What is it about the adrenaline that pumps fastest with an impending deadline?
I wish I wasn't such a time pressure junkie...it seems I can't get anything done without fear of not finishing in time. Maybe it's the only way for my cautious self to rebel.
A stitch in time saves nine (stitches, they mean!). But what if the pattern would be best if deviated from the cross-stitching manual? What if that stitch that saved nine, really quelled creativity?
October 31, 2005
The Truth about Unemployment
The scavenging aspect to your existence coupled with inevitable credit card debt are the major drawbacks of unemployment...that's no myth, folks!
I don't mind scrounging except when it comes to food. Ditha and Special K will tell you, I can be a cheap bastard about all things except food. I just can't in good faith consume something that is stale, low-quality or generally bad. Keep in mind this extends to ToxicHell (tacobell) not so much high fat, sucrose products. Of all things to be a snob about, food brands are a strange fancy of mine.
I'm not at the point where I'm clipping coupons yet, mainly because I see no shame in that but more because I don't grocery shop enough for that to be real to me.
My general anxiety surrounding when these unemployment checks will start flooding my mailbox are really starting to get to me--what with rent due at some point this week. There are limits to lateness in the realm of tenantship. Not that I fear eviction but why add that to my list of problems.
I'd like to not worry about money so much for a change.
I don't mind scrounging except when it comes to food. Ditha and Special K will tell you, I can be a cheap bastard about all things except food. I just can't in good faith consume something that is stale, low-quality or generally bad. Keep in mind this extends to ToxicHell (tacobell) not so much high fat, sucrose products. Of all things to be a snob about, food brands are a strange fancy of mine.
I'm not at the point where I'm clipping coupons yet, mainly because I see no shame in that but more because I don't grocery shop enough for that to be real to me.
My general anxiety surrounding when these unemployment checks will start flooding my mailbox are really starting to get to me--what with rent due at some point this week. There are limits to lateness in the realm of tenantship. Not that I fear eviction but why add that to my list of problems.
I'd like to not worry about money so much for a change.
October 30, 2005
Falling back
Maybe it's the time change, maybe it's because we met around this time two years ago--but I'm overcome with desire to call my ex...my ex from the "relationship that shall not be named". Today will be spent distracting myself from scratching that sore itch.
As far as recurring nightmares go...Taurean's on the same lax team as my personal foray with my Mr. Big...sadly in my reality, he's brown and not nearly as successful but even more imbued with that loathsome i-banker arrogance.
Guess it's just that time of year...to fall back into past mistakes and relive, hopefully on just a surreal level, the missed steps of my youth.
As far as recurring nightmares go...Taurean's on the same lax team as my personal foray with my Mr. Big...sadly in my reality, he's brown and not nearly as successful but even more imbued with that loathsome i-banker arrogance.
Guess it's just that time of year...to fall back into past mistakes and relive, hopefully on just a surreal level, the missed steps of my youth.
October 29, 2005
Au Natural
Just when I think I'm ready to accept the curls that frizz around my chocolate face, the self-loathing kicks in. Years of straightening treatments and recent months of flat-ironing hav e damaged my hair less than the beating my self-image has taken.
I can't bear to amble through this town with my hair undone. I feel the self-conscious stares of those who don't notice me and the embarrased mumbles of those that do. It's not just the volume, couple that with the wayward nature of face-framing tendrils--it's frightfest.
Maybe next wash, my hair will be more bouncy and less little shop of horrors. Maybe next time, I will find myself better suited to accept my hair as a natural, beautiful part of me. But for now I've straightened it under my nurse's headband-hat. The one time of year I could go out with my hair au natural and I'm victim to my vanity.
I can't bear to amble through this town with my hair undone. I feel the self-conscious stares of those who don't notice me and the embarrased mumbles of those that do. It's not just the volume, couple that with the wayward nature of face-framing tendrils--it's frightfest.
Maybe next wash, my hair will be more bouncy and less little shop of horrors. Maybe next time, I will find myself better suited to accept my hair as a natural, beautiful part of me. But for now I've straightened it under my nurse's headband-hat. The one time of year I could go out with my hair au natural and I'm victim to my vanity.
Standing in Line
In front of New York Costumes with Tommy this evening, I wasn't impressed by the number of procrastinators among us. This was worse than the mayhem that ensues every year the day before Christmas. We actually stood in a line outside the shop--sans velvet rope--to peruse through what was left of the Halloween extravaganza.
I talked Tom into being a Ninja. The line wrapped around the store so we improvised: buying a scraf, hat, glove set at K-Mart and popping into Ricky's for num-chucks (the cushy foam variety). I had to explain in painstakingly terms just why it was unwise for him to carry a real sword--the fact that he has one in his apartment as is, worries me.
Personally I liked him best the year he "Pimped out" with white boa, oversize shades, and a gangsta jacket--maybe a repeat is in order next year. I must say, he looks damn good as a Ninja, blacked out, with just those baby blues peeking through. Go white boy, go!
I talked Tom into being a Ninja. The line wrapped around the store so we improvised: buying a scraf, hat, glove set at K-Mart and popping into Ricky's for num-chucks (the cushy foam variety). I had to explain in painstakingly terms just why it was unwise for him to carry a real sword--the fact that he has one in his apartment as is, worries me.
Personally I liked him best the year he "Pimped out" with white boa, oversize shades, and a gangsta jacket--maybe a repeat is in order next year. I must say, he looks damn good as a Ninja, blacked out, with just those baby blues peeking through. Go white boy, go!
Whe one door closes...
My time with Jaylin came to its indubitable end...abruptly, inauspiciously--two nights ago. I should have known better than to indulge him this last time.
After JHU-5 cities, where Tommy urged me to chug what should not have been a copious amount of beer, I stumbled to the subway. Jay had wanted to see a movie that night but given that he is a buzz kill--we've become inseparable due to how hardpressed I've been for human interaction in unemployment than the merit of his company--I shouldn't have seen him that night. In true poor decision form, I texted him and he met me at Union Square.
My head began buzzing with the beginnings of an existential crisis: what is keeping me in New York? Usually, New York is enough to keep me in New York...but that night, I started contemplating aloud that nothing was holding me here.
Jaylin insisted my friends were...code for HE IS. But I counter with the truth that I am expendable in their realm...besides, moving away should hardly be likened to dying, yet it is and with good reason. (A point New York lovers will argue, I'll say it for another day)...so we go back and forth, him failing to comfort and growing weary of my bleak, sour outlook. Me horrified that I am opening up to him in this capacity but unable to drive this wreck back on track. He's only used to me happy and bubbly and carefree--this dark side, it scares him. He's not built for it. I know this, that's why I never chose him in the first place. But he doesn't get that, and I can't explain it...
Finally, we arrive at my doorstep and he can't bear me another minute but he presses on, "Just tell me you don't want to see me. That you don't want me to call you. That this, whatever this is, is over!''
In his voice I hear my own. In his words I hear my own. In another world, in another time, with another guy, I was him...
I'm sorry, I want to say, but my throat closes up. This isn't about you. This was never about you. But I say nothing. I don't give him the closure I've been deprived and in so doing, I gain nothing.
The truth is he personalized an issue that couldn't have had less to do with him. The truth was as simple as his last words to me, "It's always about you. I'm not good enough to date and I'm not good enough to be friends with. You get mad at me for seemingly no reason and I'm sorry. I'm always sorry."
Oh, Jay. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for you.
After JHU-5 cities, where Tommy urged me to chug what should not have been a copious amount of beer, I stumbled to the subway. Jay had wanted to see a movie that night but given that he is a buzz kill--we've become inseparable due to how hardpressed I've been for human interaction in unemployment than the merit of his company--I shouldn't have seen him that night. In true poor decision form, I texted him and he met me at Union Square.
My head began buzzing with the beginnings of an existential crisis: what is keeping me in New York? Usually, New York is enough to keep me in New York...but that night, I started contemplating aloud that nothing was holding me here.
Jaylin insisted my friends were...code for HE IS. But I counter with the truth that I am expendable in their realm...besides, moving away should hardly be likened to dying, yet it is and with good reason. (A point New York lovers will argue, I'll say it for another day)...so we go back and forth, him failing to comfort and growing weary of my bleak, sour outlook. Me horrified that I am opening up to him in this capacity but unable to drive this wreck back on track. He's only used to me happy and bubbly and carefree--this dark side, it scares him. He's not built for it. I know this, that's why I never chose him in the first place. But he doesn't get that, and I can't explain it...
Finally, we arrive at my doorstep and he can't bear me another minute but he presses on, "Just tell me you don't want to see me. That you don't want me to call you. That this, whatever this is, is over!''
In his voice I hear my own. In his words I hear my own. In another world, in another time, with another guy, I was him...
I'm sorry, I want to say, but my throat closes up. This isn't about you. This was never about you. But I say nothing. I don't give him the closure I've been deprived and in so doing, I gain nothing.
The truth is he personalized an issue that couldn't have had less to do with him. The truth was as simple as his last words to me, "It's always about you. I'm not good enough to date and I'm not good enough to be friends with. You get mad at me for seemingly no reason and I'm sorry. I'm always sorry."
Oh, Jay. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for you.
Another Door Opens
My pint-sized prince has resurfaced...I've been neglecting the skater and though he vocalized an opinion, he has chosen not to hold it against me.
I smacked into him on my starbucks run pre-class (I'm on the caffeine again...it was inevitable). He bought me a cup and walked me to class, gently kissing me as I skipped up the steps not looking back.
I called him when it ended, the learning that is. We subwayed to Soho, whence I picked up goodie bag as he chain-smoked in wait. When he realized I'd never been to Katz's he dragged me with little protest and even shared his Black Cherry Coke. Hand in hand, we ambled gray streets with my gentle resists to his offers to coat me--all he had on was a white tee under his wintery cloak, I wouldn't dream of stripping it.
I can't tell you how refreshing it is to sit in Union Square park wrapped in a stylish man's sweet embrace just talking. We argued about whether those flickering numbers above Virgin Mega were the national debt (him) or the time at present (me--I blame Tommy for this notion).
I smacked into him on my starbucks run pre-class (I'm on the caffeine again...it was inevitable). He bought me a cup and walked me to class, gently kissing me as I skipped up the steps not looking back.
I called him when it ended, the learning that is. We subwayed to Soho, whence I picked up goodie bag as he chain-smoked in wait. When he realized I'd never been to Katz's he dragged me with little protest and even shared his Black Cherry Coke. Hand in hand, we ambled gray streets with my gentle resists to his offers to coat me--all he had on was a white tee under his wintery cloak, I wouldn't dream of stripping it.
I can't tell you how refreshing it is to sit in Union Square park wrapped in a stylish man's sweet embrace just talking. We argued about whether those flickering numbers above Virgin Mega were the national debt (him) or the time at present (me--I blame Tommy for this notion).
October 27, 2005
Unemployment Myth 1
After you've been unemployed for three weeks, you will tire of the free time.
Hmm..maybe it's just me, but I love it.
Everyday I wake around 2pm, read...blog, hit up a museum, watch copious amounts of tv, look for a job, pretend to do some homework, hang out with my friends, and get to bed by 4am...
What's not to love? I feel like I'm livin' the dream.
Does this make me an under-achiever?
Hmm..maybe it's just me, but I love it.
Everyday I wake around 2pm, read...blog, hit up a museum, watch copious amounts of tv, look for a job, pretend to do some homework, hang out with my friends, and get to bed by 4am...
What's not to love? I feel like I'm livin' the dream.
Does this make me an under-achiever?
Standards
There are many theories on attachment. I have studied my share of them and to put it in laymen terms: with face time attachment grows. I've seen this phenomenon time and time again with friends. The more time you spend with a friend, the stronger your friendship. The question then is this: do you spend more time with them because you enjoy them or do they start to grow on you over time?
Do you excuse their irksome idiosyncracies, now filing them under quaint quirks because you like them or they've become a habit/an addiction you don't want to quit...at least not just yet? The answer is simple, usually...one or the other, but once you've been friends for a long long time, the answer is blurred by nostalgia--shared moments of despair and euphoria that bind you past the initial circumstance.
As always my interest in this topic delves to the man folk--the non-platonic variety--and how my attachment to them is oft colored in this way. The reason I am currently examining this illustrates a maturity on my part--an eageress to be aware and overcome my inherent nature to befriend whomever as long as they aren't ill-wishers.
The truth of my exclusivity with women has not transcended to men and off late I find myself wondering why. I said this to an ex and he concurred, "I'm very easy to fall in love with but damn difficult to keep on loving, day in and day out." I think expressing that and having him agree cemented a fundamental bias in my thinking against myself.
While men come and go, your friends are forever. This typed, there's no reason to exempt the men for now from the standards of later...why do I do that? Is it because I know they can't measure up? Is it because my commitment fears will be called out if they actually do?
Do you excuse their irksome idiosyncracies, now filing them under quaint quirks because you like them or they've become a habit/an addiction you don't want to quit...at least not just yet? The answer is simple, usually...one or the other, but once you've been friends for a long long time, the answer is blurred by nostalgia--shared moments of despair and euphoria that bind you past the initial circumstance.
As always my interest in this topic delves to the man folk--the non-platonic variety--and how my attachment to them is oft colored in this way. The reason I am currently examining this illustrates a maturity on my part--an eageress to be aware and overcome my inherent nature to befriend whomever as long as they aren't ill-wishers.
The truth of my exclusivity with women has not transcended to men and off late I find myself wondering why. I said this to an ex and he concurred, "I'm very easy to fall in love with but damn difficult to keep on loving, day in and day out." I think expressing that and having him agree cemented a fundamental bias in my thinking against myself.
While men come and go, your friends are forever. This typed, there's no reason to exempt the men for now from the standards of later...why do I do that? Is it because I know they can't measure up? Is it because my commitment fears will be called out if they actually do?
October 26, 2005
Malternative
Malternative: The male alternative! Sometimes men say the damndest things. I'm not sure why they think what they are saying will compel a woman to start or continue sleeping with them, but they say it anyway.
Some notable, nay hatable, malternatives this week:
"You're bar none the smartest woman I've ever been with."
No woman wants to hear she's smart when she's horizontal...HOT...she wants to be HOT.
"That position won't work for us...you have a big frame." I suppose it's still better than the tried and hated "big-boned" or "birthing hips" comments but forgive me for not doling out points for creativity or originality.
Some notable, nay hatable, malternatives this week:
"You're bar none the smartest woman I've ever been with."
No woman wants to hear she's smart when she's horizontal...HOT...she wants to be HOT.
"That position won't work for us...you have a big frame." I suppose it's still better than the tried and hated "big-boned" or "birthing hips" comments but forgive me for not doling out points for creativity or originality.
Balthazaar
I cashed in Jaylin's b'day coupon last night--good for one steak dinner anywhere in Manhattan--at Balthazaar. Aside from the panache of having once been featured on Sex and the City, the joint has the best bistro ambience bar none. I hated Paris, but I love the Parisian vibe in there. I had my digital camera with me, so I took a few pictures of the cute flower-looking, latern-esque lamps. What was great was that Jaylin encouraged me in lieu of feigning embarrassment. I know, I'm weird.
Friemployed
Tommy hooked me up with some day work yesterday. He was the best boss ever. He got me a snapple and put rubber band bracelets on my wrists. After I had done the grunt work, he joined me to create a two-person assembly line so the task which would have taken me another hour or two on my own was complete in forty short minutes. The pay didn't stink either. All in all a good day--productive! Once I asked Tommy if we would be friends forever. He said in all earnest with a straight face, "Until we get into serious relationships and get married fo' sho'." I remember that stinging. My feelings were hurt and I had no way to lash out, but the thing is...Tom was just being honest. I'm a girlfriend substitute--minus the sides--and he thought I was smart enough and mature enouogh to handle the truth. Besides, just because he's gonna dump me for Mrs. Tommy doesn't mean I should start the pity party just yet...she's still out there and I'm still right here.
October 24, 2005
Go Sports!
Tommy had a baseball party last night--the evite to which my response was "Go Sports!' brought Tom some amusement. The Astros lost game 2 of the world series and he's uber sad. It must be said they lost game 1.
It touches me how much boys care about their sports teams. They're almost better than real people in their lives sans the high expectations and emotional dependency. I don't think I've ever cared that much about anything other than interpersonal relationships. I guess it's a pride thing. Maybe it's a commitment thing. After all most men have had team allegiance long before they even start playing sports or liking women. Besides, the team asks nothing of you other than undying support--an occassional cheer--and copious amounts of drinking.
It touches me how much boys care about their sports teams. They're almost better than real people in their lives sans the high expectations and emotional dependency. I don't think I've ever cared that much about anything other than interpersonal relationships. I guess it's a pride thing. Maybe it's a commitment thing. After all most men have had team allegiance long before they even start playing sports or liking women. Besides, the team asks nothing of you other than undying support--an occassional cheer--and copious amounts of drinking.
October 23, 2005
Nurse Betty
Special K and I went Halloween shopping today. We hit up the Union Square shops, I found myself nurse-ish at New York Costumes while Special K delighted in her Tea Party guest garb next door at Goth World. The Alice from Wonderland costume was her first pick; unfortunately unavailable in her size! Don't you hate that?
We tried on a series of too tight across the bust busts...sniff, even after a reduction the K is still a K (alright, not a K but big enough to bust out of the medium that hung off her tiny physique). Sorry babe! After all those efforts, we both bought the generic-in-the-bag costume. Typical.
I just modeled mine for Jaylin to ensure that it wasn't too slutty and also to gauge the average male reaction to Nurse Betty--Me. Apparently not too slutty but a jaw-dropper.
It must be shared with the group that Jay has a bit of a soft spot for girls in tight, white uniforms. According to Tommy and Ditha he might have a bit of a soft spot for me too...butI'm still blissfully denying any such thing.
We tried on a series of too tight across the bust busts...sniff, even after a reduction the K is still a K (alright, not a K but big enough to bust out of the medium that hung off her tiny physique). Sorry babe! After all those efforts, we both bought the generic-in-the-bag costume. Typical.
I just modeled mine for Jaylin to ensure that it wasn't too slutty and also to gauge the average male reaction to Nurse Betty--Me. Apparently not too slutty but a jaw-dropper.
It must be shared with the group that Jay has a bit of a soft spot for girls in tight, white uniforms. According to Tommy and Ditha he might have a bit of a soft spot for me too...butI'm still blissfully denying any such thing.
October 22, 2005
Drunk Dialer
Li was in from San Francisco this weekend. Ditha surprised me by NOT going away--it was crafty. Props!
Tommy mocked my consistency when I told him I wanted him to cook me the exact same meal he'd cooked for me last week. He said it was both "boring and easy". I'm looking forward to your baseball party tomorrow, hopefully it will be neither boring nor easy. Go Astros! (sorry Li)
However, the achievement of the weekend which started on tuesday since that was the big birthday was the frequency and fervor with which I drunk-dialed V. Without fail, I called...recalled and left messages. Thankfully his phone is defunct and he didn't get back to me till the following afternoons. I should be embarrassed but really I'm just proud. As far as drunken phone calls go, V is the best bet. He never picks up. He never makes fun of me the next day. And gosh it's not like I don't say crazy shite to him when I'm stone cold sober.
Though I have a feeling Jaylin isn't too happy with me. In my defense it's not like I called him V
Tommy mocked my consistency when I told him I wanted him to cook me the exact same meal he'd cooked for me last week. He said it was both "boring and easy". I'm looking forward to your baseball party tomorrow, hopefully it will be neither boring nor easy. Go Astros! (sorry Li)
However, the achievement of the weekend which started on tuesday since that was the big birthday was the frequency and fervor with which I drunk-dialed V. Without fail, I called...recalled and left messages. Thankfully his phone is defunct and he didn't get back to me till the following afternoons. I should be embarrassed but really I'm just proud. As far as drunken phone calls go, V is the best bet. He never picks up. He never makes fun of me the next day. And gosh it's not like I don't say crazy shite to him when I'm stone cold sober.
Though I have a feeling Jaylin isn't too happy with me. In my defense it's not like I called him V
Sex Columnist: Me
Why Men Love Hummers
My mother’s ex-boyfriend drove a Hummer. He really loved his car. It was massive with sizable wheels which he frequently took off-roading on Hummer conventions. Yes. Hummer conventions are real events that Hummer owners proudly embark upon for long weekends in the wilderness. Being of the old world and not knowing any better, my mother referred to him as her “Hummer Friend”.
If you’re like my mom and completely unaware of what the term “Hummer” implies sexually, let me take this opportunity to explain. I must confess that I didn’t have the nerve to break it down for my mother so in some small way I think of this as penance for allowing her to call him her “Hummer Friend” for the rest of their dating days. The Hummer was bad enough, she couldn’t bear the conventions. I did point out to her that a man who drives a car that big must be compensating for something. Cliché, but clichés contain kernels of truth….or are those rumors?
A Hummer is what happens when a woman hums as she performs fellatio. The vibrations from her humming, though muffled, provide a heightened level of stimulation which is intended to send the man into overdrive—take him to levels of passion, previously unknown. It takes some skill to hum whilst moving your head and hand, keeping your lips loose, and breathing. Not to mention variables like foreskin, girth, and length in conjunction with your skill set.
As the adage goes, practice makes perfect. This is not bedroom behavior recommended for the novice, get good at giving head then work your way up to the hummer. If fellatio isn’t your bag, no worries there are plenty of other things you can do to keep the party going in his pants.
My mother’s ex-boyfriend drove a Hummer. He really loved his car. It was massive with sizable wheels which he frequently took off-roading on Hummer conventions. Yes. Hummer conventions are real events that Hummer owners proudly embark upon for long weekends in the wilderness. Being of the old world and not knowing any better, my mother referred to him as her “Hummer Friend”.
If you’re like my mom and completely unaware of what the term “Hummer” implies sexually, let me take this opportunity to explain. I must confess that I didn’t have the nerve to break it down for my mother so in some small way I think of this as penance for allowing her to call him her “Hummer Friend” for the rest of their dating days. The Hummer was bad enough, she couldn’t bear the conventions. I did point out to her that a man who drives a car that big must be compensating for something. Cliché, but clichés contain kernels of truth….or are those rumors?
A Hummer is what happens when a woman hums as she performs fellatio. The vibrations from her humming, though muffled, provide a heightened level of stimulation which is intended to send the man into overdrive—take him to levels of passion, previously unknown. It takes some skill to hum whilst moving your head and hand, keeping your lips loose, and breathing. Not to mention variables like foreskin, girth, and length in conjunction with your skill set.
As the adage goes, practice makes perfect. This is not bedroom behavior recommended for the novice, get good at giving head then work your way up to the hummer. If fellatio isn’t your bag, no worries there are plenty of other things you can do to keep the party going in his pants.
October 20, 2005
Dating....professionally
I had a phone interview this afternoon with a company that hopes to launch late this Fall. The focus of this organization is to provide wealthy, singls with dates for social engagements such as galas, fundraisers and the like. No, it's not an escort service. No I won't be providing extras for a generous tip. It's just like it sounds--providing temporary, non-physical companionship for a lonely oldie or an out-of-towner so they don't feel like social pariahs. So, the do-gooder in me gets to help, the unemployed one gets $30 by the hour not including food and booze, whilst the writer within can take this rich fodder to build future stories. This silver-lined cloud is downright white! The thought that anyone would pay to date me, mystifies me a bit but not enough to de-puff my burgeoning ego. Dude...this is for real!
Now..that's flattering
On my walk of shame at a shameful 1pm today; teeth unbrushed, hair uncombed I was trying desperately to squint so the contacts I had failed to remove from the night prior would serve their visual purpose. I'd gotten them adjusted so I could finally see more than colors and shapes when a cab veered three lanes over 2nd Ave and came to a screeching halt beside me. I tried to wave the cabbie off, but he rolled down his window, pushed down his headset and handed me his number, crudely scribbled on scracth paper with this line, "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Please look past my station in life and give me a chance!" Thanks, Omar--that's the best compliment to come my way in a long while... I've still got it at 25! Sweet affirmation.
October 19, 2005
Birthday Badness
Ditha, my sweet roomie, threw a heck of a party last night...in honor of my 25 years on this fine planet. The question remains...when will I return to my home planet?
I had been contemplating going down to DC to see V, since I always spend my birthdays with him, but the truth is what I always do is run to him when things are going wrong in my life. He fixes it or puts it in a palatable perspective. I return to my life. I thought 25 was a good age to break that pattern. So I didn't go.
The day started with a walk of shame home. Phone calls. Texts. E-mails. E-cards. Mailed cards. Taurean taking me to a delicious sushi buffet at Minado, where I stuffed myself to the point of wishing elastic waistbands on all. We ambled through midtown so he could get back to Rezif and I could hop the 6 at GC.
In the evening, Ditha invited two of my favorite girls out for some drinks in Union Square: Special K and The Redhead. We did shot after shot after shot. Though I recognized this as a ruse to inebriate me sufficiently so I may be adequately surprised when I got back to our apartment where a barrage of boys had ice-cream cake with a big 19 in lit, trick candles burning.
We kept shooting and eating cake through the night. The Redhead showed us wedding photos of since she and her husband had just gotten back from their elopement to Vermont. and Special K told us tall tales of men who were hung like squirrels. It was the ideal balance of women for a 25th coming of age. Ditha proceeded to miss her boy and booty call him at 1am, but the VP was asleep or so we presumed till her called back at 2am. The infeasibility of him transporting himself in from NJ, reaffirmed to me the challenges of geographic undesirability. This is why I'm a Manhattan snob--no excuses for not coming over if you reside on this isle.
Tommy and Jaylin got an eyeful. We traded them girl-on-girl action (ok, it was just some innocent making out) for shots of whiskey. They had some significant catching up to do. Since it was my birthday, I was the chosen maker-outer. The Redhead was happy to oblige sans shots, but Ditha took a staunch stand and poured shot after shot. Those poor boys didn't know what hit them, they tried to negotiate but she's a tough cookie. Special K was next and she put some real tongue into it. Girls lips really are a LOT softer and taste nothing like chicken.
To top the last event, it was decided that I should be the getter and judge of lap dances. The boys tried really hard but they couldn't compete with the girls, especially the Redhead. She's OBVIOUSLY done this sort of sexy dance for the husband before (ok, maybe 8 others too). It was some serious lap action and I didn't have to put $ bills in anyone's pants/skirts.
I had the lowest expectations for this birthday and it might have been one of the best ones yet. I missed many of my friends. So some shout outs are in order.
Chi and Karate--thanks for the cards.
Li and Gordon--you're the best...thanks for your calls.
Sheila and Trace--Thanks for the texts and mad love.
Rani, Anand, and Eli--I can't believe you kids remembered. Sweet!
V--That was a serious b'day package...the autographed Stephen King poster--you KNOW me.
Well...there will be much more on the birthday frontier once Li gets here this weekend. Crazy party planning noodle--I can't wait. It's been a helluva start though.
Lovin' life at 25...dreams come alive at 25!
I had been contemplating going down to DC to see V, since I always spend my birthdays with him, but the truth is what I always do is run to him when things are going wrong in my life. He fixes it or puts it in a palatable perspective. I return to my life. I thought 25 was a good age to break that pattern. So I didn't go.
The day started with a walk of shame home. Phone calls. Texts. E-mails. E-cards. Mailed cards. Taurean taking me to a delicious sushi buffet at Minado, where I stuffed myself to the point of wishing elastic waistbands on all. We ambled through midtown so he could get back to Rezif and I could hop the 6 at GC.
In the evening, Ditha invited two of my favorite girls out for some drinks in Union Square: Special K and The Redhead. We did shot after shot after shot. Though I recognized this as a ruse to inebriate me sufficiently so I may be adequately surprised when I got back to our apartment where a barrage of boys had ice-cream cake with a big 19 in lit, trick candles burning.
We kept shooting and eating cake through the night. The Redhead showed us wedding photos of since she and her husband had just gotten back from their elopement to Vermont. and Special K told us tall tales of men who were hung like squirrels. It was the ideal balance of women for a 25th coming of age. Ditha proceeded to miss her boy and booty call him at 1am, but the VP was asleep or so we presumed till her called back at 2am. The infeasibility of him transporting himself in from NJ, reaffirmed to me the challenges of geographic undesirability. This is why I'm a Manhattan snob--no excuses for not coming over if you reside on this isle.
Tommy and Jaylin got an eyeful. We traded them girl-on-girl action (ok, it was just some innocent making out) for shots of whiskey. They had some significant catching up to do. Since it was my birthday, I was the chosen maker-outer. The Redhead was happy to oblige sans shots, but Ditha took a staunch stand and poured shot after shot. Those poor boys didn't know what hit them, they tried to negotiate but she's a tough cookie. Special K was next and she put some real tongue into it. Girls lips really are a LOT softer and taste nothing like chicken.
To top the last event, it was decided that I should be the getter and judge of lap dances. The boys tried really hard but they couldn't compete with the girls, especially the Redhead. She's OBVIOUSLY done this sort of sexy dance for the husband before (ok, maybe 8 others too). It was some serious lap action and I didn't have to put $ bills in anyone's pants/skirts.
I had the lowest expectations for this birthday and it might have been one of the best ones yet. I missed many of my friends. So some shout outs are in order.
Chi and Karate--thanks for the cards.
Li and Gordon--you're the best...thanks for your calls.
Sheila and Trace--Thanks for the texts and mad love.
Rani, Anand, and Eli--I can't believe you kids remembered. Sweet!
V--That was a serious b'day package...the autographed Stephen King poster--you KNOW me.
Well...there will be much more on the birthday frontier once Li gets here this weekend. Crazy party planning noodle--I can't wait. It's been a helluva start though.
Lovin' life at 25...dreams come alive at 25!
October 17, 2005
Dater Hater
I had three dates this weekend...with three different guys.
The Skater
He's my pint-sized, part-Jewish prince but I can't get over the AA meeting, the NA even in past tense, the lack of college (it's more about the experience than the education), or the fact that he calls his shrink in Santa Cruz every time he has a problem. He's not even filler anymore. I mean the guy does not drink...because he's a recovering alcoholic.
The Loser
The i-banking, lanky Asian I met in Union Square actually asked if I ever planned to sleep with him on our second date. The minute I realized his room-mate's room was the living room (as in not split by a wall, but an actual bedroom thanks too a screen--most likley from chinatown), I said NO. "I'll never sleep with you because my freshman dorm suite was more grown up than this!" And he didn't have a TV--at all.
The Dater
I spent most of this weekend with Jaylin. He was born ready to settle down, when I'm with him, I feel my biological clock tick. And I know mine is on snooze.
If most men are commitment phobic, Jay is a commitment phile. Though, it's not working in his favor. The Guju girls he is likes never like him. And the ones that like him, well they need either plastic surgery or restraining orders--usually both. He goes on more blind dates than the JDaters. The future Mrs. Patel eludes him.
But in the copious amount of time we've spent together, I see more and more that he's a good guy...who else will come over when I drunk dial at 4am no expectations, no questions?
The Skater
He's my pint-sized, part-Jewish prince but I can't get over the AA meeting, the NA even in past tense, the lack of college (it's more about the experience than the education), or the fact that he calls his shrink in Santa Cruz every time he has a problem. He's not even filler anymore. I mean the guy does not drink...because he's a recovering alcoholic.
The Loser
The i-banking, lanky Asian I met in Union Square actually asked if I ever planned to sleep with him on our second date. The minute I realized his room-mate's room was the living room (as in not split by a wall, but an actual bedroom thanks too a screen--most likley from chinatown), I said NO. "I'll never sleep with you because my freshman dorm suite was more grown up than this!" And he didn't have a TV--at all.
The Dater
I spent most of this weekend with Jaylin. He was born ready to settle down, when I'm with him, I feel my biological clock tick. And I know mine is on snooze.
If most men are commitment phobic, Jay is a commitment phile. Though, it's not working in his favor. The Guju girls he is likes never like him. And the ones that like him, well they need either plastic surgery or restraining orders--usually both. He goes on more blind dates than the JDaters. The future Mrs. Patel eludes him.
But in the copious amount of time we've spent together, I see more and more that he's a good guy...who else will come over when I drunk dial at 4am no expectations, no questions?
10 Reasonos Unemployment Rocks!
10. Everyday is a Sunday, except that the post office and bank are conveniently open.
9. My soaps are on at times I can actually watch them.
8. No bedtime. No regretting staying up till 4am to blog, watching mindless tv, and chatting.
7. The alarm doesn't wake me. My circadian rhythms kick in around 12pm.
6. Errands are events not chores.
5. Cooking. Because I have the time and the energy.
4. Reading, not just on the subway whilst commuting but for fun in my room at 2:30pm.
3. Sleepovers on school nights, because class doesn't start till 7:20pm.
2. Getting your priorities in order is the top priority.
1. Unemployment checks--getting paid to job hunt. After all, it's a real job finding the right one.
9. My soaps are on at times I can actually watch them.
8. No bedtime. No regretting staying up till 4am to blog, watching mindless tv, and chatting.
7. The alarm doesn't wake me. My circadian rhythms kick in around 12pm.
6. Errands are events not chores.
5. Cooking. Because I have the time and the energy.
4. Reading, not just on the subway whilst commuting but for fun in my room at 2:30pm.
3. Sleepovers on school nights, because class doesn't start till 7:20pm.
2. Getting your priorities in order is the top priority.
1. Unemployment checks--getting paid to job hunt. After all, it's a real job finding the right one.
So it Begins...
My 25th birthday is fast approaching...eeek!
My mom and her boyfriend, soon-to-be fiancee--Marc, took me to brunch and dinner this weekend. I had reservations for 2:15pm but since my mom runs on IST* we couldn't eat at Garden of Ono so I took them up to the roof of the Gansevoort for drinks--the hip crowd blew them away (it was also windy!) so I was forced to scour MePa for something appropriate.
We had brunch at Vento and got drinks with tapas at Spice Market, which my mom actually loves more than me**. Whilst sipping drinks, my mother starts talking to one of the suits at the bar across from us. Marc and I chuckle to ourselves as we recognize that this innocent guy has no idea my mum is NOT hitting on him--she's just freakishly friendly and even more so youthful, not just in appearance. She's 50 but often gets mistaken for my younger sister. She attributes it to my 4-inch height advantage, I'm not so sure. Thankfully I'm past insult (my mommy gets more play than me) and well on my way to humble acceptance (good genes can't hurt, I'll still be gettin' play in 25 years!).
Whilst there, I was presented with a digital camera from Marc. Apparently my mom has completely forgotten that she got me a digicam for my 21st b'day with her then bf/the closest I've come to a non-related father figure. Good thing, I busted the shutter six months later and have not used it since. I still intend to take it to B&H for a fix, once I start getting paid again.
My mother masterfully purchased for me a lovely pendant with white and black diamonds on a white gold chain. Sadly,even though my mother has exquisite taste her gifts for me are hit or miss at best. While I frown at the very notion of white gold...I absolutely despise yellow gold. So, thanks Mom! More importantly, I love diamonds. I haven't taken the pendant off.
*Indian Standard Time=ETA*1/2* 1 hour late
*1/2*ETA=Estimated Time of Arrival...hey, some people don't know that one.
**She loves the restaurant more than I do, not that she loves the restaurant more than she loves me.
My mom and her boyfriend, soon-to-be fiancee--Marc, took me to brunch and dinner this weekend. I had reservations for 2:15pm but since my mom runs on IST* we couldn't eat at Garden of Ono so I took them up to the roof of the Gansevoort for drinks--the hip crowd blew them away (it was also windy!) so I was forced to scour MePa for something appropriate.
We had brunch at Vento and got drinks with tapas at Spice Market, which my mom actually loves more than me**. Whilst sipping drinks, my mother starts talking to one of the suits at the bar across from us. Marc and I chuckle to ourselves as we recognize that this innocent guy has no idea my mum is NOT hitting on him--she's just freakishly friendly and even more so youthful, not just in appearance. She's 50 but often gets mistaken for my younger sister. She attributes it to my 4-inch height advantage, I'm not so sure. Thankfully I'm past insult (my mommy gets more play than me) and well on my way to humble acceptance (good genes can't hurt, I'll still be gettin' play in 25 years!).
Whilst there, I was presented with a digital camera from Marc. Apparently my mom has completely forgotten that she got me a digicam for my 21st b'day with her then bf/the closest I've come to a non-related father figure. Good thing, I busted the shutter six months later and have not used it since. I still intend to take it to B&H for a fix, once I start getting paid again.
My mother masterfully purchased for me a lovely pendant with white and black diamonds on a white gold chain. Sadly,even though my mother has exquisite taste her gifts for me are hit or miss at best. While I frown at the very notion of white gold...I absolutely despise yellow gold. So, thanks Mom! More importantly, I love diamonds. I haven't taken the pendant off.
*Indian Standard Time=ETA*1/2* 1 hour late
*1/2*ETA=Estimated Time of Arrival...hey, some people don't know that one.
**She loves the restaurant more than I do, not that she loves the restaurant more than she loves me.
October 14, 2005
Hiding
I've been in hibernation this week!
Avoided calls from everyone that has called. Haven't left the apartment except to run to the mailbox to get netflix or the grocery store across the street for food.
In becoming a recluse I just realized that what I'm really doing is I'm hiding. From everyone in my life. Well, except my room-mate she's hard to hide from given the NYC size of our apartment.
I'm not sure why. I don't want to be the Ross Gellar of the group with a "another day another job" claim to name fame. But yet I find myself in this predicament where I quit jobs, usually within the six month marker. My staying power, rather my on-the-job threshold is low. Very low.
In all my graduate studies on motivation, I've come to see I lack intrinsic motivation or enough of it to actually stick. The thing is...no one tells you how to get it back or in my case why it didn't auto-install. The extrinsic motivation can only keep me stagnating for so long. It's the ultimate manifestation of my flight response....of my unwillingness, nay inability, to commit.
Where do I buy the most updated version and how do I manually install intrinsic motivation?
Avoided calls from everyone that has called. Haven't left the apartment except to run to the mailbox to get netflix or the grocery store across the street for food.
In becoming a recluse I just realized that what I'm really doing is I'm hiding. From everyone in my life. Well, except my room-mate she's hard to hide from given the NYC size of our apartment.
I'm not sure why. I don't want to be the Ross Gellar of the group with a "another day another job" claim to name fame. But yet I find myself in this predicament where I quit jobs, usually within the six month marker. My staying power, rather my on-the-job threshold is low. Very low.
In all my graduate studies on motivation, I've come to see I lack intrinsic motivation or enough of it to actually stick. The thing is...no one tells you how to get it back or in my case why it didn't auto-install. The extrinsic motivation can only keep me stagnating for so long. It's the ultimate manifestation of my flight response....of my unwillingness, nay inability, to commit.
Where do I buy the most updated version and how do I manually install intrinsic motivation?
Monster Works
The last time I was sans employment I had invested all my energy into monster.com. It was my primary tool for my collegian and first post-collegiate job search. I was sorely disappointed by the lack of no and the more glaring lack of yes e-mails and phone calls from prospective employers.
This time around I have no expectations, rather low expectations of Monster. Figures, it would come through. Two interviews so far, for next week. I just need one job, but much like men you have to keep searching through the masses for just the right one.
The hunt continues...
This time around I have no expectations, rather low expectations of Monster. Figures, it would come through. Two interviews so far, for next week. I just need one job, but much like men you have to keep searching through the masses for just the right one.
The hunt continues...
October 13, 2005
Word Phobia
There are certain words that make me squirm. NO, not dirty words...well I guess they are laden with innuendoo...but words like moist and creamy--yuck. Just typing them, I feel a bit queasy.
I was on the phone with a gentleman friend. He concurred. Apparently I am not alone. Words can make you uncomfortable, less for their meaning and more for the way they roll off people's tongues.
Of course, it's no suprise that words hurt people. Especially people we love, but those aren't the words I mean. Those words are obvious, and even when less obvious still painful in a way that applying Ben-Gay on an open sore burns.
I'm talking about words that we are phobic of without having any idea why, because they don't sting or burn in their content but they leave an odd aftertaste in their spoken wake.
I was on the phone with a gentleman friend. He concurred. Apparently I am not alone. Words can make you uncomfortable, less for their meaning and more for the way they roll off people's tongues.
Of course, it's no suprise that words hurt people. Especially people we love, but those aren't the words I mean. Those words are obvious, and even when less obvious still painful in a way that applying Ben-Gay on an open sore burns.
I'm talking about words that we are phobic of without having any idea why, because they don't sting or burn in their content but they leave an odd aftertaste in their spoken wake.
Happy Birthday Bells!
My good friend from high school beats me to 25 today. We're a quarter of a century, baby! Can you believe it?
Ells Bells...the times we've shared these last 10 years. Yes, lady...it's been 10 years since that New Year's Eve we wandered protected, suburban streets skipping First Night for some booze out of unmarked containers on your freezing deck. I still know where you keep the hidden key.
Or that day in June when the rain was pouring and we ditched Jordan and Touby because we wanted to drink Scotch as we walked from SHS to the old townhouse. Ah, New England Ave...I always thought that street inspired you to go to college in VT--New England. You English, sigh. Always doing the travel thing...your stint in India touched me--it was commendable--it changed you. Your ancestors shaped mine and then my people changed you...you came back humble.
I am so proud of the work you've done in DC. Taking on disaster relief can't be easy, but you skipped camping to do the right thing. I respect that--that's why I didn't give you a hard time. It wasn't just about getting ahead in your chosen career, it was about helping people. Doing the right thing. You are good with altruism. Me, not so much. But I always felt the better for it because you were and so as your friend, I was a little too.
Happy Birthday, old girl. Hope this one is filled with flapjacks, lemon bars and layer cake. Wash it down with something less toxic than Scotch. How I wish I could share this with you...well, I guess I am, in my way...aren't I?
Ells Bells...the times we've shared these last 10 years. Yes, lady...it's been 10 years since that New Year's Eve we wandered protected, suburban streets skipping First Night for some booze out of unmarked containers on your freezing deck. I still know where you keep the hidden key.
Or that day in June when the rain was pouring and we ditched Jordan and Touby because we wanted to drink Scotch as we walked from SHS to the old townhouse. Ah, New England Ave...I always thought that street inspired you to go to college in VT--New England. You English, sigh. Always doing the travel thing...your stint in India touched me--it was commendable--it changed you. Your ancestors shaped mine and then my people changed you...you came back humble.
I am so proud of the work you've done in DC. Taking on disaster relief can't be easy, but you skipped camping to do the right thing. I respect that--that's why I didn't give you a hard time. It wasn't just about getting ahead in your chosen career, it was about helping people. Doing the right thing. You are good with altruism. Me, not so much. But I always felt the better for it because you were and so as your friend, I was a little too.
Happy Birthday, old girl. Hope this one is filled with flapjacks, lemon bars and layer cake. Wash it down with something less toxic than Scotch. How I wish I could share this with you...well, I guess I am, in my way...aren't I?
Unemployment Line
It's so easy now...with the Internet. All you have to do to collect unemployment is fill out a form online. The most elusive thing required is your previous employer's FEIN (federal employer identification number), which usually shows up on the W-2 they had you fill out. But who keeps that paperwork around or anywhere accessible.
So I phoned my agency, since I was an outsourced employee, ascertained the number and clicked the submit button. Now I wait a week, re-sign on and get myself processed in the system.
No lines, no real waiting...that's service.
Can't help but feel a bit depressed. After all, it's depression era behavior. Unemployment.
I quit, I shouldn't feel this lousy. But soceity places a high premium on job and the status therein. I'm no different for all my sweetness and viciousness. I just want to pay my bills and work as little as possible to do it.
So I phoned my agency, since I was an outsourced employee, ascertained the number and clicked the submit button. Now I wait a week, re-sign on and get myself processed in the system.
No lines, no real waiting...that's service.
Can't help but feel a bit depressed. After all, it's depression era behavior. Unemployment.
I quit, I shouldn't feel this lousy. But soceity places a high premium on job and the status therein. I'm no different for all my sweetness and viciousness. I just want to pay my bills and work as little as possible to do it.
Quit on Life
The season is ripe for reinvention.
I'm not thrilled with where my life has gone this week. I quit my job. I just stopped going after I turned in my resignation letter on October 7. It's a pattern with me. Once I've mentally checked out, I can't physically check in.
It's my tragic flaw--at least it would be if I was a Shakespearean hero...did, the heroines have the same problem? Come to think of it, Shakespearean heroines were all secondary characters, supporting roles to hold up the hero--no matter how weak the protagonist.
Sometimes, I feel like that weak protagonist in the play of my life. But if I'm the playwright, why can't I just rewrite it? Better yet, add a plot line to improve matters?
I'll tell you why...I can't add or take away characters at will. That pesky free will--it dominates and I'm subjugated by it. I bow down to free will...yours, hers, his, and everyone else's...all I can control is my own...tell me, what do I do with free will now?
I'm not thrilled with where my life has gone this week. I quit my job. I just stopped going after I turned in my resignation letter on October 7. It's a pattern with me. Once I've mentally checked out, I can't physically check in.
It's my tragic flaw--at least it would be if I was a Shakespearean hero...did, the heroines have the same problem? Come to think of it, Shakespearean heroines were all secondary characters, supporting roles to hold up the hero--no matter how weak the protagonist.
Sometimes, I feel like that weak protagonist in the play of my life. But if I'm the playwright, why can't I just rewrite it? Better yet, add a plot line to improve matters?
I'll tell you why...I can't add or take away characters at will. That pesky free will--it dominates and I'm subjugated by it. I bow down to free will...yours, hers, his, and everyone else's...all I can control is my own...tell me, what do I do with free will now?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
