July 2003 Archives

This weekend's going to be nuts. I've decided already. I want to check out Donnie and Jody Watley on Saturday and Boricua Fest Sunday at Prospect Park yet I also want to check the goings on at Summerstage Saturday too. We'll see how that goes.

My song of the week is "Warrior Song" by Nas. With that said, I'm hip-hopped out right now. I stopped listening to the radio, but I've been spinning "God's Son" and a few other CDs I got at Discorama last week. I've hit the point where I'm just tired of listening to rap for the moment. This summer I've seen Blackalicious, Jeru the Damaja, Jean Grae, MOP and everyone else at Rock Steady plus this kid I went to HS with that I seem to run into when he performs whether at Wes or here. I'm starving for something different. I want a rock show or something. Anything to tide me over until the Prefuse show coming up in October/November/whatever. And not Fannypack. I just got that damned "Cameltoe" crap out of my head. Shit song.

This week has been a lot less hectic, but I've been just too lazy to go online. Sue me. Don't forget that Tuesday night the only place worth being is Plaid for this. Don't make me tell you again. : )

Yeah...no time still. I'm so worn out that I actually spent a night in last night. I'd been running around every day since Wednesday and I was dead to the world. Then having to get up early (well, attempt to) to run around for the show hasn't helped matters. The weekend was jammed packed of me being social and hanging out with the kids as well as being a promoting fool. I ran into a kid I went to HS with outside the Rock Steady Crew 26th Anniversary show (in a word: wack!). For a change, someone who recognized me first. It's funny how some years can totally change your perspective on a person. He graduated in '97 and I remember him as this giant of a person who was just passingly amused by us rugrats yet he was the one that was all "Hunter" when he saw me and was all gung-ho about going to the show. Naj said afterwards that maybe he had like me back then. That would be funny especially since I was in my hardcore "a boy except for the equipment" phase then. Ah well.

I'm beginning to think I'm never going to get the chance to tell the story from the other week. (What does a girl have to do to get two seconds to herself? Go back to Middletown?) So, I'm gonna just let you know that there's an event going on next week at Plaid: a fashion show/store/dance party combo. I volunteered last year for it and it was pretty cool. Click here for more info. I'll be there, possibly non-balancing on stilettos, definitely running around like a crazy girl, indulging in the open bar and getting my dance on just a bit. Be there or miss out on the stories.

Busy, busy, busy. That's been my week.

As a guideline for things to really write about when I get some damn time:

1. Manhattan is the smallest island in the history of the world. If you hope/think about running into someone enough, there they'll be.

2. I won a free membership at Crunch. Though free is questionable since it's all a big ploy to get me to sign up for a real membership. They're seducing me with their wily ways. Masala Bhangra, Capoiera, Cardio Tai Funk, Cardio Striptease...they're playing some hard ball. I love that shit. We'll see if my checkbook wants to love them.

3. I've been a social animal since I've been back. I've been to all the bold faced Page Six clubs in the last couple of days and all I have to say is...boring! That's the one thing I hate about NYC: the people that get off on standing around in clubs, that are frankly not popping, in some hideous clothes that have designers laughing all the way to the bank because they have you looking like a clown, so happy that they've got some bottle service. Suckers are born every minute. I wonder if I can make some money selling some real estate. There's this nice bridge with beautiful unobstructed lower Manhattan views, real close to the Seaport...

I've been attempting to help promote in my capacity as helper for the story I will tell (just not now, pressed for time like a mofo) and it's so nerve-wracking. I do not do spontaneous meet and greet with strangers. I have to work myself up to it. But, I think there's something to be said for my style. I am indeed smooth and I can talk to people one on one really well.

4. I'm starting to feel like a fish with all the beverages that have been passing through me (alcoholic, natch). I ventured to the greatest place for happy hour yesterday. Cheap, cheap, cheap! Just the way I like it. They were giving away free beer too, not that I have any interest in the piss. I also got an email to this open bar event Wednesday. I felt all cool knowing the secret password and all that.

This weekend's going to be bananas. A Wes friend is in the middle of her week-long going away party. We went to Company, we smoked some hookah, tonight's the big dinner, and we'll be hitting up just about everywhere tonight and tomorrow. I'm also off to the Rock Steady anniversary event tomorrow afternoon, though I'm kinda bummed because I had planned to go to the Africa Fest at Celebrate Brooklyn. Ah well. Imagine me hungover and super brown and you'll feel as if you're right with me as I get drunk and baked into a crispy stupor.

As a parting note, an example of the things that I say while drunk: "Absolutely, I give a great blow job. I know how to say it in Portuguese, so I better!"

I am done. Finished. I have conquered the yearbook! And I didn't have a nervous breakdown! Woo hoo!

So, I didn't sleep at all last night and I'm considering not even trying because I want to be on the bus out of this place at 10:40. I'm going to be super zombie today in New York but who gives a fuck because I don't have to leave there again!

I actually like the book again. The beginning section's kinda touch and go because that's before I got the hang of PageMaker and when the Devil Mac was only beginning to show what it was capable of. But, the rest of it -- especially the senior section and my personal spin on Wes arts, politics and events -- I have to say is pretty awesome. A totally original design. I was really on when I came up with that.

I'm considering making one more trip back (yeah, I know...that blows. But, there's something to be said for coming here without the deadline stress on my mind) to clean up my office and finally send those pictures back to people. What I really want to just go around the room with a big trash bag and throw all this shit out. Goodbye graduating seniors list! Sayonara clubs! Ciao layout and proof guides! If I wasn't so exhausted and still having to print and package up all this shit for the mailman, I'd do it now.

This is pretty sweet though. If I wasn't going to feel like shit later on and didn't have my job interview bright early tomorrow morning, I'd go out tonight and booze it up and dance the likes of which NYC has never seen. I need to celebrate this shit. I don't think anyone could possibly comprehend what a fucking massive life-eating project this book has been. Especially since I've done about 90% of the work all alone when I could've been studying, working or just unwinding because as the most high strung person I (and I'm sure my friends also) know, when I don't get my destress time, I'm the biggest craziest bitch of the East no doubt. I won't go as far and say that the book ruined my spring semester, but pretty fucking close. But who cares? I made it through and only had to talk to the school shrink about it once -- but that doesn't even count since most of that time was spent talking about what a dick my housemate was. And I didn't even have a panic attack, so I'm ahead of my directorial episode sophomore year. *shudder* Now that was an episode. So, it's all good. My summer starts today. I'm so excited!

I got a Friendster message from this guy who's like a supernode. He's got over 5,000 friends today and according to his testimonials, he doubles like every day. Craziness. Hmmm...to join in with him or not? Nothing wrong with perusing through more folks in my gallery I suppose, but truthfully, I'm feeling Friendster'd out. I definitely lost my mind over it sometime over the weekend. But how happy am I to be friends with Disco? Disco tells me about cool parties...

Sometimes I just amuse myself. Every once in a while, I regress to ninth grade. I find it endearing. Though I talk a good game, I definitely have the tendency to be awkward around the male sort. That was formed mostly because when kids that went somewhere besides my high school were branching off into dating or at least had friends that were, my rag tag bunch of friends and I were stuck in the "dirty minded but clean behavior" category. In ninth grade, we would always cry "nasty double meaning!" but we'd be more willing to kiss the floor than another person.

So, while stuck up here and perusing the summer directory, I came across the name of one of my end of the year friends. He and I had worked together the whole year but became really close as he finished up his thesis and came back on the social scene with a vengeance and I was out and about because that's what I do instead something useful like what I'm supposed to. I found him super amusing and he fit the mold of my guy friend. I tend to befriend the boys who have sex appeal in spades and are always out pleasing their female fans. I, being that cool dude in a girl's body, tend to get the salacious details and some insight into the inner workings of boys -- along with bad influences plus tips/tricks/habits that get tested out on unsuspecting males, but that's another story. There's a line between confidante and potential that I'm always careful to observe. That pesky curiosity buoyed temptation will fuck stuff up if given the chance, but I'm good about following my self imposed rules.

Until now maybe. I'm tempted. We haven't seen each other yet, but who knows? Life is indeed a lot easier when school isn't in session (though the conversion of Wes into a pseudosummer camp is kind of frightening. Too many little kids running around here) because the grapevine matters a whole lot less. Naturally of course, nothing's probably going to happen. I tend to be upright and noble in the most inopportune moments.

ETA: When I'm right, I'm right. I know myself and I kept it platonic as fuck. I think at times I actually made myself shift so I wouldn't be so close on purpose and had closed body language all over the place. A rule is a rule. *sigh*

Blah at the last post. No sleep + frustration = cranky Candicissima.

I'm experimenting with this strange and new concept: work first, procrastinate later. I'll let you know how it goes. I figure I started off the day with ATWT, so the least I can do is actually do some work in a nice timely manner.

In other news, the last proof came this morning. Somebody up there loves me today.

I can't believe I've been up here 5 days. I don't think I've really accomplished much until now besides taking the proofs out of the envelope, glancing at them, throwing them on the desk, forgetting about them while I surfed the net, looking at them and marking them up for 5 minutes, then putting them back on the desk, downloading mp3s and going to the mall. My only consolation is that I haven't spent a lot of money for a change.

I've also decided I hate the book...or rather, all the proof corrections I've done before. It sucks. Shit's not lined up, it looks bad, I'm just annoyed. Am I going to stop the printing process to do it over? No. Especially since the publishers can't get their shit together long enough to not lose my shit. I think a good 45% of the stuff I've sent has been either lost in their possession or corrupted by this devil Mac. I've gotten a headache by trying to do a whole bunch of shit, so I can go home later today. And I don't think that's happening. *sigh*

To add joy onto my shit mood, I think there's one proof they forgot to send. You know what that means? No? Well, let me tell you: one more trip back here. Fuck. In retrospect, what the hell was I thinking when I signed up for this? Oh yeah, I remember: I need a project to distract me from putting my attentions away towards Hawaii and I like publishing type stuff, so how bad can it be? Famous last words. I'm a notoriously bad judge of workloads and I don't handle stress well, so I definitely should've known better.

Ah well. Too late to complain about it now. I can cap off my horrendous demoralizing year with a book that didn't kill me no matter how rough patches were. This project parallels my Wes experience of soul-crushing despair, exhilarating successes, mind-numbing banality and precious jewels strewn among the waste. At the end, it'll just be done and I earned it -- though my effort throughout varied and it shows. As I did various times for the past four years, this is an occasion to suck it up and deal because the sooner I stop fucking around, the sooner I can walk away. Perhaps after a nap though.

Okay...it's time to step away from Friendster. I blasted over the 375K mark sometime today because I've become addicted to adding fake people. Gothamist got the ball rolling when I hooked up with them Friday and now I've got Jack Daniels, Usher, Technics and Justin Timberlake. Waiting for confirmation from Jose Cuervo, Absolut, Lil Kim, Beyonce, Disco, Vinyl and Tupac. And I'm trying to figure out a way to get connected to the president of Wes. I am an alumna after all. *whimper* Save me...

Who'd have thought that time in Middletown would be kicking up all the shit I thought I had buried somewhere behind me? I'm beginning to think there's something about this town which spells drama. The part that's annoying is that it isn't even mine, but trying to be helpful has opened some sort of emotional floodgates. Fantastic.

I am a good listener. It's a skill I honed because I yammer and I feel bad for talking someone's ear off and not giving them the chance to return the favor. I also observe because a writer always pays attention to details. Somehow I got mixed up in interpersonal shit because people like to talk and talk and talk and I blend into the woodwork watching the shit they do. One situation in general really bugs me because I hate seeing people walk into traps. Really liking someone can make you so damned clueless. It's kinda painful to see the side of the girl who is building it up to be some great love affair and the guy who would really fuck anything that moves and has no shame about being a dog. Sigh. It reminds me of how stupid I was -- and probably will be again because I'm not so untouchably evolved or anything. That point where you compromise yourself and ignore all those voices inside screaming at you to open your ears. I remember too well the fear of thinking that it's better to be with someone good or bad and feeling something than alone and miserably thinking of what you'd do if you if only someone would be with you. I don't know what it even means that I'm friends with a person that would have no regard for someone's feelings. There's no excuse to be cruel.

Karma's a real bitch. Lately because of a chance viewing on Nerve, I've been thinking about the mess I made of a lot of things last fall. I came back to school really happy, with my attentions towards this kid J overseas. The way we existed was kind of ambiguous but there's something to be said for having care or faith in someone no matter how far they are. A chance arrangement in Middletown blindsided the hell out of me and I became conflicted (and the writer of some bad poetry, but that's neither here nor there). I ended up starting the trend of bowing to agressively applied pressure no matter what I felt. I'm no innocent and I have to admit I was exhilarated by the rush of someone like the Ex who was forceful and wanted the whole world -- or specifically, J halfway around the world -- to know we were together. I botched my relationship with J who I really liked for that heady rollercoaster that I grinded to a stop three months later, worn out and sick of feeling like being with the Ex meant that I had to spend all of my time on emotional overload. And still hurt me (though I was glad it was over) that while I was thousands of miles away driving myself insane, someone put the moves on the Ex as he did me. But nothing was as fucked up to me as knowing that I broke J's heart over a guy not half the person he was. I wonder about J sometimes. I wonder if he still hates me. I wonder if he's happy. I don't believe in going backwards, i.e. trying to pick up old relationships, but I feel like he deserves some sort of an apology from me.

Sometimes I hate being young. You have to make mistakes in order to become stronger and build character and all that shit, but in retrospect, I feel like I've spent so much time working through the stress that I've missed out on things. Despite being in Middletown and not having a job yet and a laundry's list worth of present complaints, I feel happy. But, there's a sad aftertaste because I've spent 10 months -- or more if we wanna go through some more history -- being as miserable as I could be because of fuckups that keeping my wits about me would've made nonexistant. I've finally gotten to a place where I feel like I've shed all the dead weight that kept me down. School, failures, issues, relationships. It's all over. If I could just leave this town, the visual cues can go the way of the memories -- harmlessly behind me.

I want to go to Siren Fest! Everyone else is going! Wah! Ah well. I'll amuse myself by going to Six Flags New England instead.

I'm a bit of a trip at big amusement parks. I'm deathly afraid of rollercoasters and heights. The last time I went on a coaster was last year at the Magic Kingdom. I was there for Spring Break with my secretly evil French roommate and her compatriots before we headed to Miami where they turned on and then abandoned me. *sniff* Anyhoo, if you've never been on a Magic Kingdom ride, they're inherently made for little children. So, this roller coaster would do its drops and fast turns and such, then lull you with nice soft cartoon music before doing it again. Overall, totally schizo and not that scary, but my dislike of those rides are so great that it didn't prevent me from bawling like a punk anyways. The 8-year old in front of us thought that I was so uncool. But that didn't embarass me, I was more concerned about accidently mooning everyone once I got out the car. Oops. That's why I tend to avoid low rider pants. They can't handle all that jelly, yo.

Because of that, I spend a lot of time at parks waiting for everyone to get off a rollercoaster. Or riding the bumper cars to death. See, that's why I wish I was going to Coney Island. I've been riding their bumper cars forever. I've got to make the trip later in the summer definitely. The only other rides I like are those swing things, the Scrambler, the Enterprise, the Haunted House and water rides. I'm sure I'll find some way to amuse myself though.

Curse that Gothamist for showing me this site. One day I will be the girl that owns Kitty Power, Crooklyn Girl, Native New Yorker and Candicissima t-shirts. Watch...

I got a shout out on Gawker! Don't I feel special? They also had an interesting (if probably outdated) link there of the ethnic composition of the city.

Naturally, there's no way to find out if I actually get more readers because of it. I sure hope not. My blog doesn't normally look like a crayon box exploded in cyberspace, I swear. But I do talk about stupid encounters with boys and generally slackeresque episodes a lot. It's what happens. It's a gift and a curse. But unlike Jay-Z, my words are always original.

Too bad about that post being what caught their attention. I took a glance at it today. Definitely too rushed, grammatically incorrect all over the place. The English major in me was ashamed...not really. I have better things to do that obsess over shit like that (though I fixed it now). You know, like surf Nerve and Friendster.

All you Friendster holdouts need to suck it up and join. You know you wanna. Today's count is 193,348 with 16 friends, of whom eleven I know besides the net, three who I hope to know in real life one of these weeks (Cyber shout out to Jenny for linking me up and doing the rock scene up so massively), the party promoter for the Sapphire nights I haunt and Gawker. I've the got the most ridiculously long bookmark list, but I'm still being inexplicably chickenshit about contacting folks. I'm trying to ease into it by messaging girls I think are cool a la what the girl did to me last week. I sent a message to my bizarro at Sapphire. This chick rocks a white Kangol to my black one, wears dresses to my pants and we seem to have an inverse social diva and wallflower relationship -- except for the fact we don't know each other. She's a promoter too I found out via her profile. She hasn't written me back, but I'm not taking it personally. She probably had no idea of what I was talking about. Perhaps the light bulb will go off when I inevitably run into her there the next time, but *shrug* I can't say it's keeping me up at night. I also wrote her on a whim. I really get a kick out of her site because it's amusingly bizarre to see a lot of things I've thought, said and/or wrote spilling out of the brain of someone else. When I sent Jay a copy of this article, she said from the first line, "that's definitely something you'd write." She hasn't responded to my note either and again, it's all good. The way I haunt her site, she probably thinks I'm some sort of single black female stalker type. I hate to disappoint but my attention span is too short for stuff like that.

I was thinking earlier of what I need to do when I'm back and fully settled in the city for good. A rock show fix definitely. The last thing I saw was the Deftones where I couldn't get into the music because I was too busy trying not to get crushed by the mosh pit and get a clear view of the stage since as the shortest brownest thing in the place, the scary gigantic tattooed dudes with aggressive energy radiating off them made me nervous. I think of that as the day I learned the difference between enjoying hardcore music in the comfort of your own home and taking your life in your hands by trying to experience it live. So for future reference, I'll be blasting my Deftones, STP, Alice In Chains, Nine Inch Nails, A Perfect Circle and Soundgarden-like stuff and screaming at home, but leave the venues to the crazies. Before that, I saw The Sea And Cake and that was awesome. They can rock for a bunch of guys that look like your friendly neighborhood accountants or something. I'm just not into rock so much nowadays. Probably because I just haven't cared about whatever they're hyping. On my radio show, I played Interpol and I didn't hate it. I do really like The Flaming Lips though. I need some suggestions. I swear, since I stopped my show, I don't even know what's out there anymore.

Cleaning my room the other day, I came across my old Stone Temple Pilots tape (yes, I meant tape too). Tiny Music was my shit in (uh oh, dating myself) the summer after ninth grade. I loved rock through most of high school. I had that, the Foo Fighters, Soundgarden, Presidents of the United States of America, Alice In Chains and MTV Unplugged In New York on total repeat. I loved Scott Weiland. Everytime he got arrested, I was all "oh Scott, shit, you didn't!" like I knew him. I was going to write him an encouraging letter back then, but I figured that bands didn't really get their mail, so no point in wasting the postage. Around then, I decided I was going to form a band. I started bass lessons and got one for Christmas. I even liked this rocker guy, complete with longish messy hair, grungy clothes and a leather jacket. But since I was all androgynous then, he barely noticed me -- not that I was his type if I was a real girl. His HS sweetheart was a wallflower blonde who avoided strong winds because they could knock her over. I remember in math class one day (we sat next to each other), how inwardly pleased I was when he complemented me on having The Colour and The Shape. Outwardly, I scowled at him for touching my shit. Wow...that's the first time I thought about that punk in years. He went off to Williams as losers do, dumped his girl via IM a year or so in (I heard through the HS grapevine) and I'm sure is traipsing about NYC somewhere. I never did end up becoming the female Flea. It's been retired to a closet in my father's house for years. I might as well drag it out. It's not like I'm super busy this summer or anything.

*psst* I have a secret. I'm not really as wonderfully independent and such as I'd like to be, so last year I piggybacked on my father's family plan cell service. The other day, he revealed that he was changing the numbers to be closer to his house, a.k.a. Orange County a.k.a. the place that has Woodbury Commons but not much else. I thought I had convinced him to change his number and not mine, but alas, no dice. So, I got the call this afternoon that my lovely 917 number has been replaced with an *gasp* 845. *sob* This is really hard for me. Especially since I need to call or email everyone and give my new number and face the inevitable, "845? Where the fuck is that?" question. Where the fuck, indeed. This is what I get for being cheap. *sigh*

Thanks to an email from Alex, I now know that all I was missing from that lovely phrase was the "I," the verb and confidence in my memory. For future reference, it's "eu tenho boca de broche." The next Portuguese speaker doesn't stand a chance. lol.

The current question of the day is: considering that it's 2:30 and I'm supposed to be on a bus in less than 3 hours plus I have to finish washing clothes and packing, why the hell am I watching As The World Turns and screwing around on the internet? It's a sickness, I tell you.

I got an email soliciting class notes. Gah. I can't believe they're starting with that already. Perhaps I'll send in "Candice finished the yearbook and didn't die. Now she's carousing about NYC and running into many of you on a weekly basis." By the August 10th submission deadline, that should be true.

That damn Jazzy. He put "White Horse" in my head. "If you wanna be rich/You gotta be a bitch." I'm a sucker for some 80s electro, let me tell you. Somebody out there download that shit so I don't have to sing it alone. And speaking of downloading, trying to get music on a 56K is enough to drive someone to bang their head against the wall. Everything was running about twenty times slower than usual. *whine* I want DSL! *whine*

To amuse myself and put off sleep, I've been writing testimonials on Friendster. Since they're subject to approval, I want to preserve them for posterity in case folks are lame. For Jay:

She's been my partner in crime for going on 4 years now. Until I met her, I never knew the sweet feeling of having another girl out there like me who loved drinking, making fun of people, music, the internet, soaps and strange episodes. If you need a loud-mouthed smart ass with a high alcohol tolerance and I'm unavailable, she is always the next best thing -- with a porn star voice as a bonus.

I'm still formulating one for P. Diddy, but naturally it'll allude to him having a hand in my every instance of Boys-Who-Since-They-Are-Such-Fuckwads-Can-No-Longer-Be-Named. One of those being Mr. Sailor. The other being The Continental who has a whole WLB dedicated to his stupid ass on the other site. Oh wait, I just named them. Code names don't count though. Mr. Sailor gets named all the time unfortunately actually. I hate that I still bring him up in conversation. Though lately it's all, "yeah, I'm over him. You know I realized what really broke us up: him calling me a "communist." What the fuck? He said it like a curse too. Is this the 50s or something? Lame ass." I guess that can no longer be named goes from now. But, back to P.D., perhaps I'll also allude to Will and Grace. We're both kinda kooky and I seem to be wasting away (you know, in that not really sort of way), so perfect. I do have crazy hair most of the time and he gives off the impression of being chaste, but his love life's a lot more interesting than mine right now. I naturally need to do something about that. I wrote Alex about the episode with the Brazilian and he's going to be pretty disappointed that I squandered the knowledge he gifted on us kids, as well as me falling off from being She of the Crazy Stories. I spent too much time as a wallflower back in the day and everyone was so proud that I broke out in such a big way. Between spending so much time in transit and using C as a crutch, I haven't had the time to recreate last summer yet. But, next week once the book is put to bed and I'll have no real reason to leave the city for a while, my summer officially starts...practically August. How weak is that? But, will I make for lost time with a gusto? You bet your ass. I'm gonna go out and learn come ons in all kinds of languages, start really dancing again and do up Happy Hours real big with Jay. She and I will be celebrating some jobs soon. I can feel it. Until a M-F 9-5 cramps my style though, I'll be living those vampire hours with exceptions made for soaps and afternoon shows. And boys bearing caipirinhas...or not. I'm picky but not about things like that.

So yeah, I was supposed to go to Middletown. Yesterday, today, something like that. I haven't yet. When am I going? I dunno. Sometime this week. I guess. As long as I'm back before next Wednesday, it's all good.

In other news, I'm in the midst of a Friendster addiction. At the moment, I'm thrown by the fact like the streets of NYC, people I went to school with are all over the place. And I'm not even necessarily friends with them. They just pop up like roaches or something. I'll give them a point because they seem to attract cool friends at least. I'm currently connected to 144,825 people (though my eyes feel like I saw 175K+) the other day. Helpful tip to open up your list considerably: become friends with Gawker. I definitely wouldn't be over the 100K mark otherwise. As if to prove that way too many folks are trolling around on there, I ran into Mr. Scenester. He was exactly 4 degrees away through Gawker and people I don't know. Who the hell isn't on that thing?

I've got to say what really pleases me most about Helga now joining me in Queens is that I don't have to listen to the radio anymore. I listen to Power 105 because it seems to be the lesser of the evils of NYC radio which frankly sucks. Generally, the playlists are all unimaginative and they seem to play like 10 minutes of commercials in between the 10 songs they play over and over again. I get a kick out of Power 105 because where else will you hear "Dwyck" mixed in with "Snake?" I get a kick out of things like that. Plus it seems to be like the old school rapper home or something because you've got Chubb Rock, Monie Love, Dr. Dre, Ed Lover plus someone I'm forgetting all with shows. It's great. But, even that station gets on my nerves because if I hear that Pro-Tools enhanced, non-singing ass Ashanti with that fucking "Rock Wit U" song one more time, I'm gonna fucking riot.

Anyhoo, I went to see De La Soul, K-os and Jonzi D yesterday, but because I was having some crazy snowball CPT issues, I ended up on the wrong side of the gates for the second Saturday in a row. I went from relatively chill to mad annoyed in about 10 minutes because it was shit hot and I couldn't have been less in the mood for people watching instead of concert watching. But, I was wearing my Blacula t-shirt and everyone got a kick out of it because when's the last time you saw one of those (unless you went to Wes that is because I wear that thing all the time)?

Unfortunately when you're wearing an interesting shirt, losers try to pick you up by commenting on it as if it's a surprise that something's written on your shirt. "Hey, Blacula! Lemme holla at you, girl!" How about not? ("She mean and plus she too cute.") Sometimes I think I should have a blog just based on the shit that people say to me/what happens on the train. I could post for hours about that stuff. As my father said, pay your subway fare and get a show. But, I'm apparently a "shit happens" magnet, so sometimes it's free.

I went to the party of the kids with the really nice apartment and I didn't get enough time to feel jealous again because I pretty much got liquor shoved down my throat before the lot of us bounced. They were off to some swank establishment and I begged off because I had about $5 in pocket plus in a jeans and Blacula shirt, I was definitely underdressed. Whatever to that though. I didn't actually want to go because I have Midtown Bias. I'd rather go downtown or specifically, the 4 or 5 places I frequent because the crowd is chill and relaxed and I never feel bad about being too lazy to dress up. ("My jump off never ask why I go out so much/My jump off never has me going out of my way/And he don't want nothing on Valentines Day/My jump off don't argue or get rebellious/And he don't mind hanging out wit da fellas/My jump off's not insecure or jealous") I ended up at Sapphire (surprise, surprise) and it was fun in a way it hasn't been for a while. I've felt out of it the past couple times. I haven't been dancing like I used to and spent way more time than usual scowling and hiding in a corner. But, I was out there having a great time. I don't think it's possible for me to say how much I love that place -- and not only because 9 times out of 10 I can in for free and get free drinks. There's something to be said for being a regular somewhere and talking to the staff because you know them. It's like Cheers with a dance floor...not really, but you know what I mean. Plus Jazzy Nice is the best DJ ever. He sucked me into going there last summer when he did Thursday nights. He's on Saturdays now and unfortunately sometimes the music does not even rate if he's not manning the wheels.

I chilled with a Brazilian Indian guy living in Montreal visiting NYC for the week. Follow that? In my opportunity to use the Portuguese phrase Alex taught all of us that crazy night, I fucked it up. I remember the beginning but not the end. I'm disappointed in myself. I ruined a perfectly good party trick. I mean, how often does a girl get the chance to say "I have dick-sucking lips" in Portuguese? Ironically, natch. ("Que tu quieres mujera, said she blow la-la/FLIPSIDE - now she my baby mama") He taught me how to say "I want you" and I parroted it perfectly. Of course I don't remember that either. When Alex gets back, I need to make him give me a tutorial in Spanish and Portugese curses and pickup lines. I'll trade him for some mix CDs or something. Or perhaps take him shopping. He's easy to please.

Most amusing to me was the trip home -- definitely not the missing my bus and waiting 35 minutes for the next one to decide to show up part. I ran into this kid I've seen a few times. He looks like 50 Cent's cousin or something -- totally plausible since he's from this area. Did you happen to see that thing on The Smoking Gun? Fun fact: that's down the street from where I live now. Ah, South Jamaica. Keepin' it gangsta. He's perfectly harmless, i.e. I have subzero interest in him and his game is so weak that I just crack jokes to keep us amused while we wait for the bus. He says I should be a comedian. Nah. My game is the quick wit. I work better playing off of someone. Though, I could totally rock commercials. I give good reaction and I can deliver a line pretty well. I'd probably get stuck hawking Always or something like that though.

I'm loving Friendster today. I bookmarked this girl -- because I bookmark people instead of doing the proactive thing like contacting them because dammit, I'm shy and I have social anxiety issues about making the first move on folks I perceive to be cooler than me -- and she wrote me back saying that she needs "more dope girls to hang wit and you seem like you know how to get down." Somebody I don't even know thinks I'm dope! Yay! Actually, she's the second of folks in the past couple of days that have given me unsolicited shoutouts on there. I'm liking this social wave I seem to be riding. I think I said on here or somewhere that a fear I had before coming back home was that I wouldn't have any friends. Who knows how I got that in my head? I get like that sometimes.

So, I didn't make it to Louie Vega/Robert Owens show at Shelter. I did give it a good honest try though. The lure of Wes friends and karaoke proved too much for me. P. Diddy came to town and I met up with him at the place these kids I've only gotten to know and adore in the past few months are subletting. They've got a freaking piano in that place. It's sooo nice. Pre-war Upper West Side. I was dripping with jealousy until the downstairs old shrew came up and went on a 15-minute tirade about the noise, threatening that she would get them and the actual tenants kicked out because her place is rent-controlled and basically, she's a bitch. I wanted to jump in and say, "blow it out your hole, biddy. My mommy works for housing court and you're talking out of your ass!" but I felt bad because she sprung on them from the elevator I rode up in and she reminded me the lady I ran into on the street a few years ago that ruined my Thanksgiving. I had been walking down 6th Avenue in the Village minding my business when I passed this nondescript old lady heading in the opposite direction. As she passed she said to me, "don't go causing any trouble. You'll ruin this nice day for all the good people" or something to that effect like I was a crackhead stealing someone's TV. Little old asshole white women trigger all sorts of repressed rage.

We rolled downtown to this bar that normally I wouldn't be caught dead in. The first thing I said before I even entered the dorr was: "is that country music I hear?" Indeed it was. The vibe was definitely fratboyish. We joked that it was a Beta party smack in the middle of NYC. But, hey, the drinks were cheap -- $3 tequila shots! That's what's up -- and the beer drinking boys got the cheapest pitcher they might find out of Middletown. Then we were on to karaoke. Who was that girl rolling on the table a la Madonna singing to "Like A Virgin?" I dunno. I was surprised I knew all the words to "Iris" and the rap part of "In The End" actually. The whole thing was stupid fun.

Next day, the 4th. No annual BBQ. I was pissed but not really then again. I only missed the ham. As my mom likes to say, we come from a long line of pig farmers, so bring on the other white meat! That night, Trendvickster and I rolled to that loft party. It was mad fun. Bands, fire jugglers, a DJ, a momentary interlude of foosball where I was kicking everyone's ass and heaps and heaps of cool people made my night. We had a nice view of the fireworks too. I never realized until that night how long that whole thing is. Gah. My legs got tired, then my ass fell asleep, and then my legs got tired again before it was over. Mr. Scenester was the consummate host. I found it kinda strange that he took so much time out to talk to me, but whatevs. If he would've been doing something extreme a la obviously trying to kick it to me or ignoring/avoiding me, that would've pissed me off.

Saturday was spent trying to get my tail into gear. I meant to get up early for the Summerstage show but it just wasn't working out. I got there about 5 when it was hopeless to get in. I heard Chaka Khan loud and clear. She was fabulous. She's got some killer lungs, man. I want to sing like that but my voice control is all nonexistant. Perhps voice lessons can be my post-book summer project. From there, I strolled across town to Midsummer Night's Swing, meeting P.D. and others on the way. At this point, we had a crew of 7 Wes kids and went uptown. After dinner and cocktails, we swooped down to the new place of more Wes kids on the Midtown West/Clinton/Hell's Kitchen border. They're renting and that place was so hot. They've got a view on Times Square! I wanted to lay down and cry because I wasn't smart enough to have been an Econ major, then forgot about that once I remembered that they'll be working 18-hour days to pay for that shit. We picked up 3 more kids and went off downtown. I felt like the freaking pied piper or something.

I was the most popular girl in NYC last weekend I'm sure. My phone was ringing off the damn hook. It was mad annoying. Especially since I didn't talk to the one person I really wanted to reach: Alex. Since he was heading off to Portugal for the rest of the summer Monday. I think I showed everyone a good time though. We haunted a lot of my hot spots Saturday and everyone seemed to get a kick out of it. We lost one of our party since he wandered off and called back in a panic. Drunkards. But, mostly it was chill. They definitely tired me out. I spent all Sunday crashing like a mofo. That's it until Labor Day I guess.

P.D. and I were discussing "to prowl or not to prowl" at various times. I was telling him that I'm so out of the market that it's not even funny. I've realized that inherently I'm just lazy right now. That's why I was bothering with C in the first place. It was already established and I didn't have to bother with meet-greet-flirt-buildup that someone new would involve. I'm just taking a sabbatical. I'm all about friends who are boys, but I think I'm in the most non-sexual, non-romantic mood I've been in since I was a tomboy in HS (and by that, I mean like senior year) and thought even a "boyfriend" was just a guy you hung around, watch movies and talked on the phone with if you felt like it but inherently had cooties and weren't as fun as regular friends. Does it reveal how much of a dater I'm not that I still pretty much feel like that's the general description of one? Except for the whole sex aspect. I was a late bloomer, I didn't think about that until later. And since it's in the middle of the night and I'm rambling (as usual) -- though this actually relates to other things P.D. and I talked about, I'll throw out some rules I live by that make a lot of situations less complicated. I don't even consider getting involved with 1) friends 2) exes of friends 3) friends of exes 4) significant others of people I know --whether I like them or not. As I said to PD, "isn't that just a little dramatic?" Cheating fucking sucks having been through that shit more times than I like to think about and a good friend beats a cheap trick anyday. You know?

I'm starting to feel a little disturbed. I've been rummaging through old clothes and such trying to figure out what stays in indefinite upstate storage and what makes the trip to Queens. I've been trying on stuff for kicks and I'm realizing that I'm fitting things I haven't worn literally in years. That's just strange. Especially considering I've gained 11 pounds since last August according to the crack-smoking scale at the doctor's office.

So, I've decided: I must've been shit thin last summer, bordering on my starving to fit into the prom dress territory where I was all gaunt in the face and kinda skeletal -- still with an ass, I must add. The booty gets small, but never disappears. That's just my body composition. And I must be on the smallish side for me now. Perhaps that's why P. Diddy made his crack about me wanting bigger boobs. It must be a yearly thing for guy friends of mine. For the record, I am not flat-chested. Some nice guy on the street told me so the other week: "Damn, she got ass and titties!" Compared to Jay and my friend N from HS, yeah I'm not so top-heavy. It's all a matter of perspective though. I've got a pretty narrow waist (underneath the little love handle...perhaps that's where the extra pundage went. *sigh*), I'm on the hippy side and I've got some serious junk in the trunk. Who'd notice my breasts unless they're enormous? I mean, come on! And because reading about Delilah's adventures in Vickie's put me partly on this thought train, for the record 36C is not that freaking small! *ahem*

A reading on me from here (via Agendacide):

Candicissima will never grow up, and nor would we ever want her to. It is Candicissima's ability to be innocently fun-loving and childlike that makes her so endearing. Candicissima is extremely clever and sophisticated. There is, after all, a very big difference between being childlike and being childish. Candicissima is open minded, unselfish and able somehow to approach each new day with a spirit of real, fresh inspiration. That explains why Candicissima enjoys life so much and it also explains why other people, looking at Candicissima's life from a distance, cannot understand why she enjoys it so much. Those of us who know and love Candicissima find her enigmatic, mysterious or even downright baffling. We can't help liking her, but nor can we quite manage to work out where she is at, where she is coming from, what she is up to or what she is in to. Candicissima's tastes and preferences are what some people would call eclectic, others would term unusual and most folk would classify as 'just plain weird.' Candicissima, though, is consistent in her inconsistency. There is method to her madness. Candicissima is interested in - even fascinated by - so many strange, different topics and subjects because Candicissima is such a natural experimenter.

Candicissima doesn't need to travel the world in search of variety. Candicissima can wake up one morning feeling quite sure that she is one particular kind of person. By the afternoon she will be someone else. Her personality will not change, her loyalty will not waver but her mood will evolve allowing her to explore, enthusiastically, ways of behaviour which only a few hours ago seemed unattractive. Thus Candicissima creates a world in which there is constant variety and excitement. Boring people, who like to follow life's laws to the letter and stick rigidly to one fixed plan find Candicissima hard to handle or even to relate to. People with a sense of adventure, a sense of imagination and, most importantly of all a sense of humour, cannot get enough of Candicissima's company.

So, I'm flighty, eclectic, occasionally enigmatic and generally out there. That sums me up pretty well I'd say.

Fucking Kazaa.

I figured it'd be a good idea to download most of the stuff I've wanted since May, but damn, it's sure not making it easy. On the most wanted list was "The Seed 2.0" which H&M has inserted in my head like a virus. I really hate Cody Chestnutt. I saw him at Sumerstage last year at the neo-soul extravanganza (!) starring him, Joi, Raphael Saddiq and Res. He sucked and frankly just looked unwashed. His sections of The Roots song -- plus the original song on his album -- are beyond offensive. "Pushing it right," eh? Loser. So, it's pissing me off that I had to download about 25 bad copies of the song before I remembered the preview feature. Ugh.

Dummies are flooding the market ridiculously. I mean, I don't like Kazaa to begin with (Audiogalaxy was the pinnacle. All else pale.), so spending too much brain power weeding out songs I'll only play until I finally get sick of them like "The Seed," "Pump It Up" and "Flipside" is just annoying. I mean, damn, I only probably like the music and perhaps a line of each. Maybe I'll go mad old school and start taping songs off the radio. Heh. I really haven't done that since about 1991 -- minus my radio show, natch. But that doesn't count.

The day's new thought is that Direct TV can be just as cool as TiVo if you're sitting around for a chunk of time.

I've escaped the sweltering urban jungle for the woodsy Orange County. I'd come up here to retrieve my baby, Helga the HP from my father's garage and then hearing that the heat index was supposed to be a skin-burning 105, I said to hell with going back...for today at least. So, I'm suffering with Direct TV, DSL and central air conditioning...with a big-ass fridge of yunny leftovers. It's definitely a hard-knock life, man.

I'm so straight up chilling that my little brother doesn't even bother me. He's 4 and continuing the terrible stage that began as soon as he had the walking and talking thing down. He's a brat, hardcore, but at least entertaining about it. It's extremely disorienting being almost a generation older than my brother, especially considering I've got younger cousins with kids older than him. That's neither here nor there though. He's fun now. The sentences make logical sense, he's got funny little jokes and he's all smart. Little kids are always interesting btween about 4 and 9. They're all bright-eyed and everything is all new and fun. I can't wait until he goes to school and has a backpack and a notebook and takes the bus. Aww...those days were fun.

Inexplicably awake at 6:30am had me contemplating a few things:

Fuck. It's early. I'm not made to be awake and thinking this early. Unless I'm just getting home. And even if I am around that time, I'm no better than a zombie. I feel like a zombie right now. I eat brains...Grrr...I need to go watch Dead Alive. I love that movie! "Your mother ate my dog!" "I kick arse for the Lord." That shit cracks me up. I like zombie movies. I've got to check out 28 Days Later. Ho hum. I give up. Back to bed.

Fucking blogger. It deleted my big long post. I don't feel like doing it again yet. Maybe tomorrow.

Reunited and it feels so good...I've got my baby back. I'm so happy to be back on my trusted HP again that I don't even mind yet that I'll be surfing the net on 56K until I come back from CT for the last time and hammer out a net outlook with the moms. Naturally, my first instinct is to go DSL, but the master plan has me booking by November, so I don't want either of us to get shafted on a contract. Hmm...we'll figure it out.

I've been keeping it chill so far on my couple of days back. Sitting around, playing with the cats, catching up on the Blind Date-EXtreme Dating-5th Wheel-Elimidate dating show extravaganza!, doing a phone interview for a job I may get.

The job thing's been the strangest part of the week. I got a call from the lady on Monday for a resume I sent out before school was even over (that being a good month and a half ago). I called her back and she did the phone interview right then. Eek! I think I was charming and thoughtful and intelligent enough to make a good impression though and I'm kinda hopeful that I get it -- even though it's nothing like what I've been prepping myself for as I've let my mind wander in the last month. I got it in my head that I want to be some sort of publishing/media diva -- well, okay, lackey -- climbing my way up the ladder and getting the heads up on books/events/whatever. I think my editrix position warped my mind. A month or two ago, I was all about working a non-profit!, doing something progressive!, research!, implementation of social theories! when I applied for that job. I'm kinda stuck trying to make the shift right now. Is it wrong of me to want a job where I can be a media diva for a progressive non-profit? That exists, right?

I've also been thinking that my blog is kinda shallow. I mean, all I talk about is boys, music, drinking, sex, myself and parties. That's not all I think about, man. Only when I'm chained to a computer in the middle of the night procrastinating. At home, I've been contemplating that the move to the center by the left has really undermined the progressive political gains of much of the past 50 or so years; the decline of courtesy and manners amongst people; the many layers of the excellence of NYC's 24-7 transit system; black feminist thought: theory vs. praxis; and how 10 or so pounds can totally change your body. Oops, to the last one. Fuck it. It's my blog. I can be as shallow as I want. I always reserve the right to be flighty.

My highlight of the week will be going to Shelter tonight for the Little Louie Vega and Robert Owens show? Who the hell are they, you ask? Vega and Owens. I love Robert Owens. I'm definitely a come lately, not having been up on that until Photek's Mine To Give, but I'm a massive fan. I'm so much of a fan, I'm blowing money I should be hoarding to go to the show. Ah well. I've rested up all week for it. I hear Shelter is like house paradise and I'm all about that. A huge collection of Wes kids are coming/in town this weekend, so it should be downright apeshit. Happy 4th! I plan to be stuffed and happy through all of it.

Every original piece of the book has been laid out and sent to the printer. *whew* This has been a hellish past 7 months. Naturally, it's not over. I have about another 3 or days of proof correcting to do (which means one more trip to Middletown), but the hardest part is over. I have worked like a dog on this for way too long and I've been very unhappy that it's eaten a good third of my summer too. I feel good though. I'm going home, where tonight in honor of this accomplishment I'm going to have a big strong drink...or six. Goodbye, Middletown! Hello, The City That Never Sleeps!