Now that I've been gone for months and months, and have likely lost all readership, this is going back to my grassroots little musings. So here's what I've been doing.
-Joined a kickball league full of nice people and even nice hipsters. Drank beer. Slid into base. Got a lot of bruises.
-Went to London to see my old friend and ended up spending time with an old flame whom I love.
-Went to Mexico with my new best friend and was asked to be her maid of honor.
-Was dropped by my old best friend with no explanation after being her maid of honor (was it my speech?). No idea what happened but I miss her.
- Got back together with my ex boyfriend as horrible friends with benefits and cried my eyes out. Shut. The. Door. On. That. Detox talking to him for 60 days at the very least.
- Am weeks away from finally finishing the first book. Only took me five years but here we are.
- Went to a crazy, crazy Montreal woods festival and caused a national scandal when a singer and I decided we wanted to hang out...a lot. There was also a haunted summer camp.
- Am still working my butt off as a journalist even though I am only a fiction writer, learned how to modern dance, made some amazing new girlfriends.
- Working on a crazy magazine event that has ruined my life for the past three months. Will be over by Monday. Send massages, flowers and klonapin my way.
- Went to the beach. Danced on the boardwalk a lot. There were tacos. Went to some dance block parties. Went to some dance backyard parties. Am a little tired of dancing but I can't stop doing it.
- Got tan.
- Lost tan
- Shaved #swag and then BLING into the side of my head. It looked cool but not pretty. Will try to be pretty from now on.
- Started to plan my annual cupcake and champagne all-girls birthday party.
- Got nominated for a writing award but won't know until December.
- Submitted the novel to a new agent. Won't know for 6 weeks.
- Got some new eyeliner.
- Debated moving to San Francisco, again. Would like a new start even though I have nothing to run from.
- Mourned the loss of my dog.
- Did a lot of yoga.
- Slept in my bed and on my couch.
- Never stopped dreaming.
Showing posts with label lists. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lists. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Sunday, February 06, 2011
Recovery Sunday
Here's the recipe to recover from a very tough week:
1. Sleep until noon. If you wake up earlier, pad into the kitchen to get ice water, and then go back to sleep. Make sure the velvet curtains are closed but the bedroom door is open so sunlight comes in but never touches the pillow. Feel free to drool and to sleep, smack-middle in the bed and kick the covers to and fro.
2. After waking properly, open the windows to let in the chilly pre-Superbowl air, and turn up the heat so it all co-mingles while you...
3. Scrub the bathroom and then take a long, hot shower. Slather on three different lotions and put on a soft new nightshirt and slippers. Dance around a little and then turn off the heat and close the windows. Consider donning a robe.
4. Put on trashy television on low (thank the God of small things for Law & Order SVU marathons and Bravo) and stack up earmarked magazines and local papers with shops, restaurants, films, dance performances and concerts for the week you'd like to pounce upon. Put the writing theory books within sight so that technically, you aren't ignoring them. Position a fleecy blanket close.
5. Re-water the wildflower arrangement that holds fragrant sweet pea, royal purple poppies, egg-yolk orange and white daffodils, strange antique rust roses, and bursts of hardened small berries, stalks tied together and thrust into a mason jar. Call the senders to say thank you for being great friends. Position them on the crystal stands on top of the coffee table that doubles as a fountain because your parents are just as crazy and full of too many ideas as you are.
6. Light four different fat candles and put those on the stands, too. Even better if they are Jo Malone and Archipelago, white and cream colored, smelling of linen and lemon and deep spice.
7. Microwave three mini-cinnamon rolls until they're gooey and have to be eaten with a spoon. Smash together with said spoon until the texture resembles mashed potatoes. Amazing, sweet, sticky, dessert mashed potatoes. Serve with a glass of red wine and more ice water.
8. Brush hair for a half-minute before deciding it can't be tamed today. Make lists of to-do for the week, allocate time to writing, sleeping, talking, walking, texting, cooking. Clean up kitchen. Put wine back in the fridge because the TV doesn't count as another person to socially drink with. Not yet, anyhow.
9. Blog. Take vitamins. Finish that wine anyhow (it was only a third of a bottle and someone is coming over soon anyway, say this aloud to make yourself feel better). Make the bed. Decide to buy more candles.
10. Answer the door when Annabella arrives, bearing gifts. Consider Superbowl picks and two different pools in the office and then realize you haven't even planned to watch the bowl at all. If Annabella doesn't say anything about changing Law & Order, then blame it on her when you both miss it because you're too busy gossiping.
Sundays are for rest, aren't they? No one can ever accuse me of not knowing how to rest...that's for sure.
Hope you are having a wonderful Sunday too.
1. Sleep until noon. If you wake up earlier, pad into the kitchen to get ice water, and then go back to sleep. Make sure the velvet curtains are closed but the bedroom door is open so sunlight comes in but never touches the pillow. Feel free to drool and to sleep, smack-middle in the bed and kick the covers to and fro.
2. After waking properly, open the windows to let in the chilly pre-Superbowl air, and turn up the heat so it all co-mingles while you...
3. Scrub the bathroom and then take a long, hot shower. Slather on three different lotions and put on a soft new nightshirt and slippers. Dance around a little and then turn off the heat and close the windows. Consider donning a robe.
4. Put on trashy television on low (thank the God of small things for Law & Order SVU marathons and Bravo) and stack up earmarked magazines and local papers with shops, restaurants, films, dance performances and concerts for the week you'd like to pounce upon. Put the writing theory books within sight so that technically, you aren't ignoring them. Position a fleecy blanket close.
5. Re-water the wildflower arrangement that holds fragrant sweet pea, royal purple poppies, egg-yolk orange and white daffodils, strange antique rust roses, and bursts of hardened small berries, stalks tied together and thrust into a mason jar. Call the senders to say thank you for being great friends. Position them on the crystal stands on top of the coffee table that doubles as a fountain because your parents are just as crazy and full of too many ideas as you are.
6. Light four different fat candles and put those on the stands, too. Even better if they are Jo Malone and Archipelago, white and cream colored, smelling of linen and lemon and deep spice.
7. Microwave three mini-cinnamon rolls until they're gooey and have to be eaten with a spoon. Smash together with said spoon until the texture resembles mashed potatoes. Amazing, sweet, sticky, dessert mashed potatoes. Serve with a glass of red wine and more ice water.
8. Brush hair for a half-minute before deciding it can't be tamed today. Make lists of to-do for the week, allocate time to writing, sleeping, talking, walking, texting, cooking. Clean up kitchen. Put wine back in the fridge because the TV doesn't count as another person to socially drink with. Not yet, anyhow.
9. Blog. Take vitamins. Finish that wine anyhow (it was only a third of a bottle and someone is coming over soon anyway, say this aloud to make yourself feel better). Make the bed. Decide to buy more candles.
10. Answer the door when Annabella arrives, bearing gifts. Consider Superbowl picks and two different pools in the office and then realize you haven't even planned to watch the bowl at all. If Annabella doesn't say anything about changing Law & Order, then blame it on her when you both miss it because you're too busy gossiping.
Sundays are for rest, aren't they? No one can ever accuse me of not knowing how to rest...that's for sure.
Hope you are having a wonderful Sunday too.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
You're The One That I Want
Pizza for lunch instead of coffee
A shoulder-rub after dance class
Structure work for both novels to be done
A movie marathon this Saturday in an apartment lit by Restoration Hardware fake candles
The heat to equalize
A clean desk, or just a desk with a working lamp
An extra thousand bucks a month without having to write for it
New books, new pens, new journals, five new playlists for the iPod that someone else curates
Another website to frequent during breaks that isn't gossip, news or music
A day without ice and wind
The guy with the neck tattoos at the coffeeshop who held both my hands as he gave me change and winked to be there every time I buy tea
A ride to Connecticut that isn't MTA Metro North
Pajamas, proper pajamas
The MFA program in San Francisco to give me more time to decide if I want to move there than March 4
A cheap plane ticket to LA, Barcelona, and France
More vegetables, and more Gatorade
To win my Superbowl pools, and to finally get around to making Superbowl plans
A fast and speedy recovery for anything
To keep dreaming, I like where this is going...
A shoulder-rub after dance class
Structure work for both novels to be done
A movie marathon this Saturday in an apartment lit by Restoration Hardware fake candles
The heat to equalize
A clean desk, or just a desk with a working lamp
An extra thousand bucks a month without having to write for it
New books, new pens, new journals, five new playlists for the iPod that someone else curates
Another website to frequent during breaks that isn't gossip, news or music
A day without ice and wind
The guy with the neck tattoos at the coffeeshop who held both my hands as he gave me change and winked to be there every time I buy tea
A ride to Connecticut that isn't MTA Metro North
Pajamas, proper pajamas
The MFA program in San Francisco to give me more time to decide if I want to move there than March 4
A cheap plane ticket to LA, Barcelona, and France
More vegetables, and more Gatorade
To win my Superbowl pools, and to finally get around to making Superbowl plans
A fast and speedy recovery for anything
To keep dreaming, I like where this is going...
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
South of France Listsicle of Love
Things to sit beside: the ancient fireplace, the whitewashed stonework, the wraparound leather couch, flannel sheets, heated ceramic floors, stacks of wood, pages of other people's novels that once I read for homework I throw into the fire
Plans each day that are the townie equivalent of a socialite's calendar: Christmas champagne here, chocolate there, painting crafts with the girls in the bookstore, walking the tiny dog on cobbled streets as people prepare their dinners and the aromas waft out the shutters and into the ether, Boxing Day lunch on a lazy suzan, thirteen people for a place setting for caramelized chicken studded with sesames, pots of crispy potatoes loaded with ham and cream, strong and dark coffee and neverending wine
Things to watch: low-hanging sunsets, the fleeting green and white expanses of the fields, farmers and their families piling the pruned grapevines to burn, my parents at the center of this circle with loads and loads of stylish friends and making jokes that even my brother and I find funny (are we getting old? are the children of all the townspeople and expats who set up little shops and bookstores who have retired from a life of fashion magazines and film careers ever going to rival their parents?), that tiny dog again running through the snow on his tiny paws and sigh to yourself though you said you would never, ever love a little dog, and now you kind of do
Things to do: be happily dragged from place to place, eat, drink, and be merry, watch movies good and bad, check email just once a day, stare at your darkened phone that will never work here (no Droids in France), walk that tiny dog and stop at every child who wants to pet him, heat up pizzas in the stove, pour Orangina over ice, dress for formal parties, dress for informal parties, try to use the tiny hairdryer (not as cute as the tiny dog), run out of clothes to dress in and start wearing flannels to lunch, etch cardboard squares with Japanese cartoons and magenta swirls, have long talks with everyone, read without writing, make French friends, Dutch friends, and several Brits, jokingly flirt with engaged men (they started it), and hey, flirt with the old men too (they appreciate it the most), wonder how I'll ever date someone for real again because I have turned into a massive flirt and all my old boyfriends always hated how I flirted before, which was already alot, let's face it.
Things to want: more days, and nothing more
Plans each day that are the townie equivalent of a socialite's calendar: Christmas champagne here, chocolate there, painting crafts with the girls in the bookstore, walking the tiny dog on cobbled streets as people prepare their dinners and the aromas waft out the shutters and into the ether, Boxing Day lunch on a lazy suzan, thirteen people for a place setting for caramelized chicken studded with sesames, pots of crispy potatoes loaded with ham and cream, strong and dark coffee and neverending wine
Things to watch: low-hanging sunsets, the fleeting green and white expanses of the fields, farmers and their families piling the pruned grapevines to burn, my parents at the center of this circle with loads and loads of stylish friends and making jokes that even my brother and I find funny (are we getting old? are the children of all the townspeople and expats who set up little shops and bookstores who have retired from a life of fashion magazines and film careers ever going to rival their parents?), that tiny dog again running through the snow on his tiny paws and sigh to yourself though you said you would never, ever love a little dog, and now you kind of do
Things to do: be happily dragged from place to place, eat, drink, and be merry, watch movies good and bad, check email just once a day, stare at your darkened phone that will never work here (no Droids in France), walk that tiny dog and stop at every child who wants to pet him, heat up pizzas in the stove, pour Orangina over ice, dress for formal parties, dress for informal parties, try to use the tiny hairdryer (not as cute as the tiny dog), run out of clothes to dress in and start wearing flannels to lunch, etch cardboard squares with Japanese cartoons and magenta swirls, have long talks with everyone, read without writing, make French friends, Dutch friends, and several Brits, jokingly flirt with engaged men (they started it), and hey, flirt with the old men too (they appreciate it the most), wonder how I'll ever date someone for real again because I have turned into a massive flirt and all my old boyfriends always hated how I flirted before, which was already alot, let's face it.
Things to want: more days, and nothing more
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Winter List
- Eat pie for breakfast for four days after Thanksgiving
- Turn up the heat in the apartment to eighty degrees and keep 'er there
- When in doubt for writing, do structure work, because writing seems easy by comparison
- Borrow someone else's dog for a walk
- Blast a lot of dutty rap to turn dusting into dancing
- Buy a new coat instead of fixing the tear and lost buttons on the old one
- Arrange every date/meeting/edit catch-up so hot chocolate is involved
- Spend Saturdays in bed with flannel sheets
- Go out to synthpop concerts on Mondays and drink red wine on Sundays
- Overbook, constantly and apologize immensely
- Wear many, many pairs of tights, scarves, and sweaters without sleeves
- Mass text for plans/saying hello/and telling everyone you just painted a mantle all by yourself
- Try to use the following words every day: electric, blango, blast, soar, cheers, and most of all, yes
- Budget, make lists, and book a trip to Jamaica anyway
- Pick up the phone every time someone calls, but call no one
- Have good lighting that you never use
- Smile at everyone who walks by, even if they don't deserve it
- Get all your exercise by jumping
- Wear snowboots when there is no chance of snow, because you're an optimist
If that's the checklist, I'm doing pretty good so far...
- Turn up the heat in the apartment to eighty degrees and keep 'er there
- When in doubt for writing, do structure work, because writing seems easy by comparison
- Borrow someone else's dog for a walk
- Blast a lot of dutty rap to turn dusting into dancing
- Buy a new coat instead of fixing the tear and lost buttons on the old one
- Arrange every date/meeting/edit catch-up so hot chocolate is involved
- Spend Saturdays in bed with flannel sheets
- Go out to synthpop concerts on Mondays and drink red wine on Sundays
- Overbook, constantly and apologize immensely
- Wear many, many pairs of tights, scarves, and sweaters without sleeves
- Mass text for plans/saying hello/and telling everyone you just painted a mantle all by yourself
- Try to use the following words every day: electric, blango, blast, soar, cheers, and most of all, yes
- Budget, make lists, and book a trip to Jamaica anyway
- Pick up the phone every time someone calls, but call no one
- Have good lighting that you never use
- Smile at everyone who walks by, even if they don't deserve it
- Get all your exercise by jumping
- Wear snowboots when there is no chance of snow, because you're an optimist
If that's the checklist, I'm doing pretty good so far...
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Remembering: Night Habits
Things only people who have seen me in my underwear know.*
I like the room freezing cold. Air-blasting, fetal-position-inducing, take-all-the-blanket-fighting, freezing cold. And lots of quilts on the bed. It reminds me of my artic 19th century childhood home in which you seriously had to decide whether a trip to the bathroom in January was worth the likely possibility that, upon touching your toe to the old pine boards, your veins would turn to ice and you’d shatter into a million pieces. Compounded by my father, whose vehement insistence of responsible consumerism I imagine will surely, upon his deathbed, possess him to reach out a hand, pull me close and whisper, “I pass my legacy to you. Promise me you will not let your mother turn the thermostat past 61 degrees in the winter. Promise me this! Oil is too expensive! God damnit!”
I sleep in dresses. Dresses that I wear nowhere else but in bed. Hey, I’d walk around work in a penoir if I could (that’s a dressing robe which is explicitly meant for combing your hair in).
I write to blasting music. Like techno. Or obscene rap. It is really weird.
My friends that are boys in the neighborhood sometimes come say hi at night when I’m writing. And my doorman thinks because of this, I am running a low-class one-woman prostitution ring in a headband and yoga pants.
I dance to no music in the kitchen. And do a lot of jumping.
I wake up early sometimes and am mad about it. I want to sleep longer but sometimes am too anxious or on deadline to.
I get a little crazy right before sleep. Like all riled up and giggly, like if you threw a tennis ball at a dog and jangled your keys and shouted, “Wanna go to the park? Huh? Wanna go to the park!” riled up and giggly.
There is a green wooden armadillo hanging upside down on the ceiling in my room and a million sketches.
I don’t know how to be lonely any more.
Sometimes I wait for people to get home and it makes me happy to see them. Yes, again like a dog.
I could spend the day in bed if I have a really good book.
I have a lot of wacky ideas and half the time I actually do them. This led to me applying to grad school in Hawaii, backpacking through Australia, writing a book, and saying very inappropriate things to upper management with the thought that I’ll be liberally excused because I am a “creative”. Note: “creative” is just a euphemism for “quirkily unprofessional” at best and “not quite all there” at worst.
I am always thirsty but I hardly ever drink anything.
There is someone in my phone listed as "Not Sure."
I think being interesting is a gift and one day I hope to have it. For now I’m okay with being interested.
I think I feel alive and amazed more than is the norm. Like the wind will blow someone’s hair into a pattern and I’ll stop or I will think about the domestication of animals and think, whoa, who was the first person to see a horse and be like, you know what, I’m gonna jump on that thing’s back, what the hell. Let alone a camel! Or that if an alien landed on this planet and saw an elephant, it would freak the hell out and fly away…
* That includes my roommates, mom and best friend, and anyone else who has seen me sleep or woken me up.
I like the room freezing cold. Air-blasting, fetal-position-inducing, take-all-the-blanket-fighting, freezing cold. And lots of quilts on the bed. It reminds me of my artic 19th century childhood home in which you seriously had to decide whether a trip to the bathroom in January was worth the likely possibility that, upon touching your toe to the old pine boards, your veins would turn to ice and you’d shatter into a million pieces. Compounded by my father, whose vehement insistence of responsible consumerism I imagine will surely, upon his deathbed, possess him to reach out a hand, pull me close and whisper, “I pass my legacy to you. Promise me you will not let your mother turn the thermostat past 61 degrees in the winter. Promise me this! Oil is too expensive! God damnit!”
I sleep in dresses. Dresses that I wear nowhere else but in bed. Hey, I’d walk around work in a penoir if I could (that’s a dressing robe which is explicitly meant for combing your hair in).
I write to blasting music. Like techno. Or obscene rap. It is really weird.
My friends that are boys in the neighborhood sometimes come say hi at night when I’m writing. And my doorman thinks because of this, I am running a low-class one-woman prostitution ring in a headband and yoga pants.
I dance to no music in the kitchen. And do a lot of jumping.
I wake up early sometimes and am mad about it. I want to sleep longer but sometimes am too anxious or on deadline to.
I get a little crazy right before sleep. Like all riled up and giggly, like if you threw a tennis ball at a dog and jangled your keys and shouted, “Wanna go to the park? Huh? Wanna go to the park!” riled up and giggly.
There is a green wooden armadillo hanging upside down on the ceiling in my room and a million sketches.
I don’t know how to be lonely any more.
Sometimes I wait for people to get home and it makes me happy to see them. Yes, again like a dog.
I could spend the day in bed if I have a really good book.
I have a lot of wacky ideas and half the time I actually do them. This led to me applying to grad school in Hawaii, backpacking through Australia, writing a book, and saying very inappropriate things to upper management with the thought that I’ll be liberally excused because I am a “creative”. Note: “creative” is just a euphemism for “quirkily unprofessional” at best and “not quite all there” at worst.
I am always thirsty but I hardly ever drink anything.
There is someone in my phone listed as "Not Sure."
I think being interesting is a gift and one day I hope to have it. For now I’m okay with being interested.
I think I feel alive and amazed more than is the norm. Like the wind will blow someone’s hair into a pattern and I’ll stop or I will think about the domestication of animals and think, whoa, who was the first person to see a horse and be like, you know what, I’m gonna jump on that thing’s back, what the hell. Let alone a camel! Or that if an alien landed on this planet and saw an elephant, it would freak the hell out and fly away…
* That includes my roommates, mom and best friend, and anyone else who has seen me sleep or woken me up.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
8 Simple Rules for Helping Me With My Applications
8. Don't say that my writing sample is "too smart" and you "don't get it" to get out of talking about my writing sample because it's actually boring. I wasn't born yesterday! (Offender: Boyfriend. -5 points)
7. Don't ask why I'm applying to schools. I don't know anymore, and I have too many things due to have to explain it again, and yes I know that you can be a writer without this degree, but I'm into it deep. And I still want to be a better writer, hence I want the degree. So have a heart and shut it! (Offender: Old Boss. -10 points)
6. Do say I'll get through it...somehow. It's nice, it's not too aspirational, and it's just inevitable. (Angel: Best Friend. + 20 points)
5. Do offer to make a big cup of green tea when I'm surrounded by papers and broken ink cartridges at 11 at night on a Friday as I stay in to edit while you get to go out drinking. (Angel: Boyfriend. +10 points)
4. Don't remind me that I did this once and failed miserably, only getting into mediocre programs. (Offender: Self. -5 points)
3. Do be amazing and think every stupid idea I have is worthwhile, like this one. (Angels: Mom and Dad +100 points)
2. Don't interrupt me every five minutes with an email about a lost detergent cap in the laundry room. I'm trying to work here! (Offender: Landlord. -15 points)
1. Don't give up on me. (Angels: maybe you guys? +100 points)
7. Don't ask why I'm applying to schools. I don't know anymore, and I have too many things due to have to explain it again, and yes I know that you can be a writer without this degree, but I'm into it deep. And I still want to be a better writer, hence I want the degree. So have a heart and shut it! (Offender: Old Boss. -10 points)
6. Do say I'll get through it...somehow. It's nice, it's not too aspirational, and it's just inevitable. (Angel: Best Friend. + 20 points)
5. Do offer to make a big cup of green tea when I'm surrounded by papers and broken ink cartridges at 11 at night on a Friday as I stay in to edit while you get to go out drinking. (Angel: Boyfriend. +10 points)
4. Don't remind me that I did this once and failed miserably, only getting into mediocre programs. (Offender: Self. -5 points)
3. Do be amazing and think every stupid idea I have is worthwhile, like this one. (Angels: Mom and Dad +100 points)
2. Don't interrupt me every five minutes with an email about a lost detergent cap in the laundry room. I'm trying to work here! (Offender: Landlord. -15 points)
1. Don't give up on me. (Angels: maybe you guys? +100 points)
Monday, October 26, 2009
Things I want to talk about now that I live alone
Well I live alone, without any girls now. It's great! I watch what I want to watch, have my slovenly boyfriend over all the time, cook whatever I like, clean obsessively but let books and papers pile up as I write and rewrite and plan other friends' baby showers...
But I never had sisters. And I was always jealous of those who had. And my best girlfriends now all live in other cities. And well, sometimes you just need another girl to bounce an idea off of, or else you're crazy.
Here's what I want to say to the girls, wherever they may be, on this blog, in my mind, wherever you are!
1. How often do I really have to have a pedicure in the wintertime? It's been over a month...and I feel like I can go longer. This feeling is unsubstantiated now that I am alone most of the time.
2. Is it OK for me to watch Jon and Kate plus 8? I am strangely drawn to it. Please help.
3. What can I make for dinner on Sunday nights instead of ordering? I love to cook, I just hate to shop for cooking. Buying a chicken breast and lemons and herbs and then salad greens? Ugh, all I want is Thai! Also do I have to eat organically? I like Gatorade.
4. What websites are good these days? Gawker is getting a little...and Jezebel is also kind of...you know.
5. I'm kind of done with Oprah magazine. Used to love it, but now I don't. What can I read that is part trash, part stimulating?
6. Is it okay that I don't want to have a baby yet? Or even a pet? That I like to come home and have everything left just the way it was, even though I'm...gasp...twenty eight?
7. Is it okay to be twenty-eight and not even thinking seriously about getting married until I get my book published, which might be NEVER?
That's it! All I had to do was ask, and I feel better. Also, should I take back up knitting, where can I get the best sportsbra, I hate earrings again, I'm not interested in Halloween this year, I wear the same three dresses all weekend long and I don't want to change, and I'm applying to school and am scared I won't get in anywhere or worse, get in and not get funding.
That feels better, okay, back to work.
But I never had sisters. And I was always jealous of those who had. And my best girlfriends now all live in other cities. And well, sometimes you just need another girl to bounce an idea off of, or else you're crazy.
Here's what I want to say to the girls, wherever they may be, on this blog, in my mind, wherever you are!
1. How often do I really have to have a pedicure in the wintertime? It's been over a month...and I feel like I can go longer. This feeling is unsubstantiated now that I am alone most of the time.
2. Is it OK for me to watch Jon and Kate plus 8? I am strangely drawn to it. Please help.
3. What can I make for dinner on Sunday nights instead of ordering? I love to cook, I just hate to shop for cooking. Buying a chicken breast and lemons and herbs and then salad greens? Ugh, all I want is Thai! Also do I have to eat organically? I like Gatorade.
4. What websites are good these days? Gawker is getting a little...and Jezebel is also kind of...you know.
5. I'm kind of done with Oprah magazine. Used to love it, but now I don't. What can I read that is part trash, part stimulating?
6. Is it okay that I don't want to have a baby yet? Or even a pet? That I like to come home and have everything left just the way it was, even though I'm...gasp...twenty eight?
7. Is it okay to be twenty-eight and not even thinking seriously about getting married until I get my book published, which might be NEVER?
That's it! All I had to do was ask, and I feel better. Also, should I take back up knitting, where can I get the best sportsbra, I hate earrings again, I'm not interested in Halloween this year, I wear the same three dresses all weekend long and I don't want to change, and I'm applying to school and am scared I won't get in anywhere or worse, get in and not get funding.
That feels better, okay, back to work.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
I'm Afraid...
Of our kitchen drain. It bubbles up with soap at odd hours like the goo in Ghostbusters II.
That I don't know how to have a real job any more since I've gone out on my own as a permalancer.
I might never floss properly.
Because I have more nightmares than sweet dreams, and I wake up not remembering them, just that they were terrifying.
Of the pull-up bar at the gym.
That I have chosen wrong, and there will be no course-correcting.
I might be out of touch with the kids today, but am not old enough to be a yuppie.
That I am devolving in the spelling department and that I say "dude" too much.
Of the far reaches of my closet: scarves, one scuffed slingback and...a diary might be in there!
That I might die in the street one day and my family will have to go through my room and through said closet and all my achievements will have been for naught because I don't fold my socks, my bras are hanging from my ettiger, and my potbelly marble-top antique dresser is missing some of its brass work on the side from where I tore a laundry bag on it.
My immune system stinks because I've never been without roommates and we're all touching the remote and coughing in the air.
Of not being able to stand on my two feet forever.
That I push people away when I think I might lose them.
I won't pay off my credit card bill. Not this month. Not this year. Not ever.
Of moving away from New York. And of staying here for missing opportunities I've painted in my mind.
I let bosses walk all over me because I want them to like me, but they never respect me.
That I'll never get a kitten.
My brain might be turning to mush because in an attempt to "detox" from all that I read and write, I only watch Snapped on Oxygen (it rules) and reality T.V. shows (Real Housewives of New Jersey should have been first!) and cartoons (Simpsons and Family Guy--will I be able to watch these when I'm forty?)
Of forgetting all that I have to be grateful for.
Of ever reaching my perceived perfection in my goals, because then I will have no more room to learn, and that is the greatest possible travesty of all.
That I don't know how to have a real job any more since I've gone out on my own as a permalancer.
I might never floss properly.
Because I have more nightmares than sweet dreams, and I wake up not remembering them, just that they were terrifying.
Of the pull-up bar at the gym.
That I have chosen wrong, and there will be no course-correcting.
I might be out of touch with the kids today, but am not old enough to be a yuppie.
That I am devolving in the spelling department and that I say "dude" too much.
Of the far reaches of my closet: scarves, one scuffed slingback and...a diary might be in there!
That I might die in the street one day and my family will have to go through my room and through said closet and all my achievements will have been for naught because I don't fold my socks, my bras are hanging from my ettiger, and my potbelly marble-top antique dresser is missing some of its brass work on the side from where I tore a laundry bag on it.
My immune system stinks because I've never been without roommates and we're all touching the remote and coughing in the air.
Of not being able to stand on my two feet forever.
That I push people away when I think I might lose them.
I won't pay off my credit card bill. Not this month. Not this year. Not ever.
Of moving away from New York. And of staying here for missing opportunities I've painted in my mind.
I let bosses walk all over me because I want them to like me, but they never respect me.
That I'll never get a kitten.
My brain might be turning to mush because in an attempt to "detox" from all that I read and write, I only watch Snapped on Oxygen (it rules) and reality T.V. shows (Real Housewives of New Jersey should have been first!) and cartoons (Simpsons and Family Guy--will I be able to watch these when I'm forty?)
Of forgetting all that I have to be grateful for.
Of ever reaching my perceived perfection in my goals, because then I will have no more room to learn, and that is the greatest possible travesty of all.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Items for the Weekend
Dinner with Emily at DGBG, Daniel Boulud's foray into downtown dining (I hear sixteen kinds of sausages and an ice cream sundae cart!)*
Look out the window and pray for sunshine
Anxiously await the edits from my first personal essay ever, slated to be published, in a brand-spanking new literary magazine (if it happens, you'll be the first to know)
Take a nap
Finish Stanford class and breathe a huge sigh of relief, then, slow-witted as I am, sign up for a new class to tackle the 2nd book (yes I'm still working on the first!)
Go to Torrington, Connecticut for a clambake reunion of high school friends
Drink a little too much wine somewhere and barefoot
Hunker down and get those music blogs in for that new job, edit an article on Hawaii for an old job, and be very thankful for working at all, even if freelance and part-time translates into weekend full-time
Gather new obsessions: mint green tea, Stephen King movies and a new motorcycle helmet
Don't look at my paltry bank statement, don't, don't, look
Clandestinely watch all the episodes of So You Think You Can Dance that the boy refuses to watch with me
Find the four inches of scarf I knitted in winter, my cell phone charger, time for the gym
Have a wonderful weekend!
*and very excited to see DB's takeover of the branding of famed Sid Vicious vomitorium CBGB's.
Look out the window and pray for sunshine
Anxiously await the edits from my first personal essay ever, slated to be published, in a brand-spanking new literary magazine (if it happens, you'll be the first to know)
Take a nap
Finish Stanford class and breathe a huge sigh of relief, then, slow-witted as I am, sign up for a new class to tackle the 2nd book (yes I'm still working on the first!)
Go to Torrington, Connecticut for a clambake reunion of high school friends
Drink a little too much wine somewhere and barefoot
Hunker down and get those music blogs in for that new job, edit an article on Hawaii for an old job, and be very thankful for working at all, even if freelance and part-time translates into weekend full-time
Gather new obsessions: mint green tea, Stephen King movies and a new motorcycle helmet
Don't look at my paltry bank statement, don't, don't, look
Clandestinely watch all the episodes of So You Think You Can Dance that the boy refuses to watch with me
Find the four inches of scarf I knitted in winter, my cell phone charger, time for the gym
Have a wonderful weekend!
*and very excited to see DB's takeover of the branding of famed Sid Vicious vomitorium CBGB's.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Ten Things I've Done That Lead Me To Believe I am Old
1. Think the phone on the T.V. show is my cell phone getting a new text. See also: listen to the T.V. way too loudly and watch a WHOLE lot of "Dateline on ID". You know you love it, too. Oh, also "Snapped" where there are harrowing tales of women killing their cheating husbands.
2 Find dogs and children adorable and take every opportunity to have a staring contest with them when their owners/parents aren't looking. See also: name the pets I do not have yet.
3. Let a boy get up and give his seat on the subway to me (I wasn't even wearing heels! They were flats, still kind of uncomfortable, but still).
4. Sort of enjoy prunes (Have you noticed they now call them pitted plums? We know what prunes are! Old people food that looks like doodie and tastes delish!)
5. Be hot and cold and the same time--so wear a sweater and no socks and solve nothing.
6. Can't remember what I ate yesterday. Maybe it involved prunes. It also involved dried figs, also old people food. As if Fig Newton constitutes a cookie! God I was so mad when my parents passed those off as cookies to me. Now Raspberry Newtons, that was something I could get my grubby little fingers around.
7. Buy a foot massager so I can stop asking my boyfriend to massage my feet. Ask him about three times a day to do it anyway. Then complain that he's "doing it too hard" and "no, in the arch, I said the arch!"
8. Use the phrase, "I'm too old to be suckling from the indie teat, so find someone else" during a music job interview, and get the job anyway. Being crotchety is so hot right now! (PS Why do people always give you the jobs you tell them you don't want?) See also: saying I don't want jobs online and sort of not caring who sees because I'm too old to be caring about people who care about what in tarnation I do online.
9. Talk about the way New York used to be and sigh. (So what if I'm only referring to last summer? Everything's closed down, it's so depressing!)
10. Have a sexual dream about Tom Jones. See, let me explain this one. I was JOKING about it and then it happened. That is such an old person's thing to do. Also, I had a dream where I made out with Conan O'Brien. Or maybe it was Tilda Swinton. I can't remember. Wake up feeling both too hot and too cold.
2 Find dogs and children adorable and take every opportunity to have a staring contest with them when their owners/parents aren't looking. See also: name the pets I do not have yet.
3. Let a boy get up and give his seat on the subway to me (I wasn't even wearing heels! They were flats, still kind of uncomfortable, but still).
4. Sort of enjoy prunes (Have you noticed they now call them pitted plums? We know what prunes are! Old people food that looks like doodie and tastes delish!)
5. Be hot and cold and the same time--so wear a sweater and no socks and solve nothing.
6. Can't remember what I ate yesterday. Maybe it involved prunes. It also involved dried figs, also old people food. As if Fig Newton constitutes a cookie! God I was so mad when my parents passed those off as cookies to me. Now Raspberry Newtons, that was something I could get my grubby little fingers around.
7. Buy a foot massager so I can stop asking my boyfriend to massage my feet. Ask him about three times a day to do it anyway. Then complain that he's "doing it too hard" and "no, in the arch, I said the arch!"
8. Use the phrase, "I'm too old to be suckling from the indie teat, so find someone else" during a music job interview, and get the job anyway. Being crotchety is so hot right now! (PS Why do people always give you the jobs you tell them you don't want?) See also: saying I don't want jobs online and sort of not caring who sees because I'm too old to be caring about people who care about what in tarnation I do online.
9. Talk about the way New York used to be and sigh. (So what if I'm only referring to last summer? Everything's closed down, it's so depressing!)
10. Have a sexual dream about Tom Jones. See, let me explain this one. I was JOKING about it and then it happened. That is such an old person's thing to do. Also, I had a dream where I made out with Conan O'Brien. Or maybe it was Tilda Swinton. I can't remember. Wake up feeling both too hot and too cold.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Anybody been to Austin?
Bake ooey, gooey brownie bites that are so soft and rich they are practically fudge, check.
Rewrite short story to appeal to liberal white guilt more in the hopes that it will get published, check.
Forget to do laundry, check.
Watch the Monorail episode of the Simpsons, check.
Forget to write a chapter of the children's book, remember that I made the brownies for them, feel better, check.
Start to incorporate running into work-out routine. Gain four pounds but lose three percentage points of body fat and call it a wash. Eye brownies, check.
Celebrate Mother's Day late and give her a shout-out on my blog for being so fantastic and supportive (you too Dad!), check.
Make itinerary for anything to do in Austin as I am going there tomorrow. Whoops.
Anybody been to Austin? Is there anything I must do, must not do? Any bar I must dance on, drink I must chug, shop I must buy shoes in, park I must lie down in?
Anything would be so helpful...hooray!
Rewrite short story to appeal to liberal white guilt more in the hopes that it will get published, check.
Forget to do laundry, check.
Watch the Monorail episode of the Simpsons, check.
Forget to write a chapter of the children's book, remember that I made the brownies for them, feel better, check.
Start to incorporate running into work-out routine. Gain four pounds but lose three percentage points of body fat and call it a wash. Eye brownies, check.
Celebrate Mother's Day late and give her a shout-out on my blog for being so fantastic and supportive (you too Dad!), check.
Make itinerary for anything to do in Austin as I am going there tomorrow. Whoops.
Anybody been to Austin? Is there anything I must do, must not do? Any bar I must dance on, drink I must chug, shop I must buy shoes in, park I must lie down in?
Anything would be so helpful...hooray!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Extreme Makeover: Life Edition
It started small, they always do. Turn the T.V. off a half hour before sleeping. Insist boy that buying a rug will indeed make his pad more homey. Just say no, a thousand times to Vegas, only to be bamboozled into it, and watch as boy unceremoniously takes it out on the rug.
Work on Children's Book until I get back my oldie but goodie (that's Saturday). Listen to new music (Handsome Furs, that new Eminem song--I'm not kidding it's just great). Make a lot of wine dates with various factions of still-employed girls. Write a really bold email proposing a job to a place that's not hiring (that's how I roll). Spend the weekend eating sushi and playing Wii. Hooray for Super Smash Bros. No longer wonder why I want to write Children's Books.
Talk my parents to taking the family out to lunch at Chanterelle (you have not lived until you've tried the grilled Seafood Sausage) now that the economy has made it, for the first time in the restaurant's 30 year history, possible to order a la carte.
Get asked to buy a dirt bike for my interview subject. Promise him it can be so, only if he picks up his other bandmate in NY and drives back to their home, cross country, with snot streaming on their cheeks a la Dumb and Dumber style. Do not hear about dirt bike again.
Try to want to see any of the Oscar award movies. Say to myself that's selling out to see them just because they're recognized even though I'm not as interested as I should be. Listen to Lady GaGa instead and hang my head in shame.
Keep browsing overstock.com. The wishlist on there is as long as a wedding registry. Consume inordinate amounts of White Tea. Decide honey can be used as a condiment for anything.
Buy a new pen. That's the reality here, people. This is revelatory.
Email about an apartment in Paris, because, why not?
Think about new recipes. Knit two inches of a scarf while letting laundry building into a teetering tower of Pisa.
Watch a whole lot of Anthony Bourdain. Make new outfits from purple tights, a black and white dress and a green sweatshirt, even if I'm called Punky Brewster by more than one person.
Ride on a Ducati a lot. Realize that it's the motorcycle equivalent of the thong.
Sing for no reason when someone scares me on the street. Realize this, in turn, scares them.
Got a long way to go...
Work on Children's Book until I get back my oldie but goodie (that's Saturday). Listen to new music (Handsome Furs, that new Eminem song--I'm not kidding it's just great). Make a lot of wine dates with various factions of still-employed girls. Write a really bold email proposing a job to a place that's not hiring (that's how I roll). Spend the weekend eating sushi and playing Wii. Hooray for Super Smash Bros. No longer wonder why I want to write Children's Books.
Talk my parents to taking the family out to lunch at Chanterelle (you have not lived until you've tried the grilled Seafood Sausage) now that the economy has made it, for the first time in the restaurant's 30 year history, possible to order a la carte.
Get asked to buy a dirt bike for my interview subject. Promise him it can be so, only if he picks up his other bandmate in NY and drives back to their home, cross country, with snot streaming on their cheeks a la Dumb and Dumber style. Do not hear about dirt bike again.
Try to want to see any of the Oscar award movies. Say to myself that's selling out to see them just because they're recognized even though I'm not as interested as I should be. Listen to Lady GaGa instead and hang my head in shame.
Keep browsing overstock.com. The wishlist on there is as long as a wedding registry. Consume inordinate amounts of White Tea. Decide honey can be used as a condiment for anything.
Buy a new pen. That's the reality here, people. This is revelatory.
Email about an apartment in Paris, because, why not?
Think about new recipes. Knit two inches of a scarf while letting laundry building into a teetering tower of Pisa.
Watch a whole lot of Anthony Bourdain. Make new outfits from purple tights, a black and white dress and a green sweatshirt, even if I'm called Punky Brewster by more than one person.
Ride on a Ducati a lot. Realize that it's the motorcycle equivalent of the thong.
Sing for no reason when someone scares me on the street. Realize this, in turn, scares them.
Got a long way to go...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Avert your eyes
Buttermilk fried chicken, sour cream and ricotta chocolate cake. The fridge is full for my imaginary ten child family.
The cooking continues, the descent into madness deepens. The hurry up and wait game, that's not under my control either. There are promises of jobs, but no jobs, there are hands extended with glittering assignments that would be perfect if only that restaurant didn't just close, that band just didn't break up over depleted funds, that boutique design startup with the cute pleating whose parents' just cut their talented but precious children off.*
And while all that happens, the government cheese is drying up (some issue at the unemployment office because of...what's the word, oh yeah recession) and my traveling tendencies start kicking in. It's an addiction, and it's not pretty. Especially when there is no no no no money at all to take it!
So, don't think about it, keep making cake, keep watching videos of kittens falling asleep, keep ordering Vietnamese hot and sour soup, keep scrubbing the floors, pick lint from cushions, refold quilts, neatly write and rewrite to-do lists and scratch through tasks done with a satisfying stab of a red pen.
Catch up on movies, Aliens, Body Heat, King of New York, Dressed to Kill, classics and eighties thrillers, melodramatics, period pieces, arthouse pleasers (do not see "Nightmare" even though it was on the IFC circuit and On Demand with a really great trailer), see Coraline 3-D and then go all the way back beyond rentals to the Free Movie Channel on Demand (Friday the 13th 2 anyone?)
Read. Read until I feel like writing. Conversely, write. Write until I feel like reading.
Stack magazines. Cancel magazine subscriptions. Stare longingly at old issues of Oprah, Real Simple, Time Out. Rinse and repeat.
Make green tea like it's going out of style. Try peppermint to mix it up.
Lose iPod. Try not to freak out. Find it, realize all the music is at least a year old and bemoan lost status as the go-to friend for music.
Tape every show I used to miss, without abandon. Sleep until 11 AM without abandon. Start flossing on a regular basis.
Avoid haircuts, nibble nails and put on woolen socks to cover three month old pedicures, knit badly, take lots of hot showers and keep going to the gym, wear a scarf because it's very very windy outside and try to ignore the texts of people I really want to go play with who have warm weather dreams, the South, the West, my pregnant friends in pretty places, and all the rest. It's winter in the city, it's deep in the recession and I'm a cheery person, so to save my sanity and my dreams, I'll bury myself in busying myself, or else we all know where that leads: Nicaragua and beyond...
*Damn you parents! Take care of us until we're forty!
The cooking continues, the descent into madness deepens. The hurry up and wait game, that's not under my control either. There are promises of jobs, but no jobs, there are hands extended with glittering assignments that would be perfect if only that restaurant didn't just close, that band just didn't break up over depleted funds, that boutique design startup with the cute pleating whose parents' just cut their talented but precious children off.*
And while all that happens, the government cheese is drying up (some issue at the unemployment office because of...what's the word, oh yeah recession) and my traveling tendencies start kicking in. It's an addiction, and it's not pretty. Especially when there is no no no no money at all to take it!
So, don't think about it, keep making cake, keep watching videos of kittens falling asleep, keep ordering Vietnamese hot and sour soup, keep scrubbing the floors, pick lint from cushions, refold quilts, neatly write and rewrite to-do lists and scratch through tasks done with a satisfying stab of a red pen.
Catch up on movies, Aliens, Body Heat, King of New York, Dressed to Kill, classics and eighties thrillers, melodramatics, period pieces, arthouse pleasers (do not see "Nightmare" even though it was on the IFC circuit and On Demand with a really great trailer), see Coraline 3-D and then go all the way back beyond rentals to the Free Movie Channel on Demand (Friday the 13th 2 anyone?)
Read. Read until I feel like writing. Conversely, write. Write until I feel like reading.
Stack magazines. Cancel magazine subscriptions. Stare longingly at old issues of Oprah, Real Simple, Time Out. Rinse and repeat.
Make green tea like it's going out of style. Try peppermint to mix it up.
Lose iPod. Try not to freak out. Find it, realize all the music is at least a year old and bemoan lost status as the go-to friend for music.
Tape every show I used to miss, without abandon. Sleep until 11 AM without abandon. Start flossing on a regular basis.
Avoid haircuts, nibble nails and put on woolen socks to cover three month old pedicures, knit badly, take lots of hot showers and keep going to the gym, wear a scarf because it's very very windy outside and try to ignore the texts of people I really want to go play with who have warm weather dreams, the South, the West, my pregnant friends in pretty places, and all the rest. It's winter in the city, it's deep in the recession and I'm a cheery person, so to save my sanity and my dreams, I'll bury myself in busying myself, or else we all know where that leads: Nicaragua and beyond...
*Damn you parents! Take care of us until we're forty!
Monday, June 02, 2008
Night Habits
Things only people who have seen me in my underwear know.*
I like the room freezing cold. Air-blasting, fetal-position-inducing, take-all-the-blanket-fighting, freezing cold. And lots of quilts on the bed. It reminds me of my artic 19th century childhood home in which you seriously had to decide whether a trip to the bathroom in January was worth the likely possibility that, upon touching your toe to the old pine boards, your veins would turn to ice and you’d shatter into a million pieces. Compounded by my father, whose vehement insistence of responsible consumerism I imagine will surely, upon his deathbed, possess him to reach out a hand, pull me close and whisper, “I pass my legacy to you. Promise me you will not let your mother turn the thermostat past 61 degrees in the winter. Promise me this! Oil is too expensive! God damnit!”
I sleep in dresses. Dresses that I wear nowhere else but in bed. Hey, I’d walk around work in a penoir if I could (that’s a dressing robe which is explicitly meant for combing your hair in).
I write to blasting music. Like techno. Or obscene rap. It is really weird.
My friends that are boys in the neighborhood sometimes come say hi at night when I’m writing. And my doorman thinks because of this, I am running a low-class one-woman prostitution ring in a headband and yoga pants.
I dance to no music in the kitchen. And do a lot of jumping.
I wake up early sometimes and am mad about it. I want to sleep longer but sometimes am too anxious or on deadline to.
I get a little crazy right before sleep. Like all riled up and giggly, like if you threw a tennis ball at a dog and jangled your keys and shouted, “Wanna go to the park? Huh? Wanna go to the park!” riled up and giggly.
There is a green wooden armadillo hanging upside down on the ceiling in my room and a million sketches.
I don’t know how to be lonely any more.
Sometimes I wait for people to get home and it makes me happy to see them. Yes, again like a dog.
I could spend the day in bed if I have a really good book.
I have a lot of wacky ideas and half the time I actually do them. This led to me applying to grad school in Hawaii, backpacking through Australia, writing a book, and saying very inappropriate things to upper management with the thought that I’ll be liberally excused because I am a “creative”. Note: “creative” is just a euphemism for “quirkily unprofessional” at best and “not quite all there” at worst.
I am always thirsty but I hardly ever drink anything.
There is someone in my phone listed as "Not Sure."
I think being interesting is a gift and one day I hope to have it. For now I’m okay with being interested.
I think I feel alive and amazed more than is the norm. Like the wind will blow someone’s hair into a pattern and I’ll stop or I will think about the domestication of animals and think, whoa, who was the first person to see a horse and be like, you know what, I’m gonna jump on that thing’s back, what the hell. Let alone a camel! Or that if an alien landed on this planet and saw an elephant, it would freak the hell out and fly away…
* That includes my roommates, mom and best friend, and anyone else who has seen me sleep or woken me up.
I like the room freezing cold. Air-blasting, fetal-position-inducing, take-all-the-blanket-fighting, freezing cold. And lots of quilts on the bed. It reminds me of my artic 19th century childhood home in which you seriously had to decide whether a trip to the bathroom in January was worth the likely possibility that, upon touching your toe to the old pine boards, your veins would turn to ice and you’d shatter into a million pieces. Compounded by my father, whose vehement insistence of responsible consumerism I imagine will surely, upon his deathbed, possess him to reach out a hand, pull me close and whisper, “I pass my legacy to you. Promise me you will not let your mother turn the thermostat past 61 degrees in the winter. Promise me this! Oil is too expensive! God damnit!”
I sleep in dresses. Dresses that I wear nowhere else but in bed. Hey, I’d walk around work in a penoir if I could (that’s a dressing robe which is explicitly meant for combing your hair in).
I write to blasting music. Like techno. Or obscene rap. It is really weird.
My friends that are boys in the neighborhood sometimes come say hi at night when I’m writing. And my doorman thinks because of this, I am running a low-class one-woman prostitution ring in a headband and yoga pants.
I dance to no music in the kitchen. And do a lot of jumping.
I wake up early sometimes and am mad about it. I want to sleep longer but sometimes am too anxious or on deadline to.
I get a little crazy right before sleep. Like all riled up and giggly, like if you threw a tennis ball at a dog and jangled your keys and shouted, “Wanna go to the park? Huh? Wanna go to the park!” riled up and giggly.
There is a green wooden armadillo hanging upside down on the ceiling in my room and a million sketches.
I don’t know how to be lonely any more.
Sometimes I wait for people to get home and it makes me happy to see them. Yes, again like a dog.
I could spend the day in bed if I have a really good book.
I have a lot of wacky ideas and half the time I actually do them. This led to me applying to grad school in Hawaii, backpacking through Australia, writing a book, and saying very inappropriate things to upper management with the thought that I’ll be liberally excused because I am a “creative”. Note: “creative” is just a euphemism for “quirkily unprofessional” at best and “not quite all there” at worst.
I am always thirsty but I hardly ever drink anything.
There is someone in my phone listed as "Not Sure."
I think being interesting is a gift and one day I hope to have it. For now I’m okay with being interested.
I think I feel alive and amazed more than is the norm. Like the wind will blow someone’s hair into a pattern and I’ll stop or I will think about the domestication of animals and think, whoa, who was the first person to see a horse and be like, you know what, I’m gonna jump on that thing’s back, what the hell. Let alone a camel! Or that if an alien landed on this planet and saw an elephant, it would freak the hell out and fly away…
* That includes my roommates, mom and best friend, and anyone else who has seen me sleep or woken me up.
Checklist
Have party that the doorman shuts down and I myself leave early because of my insistence that someone put “quinine” in my drink. Check.
Go ahead and volunteer to go to Aspen in the days before I fly out of the country because I apparently, love wine and stress and hate sleep. Check.
Plan on going to Lollapalooza the day after I get back from Costa Rica. Because I apparently love planes and music festivals and hate my own bed. Check.
Get a subletter and get a new roommate in 10 hours or less. And while we’re at it, hey, why not move into another room in the apartment. Then spend all day looking at photos to organize instead of cleaning up change and errant lipglosses. Check.
Yet to come…
Finish the novel—a first draft at least.
Pack, more shots, more packing, Malaria pills.
Avoid looking at bank statements.
Bask in the last hot water for weeks. Then stand in front of an air conditioner for hours and trying to hold on to the feeling.
See my friends. Quit all my jobs. Or quit my friends and see my jobs. I can’t remember which.
Spend some quality time with the rents. Buy little ipod. Buy a new camera.
What am I forgetting?
Go ahead and volunteer to go to Aspen in the days before I fly out of the country because I apparently, love wine and stress and hate sleep. Check.
Plan on going to Lollapalooza the day after I get back from Costa Rica. Because I apparently love planes and music festivals and hate my own bed. Check.
Get a subletter and get a new roommate in 10 hours or less. And while we’re at it, hey, why not move into another room in the apartment. Then spend all day looking at photos to organize instead of cleaning up change and errant lipglosses. Check.
Yet to come…
Finish the novel—a first draft at least.
Pack, more shots, more packing, Malaria pills.
Avoid looking at bank statements.
Bask in the last hot water for weeks. Then stand in front of an air conditioner for hours and trying to hold on to the feeling.
See my friends. Quit all my jobs. Or quit my friends and see my jobs. I can’t remember which.
Spend some quality time with the rents. Buy little ipod. Buy a new camera.
What am I forgetting?
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
I haven't...
I haven’t:
Done my taxes, made my bed, planned my outfit for this evening’s dinner, tomorrow’s heavily photographed party
Written back more than one editor about more than one freelance position
Organized all my trip photos, called back my aunt, worked out since Saturday
Mapped out my calendar, bought groceries in a week, thrown out that magazine I’m not going to read, folded my socks
Finished the presentation, explained the article, brainstormed the novel
Planned those drinks, polished that table, bought that prescription plan, painted those toenails
Bought new music, caught up on shows, framed my drawings, made plans that don’t involve obligation for the next month…
I have:
Just ordered one small salad and one big cookie, one life to live and peace of mind…
Done my taxes, made my bed, planned my outfit for this evening’s dinner, tomorrow’s heavily photographed party
Written back more than one editor about more than one freelance position
Organized all my trip photos, called back my aunt, worked out since Saturday
Mapped out my calendar, bought groceries in a week, thrown out that magazine I’m not going to read, folded my socks
Finished the presentation, explained the article, brainstormed the novel
Planned those drinks, polished that table, bought that prescription plan, painted those toenails
Bought new music, caught up on shows, framed my drawings, made plans that don’t involve obligation for the next month…
I have:
Just ordered one small salad and one big cookie, one life to live and peace of mind…
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Updates! Updates!
There were:
Sunburns, six hour meals, rooftop bars, a town for the dead.
Fights over the map, too much neon bought, foie gras creme brulee, the best and most involved pickup line we'd ever heard.
A drink described as "heaven", broken Spanish, steak and Tango.
Three pieces of incredible art between us, chasing lemurs at the wildlife preserve, my driving a golf cart on the highway.
A whole lot of "Hoooola chica!", a marmalade farm, a paddleboat which I drove very slowly into a group of ducks (no one was harmed).
Revelations, sneaker boots, dragging feet, rolling eyes, laughing hysterically.
Stray cats taking over certain streets, a levitation picture in which I would wear a mustache (thwarted).
Inside jokes, meeting up with three different groups of American friends, sashimi hats, five disposable cameras (mostly of pictures of us looking like idiots and pointing to empanadas).
Shopping, dropping, monuments, the rose park, a hundred coffees a day.
The book I read and the book I meant to read.
A grand total of 20 hours of sleep in 7 days.
Introspection, internet and cell phone withdrawal, the thought that I might go back to Australia this summer, alone this time, and just figure out a thing or two...
Stories to come! Sleep for now...
Sunburns, six hour meals, rooftop bars, a town for the dead.
Fights over the map, too much neon bought, foie gras creme brulee, the best and most involved pickup line we'd ever heard.
A drink described as "heaven", broken Spanish, steak and Tango.
Three pieces of incredible art between us, chasing lemurs at the wildlife preserve, my driving a golf cart on the highway.
A whole lot of "Hoooola chica!", a marmalade farm, a paddleboat which I drove very slowly into a group of ducks (no one was harmed).
Revelations, sneaker boots, dragging feet, rolling eyes, laughing hysterically.
Stray cats taking over certain streets, a levitation picture in which I would wear a mustache (thwarted).
Inside jokes, meeting up with three different groups of American friends, sashimi hats, five disposable cameras (mostly of pictures of us looking like idiots and pointing to empanadas).
Shopping, dropping, monuments, the rose park, a hundred coffees a day.
The book I read and the book I meant to read.
A grand total of 20 hours of sleep in 7 days.
Introspection, internet and cell phone withdrawal, the thought that I might go back to Australia this summer, alone this time, and just figure out a thing or two...
Stories to come! Sleep for now...
Friday, February 29, 2008
Contrarian
Things I (am marginally ashamed I) never liked:
Rent: the musical, the soundtrack or the idea
Red Bull and vodka, together or separate
Lipstick, espadrilles, massages that include the limbs (stay on the back! stay on the back! I don't need you to rub my elbow!)
Media gossip, celebrity news, famewhores (though I am entirely addicted)
Polenta, asparagus, January
Pets without fur (lizards, birds, fish--they belong in the wild and not in your bedroom)
Photo Ops (must I close my eyes and open my mouth in every single shot?)
Sample sales (the excess of consumerism meets someone else who grabs the bag I wanted)
Talking about sex with any of the following: parents, friends who I would never want to see naked, friends who I have seen naked, friends who I want to see naked
Chick Flicks (except for the following: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Bridget Jones's Diary)
Grrrl bands, sing-a-longs without a karaoke machine, when people insist on seeing "who's taller" and make you line up against them and then stand really tall and you always lose (am I alone on this one?)
Chick Books with hot pink titles and shoes on the cover
Fiery Furnaces, Joanna Newsom, 70% of Williamsburg, the Upper sides, most of "Lost" (I'm easily infuriated by it)
The Yankees, The Mets, The Frick
Away messages, saying TK "is the new black", psuedo-intellectualism, intellectualism that rides above my own dim understanding of intellectualism
For the most part, Kubric (I'm SORRY! I must be too stupid! I just...don't love him like I should!)
Text messaging, Blackberries, making the bed
Bath products that smell like food (chocolate, vanilla), drinks that taste like bath products (I'm looking at you, expensive drink I had the other night that tasted like French lotion)
Rent: the musical, the soundtrack or the idea
Red Bull and vodka, together or separate
Lipstick, espadrilles, massages that include the limbs (stay on the back! stay on the back! I don't need you to rub my elbow!)
Media gossip, celebrity news, famewhores (though I am entirely addicted)
Polenta, asparagus, January
Pets without fur (lizards, birds, fish--they belong in the wild and not in your bedroom)
Photo Ops (must I close my eyes and open my mouth in every single shot?)
Sample sales (the excess of consumerism meets someone else who grabs the bag I wanted)
Talking about sex with any of the following: parents, friends who I would never want to see naked, friends who I have seen naked, friends who I want to see naked
Chick Flicks (except for the following: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Bridget Jones's Diary)
Grrrl bands, sing-a-longs without a karaoke machine, when people insist on seeing "who's taller" and make you line up against them and then stand really tall and you always lose (am I alone on this one?)
Chick Books with hot pink titles and shoes on the cover
Fiery Furnaces, Joanna Newsom, 70% of Williamsburg, the Upper sides, most of "Lost" (I'm easily infuriated by it)
The Yankees, The Mets, The Frick
Away messages, saying TK "is the new black", psuedo-intellectualism, intellectualism that rides above my own dim understanding of intellectualism
For the most part, Kubric (I'm SORRY! I must be too stupid! I just...don't love him like I should!)
Text messaging, Blackberries, making the bed
Bath products that smell like food (chocolate, vanilla), drinks that taste like bath products (I'm looking at you, expensive drink I had the other night that tasted like French lotion)
Sunday, January 06, 2008
I don't trust people who claim to like greek yogurt, and other observations...
-You know, the ones that say they like it as a snack. As if they prefer it over things like ice cream. I...I just don't believe you. I don't care if you're adding honey, or, as you insist on calling it, "nature's candy" (that's your first problem), if you prefer it over real candy then I mean...I'm just saying...you're probably a communist. That's all. Nothing wrong with it. I mean, it works on paper. Really,*
-One bird in the thing is worth two things in the stuff.
-The flannel shirt I am wearing at this moment retails for $158 at Steven Alan. This seems so wrong and also like poetic justice for all the sins I've committed in my life. Including buying the shirt in the first place (oh how I love it).
-People who say they don't care what other people think of them are probably not well liked.
- I am not scared of my next life phase, in which we will all turn to yuppies. Whole Foods, Barnes and Noble, and my fervent insistence to two separate groups of bearded youngsters this weekend that "when I was your age, Pluto was a planet" has all prepared me for just this.
-Airborne and Zicam do not work, as much as we'd all like them to. I base this on a highly scientific study I've conducted in my bed just now.
-Mothers are always at least half-right.
- The people that act all crazy because they're "artists" and "creative types" and think they don't have to adhere to the common rules of social normalcy and put their heads in their hands when everyone's just trying to have dinner together or vigorously rub their eyes in an affected way of "I'm just trying to control my rage that you don't understand my brilliance" are usually the same people that insist on punching a wall when they're angry and then insist that they don't even feel the shards of plaster embedded in their bloody knuckles and should be avoided at all costs.
-Being mean will get you ahead with all the wrong people.
-Mypod addiction is worse, so so much worse than Blackberry smoking. I almost just based a computer purchase on whether or not I could transfer my songs from one device to another (Mac vs. PC) and afterwards had to go home and sit in a corner and think about what I'd done. You win again, Mac. I need the illusion of being creative, and getting a notebook in black really matches with that ideal, and by that ideal, I mean the aforementioned $158 flannel shirt.
-Boys are all just one hot girl away from cheating on their girlfriends.
-Vitamins smell so terrible, it's just unacceptable. It's like sniffing a condensed foot pellet every time I try to gag one of those horsepills down. Why is there not a patch for vitamins? I would consider thinking about buying that if it were offered at Duane Reade and on sale.
-Give up, never down, at work.
-Not wanting to hang out with someone almost always guarantees that they will always want to, and try repeatedly, to hang out with you. This works both ways.
-Our healthcare system is inherently complicated, most likely because there is a governmental conspiracy to use my wisdom teeth as rogue agents who cannot be extracted from my mouth or else the terrorists will win.
-First all the bands I liked had "wolf" in their name, then "deer" and now it's"bear". I really hope the next round of popular bands is as follows: super glitter merkins, merkin manor, and merkin vs. gherkin (the final showdown for world domination). Pitchfork, are you listening? Make it so.
*Other people I do not trust may or may not include the following: those that wear socks to bed, those that love Monday mornings, those that do not say hello to their doorman, those who speak more than three languages (you might be a robot), those that think any Back to the Future was better than Part II (you might be the devil).
-One bird in the thing is worth two things in the stuff.
-The flannel shirt I am wearing at this moment retails for $158 at Steven Alan. This seems so wrong and also like poetic justice for all the sins I've committed in my life. Including buying the shirt in the first place (oh how I love it).
-People who say they don't care what other people think of them are probably not well liked.
- I am not scared of my next life phase, in which we will all turn to yuppies. Whole Foods, Barnes and Noble, and my fervent insistence to two separate groups of bearded youngsters this weekend that "when I was your age, Pluto was a planet" has all prepared me for just this.
-Airborne and Zicam do not work, as much as we'd all like them to. I base this on a highly scientific study I've conducted in my bed just now.
-Mothers are always at least half-right.
- The people that act all crazy because they're "artists" and "creative types" and think they don't have to adhere to the common rules of social normalcy and put their heads in their hands when everyone's just trying to have dinner together or vigorously rub their eyes in an affected way of "I'm just trying to control my rage that you don't understand my brilliance" are usually the same people that insist on punching a wall when they're angry and then insist that they don't even feel the shards of plaster embedded in their bloody knuckles and should be avoided at all costs.
-Being mean will get you ahead with all the wrong people.
-Mypod addiction is worse, so so much worse than Blackberry smoking. I almost just based a computer purchase on whether or not I could transfer my songs from one device to another (Mac vs. PC) and afterwards had to go home and sit in a corner and think about what I'd done. You win again, Mac. I need the illusion of being creative, and getting a notebook in black really matches with that ideal, and by that ideal, I mean the aforementioned $158 flannel shirt.
-Boys are all just one hot girl away from cheating on their girlfriends.
-Vitamins smell so terrible, it's just unacceptable. It's like sniffing a condensed foot pellet every time I try to gag one of those horsepills down. Why is there not a patch for vitamins? I would consider thinking about buying that if it were offered at Duane Reade and on sale.
-Give up, never down, at work.
-Not wanting to hang out with someone almost always guarantees that they will always want to, and try repeatedly, to hang out with you. This works both ways.
-Our healthcare system is inherently complicated, most likely because there is a governmental conspiracy to use my wisdom teeth as rogue agents who cannot be extracted from my mouth or else the terrorists will win.
-First all the bands I liked had "wolf" in their name, then "deer" and now it's"bear". I really hope the next round of popular bands is as follows: super glitter merkins, merkin manor, and merkin vs. gherkin (the final showdown for world domination). Pitchfork, are you listening? Make it so.
*Other people I do not trust may or may not include the following: those that wear socks to bed, those that love Monday mornings, those that do not say hello to their doorman, those who speak more than three languages (you might be a robot), those that think any Back to the Future was better than Part II (you might be the devil).
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