Friday, December 29, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
“Why can’t you just give them the cash? They’ve worked all their lives and are always giving people money. Wouldn’t it be nice if someone actually gave them money?! Plus, gift certificates are for drug addicts!”
Polite laugh. Waiting for punchline/proof of theory.
“You see, parents think their kids are going to buy drugs so they don’t want to give them cash!”
Okay ma, just because that’s what you (I) did, doesn't mean grandma and grandpa...
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Dave called me as I was walking into my house after some good Cuban and a charming bartender with a heavy hand.
He told me he was on his way to some charity event. "I think it's for breast cancer."
"Breast cancer, huh? Because you walk in central park every summer, right? Because you're such a proponent of charity events? Are you going to be tying little pink bows this weekend? How much are you donating?"
"It's a holiday party and I'm going with my friend, Nick."
"Nick, huh? You mean Nick who owns a boat and a Mercedes because he needs a gimmick to get laid? That Nick?"
This is to say that I get a little bit jealous when I drink too much.
"What are you talking about? He was just asking me about you and why you won't move here. He says that if you loved me you would have already."
"As if Nick would know anything about a relationship."
"Babe, you're really pissing me off right now."
"Okay, you're right. How was your day?"
"I miss you baby. Have fun tonight."
Seriously, I really have nothing else to report. Well I do, but there are spies on the site now. Life has been a bitch in the office lately and I would love to rant about it, but I can't. Not yet anyway.
Update: Turns out Dave was wrong an it was for children's cancer.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
$625 for a 1200 word travel piece. Not too shabby.
Here were the editor's remarks:
"The beginning seems insecure."
The beginning consisted of me describing the way by which I chose to travel to the location at hand: "Twirling around whilst blindfolded and then pointing at a map. It wasn't an informed decision."
What? Are you telling me there are better techniques? Like, maybe, wanting to "experience the culture found in India," or "I've always liked French food and movies, so I thought I'd go dwell in the romance of it all." Puke. I liked my creative beginning.
So, that's Lesson One: Don't, by any means, be creative. Flaccidity is key.
"You shouldn't mention that you stayed in a hostel."
Well, I did stay in an overpriced hotel one of my nights there and it was only one notch nicer than the hostel, which was a tenth of the price. So, shove it.
That brings me to Lesson Two: Writers are generally poor. They don't have lavish experiences that will jive with those of their readers. So, they should lie. Being serious here, folks. Lie.
"I don't like the part where you talk about taping pictures together."
Here I was describing a super tall building that we couldn't capture in just one picture. Therefore, we had to take two pictures and tape them together when we got home. No biggie, right?
Lesson Three: Assume that the people reading your article will never actually go to the place you describe and experience the same things you did. People read travel articles because they're interesting.*
"Don't mention how rude the people were."
They were bastards. Deal with it.
Lesson Four: If you have any inclination that the magazine cares about its readers, you're wrong. In lieu of honesty, provide fluff. Again, when in doubt, lie.
*Travel articles suck. Nobody reads them.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
The point of this ultimately pointless blurb is thus:
Specialist number three, as he was diddling with my profile, was shamelessly singing the Kit Kat theme song.
"Give me a break, Give me a break..."
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Sunday, December 10, 2006
My dad called me yesterday to tell me he was "counting the lemmings."
"Huh?" I asked.
"Lemmings. You know what lemmings are, right?"
"Some kind of animal?" I guessed.
"Yes, well I think it's a fictional animal but there's an old saying about all the lemmings jumping off of a cliff together. Basically, a lemming is someone or something that does what everyone else is doing."
[I looked up lemmings and they are real, not mythical, animals].
"Okay, so what's the game?"
"I'm at the Watertower Mall in Chicago and I'm counting all of the people wearing Burberry. There's number sixteen. Oh there's number seventeen."
"That's so funny! When I lived in Chicago, I remember noting how many people wore that crap. I always thought that whoever designed the ugly Burberry design was actually some ruthless jerk like me who wanted to see just how ugly of a design he/she could produce, and then additionally convince people that it's not only not heinous, but it's actually appealing. Same phenomenons as the capri pants craze and the rainbow-colored Louis Vuitton bags' popularity, come to think of it. They're all very effective dumbshit filters, Burberry, capri pants and Louis Vuitton bags are. You pretty much know that whoever is wearing this stuff is reliant on their accessories for a personality and not at all worth talking to."
"Exactly, eighteen and nineteen. I'll text you with the final number."
Here I called Dave and told him what my dad was doing. A few minutes later, Dave called back and said he saw a couple wearing matching Burberry scarves. I texted my dad the news and it turns out that Dad saw the lemming couple too. The total lemming count over a three hour period was 41. Having seen Chicagoans' inherent love for this crap, I'm not surprised at all.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
"Wait, does puta mean bitch or whore? It's been a while." I asked.
"Well, you're not a bitch, so..." [You heard it here first, folks. I'm all nice and stuff in real life]
"Yeah, but I'm not a whore either though. Relationship and all that."
"But you act like one."
"How so?" I asked as I remembered the girls are hanging out today. But, not without due reason - It's our holiday party tonight and we're supposed to dress up nice. My version of dressing up is bringing the girls out for a night on the town. Either way, turns out that the girls aren't the the reason.
"You know that picture I saw?"
"Oh, yeah. That."
That = Dave and I took some naughty pictures a while back. When he sent me the little online photo album thing, I didn't realized he had mixed the naughty and nice pictures together. So, as I was innocently looking at pictures of us in the sunset, I clicked onto one that he had taken one night while he was standing above me, so to speak. The girl who sits behind me shrieked immediately. I mean, don't get me wrong, I logged out with the quickness, but evidently she'd been enjoying the pics along with me. She's since spread the word and there you have it...
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Me: is he okay??
Dave: he's fine now
Me: what happened?
Dave: he almost drowned when they went on their cruise. he swallowed some water
Dave: and wasn't feeling well when they got back
Me: oh my gosh
Dave: my mom didn't tell me anything until yesterday
Me: poor little guy
Me: i need to bring him an intertube when we go to FL
Dave: good idea
Me: well, a charming one at the very least
Dave: i'm going to get him some inflatable arm tubes
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Today marks one year for Dave and I. Woohoo!
We were actually supposed to celebrate last night over a nice dinner in Brazil and then leave today, but we decided to leave on Friday night even though it would mean being apart on our anniversary. We both have major anxiety issues and the thought of getting back on Monday and going straight to work without rest, started getting to us. In fact, I have no fingernails left due to fretting. (Truth be told, I always bite my nails, but I held a special session the other night over dinner). When we hopped on the plane on Friday night, Dave took out two anxiety pills that he had packed with him. "Shall we darling?" We shall.
But back to our one year anniversary. A lot can happen in a year and a lot did (I won't waste your time by listing it in chronological order or anything though). Dave and I actually got together four days after I moved to New York City and, in ironic news, my decision to move here was in competition with the option to move to Chicago. I obviously opted for NYC, but I'm sure things would have been otherwise had I connected with Dave a few months earlier.
I didn't have a job when I moved here so I applied at a few places in Chicago. I'm psyched that I didn't get a job offer from Chicago though. Things wouldn't have gone as smoothly. I spent the first few months of our relationship freaking out about the fact that I had fallen so hard. I'm happy that Dave wasn't around on a daily basis to witness this. It just wouldn't have worked out, even despite his patience.
Anyway, I can see that this post is getting cheesy. Trust me, I don't buy too much into the "we were meant for each other" campaign, so I'm not going there. I'm just happy as hell that I have someone who I can pal around with and who has the same sense of humor as me. Oh, oh, oh. That reminds me of how I originally fell for him. The exact moment, in fact. We were out to dinner at Asia de Cuba on a Sunday night. We were talking about the night before. We'd gone out and then he came home with me and spent the night. We didn't do much, just passed out. The reason he stayed in the first place is because there was a ton of traffic on the way into the city from that airport. He had called me and told me this, then asked if he could just bring his stuff to my place rather than stopping at his hotel. When I hung up, I told my roommate (the diablo) that Dave was trying to pull the old "Can I keep my stuff at your place?" trick. We both nodded and agreeded that it was indeed so. Upon accusing Dave, the night after, of utilizing this ancient tactic, he replied, "Oh yeah, I just wanted an in so I could stay at your house and dry hump your leg all night." It was so embarrassing only because it was true. I wasn't sold on the guy until that moment, in which he took our pitiful night and threw it in my face. Kinda made me blush.
So yeah, there are a million things I can say here, but I'm not going to. I'm tired, I'm anxious, I'm pretty sure I'm going to walk into work tomorrow and get yelled at for something or other. Plus, I don't want to jinx a good thing.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
``Where is GUnit? No blog in over a week, everything okay? Are you on somefancy deserted island w/D and can't get online? I bet that feels nice...ifso:). Anyway, just droppin a sista a line. So here it is______________________________. ``
I´m drunk somewhere in Brazil along with everyone else I know.
I thought I was all cool and exotic until I realized that a bunch of people were down in various parts of South America this week. Some chick from my office is in Argentina, Not Chosen is somewhere down here, my parents are cruising around, some blonde guys from the states were on the bus with us, probably a bunch of other people...
There are quite a few problems with Brazil. For one (and this is a big problem), Smirnoff is the national vodka. Or, as Dave would say, ``Brazil needs a serious vodka face lift.`` He would know being Russian and all. The alternative is sometimes Absolut, which isn´t much of an improvement.
Another problem is that the girls here are seriously over-rated. Brazil must have a great marketing program. I´ll have to expand upon that later though because I´m drunk. Do I think that I´m cool because I´m drunk? Maybe just a bit. The alternative is being sober at work and, well, yes, I think I´m damn cool. So, there.
We´ve heard a lot of propaganda about Brazil being one of the next economic hotspots. I don´t buy it. This is my second time here and I don´t think these people are capable (or intrigued by the idea either).
I´m sunburned and the guy at the computer next to me is picking his nose. A lot more to report when I get back.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Dave: Hi babe, where have you been?
Me: I missed your call. I was on the train. Where are you?
Dave: I'm at Dave's birthday party.
Me: How does it feel to share a name with someone?* Are you having fun?
Dave: No. You're not here.
Me: Good answer. What are you guys doing?
Dave: Drinking beer and watching TV.
Me: You're getting old.
Dave: Yeah, I think that's what it is. I'm always tired too.
Me: Good - you're only allowed to have fun when I'm around.
Dave: What are you doing?
Me: Reading a book.
*I don't share a name with many people. There's an Icelandic writer with my name; an 85 year old lady who works at a movie theater in Del Mar, CA and some Australian lady who's on some show I hadn't heard of until stumbling upon its title during one of my routine self-googling sessions.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
- It weighs 600 pounds
- It's width/height are equivalent to a yellow/white pages combo, although its storage space pales in comparison
- Norton Antivirus: Go Away!
- The newest, "hi-tech" accompanying software is a MS Office 2000 c.d.
- "And here's this little card you put in the side if you want to go wireless"
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
It was 7:00, which means it was primetime and treadmill use is limited to a half hour. This is a great time for me to go because even if I "want" to do 40 minutes, it's illegal. This brings me to my point.
Whenever I'm waiting in line at this time, I always notice these tricky bastards who put their towels over the timer, so you can't call them out on going over their 30-minute limit. I spied two out and gave them an evil glare, just knowing they were probably approaching an hour under those towels. I don't have it in me to go up and pull up their towels, but wouldn't it be funny? I think so. At this point, someone got off the treadmill and I hopped on--ultimately forgetting about these evil, good for nothin' time-rapists.
A few minutes later, I notice some guy going around pulling up people's towels and checking their times. Could it be? It was.
While my immediate reaction was that he was a dickhead, my second and correct reaction was that he had the biggest balls in the place. He smacked them in some guy's face and got his treadmill. There's something to be said about big balls. Oh yeah, and being proactive and all that too.
Friday, November 03, 2006
How is it?
Well, I'm posting on a Friday night.
I say this as if it were different when I was living in Manhattan. I'm a homebody and staying in on a Friday night is pretty much my M.O. (even though my friend just invited me to the KFed cd release party - I wish I wasn't such a loser, I'd go just to observe). But back to me being lazy: Especially lately. I've been way too busy at work. So busy in fact that I haven't even officially realized that I moved yet. I just kinda sleep at a new place now and save $700 month. "Sleep" is the operative word here. I don't think I had one single night of good sleep in Manhattan thanks to firetrucks, drunks on the street yelling crap they inevitably regret the next day and random weekend morning parades.
The tradeoff is that Queens is really ugly. It's stuck in the eighties, identity crisis style. But, just like cruising around with an ugly friend will often do, having this place as my background makes me look a whole hell of a lot sexier. This is a fact not to be overlooked.
My new place is actually pretty cool. I now live with the Skeeze and a Brazilian girl. She doesn't speak English so we just sit around and stare at eachother. Well, that's not exactly true either. She speaks Portuguese, which I oddly understand a bit of. I respond in my broken Spanish and then we both stare at the Skeeze who translates what we didn't get. In other words, I ignore her at all costs. Small talk is not my specialty. Especially small talk in Portuguese.
The commute's about 10 minutes longer and the train usually skips my stop just for the hell of it. I hear there are great restaurants here and I'm excited to explore. My grandma and grandpa used to live in Queens and met at Queens college. I really dig them so it's kind of cool that I get to have this "experience."
Besides that, whatever. It's 10:30 and way past my bed time.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
You see, to me this ! means that a family member died and/or you actually have something of an urgent nature to tell me. On that note, the fact that you're leaving the office early today [you're a slacker] or your office has a new address does not qualify as urgent, and definitely does not necessitate a !
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm coming back in town for a meeting tomorrow morning."
This was good and bad news. Good, because I miss him a lot when he's gone and I wasn't supposed to see him again until Thanksgiving. Bad, because I had to take a shower and look nice. When I walked into the office this morning, fresh as a daisy, the mailroom girl asked me what I was for Halloween. "Presentable," I replied. It was only funny because it's true. I'm all about comfort usually. Translation? I'm a slob.
Anyway, I promised to post the pictures of the dog Halloween costume contest. I figured I could take my time about it because, really, who wants to see this crap? It's pretty funny though (maybe even a little bit cute but don't tell anyone I said that). Enjoy:
Monday, October 30, 2006
-She has to make sure someone is watching the kids even when the deadbeat's home because, well, he's a deadbeat
-Her mom hates him
Me: "He's not dead yet?"
Saturday, October 28, 2006
I shit you not that 2 minutes into our conversation, Hef ceases speech, looks at me dramatically and tells me not to scrunch my forehead and that I need botox. Hello Mr. Kettle. Hello Mr. Pot.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Before agreeing to meet him, I gave him the typical disclaimers:
-It's very hard to write a book
-It's not fun
-Seeing as how you work a full time job, you're going to have to dedicate every spare minute to it.
-It's impossible to get published.
The only things he writes on a regular basis are law and/or real estate contracts. Still, I'm often surprised by what gets published and what doesn't. I'm still trying to figure out why/how Life of Pi became popular.
Anyway, in response to my warnings, the diablo said, "Well, I just need to write it for myself."
Oh, so you're writing a diary? This is what I thought, not what I said, unfortunately.
But when it came to meeting with him yesterday, I didn't. Knowing that I'm interested in writing/reading, he's trying to fit in a face to face bitch session about his ex under the guise of writing a book. Now, that is true diablo style. But in true me style, I said I was sick/prepping for Dave's arrival/just woke up at 12:00/have to workout/go shopping/get a Halloween outfit*/clean the house/make superhero capes for my friend's dogs...."Can we postpone?"
"Sure, no problem..."
That was close.
*I'm going to be Elvira. She's a sexy bitch.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
I do have to give him credit though. He's been turnin' on the creativity to spin a topic that hasn't been updated for over a month now.
Him: The Skeeze's jacket's over here. Does he want it?
Me: No, he says to give it to goodwill.
Him: Or I could send it to [redacted] to warm her ice cold heart.
Me: I'm buying tickets to Brazil right now.
Him: Bring me home a girlfriend when you come back.
Me: They're cute but they're super jealous.
Him: At least they tell the truth about things.
Him: I wrote her and asked her if she was with anyone else when we were dating. She didn't write back.
Me: Well, she did say she didn't want to talk for a month, right?
Him: I wrote her back and told her that I'll just assume I need to go to the clinic.
Him: How's your cousin doing lately?
Me: I haven't seen her, she's been working late.
Him: Probably going on double dates with [redacted] and her new boyfriend.
There was also some stuff about him having an epiphany: "I'm smart, I have a good job, I dress pretty well, and I'm not a cold-hearted, dishonest, pretentious..."
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
I meant to send you my "Morning After Going Drinking Apology Letter Template," but I already had two emails in to you so I refrained.
Basically, the Morning After Going Drinking Apology Letter Template features the following clauses:
-Sorry if I talked way too much about myself
-Sorry if this excessive talking about myself interfered with you wanting to talk about yourself (excessively)
-If I said anything negative about anyone/anything, it was the alcohol talking, not me. I'm an angel when I'm sober.
Anyway, that should cover all the bases. I totally missed a doctors appt this morning, not due to drinking, due moreover to the fact that I'm mildly retarded.
Monday, October 16, 2006
My weekend of doing nothing and loving it progressed in kind. When I was taking a shower, I started reading the instructions on the back of conditioner bottles as I oft do, and I realized that the application instructions were the same across the board: "Massage conditioner into hair and scalp. Rinse. Repeat as necessary." Holy shit, I thought. These companies are blatant plagiarizers! If they're all going to copy eachother anyway, I'm totally buying generic from now on.
Lastly, I spent a day at Rodale Publishing last week for one reason or another and, by golly, those people are nice! When I walked in, the doorman greeted a lady who was no less than 150 years old by calling her "young woman." She laughed in kind and then stood and held the elevator for me, knowing that I was walking not too far behind her. The others in the elevator greeted me as if we were long time friends and then told me to have a good day as they exited. I also got to take home the extra food after our meeting. For a cheap bastard like me, this is the ultimate perk. I've been munching on turkey sandwiches all weekend thanks to Rodale. Lastly, their bathrooms are great! Clean and big with actual seat protectors. Doesn't smell like filth and body odor, and is not plagued by rude girls from the neighboring office... Of course, that's because Rodale doesn't share a restroom with rude girls from a neighboring office. They have their own. I'm telling you, it's the simple things in life, man.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Another perk? The Skeeze's roommate (the one who is staying) is Brazilian and is the cousin of Paulo Coelho--you know, author of The Alchemist? I'm hoping he'll stop by every now and then to motivate me to live out my dreams like the shephard boy. I've also heard there are some good restaurants in Astoria. I like eating.
It might sound like I'm rationalizing. That's because I am. Astoria isn't exactly the dream.
Anyway, that's the update. I'm trying to convince Dave to move out here for a year before I move to Chicago, at which point I will move back to Manhattan. Only this time around, I'll be a little bit richer. I'm just not ready to move to Chicago. Bottom line. The thought of leaving this city is making me remember why I like it so much. Convenient how that always happens.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
"Thank you for your thoughts. I am starting to have some peace of mind. I realize that relationships take time, work and love and both people need to realize that for it to work. Too often people think that the pretty packaging (ease of life, social circle, your address, looks, bank account) can make up for what is actually in the box. I know that it boils down to sitting on the front porch when you are retired and appreciating the person for who they are and who you have become together.
Whether it is with me or someone else, I hope [redacted] realizes that too and she will not just be another girl with a country club membership, new purse every week with a husband that is taking home his secretary.
I also wanted to say I am sorry for all those times I was stand offish, or seemed resentful when we lived together. That was a rough time and I regret that I let that rub off on others."
Yeah, that's some deep shit.
Thanks for playin'...
*If you look over to the right, there's an entire "I Hate My Roommate" archive. Serious.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
"You know, Dave - the doctors didn't know whether Gigi was a boy or a girl. No one could tell. Don't tell her that though."
"She's so skinny that I've always thought she looked like a carrot." [This is not true, I'm not really skinny nor a carrot, per se]
"She used to dance around with her little baby gut sticking out."
"I nursed her for this long."
Dave, of course, loved every bit of this.
My dad called me on October 3rd to see what I wanted. I was immediately suspicious. I mean, how the hell did he know it was my birthday? This is not to say that we're not close, but we're a lot alike; very self-involved, busy, non-birthday oriented. To that end, I fulfilled my end of the bargain and told him what I wanted.
My sister called me today and made sense of the "dad actually remembering my birthday" situation for me.
"So, I was talking to dad the other night and I asked him what he was getting you for your birthday. He was like, 'oh shit!'" She explained.
"Ah ha! I knew something was up! I knew he didn't remember!"
Anyway, we went to Blue Ribbon tonight. It was good, but not as good as Dave led on. I should know never to trust him. He's got bad taste. If you don't believe me, you should check out his girlfriend.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Monday, October 02, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
I was looking for a rubberband for my hair. I told him that I instead found the handcuffs. He laughed. I got slightly disturbed.
This is not because I'm a prude, it's because we don't use these. They are old and used. Similar to finding an aged, crusty condom. You can't get mad about it because you have a past too, but for Christ's sakes, clean up after yourself.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The people that did show up: Tim Robbins, Susan Sarandon and Jesse McCartney.
The event was a charity one at some $8 million condo in SoHo (the equivalent in San Diego would be $2 million. Indiana? $500,000). My web designer from the magazine days does work for the company sponsoring the event. He got four tickets and invited me as a guest. I saw the invitation, which lacked shame: $250 for the cocktail reception (this included an open bar and appetizers BUT the appetizers consisted of chips & salsa and green mango with chili salt) or $1,000 for the "VIP dinner." We got the dinner. It was good, but it wasn't a $1,000 dinner. Since it was for charity, though, it didn't have to be.
Little girls and even a few sideway-capped boys somehow got upstairs to where the dinner was being held to straight out ogle at Jesse McCartney. That has to get old, but what can he do? They pay his bills. Smile and nod. Smile and nod.
I assume that the reason Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins showed up is because their sons were in a band ("The Tangents"), which played following dinner. Their show preceded the main event, which was an auction featuring black and white photographs of celebrities. Muhammad Ali's daughter showed up as her father was featured in two of the photos. I told her that her father actually held my sister when she was a baby. "Babies and pretty ladies - he loves them," she responded.
Susan Sarandon was wearing brown sweat pants and a flannel; hair up in a bun. I couldn't help but think that this is exactly the outfit I would wear to these events if I were a celebrity. I imagine you'd get sick of attending these things pretty quickly. I simply wore nice black pants and a snug black top; heels. Sweat pants though, that is class.
And, speaking of class, the night basically consisted of me repeating my favorite mantras, "I'm not that classy" and "I'm not fancy" as excuses for the facts that A) I devoured every last speck of my dinner (none of this leaving a bite on the plate for the sake of manners stuff); B) I didn't seem to mind when someone warned me about the toilet that wouldn't flush ("I'm going in!"); and C) we took the iPod out of its dock and switched up the music (a $1,000 dinner should have some good tunes playing, right?) Plus, it gave me some leeway. No one expected anything from me given the disclaimer. I could just down the drinks and act like a fool, which is pretty much my protocol at these things anyway.
The girl who was with us seemed to get tired of my mantras. Kind of in a, "Yeah, I get it, you're not classy" kind of way. I only think that this is because she was classy, though. Pity. Seems like I had a lot more fun than she did.
Monday, September 25, 2006
...on the way home from JFK in the wee hours of the night, that is.
Let me introduce last night's cast.
Bald lady who loved my turquoise sweat jacket.
While she was explaining that, "Since I'm a libra, I'm always looking for that balance between cute and comfortable," she nonchalantly put her finger in her nose, pulled it out, put it back in, etc...
The cheesy Wall Street guy who was trying to bond with the German exchange student.
Look dude, she speaks really good English. There's no need for the explanatory hand motions or speaking slowly/enunciating manically so that she'll understand. She gets it. By the way, constant references to her hotel room aren't going to earn you an invite. She's German, not stupid.
The Bum Who Needed a Bite to Eat.
He spoke with a lisp, looked like a diva and asked the girl sitting next to me for some food. She didn't have any, but after he passed me without questioning, I realized that I did. Two pears. By this point, he had already lied down to sleep, so I decided that I'd give him the pears on my way out. (I'm nice, but lazy. No need to get up and walk until I absolutely have to). A few minutes later, one of the train employees walked out to tell him he couldn't sleep there. The bum started yelling at him and talking trash about the employee's mom. I decided I would give my pears to someone else.
After I switched trains at Times Square, I sat down next to a couple of people who were way cooler than I'll ever be. Tight jeans, over the shoulder sachel, striped sweater. You know - that totally unique look you don't see anywhere? Umm, yeah.
The guy was my idea of the hipster prototype; the "King of Hipsters," perhaps. He'd been in the hipster game for a long time. Wannabee hipsters emulated him. Point in case? The girl sitting next to him. She was obviously a recent convert. They were having a very intelligent conversation, whereby she did most of the talking and justified her desire to partake in mere mortal activites by describing them in the abstract:
Her: So do you want to help me organize my belongings in an aesthtically pretentious manner this weekend?
Him: [Smirks slightly. See's where this is going.]
Her: And by that, I, of course, mean decorate my house. [Laughs at her own wit].
Him: Yeah, I got it. Sure, I'll help.
Her: I have exposed brick, which has a lot of potential.
Him: Yeah it does."
Here they both realize that they are becoming involved with worldly things that might please, God Forbid, a housewife. This is not okay. The conversation ceases at the brick's potential.
1:30 a.m. Finally at my stop, I realize that I still have to give the pears away. I decided to walk by the church where the homeless sleep. I hopped up on the stairs and handed the bag to the only guy that was awake.
"Are they soft?" He asks me. "I don't have any chompers."
"Yeah, they're soft," I said, realizing they weren't.
He thanked me and I told him to have a good night.
Contrary to what one would expect, I woke up this morning feeling really bad. The guy was so close yet so far from having food. He'd have to wait for those pears to basically rot before he could eat them. My good deeds tend to backfire. I hope he doesn't get jumped for those suckers.
Friday, September 22, 2006
"Yes, she's my sister."
"Gigi, the editor of numberII magazine?"
"Well, she was."
"That was the funniest magazine I've ever read."
Now, I'm not good about taking compliments (just kidding) but this lady must have really good taste.
It's kind of cool when you dedicate 14 hour days for 2 years to a project and you actually get a bit of recognition. Granted, I got a decent amount when I was doing it, but I was too tired to notice it. A year after the fact, though - I must have made a serious impression. My wit, my charm, my sense of humor, my intelligence...my humility.
As D would say, I am a Z list celebrity. This incident totally confirms the fact. Yayy me!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Twas not the case tonight. I ordered a Bloody Mary and The Skeeze, he ordered a pina colada (yes, he's reverting back to old bitch drinking habits). Evidently The Skeeze has a "I like drinking out of fruit carcasses" look to him, because the waitress didn't even bother asking. I made a point of pointing out to him on several occasions that, ha, you're drinking out of a deceased pineapple.
Not too long after receiving his pineapple, The Skeeze and I noticed surprised looks on the faces of the couple next to us. In front of them the waitress placed two pineapples. The Skeeze tapped the guy of the pair on the shoulder (in a NYC restaurant you can essentially reach every patron with just a bit of ambitious leaning). "Did you indicate that you wanted the pineapple?" Asked The Skeeze. He and his girlfriend said "no," with not a little conviction and a prolonged embarrassed giggle. The Skeeze pointed to his own pineapple and said, "Yeah, me neither." A bond was formed.
Anyway, that's pretty much the end of my story. I just thought it was odd getting an obligatory pineapple in NYC. On the beach somewhere exotic? Maybe. In Manhattan, though? Not so much. Well, unless you go here, but I wouldn't suggest that.