off I can hardly take it sometimes. But I do, because I have to. I do because I want to. I do because I know that it is possible, no matter how long it takes to find it. So I will continue to wait. But this is my message to the memory of you and I. Get out of my head and get out of my heart. I don't want to walk these streets thinking about what we almost had. It was never enough then and it's way too much now. Each time that I think of it I just wonder how I let myself feel so much and continue to hurt so much for someone who couldn't or wouldn't do the same for me.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Ah...the piss test. I recently began working a new job and had to visit a local drug testing facility this past week. There aren't too many experiences quite so humbling as pissing in a cup and then handing it, still fresh and warm, to the lab technician. "Here, this was all just in my bladder, but I just hovered over the toilet holding this cup between my legs, aiming the best I could and squeezed it out just for you to pour into a plastic tube and label for me. Thank you for the lovely hand sanitizer to cleanse my piss off my hand, since I wasn't allowed to turn on the water at the sink until you checked the bathroom to make sure I didn't tamper with anything."
I am not sure why I just launched into the preceding rant. I am not at a point in my life where I need worry about the drug test, but somehow, I obviously have a lot to say on the subject, much to my own surprise.
I suppose I understand why companies want to drug test, but really...I don't totally get it. I mean, drugs are bad, mmkay? We all know this. Doing drugs at work is bad. But only if you are an idiot, and are totally fucked up to a point that people realize that there is something wrong with you. If you are stupid enough to take drugs at work at all...or an amount that makes you retarded at work, then you should just be fired, because you will act stupid and people will have no choice but to fire you. What's the point of all this ceremonial peeing in cups and testing shit? If someone has some fun outside of their job, I don't understand why that is anyone's business but their own. You should get fired or penalized for not showing up, calling off all the time, or showing up and being wasted in any way shape or form. All of those are grounds for some sort of consequences, and I don't need piss in a cup to show me that. Maybe if a piss test could indicate whether a person was going to complain while they are standing next to you at work all day, or if the results were to show that a manager was going to be overly condescending or constantly be on a power trip, that would be useful. I think most employers will know quite immediately that they are interviewing a crackwhore or a junkie, and if one slips through the system and gets past that day of training, their ways most certainly won't take too long to be revealed. All those others need to just keep their shit together and save the parties for their off-time.
Thanks for listenin'.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
There are many times in life that reality is just so kooky that no writer could possibly invent the characters that I encounter on my various jobs here in NYC. Working at the Compusa on 5th Avenue (promoting AOL) has always been what I will refer to as an adventure, so as to cleverly conceal some of my bitter sweet feelings for it. Located in the heart of midtown, entirely too close to the Empire State building, you encounter one of 2 types of people here...the foreign folk, and the crazies. There are a lot of both in midtown, where they walk in all directions at once, none aware that there are hundreds of other human beings anywhere near them..changing their already indirect directions instantly running into you, stepping on you, keeping you contstantly on guard to dodge them, or stand your ground and run into them. Just the foreign folks, the crazies, and me. Perhaps it is best that these folks just bump into you and keep moving, for when they stop, and talk to you...you enter a world that not just anyone can handle. I talk to these people. I listen to them. Not generally on the street, but while working my various jobs. It took me a while to realize that while there shouldn't be any harm in this, they can often drain the life out of you at the same time as they tickle your brain when you realize that this is a real person standing in front of you, talking nonsense. When you stand in one place in a retail store every day or every weekend, these crazies always know where to find you again. I have met so many but right now all I can recall is yesterday. I met a filthy looking lady yesterday here at the store. She was very sweet. She was missing her two front teeth which were framed by the bright red lipstick smeared around her mouth. She had a tragically uneven skin tone, made moreso by the streaks of concealer or foundation strewn about her face. Her eyeliner appeared to have been applied heavily before her head had, perhaps, been held under water for a spell. Her hair seemed plastered to her head, with a slight frizz, and coated in some sort of glycerine-like liquid that was at some point dripping down her temples, but whose thickness had stopped it on it's way . Too thick to be sweat I wondered if she had applied glue? The topping on the cake is a toss up between the swirls of red lipstick that had somehow been spread faintly around her entire face and the numerous whiskers on her chin. She was a sight to behold. I approached her in my section without realizing all of her uniqueness, but once we began, I was involved...and had little way out. So we chatted. I learned she was an actress and she showed me her headshot and resume, a postcard sized copy of a picture she said had been taken on a cellphone, of her standing on a NY city street in front of a subway station, looking like a homeless person with bright red lipstick on. On the back was her resume, which boasted film/tv/commercial credits that my resume can't hold a candle to. Some credits were scribbled in and all was on the back of this postcard/cellphone picture. I offered to take her picture here (one of the parts of the area I am to get people to interact with). She seemed as though I caught her off-guard and she wasn't necessarily at her best, but we gave it a go. She saw the first shot and whipped out her makeup bag saying she needed to touch up her face. The first thing she grabbed was her tube of whore-red lipstick, which she not-so-expertly applied without a mirror. Instantly it began to bleed out into the lines and sweat on her face, on a path towards joining the rest of the "lipstick party" already in full swing on her forehead, cheeks and chin. Then she grabbed her foundation and swiped her finger in it and proceeded to draw lines around her face, poorly attempting at blending it while asking "do I look alright?". I can't answer that! Lying is physically painful to me. I couldn't even begin to point out all of the things that would have required fixing. The most helpful thing I could have offered would be a sponge and a bucket, but this was not an option. She was now looking in a mirror, and if she couldn't tell that she didn't look okay by seeing what I was seeing, what was the point in trying to fix it? Lastly she took out the eyeliner observing in the mirror as she rubbed the dull pencil around both eyes. "do I look alright?" she asked again, smoothing back her glue-y hair and smiling her no-front-teeth smile. "yes, yes you do." I said, pinching back my amusement and wincing at the pain for the untruth. She wasn't ever pleased with her photo, yet she had plans to go to kinkos to copy it and use it for her acting work. A few minutes later when she sat down at the public free internet computers we have here, I cringed as I watched her dirty hands smearing the left over brown foundation all over the keys and mouse. I couldn't wait until she left to wipe it down, but these computers are very popular and I never had a chance...several people cleaned it off with their own hands. Ew. Ew.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Ah...the steam room, one of my my favorite havens. Yet all too often people have to come in there and repulse me. Why is that? I have already figured out that I am obviously in the minority of women who walk in there with a towel around them and leave it wrapped around themselves the entire time they are enjoying the steamy goodness. So I suppose I am the strange one here. I rarely enjoy my time in there without some older lady splaying herself on the bench in front of me, periodically rubbing her body and, if I am really lucky, loofa-ing. I am aware that I have already posted a blog about this a while back, but tonight was a special night. Tonight, after one wrinkly lady got through lounging and rubbing herself, a little indian woman with a bit of a buddha belly strolled in naked and stood in front of me. It was just she and I. She started flapping her arms around...stretching out her sore muscles...when suddenly she puts her hands on her hips and begins moving her pelvis in a circular grinding sort of motion. It was as if she were attempting to hula hoop...ever so gently...and her hand slid from her hip onto her flappy buddha belly...as she continued her strange gyrations. I'm doing alright in my own world...not entirely understanding the purpose of this, or if I should be present for it, when she turns and looks at me as she moves. I try not to make eye contact and she looks away. She stretches a bit more and a few moments later she begins this steam room dance again...and she keeps trying to look at me! Is she trying to have a magical steam room moment with me? I wrap my towel tighter around me and attempt to stay in my own world when she speaks to me. "Someone told me that this will help..." as she swirves her hips in slow circles...rubbing her buddha belly...looking for some sort of response from me. I just nod my head and try not to laugh. This happened a few more times before I finally had my fill of the therapeutic steam. Where do these people come from? Am I really the strange one here? Keeping myself modestly wrapped up in a towel? Should I be gyrating for strangers and drawing attention to my problem areas?
Monday, June 26, 2006
I have an addiction. I have an addiction that goes far beyond checking myspace (and every other site I have to "check") obsessively and for no good reason all day long. I absolutely MUST listen to the song "Under Pressure" by David Bowie/Queen on my ipod as I am walking from the subway to my apartment in Astoria every night. It is a requirement of my soul. This song took on some fun nostalgic meaning for me when I did a whacked out one act this past year and we danced to this song in it. Since the night I downloaded it, it has seriously changed my commute home and possibly my entire life or the life I live whilst walking home. It is the perfect song for walking to. It is a brisk walk. Not fast enough for when you are trying to get somewhere relatively fast or need to walk quicker in order to get around slow tourists. But it's not so slow either. It is the ideal pace for nearly strutting down the sidewalk, only slightly wondering if people can tell you are walking to a beat that turns you on. I don't quite know what it is about this song. It could have been one of the first things that made me smile during my more recent depressing commutes when my memories get the best of me. I don't particularly feel as if I have been under any sort of pressure as of late. I mean, of course things have been happier for me, but I wouldn't explain it as feeling pressured. It's funny, as the song is speaking about pressure, it has an incredibly freeing effect. I feel like I am in my own music video (a feeling I am all too familiar with) and I feel rain should start falling on me as I walk down the city street with my hands outstretched from side to side as they make their way above my head and I dance into a spin and keep strutting. I don't know why I am so damn happy to be caught in the rain, generally this just makes me soggy, but tonight...tonight I am walking with David Bowie in my ears..and a beat that never fails to make me smile from ear to ear...mainly because the song is so damn good...but also because I am the only one who can hear it.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Walking in the West Village last night with a man friend of mine, a guy who was selling balloons and such said "Want to buy a balloon....for your baby's daddy?". This perplexed me for a moment, as there was no baby...nor do I appear to be pregnant...and I totally forgot it was Father's Day...but regardless of all of that, it cracked my shit up.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
On my way through the subway station this morning where I usually see Midget Michael Jackson Man flailing his tiny manparts (that didn't sound right), I saw a lady shouting out something about God. It was strange, because she was standing there with her purse on her shoulder and her jacket on, and looked as if she was just passing through when she suddenly felt that she just HAD to preach. So she did. No one was stopping to listen, but she kept shoutin'. I have a lot of things I feel like shouting at New Yorkers, but I have yet to do so. Why is that? Am I insane or is she? I assure you that what I have to shout out people need to hear a lot more than they need to hear that God created the universe, and that gay people are evil. I need to tell people to stop being so fucking rude around here. I want to scream at people who just throw their trash on the ground right next to a trash can. I want to have people actually attempt to move out of MY way sometime instead of barreling through me on the street. If you fucking knock my freshly purchased iced coffee out of my hand because rather than turning your upper body just a smidge, you prefer, instead, to ram it into the hand that is holding the coffee...maybe you could look back and apologize as you keep walking...since I now have to go buy another one. I love NYC and I don't think it is just here that people are so rude. I was raised to say please and thank you, and I'm sorry. I say it when I haven't done anything that warrants it. I have some strange syndrome where I automatically default to polite. Most of the time I am proud of that, and happy with the way I was raised...but more and more lately I'm just irked with myself and wish I didn't automatically move out of other people's way or hold the doors when they refuse to acknowledge it or say "thank you, have a great day!" to the people I just handed my money to at Dunkin Donuts who can't even make eye contact with me. Then I get a little sad to realize that being here with people like that changes me a little bit and I find myself making a conscious effort to stand my ground on the sidewalks instead of shifting for everyone else. This makes me sad since I don't need to change or adapt to this rude world...it should be the other way around, but it isn't. Anyway, kudos to this random woman for getting things off her chest to anyone who will listen. She's got balls. But I'd rather see Midget Michael Jackson Man.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
If you don't know who the Midget Michael Jackson Man is, please check out an earlier post in this blog about him. He is a man of the dwarf persuasion who dances to Michael Jackson hits in the subways of NYC.
I caught the lil' guy warming up his legs this morning...a little hopscotch action, sort of..in one place...very briskly...boy those tiny limbs move fast! A good midget subway performer knows to stretch well before a long day of moonwalking less his puny ligaments tear where they meet his teensy hip sockets.
Once again, while the man does a mean tiny crotch grab, I still marvel more at this early Saturday morning ritual I am sometimes lucky enough to catch.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
You know that midget Michael Jackson impersonator in the subways in NYC? Well I witnessed him stretching his tiny limbs this morning. I watched him whip those wee little arms around and back and forth like a small sparrow fallen out of the nest, desperately continuing to try to fly though his feet remain firmly on the ground. He was facing the dark smelly corner of the subway tunnel, warming up his mini ligaments and tendons for a Saturday of girations to "Billie Jean" as people stop to gawk. Is it sad that I found this early morning warmup preparation ritual far more entertaining? I will never get that video clip out of my mind.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
This morning I hopped into the brisk air on the subway platform and was met with a train pretty quick, only to rip open my fresh hot egg sandwich and enter a car on the train that just happened to be filled with the stench of Gratuitously Rotten Smelly Homeless Man. There was no one in this car. The looks on my face as well as the few others who had filtered on with me told me I wasn't the only one to smell it. At the far end of the car lay the rotten thing...with all his belongings. Was he dead? How long had his carcass been allowed to ride on this train? Why hadn't anyone cleaned him out of there at the last stop (being that it is the end of the line, where they clean the cars!)? I saw him stir, so the smell couldn't be explained by death. We all looked at eachother in horror, our noses scrunched up as we tried to inhale as little as possible. A few people passed through to the next car. I looked in, but realized that-at this hour of the morning, were I to move, I would lose my seat...which is a coveted position during the morning rush hour...even moreso when you are about to stand outside for the next 10 hours working a promotion. So I stayed there...still eating my egg sandwich...because, well...I had to eat. As others filtered in, no one sat from half way through the car towards him. Many switched cars the first chance they got. I remained. Every once in while, as my nose started to get used to the smell...I feared the idea that I could ever get used to something so awful...would I smell like that all day? Just as I would worry about getting used to it, another wiff would waft all the way down to my end. What the hell could cause that? Was he covered in open sores and lying in his own soiled pants? How long would he be permitted to stay there? I have no doubt his smell would linger LONG after he had been shood out...and some innocent new rider would sit right where his poopy/bloody/corpse-like body had layed all day. I don't know if I was being insensitive to the plight of this unfortunate soul...whose aroma stayed with me and taunted me throughout the day. Was it really nearby, or was it just that strong that my mind couldn't help but have flashbacks? I don't know...there are a lot of homeless people here that sleep on subways...and they don't all smell like that.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Here she is folks...this is our creation from yesterday...her yellow yarn hair (which we had used to hoist pasta pots of snow up to the balcony to make her) blew away....and her fig newton asian eyes are drooping, her fig mouth melted off (she likes to bask in the the sun)....but we still love her!
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Today has been a good day. I got to sleep in, with my sweetie...but I didn't sleep all damn day...
My roommates and I all bundled up to go outside and play in the snow!!! It was a little rougher than I am used to (I am such a girly girl...aka..."wuss"). We built a snowman on our front balcony...by hoisting up additional snow in a huge pasta pot with yarn...then, eventually we did the same thing from the roof to the balcony. I must admit, it was a little daunting and I totally felt like giving up when our snowman looked a bit like a pointy mountain blob...and I was cold and cranky....but somehow things started to take shape. Then we got out the "tools". Very quickly we began sculpting him into the unfortunate shape of a penis...TOTALLY unintentionally....but couldn't help cracking up wondering how many people looked out their windows seeing two chicks molding a huge snow "man-part" on their balcony. We were mortified when someone walked by and gave us a thumbs-up, we aren't sure if he could see the obvious dirtiness or not. Well...eventually we got ourselves a good lookin' snowman...complete with fig newton eyes, a carrot nose, and pink wafer buttons....
We took a trip to Dunkin Donuts to get Dunkaccinos...mmmm...
I took a longass hot shower...
....and now Kira is making grilled cheeze and tomato soup....
Saturday, February 4, 2006
I am working with a very sweet person who stunned me twice already, all within our first two days of work.
First was as we were sitting in a deli training for our day and eating breakfast, as "When the Doves Cry" came on. A few of us were singing along, enjoying the selections being played on the radio. Upon the mention of Prince's name (his former, now current again), he explained that he hadn't always known that Prince had made that song originally. He knew it only from the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack (an amazing one, by-the-way), and for the longest time thought Prince had just covered that version of it. Okay, so this is a clear indication of his 19 year old youth, right? I'm still skeptical on that one. We all remained stunned that he had somehow been so misled.
Next was today when, upon seeing several men dressed in very tailored and fashionably accessorized funky outfits ( I am sure someone thought they were dressed exceptionally well), he went on a rant about how much he didn't like what they were wearing and saying they looked too girly. Now they were far from dressed in drag and just happened to be very well-dressed fashionistas of some sort. Perhaps they were trying a tad too hard, but COME ON...we are working in front of Fashion Week! Anyway, he launches into his insults with a "Now, I have nothing against those 'Brokeback Mountain Types' BUT..."
Weee!!! Gay people have another derogatory term to mock and label them at the same time! Such a relief! Thank God Ang Lee made this movie because the other names are SO last millenea!
I finally got to see "Brokeback Mountain" last week. My experience of it wasn't nearly what I had expected it would be, but that probably has something to do with how long it took me to see it. I kept hearing everyone else's intense reactions to it all the time, and it just didn't make me emote the way I definitely did when I saw the trailor for it WELL before everyone was talking about it. Regardless of the fact that I didn't weep like an infant at the love story and the tragedy of it's complications, I am, none-the-less, effected. ..>
I am effected in the same way I was after seeing "Far From Heaven" (a BEAUTIFUL movie), a few years back. I always feel so excited when movies like this are made, because I feel like they are going to do SO much for the ignorance and resulting struggles surrounding the lives of human beings that are gay. It invigorates me for a while, perhaps before I see the film, perhaps even while I am watching it. I wrap myself up in the story and how it effects me. My heart leaps with gratitude that someone is showing these stories that are far from new in history of the universe, and I am so proud of the "big hollywood stars" that agreed to do it. I feel like times are changing and have GOT to be getting better!!
Then I wake up. My heart sinks a few feet again as I remember that, even though those stories are set in a time that has past, SO very much remains the same.
Of course times are changing. Just the simple fact that someone produced the film is proof of that. We have come so far and yet we are still stuck very much in that past, which wasn't that long ago. I think I just am so much more immersed in the nore understanding and logical world I have created with those I care about the most, that I forget that, sadly, that world doesn't extend very far, even in NYC! Just when I think it is getting bigger I am instantly reminded just how severely I have overestimated it's scope. And it ALWAYS surprises me.
There are times when I think I will live long enough to see the time when we all really are informed and intelligent enough to talk about these times in history classes and just shake our heads in disbelief at how ignorant we were. Then there are times when I feel as though I will always just be one of the few in the constant state of bewilderment until the day I die. I am confident, however, that the day will come when we will wake up from the nightmare we continue to perpetuate. Hopefully this will happen without creating a new one! ..>
I say "we", because I often speak in more personal terms that separate my beliefs from those that happen to still be less accepting. I am not sure, but perhaps that is somehow why we remain moving at such a slow pace. If we can figure out how to remember to think of ourselves more as "one" then as freakily different individuals, it might be more possible to understand someone else's feelings a little better since, deep down, we are all exactly the same. Those that remain stuck in the past are also just like me, they just happen to be terrified of it. Why are they terrified? Because they don't understand it and don't think it is around them all the time. This is why I am still very grateful for these movies, because SLOWLY but surely more and more people will, at some point, be less afraid.
Saturday, January 7, 2006
I ADORE living in NYC, but there are some moments it can SUCK SUCK SUCK...riding trains home after midnight, drunk, is definitely at the top of the list. Unfortunately I can never afford cabs. It has been a while since I experienced something like this here, though I am no stranger to it.
Right, so I went to an awesome party last night and evidently drank a bit too much wine. While I was there, I knew I was having fun, but at no point did I think I'd had too much. It wasn't until my incredibly retarded journey home that I realized I might not be right, and I definitely shouldn't have been attempting the trip home alone, by subway, at this very late hour. I wobbled my way to the subway station, and automatically went down to wait a very long time for the train. I put some song on my ipod, I don't think I chose an entire playlist, as I was going to pick something else once I got on the train. I remember the train pulling in, and me getting on. The next thing I know, I wake up and we are stopping at the Whitehall Street station. Being that I live in Queens, this is definitely not where I should be. As the train was pulling in, I realized nothing was playing in my lil' ear buds, and took them out to put them away. As I hobbled out of the train to go on the other side of the tracks to head the RIGHT direction, I tried desperately to remember what one song I had listened to before passing the fuck out on the train. I still can't remember. So I am standing on the uptown side finally, waiting. I understand the dreaded agony of the late-night wait. I mustered up as much patience as I could find, and refused to put my ipod back on. I knew it could help the agony of the wait, but I wasn't too in the mood to listen to anything, since I was angry at myself for not noticing which direction I was heading before...and I didn't think I was in any condition to be leisurely enjoying my ipod on a subway. I don't know how long I waited there. A homeless man was taking up one of the benches, and the only other people in the station, who had gotten off the train I did, were sitting on the other one. I could have sat with them, but for some reason I just didn't want to. So I remain in between the two benches, propped against a pole. After a while had passed, something made me feel like pacing, and I paced near some signs that had service changes on them. My drunken head eventually processed some very important information. There are no uptown trains from that station over the weekends at that time. I reread this numerous times until I understood it properly. What the fuck? Why can we walk down there to wait for the trains, if none will ever arrive? Where's the fucking tape stopping us from walking down there? Where are the signs or announcements? I realize I only paid $2 to go the wrong direction home tonight, but I just don't understand why they are alright with customers waiting stupidly on the platform at 2am-ish with no idea that they will never get home that way. Seriously. So I climb the stairs and ask the station attendants. I ask how to get home. They tell me to go upstairs and get the 1 shuttle to 42nd street, or the 4 or 6. They don't tell me how. I find myself near the Staten Island Ferry...in the windy fucking cold, and there is nothing to point me in the right direction. The only thing I can see is that the 1 train is in the station the Staten Island Ferry comes to. So I head over there. The doorway to get to the 1 train is gated. I begin to cry. I ask the man working there, who says to go outside to get the shuttle. "Where???" I ask. He mumbles some streets as I walk out weeping. I just wanna go home. I walk to the streets he mentions. There is absolutely NO indication that I am where I ought to be. I have to walk back down into the original station I came out of. Still weeping, I return to the lady asking "WHERE do I go?!?!?!" One of them does come out of the booth to walk me up the stairs and point me in the direction of the 4/6 train several blocks up the street. He is still talking about some shuttle, which I still can't fucking find. I weep all the way up the street, knowing that I need to pay another 2 fucking dollars once I get there, and knowing after that long-ass wait, I will have to get off at 59th to wait AGAIN for MY train. I just wanna go home!!!! I need not mention once again my state of weeping as I waited FOREVER at that station. Then a 1 train comes, where the 4/6 should be...and I get on, never fully knowing if it is running on the 1 line, or the 4/6 line...I just remain confused and hoping to GET HOME. I remained painfully conscious on this train, thankfully, until I arrived to 59th street. I angrily made the transfer there to the platform to my n/w train. I sat down and waited. It was FREEZING in there. I shivered like a junkie in withdrawal. I kid you not. I was in hell. I just wanted to go home!!!! I wept a bit here as well, as I did throughout various other moments of the trip. I was pissed off at myself for being stupid, at the MTA for not providing info and charging me more money to get home with all their changes, and mainly I was weeping for the week I had. I just worked a few days at a new job for people who don't know what they are doing, with several hard-working people, without any idea when or if we will get any money at a restaurant that shouldn't be open yet. I hate being taken advantage of when I give people the benefit of doubt. I do feel like that wait was at least 30 minutes if not more. Finally, an N. I am comforted, knowing I am finally heading where I need to be. ..
The next thing I remember, I awake sitting in a freezing train in a station. At first I thought we had just made a stop and the doors would shut and we'd be on our way again...I could see where I am, and know how many stops were left. But we just sit there. The cold wind floods into the car, and my junkie shakes return. I peak further out of the train and see that I am now sitting at the end of the line in Astoria, at Ditmars. Only one stop past where I live, but still. I slept through my motherfuckin' stop!!!! What the HELL is wrong with me? I had NO idea I was this inebriated, but yes, I was. Now, when you are at the last station of the subway line, the trains hang out there for a while. I don't know what they are doing with them, but they take a long while to move again, especially at this hour. So here I am, waiting once more...in the fucking cold...getting angrier at myself that I got that intoxicated before riding the subways home. Yay me. I stay freezing and pissed off conscious...finally we start to move again....finally my stop...I run home, it's that cold out. I don't run, but I ran last night. Finally I am home.
Sunday, January 1, 2006
It is the first day of 2006 and I woke up around 3:30pm. I am 28 years old, and I still thoroughly enjoy having days where I can do just that. So, the big holidays are done, and so is another year. Where the hell did it go? I know I'm not alone in the shock of how quickly time seems to pass from year to year. I may be one of the few people that just couldn't accept it this year though. I don't know exactly why. Was 2005 so great that I just don't want it to end? That can't be right. All I know is that, as Thanksgiving quickly approached, I couldn't comprehend how it could possibly be time. I knew it was coming whether I was ready or not. I knew that as soon as I woke up from that turkey coma, it would suddenly be time for a Christmas tree and presents and figgy pudding. (Okay, strike the figgy pudding. I have never encountered figgy pudding, and I don't know that I ever will.) I knew that, even as the final notes of every Christmas carol were still blaring in the stores, suddenly New Year's eve would be here and I would be required to welcome the festivities with open arms in celebration. I knew all of this, but somehow I just couldn't enjoy it all. From the moment the quickness of these holidays slapped me in the face, my head lay drooped to the side where it landed after the blow. My eyes glazed over and drool may have slipped from my lips. Inside, my mind lay marinating in denial, exactly where it wanted so deperately to be for some reason. "It isn't TIME for this, an entire year can't possibly have passed!" "I guess I ought to get a Christmas tree, but not YET!" Even as my mind refused to believe time was passing, the parts of my soul that always enjoy the holidays attempted feebly to enjoy itself. My inner child would scream out at moments, singing along to Christmas carols as I visited stores, but was abruptly silenced when the reality of having absolutely no money to buy anything for anyone set in. Somehow the days shot past and we never got a tree for the apartment. I never even got out my christmas cds for their annual enjoyment. Things just weren't right. ..>
My body ached from days working in the bitter cold streets of NYC via random miscellaneous jobs all month. I dragged my aching muscles home to Pittsburgh for the holidays, aboard a luxurious greyhound bus. As my stubborn mind continued to resist the holiday spirit, I started wishing I had enjoyed it all more. I even started to look forward to next year at holiday time. I started to think that, even if I didn't feel like it was time yet, I was going to revel in it next year. I would buy a tree as soon as I possibly could. I would hang the Christmas lights that are still in my closet from last year. Whether I had money or not, I would at least send out some Christmas cards. I might even throw a holiday party! I started to get a little giddy thinking how much I would enjoy next Christmas no matter how fast it hit me. Then I realized it was December 22nd. Christmas day had yet to happen! I dunno, it was a very strange moment. It was too late to do all the fun things leading up to the big day, but it wasn't too late to enjoy this one. It was the opposite side of that initial slap o' the holidays, slapping my face back in the other direction to even me out, to shake the contents of my garbled mind back into the moment.
So I suppose I should have some sort of resolution going into this brand new year. I'm not big on resolutions that happen only once a year. I am generally in favor of attempting to make any necessary changes or adjustments all year round, as necessary. Regardless of that, I feel it absolutely vital to make one this year. I can't possibly allow time to get ahead of me this way anymore. I mean, I know it is going to. Somehow it is the nature of time. The longer we're alive, the more memories we have, the more things we hope to accomplish and the less time it feels we have to accomplish them. Every year I'm alive time gets faster than I feel like I can handle. If time went at a speed I was comfortable with, I have a feeling it might never pass at all. We need these holidays, whichever ones you celebrate, to keep us moving, while at the same time allowing us to pause and enjoy some silliness in between. They force us to spend the quality time we need with everyone we love, and help us feel more love for some of the people we'd rather not have so much quality time with. It becomes the best time to let go of whatever the hell we're holding onto from the last year and breathe in the new one, always being reminded to enjoy each present moment because a new one will be here whether we're ready or not!