March 2004 Archives

I've been so boring lately. It's downright painful for me. My energy is zapped, my attention wanes, my joie de vivre is just lacking. Imagine how surprised I was spending most of last week out and about besides that. I was running on autopilot for real. Tuesday was standing on the outskirts at Ghostly, Wednesday was standing on the outskirts at the tail end of a circus themed magazine party (and I didn't even get one, dammit. Though, I scored some cotton candy which was sweet) here before the scene turned into lifestyles of the rich and idle (side note: a bold faced club that doesn't actually suck. The novelty of it all! Is it expensive as shit though? Ridiculously. Strictly clandestine beverages and water unless you roll with a big spender), and Thursday was the same bat time, same bat station, rolling through too late, chatting with my people, and having more fun sitting on the curb non-interacting. I took that as a sign that I'd be better served staying in Friday. And I did and the world is still in one piece. Miracles can happen.

I had spoken to Lina earlier and found that she was experiencing a similar case of the ultrablahs. I guess it's a case of the job seeker "the warm weather is coming but what does that matter to me since I'll still be broke and jobless" blues. Saturday though, I rounded up PrincessNella to at least help me feel more lively since I wanted to be out and about. We ventured uptown past the old school stop, noting that we hadn't be on the 6 like that in years. The daily 6 trek hasn't been a thing in almost 5 years now. Time really flies when you're preoccupied with other things. She and I have hung out twice this week. A downright miraculous thing given that despite living about 15 blocks apart on practically the same street, our schedules just never mesh. On Wednesday, we went to dinner at that place I've been trying to get to for months now (I'll admit I read about it in a Daily Candy email and they made it sound so good. I'm such a closet buppie -- as well as easily influenced. It's shameful) and strolling around the Hudson River Park and West Village/Chelsea, marvelling at how much NYC has changed. And talking about real estate because our master plan is to escape our not-so-terrible-really mothers and become roomies. The hanging out portion of my week was great. I guess my priorities are just shifting. I might be partied out -- or at least temporarily because it's hard to be all carefree with the financial ruin monkey on your back.

Anyhoo, Saturday night in Spanish Harlem, we come across this school building with bouncer looking guys standing out front. Slightly confused, I sarcastically wonder if someone rented out the lunchroom for a party, but when I check my voicemail, this is indeed the place. We pay our $5 after conferring with the woman with the guest list and stroll up these narrow steps to find variations of the youngish and/or hip lining the walls. The school was actually converted apartments and two floors were throwing a joint party. It was nice not wandering alone for a change, though it cut down on the random magnetism considerably. Not necessarily a bad thing I guess. I'm the type who loves an after hours, even in spirit since we were out of there as things were really getting ready to rage. Nothing wrong with some low-key fun.

I would've said the same for Sunday if I hadn't gotten home at 4:45am. That was only because I had to make my way back to Queens from Jersey City during a bit of a transportation dead zone. (As an aside, I've crystallized why exactly I hate druggies. They babble nonstop about bullshit so tenaciously, are lethargic, and straight up act like dope fiends. Ooh, let's spend hours sitting around talking about how much you want a hit and calling the dealer who is obviously ignoring you. Get the fuck over it! I actually considered swimming back to New York.) The view is nothing new to those who commute into town but taking the PATH into the World Trade Center stop has to be one of the freakiest rides. Emerging from the dark tunnel into the light of the Ground Zero pit, riding along the outskirts in dead silence. Then coming off the train into the sterile station, every footstep echoing. I gave myself the creeps and really hauled ass, though I still missed the train I needed. Knowing the schedule on your line has its advantages and disadvantages.

The status in a word: hectic. But, I can finally see results have a truly long haul. What a difference some true inspiration and initiative can make! I should almost go broke all the time because I haven't seen this much fire under my ass in a long time.

I'm still interviewing, still making connections. There's a lot of things in the tentative state at the moment. Shady jealousy has finally propelled to maybe securing a real writing gig. I might have my own party night to get packed and lively. I'm facing the dilemma between undeniable and essential experience building or taking the road to cash, bennies, and the office world. But, everything's coming so fast that it's all a matter or whatever comes together first is what's up.

We can say though that I'm tentatively excited and I'll have major things to report at the end of the week. I was a suited zombie this morning on the train ride, but somehow perked it up for the interview. Stepping outside myself, I can totally see the growth in these past months. Professional job seeker was not a joke.

Sometimes I love the subway because of the ludicrous conversations you can have. Standing on the West 4th F platform, some guy asked me for directions to catch the 5 to the Bronx. I rattled off the straightest methods and he became one of those guys that just likes to keep talking. Bored, I answered noncommittedly. Name is Secret, live in Queens, from Brooklyn. And then he came out of left field with: "Eww...Brooklyn. The Bronx is so much better than Brooklyn." Excuse me?

BK's getting hated on lately. Every punk's got an opinion. They're just jealous because they're probably from The Bronx or Queens. In 419 a few weeks ago, I told a guy I was from Brooklyn and his reply was: "That's funny...you don't look like a thief."

Anyways, the delusion Bronx man and I argued about Bklyn vs. The Bronx from W4th to 63rd Street. Basically, his reason that it's better is because in The Bronx there are only "Puerto Ricans, Blacks, and Italians" compared to Brooklyn where it's more Black people. Mmmkay. My parting words to him: "Keep dreaming."

Then later on the bus, I realized I've always had a burning question involving boys and their jeans. Everyone wears them so freaking low -- like where the ass part is at their knees and stuff, all year round. Don't their asses get cold? And isn't it kinda uncomfortable to have your underwear touching every seat and such? But really, I wonder why it's possibly cool to have those extra long shirts. They make everyone look as if they're 5 and wearing night shirts after a nap.

The one good thing about the bus ride is that the mind wandering is good for inspiration. All day, I've been alternately humming "Over Like A Fat Rat" and "You Got The Love" (the latter due to Jay-V's request). I'm coming off the truly foot-tapping, finger-drumming (if not ass-shaking since I was too bundled up for that) good time at the Ghostly night also. It reminded me that the one problem I usually have with 419 -- as do the friends when I drag them there -- is that a good dancing music, wanna break out night is so rare there. Well, they made up for that massively. They mined like mad and it was awesome. Plus I got some music swag. Viva Ghostly! Everyone should check out the next installment in June.

Anyhoo, so there I was on the bus humming to myself when I thought that my secret wish is to have an iPod (despite my Mac hatred) if only to play at the iParty. My mind then drifted to Cameo, "Single Life" and I thought how awesome it would be for me to create a late 70s/early 80s synth R&B mix. For the curious, making the cut (not necessarily in this order) was:

Shannon, Let The Music Play
Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam, I Wonder If I Take You Home
Rebbie Jackson, Centipede
Cameo, Single Life
The System, You Are In My System
Central Line, Walking Into Sunshine
Sheila E, Love Bizarre
Taana Gardner, Heartbeat
Skyy, Call Me
Vanity 6, Nasty Girl
Mary Jane Girls, In My House
Chaka Khan, I Feel For You
Yarbrough & Peoples, Don't Stop the Music
New Edition, Candy Girl
Rick James, You & I
Peech Boys, Don't Make Me Wait
Loose Joints, Is It All Over My Face
Slave, Just A Touch of Love
Howard Johnson, So Fine
Fonda Rae, Over Like A Fat Rat
Nu Shooz, I Can't Wait
Cheryl Lynn, Encore
Loose Ends, Hangin' On A String
Kraftwerk, Trans Europe Express

I think there comes a point in the life of every young single NYC woman when she's gotta throw her hands up and say "I give up!" Just about every guy I have met in the past 9 months is:

a) too old, i.e. 26+. (Yes, I know I am apparently the only woman who'd rather be with someone her age. Sue me.)
b) a druggie
c) has ex related issues
d) a user/scammer/con artist
e) an absentee parent
f) shady/flaky
g) just fucking sucks overall
h) all of the above unfortunately

I had an adventure the other week with the latest disheartening pick, getting caught up in such fucking craziness that I wondered if I had lost my mind. Over the course of the night, someone asked if I was a thrill seeker since they could not figure out how I had gotten involved with everything. I've been thinking on that for the past week and a half. I suppose I am because I can agree that I continue on with unsavory types because sometimes I feel that breaking down the adventure later can be interesting. But, on the other hand, I know that I internally suffer a little bit everytime a layer is pulled back and I feel that I've been led to cross lines I'm not comfortable with. As some like to live vicariously through me, I get my kicks as a passive observer to exploits. Unfortunately, you play with fire and you can get seriously burned.

A general dissatisfaction with how much of a mess things are right now extends to matters of the heart also. I've been running at warp speed for much of the past year and I'm just out of gas. Bugging me is the kid that disappeared, but I know that's karmic retribution for passing on someone who could've killed this trend months ago. I'm really trying to turn over a new leaf though. Getting off the Autobahn for a min, hanging out on the quiet roads and driving like an old lady. A kid actually asked me to go do karaoke. How freaking wholesome can you get?! I might even give it a shot.

Why yes, I did say that I was taking a break. Then again, if you read this, you should know by now that me saying that is shorthand for "give me like a couple of hours and I'll hit you off with something." If I didn't plan on writing at all, I just wouldn't. I mean, look at the month of March posting wise. Quite pitiful really.

Anyways, I've spent most of my preoccupied time realizing that when you feel like your world is very shaky, listening to depressing/a little too melancholy music is not where its at. I've had to erase all traces of Apropa't from the playlist because though it's a beautiful album, it made me want to go expose myself to the elements or something. I'll put that one on the shelf until it gets a little warmer, thanks.

Arthur Russell has entered my brain like crazy due to the deluge of coverage of the new compilations. I swear 419 has The World of Arthur Russell on repeat and due to being occasionally easily influenced and always there, so do I.

Because I've got so much music swimming around my brain yet no completed mixes in site -- unfortunately for Alex and Lina -- I've updated the mp3 for grabs page. On deck are Erlend Oye, Every Party (produced by Scott Herren a.k.a. Savath + Savalas under his Prefuse 73 pseudonym. I've decided I'm going to mention him all the time because if over at Gothamist, they could turn their Law and Order obsession into a set visit, dammit, someone I know has to have a connection to him. He lived in Brooklyn for a spell and everything. I just want an interview, people -- and perhaps to sit in on a beatmaking session. Somebody get on it!); "In The Light of The Miracle," the monster Arthur Russell epic; and a song from Benzos, the band I saw on my birthday who are my favorite local group of the moment.

An event happening later at APT is the inaugural Ghostly International's Spectral Sessions with James Cotton (a.k.a. Tadd Mullinix a.k.a. Dabrye, a Kitty Power fave) and Osbourne a.k.a. soundmurderer among others. It should be in a word: dope! Let's hope I won't let poverty and laziness keep me down.

I'm taking "if you got nothing good to say, say nothing at all" to heart. Beat down and tired, am I! Go follow some of my links, they're doing some great stuff at other sites. I am working on my new hobby and trying to keep everything together. Perhaps I'll crawl out from my rock later in the week. Ciao!

I've come down from my week of slight fame, having been a little too successful in having that disconnect between my real name and the blog. Ah well. Great run though. I got mad comments, met another Wes alumna, and most importantly, got my little (well, big) ego stroked and made everyone terribly jealous. It was a good week to be me -- minus all that interviewing stuff.

Ant made up for his party absence with dinner -- though true to our CP time natures, we missed the movie portion of the evening and then just lost interest. We spent hours at 419 where my friendly bartender teased me for getting there "5 hours early" at 9:30 and also refilled my port (for free and without prompting) out of the goodness of his heart. Home bars are where it's at for real! The previous night I was where I always am on a Thursday, i.e. Sapph, playing guinea pig for the bartenders since the crowd was kinda slow. When I walked through the door, everyone was saying that I should throw a party every week because of the turnout. Don't I know it? Unfortunately, I need the main priority taken care of before the smaller stuff can fall into place.

Speaking of that, Shady and I are almost like straight up buddies now. Fucking craziness. I'm even tempted to remove the Shady descriptor. Then again, we haven't seen each other in the real life sense since those episodes where he resembled a kid trying to have fun on his mom's watch. Even when we were as cool as we ever were (read: not especially except for limited circumstances), we didn't hang out, per se. We've always had our common interests: writing, music, similar opinions on "scene" shit going on around town, but obvious disparities: being from different places, rarely being in NYC at the same time, that are commonalities can be construed as low level interests on my part but that he's seriously doing the writing (and boy, am I fucking jealous about that!), music, and scene things. And that he has the capacity to be shady and prickish, but that's something that can be said about many around town. Myself included I'm sure. Anyways, he and I are in the same job boat, so we've spent a fair amount of days bitching too each other and trying to keep our spirits up and all that shit. The world has turned on its ear for sure.

As much as I'm sure that I'm just turning crotchedy before my time, kids nowadays are fucking annoying.

Travelling about during the mornings, I momentarily feel happy that it should be empty on the trains and buses. But never quite because fucking kids are everywhere but you know, school. This one bold one on my bus was calling out to her friends leisurely strolling down the street to ask what period it was at school. What the hell does she care? Obviously, if she gave a shit, she'd be sitting in class or something. And if I have to endure another loud ass, rat-faced and malnourished looking fourteen year old talking about how she's juggling five dudes and tell them that she needs sex once a day (at least), I'm gonna fucking vomit. For real.

I'm running running running. I don't even really have time to write this but I am anyways.

Interviewing up a fucking storm. I swear though, if this round doesn't work out, I'm just gonna pick up and move South and veg on Farmer's boat because I'm obviously a useless human being up in these parts. Just opt out and save myself further aggravation. Of course, I'll have hell to pay when I opt back in, but that's water under the bridge.

Speaking of Mr. Farmer, he's got me running errands for him 1200 miles away. Out of the goodness of my heart and shit. What's up with that for real?

And fuck this snow. I want some fucking budding flowers and sunshine already!

Off to run myself ragged through the weekend. Lucky me. *sigh*

I'm a little late (sue me), but seen at Saucy Dame and Aeki Tuesday among others.

The instructions
Step 1: Open your MP3 [CD] player.
Step 2: Put all of your music on random.
Step 3: Write down the first 20 songs it plays, no matter how embarrassing.
Step 4: Profit!

What I did because I'm contrary: Wrote down the list of songs I'm playing on my comp so much that I'm reaching the oversaturation point:

1. Arthur Russell, In The Light of The Miracle
2. Benzos, Warm Road
3. Tom Ze, Gene (To Gene Remix)
4. Interpol, Obstacle 1
5. Kurtis Blow, If I Ruled The World
6. The English Beat, I Confess
7. The Specials, Ghost Town
8. Franz Ferdinand, Take Me Out (Morgan Geist Revision)
9. Usher, Yeah feat. Lil Jon and Ludacris
10. Prefuse 73, Suite For The Way Things Change
11. A Tribe Called Quest, Scenario Remix feat. The Leaders of The New School
12. Bubba Sparxxx, Nowhere
13. Dabrye, Won
14. Savath + Savalas, Ultimo Tren
15. Outkast (Andre 3000), Dracula's Wedding feat. Kelis
16. Outkast (Big Boi), Unhappy feat. Sleepy Brown
17. N.E.R.D., She Wants To Move
18. Aesop Rock, Daylight
19. Geto Boys, My Mind Is Playing Tricks On Me
20. Prince, Erotic City

That might be me as the latest (and greatest) Gothamist interview. But, they've obviously screwed up my last name. It is Nassapeemapedalon after all, natch.

The comments are notable because I let a troll semi-provoke me. Yeah, but I'm not sorry and he can go fuck himself. Someone's just jealous that he didn't get interviewed. I'm no less worthy than anyone else who has gotten up there. Ha...and he apologized! Damn skippy. And for this one, obviously from a sister who went through the struggle:

Any girl who had to endure for years of dealing with those pseudo-sensitive man whores that Wes produces in droves deserves a Gothamist Interview.

A great piece of mail I got lately in how it read to me:

Dear Candice:

We here at your alma mater are sending this letter to say thanks for consolidating your loan and to let you know that as far as we're concerned, you're off the hook about repayment on our end. But, we can't just let you go that easy, so even though we know you're gonna be in debt for the next 10 years or so, don't forget to give us a donation when you've got a few extra bucks. We might even put you on the "sucker alums that we bleed dry" list. Thanks for playing, hon, and be sure to donate in your will. You'll be hearing from us for the rest of your life.

Toodles,

Your Old School

Gotta love them.

Thursday was the birthday party. It was naturally at Sapph because even though I go there a lot less than I used to, it's my home base and that party is guaranteed to be a good time.

I'd been running around like a nutcase all day, finding myself getting frustrated by a lot of stupid shit happening and then wasting time. Though it was supposed to start at 9, I got home at 8 and still had to shower, get dressed, yadda yadda. To say I was late is both an understatement and a given. I had apparently just missed Bill, but his drop in was corroborated, so he gets a "Thanks for coming!" shout. A fair amount of people overestimated my penchant for running behind and there really late, but I was just happy to see everyone because I had total hostess anxiety going in to it. The crowd was totally a grab bag of Candice friends: a Styleaholic, The Random Collective, Jenny, Hani, Lina, Grandmastah H and B, Trendvickster, Princess Nella, P. Diddy (all the way from CT), and many others from school and such with a few randoms. At first, I was running around trying to be a good hostess and introduce everyone about, but then I realized that interfered with my drinking, so I made quick intros as I sipped.

Ah, the drinks. I spent too much time nursing the first Amaretto Sour, drank the second one in a lot less time, and then blinked and the other two were gone. After that came a flaming Sambuca shot, a Cosmo, a Gin and Tonic with Peach (that got spilled...boo!), a tequila shot, and two bottles of water. After that, we switched venues and I just stopped counting because then I would realize that my liver was about to give out. I danced and looked sharp in my pristine brand-new white blazer, though my hair was in untamed, "just got an electric shock" mode. Jenny took pics:

(More at Aeki Tuesday)

I was super touched that all my worker bee pals made the trek out on a Thursday and came with so many presents. I was just squealing over things all night and had a mega swag pile. It's gonna take me days to get through it all. The most comedic present was hands down Grandmastah H's gift of a Rolling Jesus action figure, Mr. T In Your Pocket keychain, and the Dr. Seuss book. I was laughing my ass off. (In an aside, Ms. Mommy was surprisingly against me using Jesus as a new toy for the cats. I figured I'd roll him around on the floor and see what they did and her response was along the lines of "No. Just no." I might still do it when she's not around. And yes, I do know I'm going to hell.) I felt really really loved and will be sending all thank you notes and such. Hilarious was when I was ready to clear out about 1 something and everyone was inexplicably unwilling to let me leave when in the corner of my eye, I saw the candles from the approaching cake. The whole party was awesome. Thanks again everybody for coming!

Lina, a Wes friend, his co-worker, and I felt like raging so we were off uptown. Bankers sure have a thing for those "bottle popping" joints. The bathroom was tres cool though. From there, off to 419 where some newish guy overcharged me for my Taylor's and then had the nerve to get snippy about it. Fucker. I being a social animal made a new friend and went off into the night. And I'll state the no-brainer that trying to walk on Meatpacking District/West Village cobblestones in 3.5 inch heels is a quick way to almost break your fucking neck. But, I survived and am a very happy camper.

Not a damn thing wrong with this celebrating a birthday stuff for real. And my special present from my old body to me was despite the fact I woke up still drunk this morning with glassy eyes about 10ish, I wasn't hungover in the slightest. Good deal.

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes!

Once I got over the initial "I feel 75! Woe is me!," I had a nice quiet day before getting stir-crazy once the sun went down and deciding to go to a concert. I had already decided that the mood for the day was "sullen and pouty," so I stood in the corner doing just that and people watching. Can I declare this '80s revival over? I'm tired of seeing people look like drunken clowns. Though, it seems like people are starting to go the grunge route. I felt like I was stuck in a 1992 by way of 1983 time warp. One of the bands was doing a neo-Bush thing. Who the fuck would think that Bush is worthy of an imitator? That's like a knockoff of Tropical Fantasy for 35 cents. Another piece of advice: rock bands step away from the synthesizers and the drum machines. Just do it. You'll feel better tomorrow. Enough is enough. I can't take it anymore. I remembered awfully quickly why I don't go to too many rock shows. Yet with that said, I will check out Benzos again because I liked them despite my negative frame of mind.

I needed to chill after all that, so I made my way over to 419. Before stumbling on a truly dope party, the notable was getting my Taylor's 10 in a big glass. Oh yes. I was living up the b-day for real. The sweetest present was from my friend at the bakery I stop at on my way home. I revealed it was my birthday and he insisted I pick any cake I wanted. My response was "a whole freaking cake?" or along those lines and five minutes later, I was trudging along with a strawberry shortcake in a box. That was awesome.

Another day, another interview. I felt really on and think it went smashingly well, even though it couldn't be any more removed from what I want to do. I suppose that figures though. If I get it, I wouldn't complain. Oh wait, yes I would, because the salary's barely enough to live on even at home. *sigh* Figures. Still, there's other things bubbling that I hope to report on really soon. 23 is pretty okay right now I've got to say. No complaints from me yet.

Money was yesterday's present du jour and I used it to buy some new shoes, among other things. There's the party tomorrow which will have almost too many people and hopefully be a good time for all. I have to admit I feel semi-nervous as a hostess. I always psych myself out and think no one will ever come. Regardless, I'm ready to see everyone and celebrate for real.

The Playstation: Random Gentle Sex Master (RGSMf)

Easy to turn on. Hard to beat. You are The Playstation.

You're a nice girl, and you have lots of sex. It's therefore highly likely that you're attractive, and you're certainly outgoing & friendly. Plus, this healthy physical attitude of yours indicates deeper emotional well-being and stability. Unheard of. When guys dare to dream, they dream of you.

You don't get attached too easily, and, to wit, you're not necessarily looking for something long-term right now. That's a bigger asset than you know. Though, physically speaking, you're open to anything, you're keeping your emotional side well-protected. This means there won't be a lot of wreckage to clean up whenever you decide to settle down.

In the meantime, the men you share yourself with actually respect you. Like them, you enjoy sex for its own sake and don't need any other validation for pleasure than pleasure itself. Hopefully, you have the good sense to blow off anyone who thinks less of you for that. Usually, this is the part of the description where we offer some life-correcting advice, but honestly, we can't think of anything about you we'd change. Keep on fucking, partner.

ALWAYS AVOID: The Mixed Messenger

CONSIDER: Anyone else

Your exact opposite: The Priss: Deliberate Brutal Love Dreamer

You can take the test here
[via Maccers]

Cue up The White Album, Disc 2, Track 1.

It's my special day and I feel old. Business as usual.

In a truly ironic turn of events, I'm considering starting a new blog. Isn't that cute? I can't even update this one besides a manic typing jag every couple of days.

Anyways, the topic: fashion, nightlife and the city scene. Basically, the expanded edition of the In The Mix category without the code names and dim allusion to what I get up to but don't blog about. Minimal me really. I'm kicking it around. We'll see if I can keep the initiative long enough to do some test posts.

A few months ago at the Chappelle tapings, the warm-up comedian told a joke about how men strategically plan to be single in the space between Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day and then get back into relationships on February 15th. At the time, I laughed and laughed as I languished in my winding down 2003 and into 2004 good fortune. But is it me or are the fucking couples multiplying every day? Ugh. Fucking singles, climb back out from under your rocks please! Now, I think of that joke and I feel a little bitter. Lina and I felt slightly ill in 419, a surefire former hookup central, as the facesuckers seemed to dominate the room. Go home and leave the nightlife for those of us who want to get drunk and cruise!

That boy turned out to be a bust. Figures. I got slightly ahead of myself there. I'm not as bummed as I could be. My romantic attention span is ever so fleeting nowadays. Still, I felt pangs when I met up Sunday night with P. Diddy and his new boy on their guerilla visit to town. I don't really remember what it's like to be all newly in love and have everything that person does be amazing. I smiled on them, really happy for PD, and on the way home, feeling kinda down on myself. Times like this when it's cold and I'm in the most blah of states, I think that it would be nice. I'm sure I'll feel very differently tomorrow.

Nevertheless, what I can't bring about for myself, I'm all about giving to someone else. I'm masterplanning matchmaking picks for the party. To spice it all up a bit. Should be amusing.

A Blogcard with my name, cell and email because I want business cards, even though I don't especially have a business per se. It's 25 for $14. Cheaper than a night of serious drinking and with infinitely more usefulness. [via Negative Velocity]

I'm having a tentatively good day today.

I ended up staying out a little bit later than I had planned, but I got lucky and got the last bus home before the dead zone between 3:30 and 4:30. I jumped right in bed with two purring bed warmers and got up and out without much trouble -- though on less than 3 hours of sleep.

Even though I was kinda late getting out, I still hit midtown about the usual time. On the ride in, I was thinking to myself how starving I was and made plans to get a donut -- only if I had the right amount of change. Lucky me, exacty 50 cents in the wallet. (oh, I gave up on the diet. Not only because I came through my senses and realized I'm not fat, just delusional and plus, a girl needs calories to survive. I was feeling like shit.) So, there I was ordering my plain donut with my two quarters in hand, when I dropped one.

I had the crazy frozen watching the bad thing happen in slomo effect as it rolled towards the grate, flirted with falling and then *poof* disappeared. This old guy was watching me watch it and the total "oh, fuck!" expression on my face. We small talked about how basically that sucked and I resigned myself to ixnaying the donut. As he walked away, the guy handed me a quarter and I wanted to give him a big hug. The donut guy was like, "that was nice of him, but I would've given it to you free if your quarter fell." Total niceness. I got the fuzzies.

Walking into the building and facing the security desk, I didn't even have to go through the "blah blah i'm a temp to see blah blah" song and dance because they're like "we know you. you've been coming around forever" and I got my pass without a word. Dope. And then while having my breakfast of a donut and tea with milk, a girl on this floor I subbed for before offered me the heads up on her going on vacation next week for next Friday plus the week after. Two words: cha. ching. 23 is shaping up to be a very good year.

I'm off to do the cabbage patch and hope I get a ring about that production job.

Day 2 of 3: Same bat channel, same bat station. And I've just realized something.

Most of the women who work here are small. Like lilliputian. I, in my 5'5" and over 150 lbs state, am a giant among them. They're so tiny that most probably wear kids clothes. What I realized is that's the key to nice accessories on a budget: if you're buying clothes in kids' sizes which are cheaper, that's more money to spend on kickass stuff (like this or that over there -- can't wait for the H&M knockoff, la la la!). Eureka! And I won't pretend that most having a good deal of money doesn't have anything to do with it also.

And I realized 3 months after the fact that the pink suede bag I cast off because of my hatred of things pink and me not really feeling the shape of it is a major spring accessory. Rocking that in December, I would've been mad ahead of the curve. Plus it was Y3. I'm a dummy. Just like when I didn't take those shoes offered to me from the closet because they were too small for me. On one hand, I'm a dummy. On the other hand, I'm obviously made for fashion because it's established I'm too honest (and clueless) to steal unlike some others (second item, dears). Next time I have the opportunity, I'll take it and put it where all things like that should go: Ebay to put some extra money in my pocket.

It's been a while since I did one of these and at the start of Day 2 of a very exciting day, I figured I might as well.

Over at Pop Life, Anil recounts a story about what makes "You Don't Know My Name" resonate so. My thumbs up on that song is due to the lush soundscape and the spoken interlude. Who doesn't love a spoken interlude? My top three are: the beginning to "Tonight Is The Night" by Betty Wright ("girl, you better not tell that story!"), "The Rain" by Oran "Juice" Jones ("You're just a squirrel chasing after a nut"), and "Float On" by The Floaters ("Libra...and my name is Charles.").

I am woman, hear me blog! [via Gothamist]. I've yet to cop a paper copy around the office to check out the pics, but *yawn*. Love the blogs, but I'm kinda tired of hearing the names. Hey, somebody, write a music writer/blogger phenomenon stories so I can connect faces with SFJ, Cowboyz and Poodles, Fluxblog and Hip Hop Music Blog, among many. I think we've reached the oversaturation point for the "they're urban, hip, acid-tongued and bloggers!" angle.

From my dear P. Diddy, "I obviously wasn't driving because I was busy at the time giving head." Just wow. I bet you she gets off.

All the "word"s in the world to O-Dub over this post. The other day, I was in Subway grabbing something to eat because I was running early for a change. The pure venom that spewed out about gays and lesbians in general and in the context of gay marriages from the black people sitting at the table behind me really made me sick. They actually said that homosexuality was like a fad. A bigot is a bigot. Just as I was in disbelief that Andre 3000 could get a pass for doing "redface" (and boy, did I love the article from Kandia Crazy Horse about that!), I'm pissed at the disregard for the civil rights of gays and lesbians. Homosexuals have always been around and they will always be around. They're people's parents, sons, daughters, cousins, co-workers, neighbors, friends -- they are everywhere. And if any straight idiot can get married and divorced at whim, they should be able to be also.

Anyhoo, the site most likely to only make a nervous type even moreso. [via Subtext, another fun one, and NewYorkish]

I've learned something today while surfing every website I can think of and wanting to stab myself in the eye with a pencil: there's nothing about work per se that appeals to me besides the paycheck/financial benefits aspect. No shit, right?

I'm kinda confused from the business standpoint about them hiring a temp. Nine times out of ten when I come into some department in the same bat building as always, they have literally nothing for me to do. I end up sitting here thinking, hmm...I could've left my good clothes in the closet...or rather, on the floor. The fleece pants would've been a lot more comfortable. I then find myself caught up in the catch-22 of trying not to look bored though I am and they know that I am. On the bright side, occasionally to pass time, I calculate the next week's check. That temporarily puts a smile on my fast in between clockwatching.

Then again, I'm not one of those people who thinks that work is supposed to be some enlightening, exciting type of thing. It's called work for a reason, you know. Of course, there are cool jobs a person can have, but I, as a green, fresh-faced, unfortunately non-rich and unconnected young soul, don't really stand a chance of getting one. Actually, that's not true. The publishing production job I sent my test-like materials back for yesterday is kinda fun. I get to read total mass market books and nitpick to my desire in order to get it printed. Not so deep inside is an anal English major who relishes proofing and all that shit. I had a good time doing my test stuff minus the fact it was hard to schedule in between naps, drinking, and the soaps. I'd get a kick out of that job...too bad they won't hire me because...ah, who the fuck knows why? If I knew that, I'd have fixed it already. Oh, excuse me...I'm a little bitter.

Anyways, in conclusion: the act of working, sucks. Paychecks and cash, Kitty Power approved.

Forecast for March 9th:
NYC: Mostly Sunny 44°/29°
Miami: Sunny 75°/62°

Yeah, I'm really facing a dilemma here.

Working is like a double-edged sword for me because I'm like the antithesis of a morning person.

It's not difficult to get up or even get dressed. I use engaging music on blast to get me going -- this morning began with Extinguished (because it literally has not left my stereo in the months since I bought it) and The Love Below. I actually danced out the door to "Roses." But once I get outside, forget it.

In case it hasn't been established, I kinda hate people. (I exaggerate, natch, but it's easy to hate people in a city crammed with them.) The combination of hating them and hating being up before noon fuels me with a bit of quietly homicidal rage. I had to resist smacking with my bag the guy sitting next to me on the E taking up two spaces because he had to spread his legs so wide. I wanted to scream at him: "Like your dick is really that big, you bastard!Move the fuck over so I don't have to get crushed!"

Also killing my mood is the crash diet I'm on. After glancing at the picture of myself from Monday's fun, I'm obsessed with losing some weight. My thighs are fucking massive. Of course, it's no problem to anyone but me, but that's not the issue at hand. For lunch, I plan to have a shake and an orange. I'm guaranteed to go red vision mach 4 rage by 5pm. With that said, don't you just wish you'll end up on my train later?

Thanks to Claudia, my pre-birthday present was having a lot of dick waved in my face yet have none of it satisfy me. All the while totally sober. The story of my 2004 really.

Obviously, there's a story to tell, but I don't feel like getting into it right now. I'm going to go play with the cats and be boring instead. In honor of this week being about finishing what I start yadda yadda this week, the story for your viewing pleasure...

My mind has been occupied with making a music mix for Alex. He's been across the sea almost steadily since school's end and I'm sending a mix of what I've been listening to and is going around here in town. It's pretty rock free, only because guitars isn't where it's at for me right now. Of course, there's good stuff out there (I've even listened to some) and folks I know are going to some group or another's concerts near frequently. But, sorry, not on this mix. I'm still formulating. Perhaps I'll post the results. Something I'm searching for space for is Greens Keepers, "Dixie Gan." I loved that song on first listen and then proceeded to play it to death for weeks. It probably won't fit but I still love it.

Thursday night, I found myself wandering around the confusing streets of the West Village, still hungover at almost midnight and horribly late for a dinner/party thing. I met up with my fellow Styleaholics and their band of friends to go to a club that I should love, but after two attempts just leaves me bored. The space is dope, but something about the crowd tends to be off for me. I dunno. Anyways...I was taking it easy with the ginger ale and my head was pounding beyond belief. Haven't you heard that the best thing for a headache is loud music and flashing lights? Yeah, me neither.

A friend of the party struck up a conversation with me since we were sitting side by side on the bench and it was only polite. I really hate the "what do you do" turn that conversations take -- not only because I don't have a career to speak of as yet. It's like a currency thing. The unspoken part is "it better be something fabulous, or else you've just lost my interest." I've got no currency. I can live with that, just ignore the chip on my shoulder. I responded, "professional interviewer" as I'm known to do nowadays and this guy said, "music producer/performer." Interest piqued, I inquired further and he mentioned the group I mentioned earlier. At first I couldn't place the name, but when I did, Candice went gushingly profuse with the praise and laughed out loud at the randomness of it all. Cheers to me, I made a new friend. And might get a copy of the new album. Dopeness! Feeling as if the stars might be aligned in my favor, I'm newly reconsidering the Miami/WMC trip. With my luck, I might meet Scott Herren or something! (And as an aside, anyone with a friend of a friend that can give a hand to a kid doing some serious last minute planning and trying to hit as much up down there as she can, give a shout!)

The weekend found me chilling the corners of 419, drinking my Taylor's 10 and sticking to my no whiskey word. Friday night, I walked over to the upstairs bar and was thrilled when the bartender knew what I wanted before I asked. Yay! I love that place. He said, "This getting port thing is new, right? You used to get something else. What was it?" I replied, "eh...whiskey sours, amaretto sours, G&T...I didn't really have one solid thing." "Right. And now you're onto port. Good choice. It's nice and sophisticated." Damn skippy. All about the grown and sexy in the '04. Plus it's a conversation starter. Everyone's always dead curious about what I'm drinking. Unfortunately, I ruin the sheer a tad having to get a glass of water usually and chase it. It's concentrated as hell. I'm not so keen on taking anything straight to the head, so it's a precaution.

Saturday night with my water in one hand and port in the other and standing on the wall sipping from both, I called out to a Wes kid as he passed me. Strangely, unless I truly hated them (which is rare of the people I encounter. *knock on wood* No The Continental sightings for me, thanks), it's always kinda funny to run into someone on "my turf." This was a kid I had a few good encounters with over the years, but never really saw often enough for us to really be friends. He and I stood there and had a nice convo, shooting the shit about the joint and Life After College ™. I don't know why I find it so jarring when I find someone in the same boat as me...and Jay-V...and Lina...and more of my friends than not. I suppose it's just easier to think that most have their shit together and it's just us stragglers who are feeling the brunt of the bad luck. We commiserated over the job and home with the 'rents sitch before he went off into the night. I swear, I should really make a weekly dinner/drinks thing for us frustrated grads. At least we could spend a few hours bitching and still garner some sympathy.

I retreated home early that night as I have been for most of the few weeks. I'm finding it hard to be as totally carefree and loose as I used to be. I've got a proofreading test to send back and interview upon interview in between freelance gigs to do. I'm turning into a boring old woman just in time for the birthday.