July 2004 Archives

I'm a baaaaaad blogger. Sorry about that folks. I really truly have nothing to say about anything because I'm preoccupied with being chained to my desk, sleeping, and wishing that there was a middle finger smiley. Here's some highlights of what I've been doing to pass the time:

1. Yep, I'm most definitely too smart for my own good at the own job. "Oh, Candice, you're a quick learner. Why don't you do your job and [my other team member's different one] while she's on vacation? You know, for like free and shit. Good girl! Oh, btw, the really busy period is starting while she's away, so lucky you!" *sob* But, the sick thing about it is that I actually might be happier now that I'm doing something besides staring out into space most of the time. Ah well. Such is paycheck life.

2. I've got thousands upon thousands of flyers I'm supposed to hand out and I just remembered that I'm shy and antisocial. That's gonna be a blast...not. Eventually if you see Closet flyers sprinkling the LES, EVil, and surroundings that was me. And anyone going to PS 1 today, do a girl a favor and take one because I might cry otherwise. Thanks! Also, a new reason why you need to go to The Closet: my friend (and the co-founder) Naj has a table and she'll be selling shirts that say "Nubian Slut." So on it. And there's stuff for men too.

3. AC was hella fun. PrincessNella and I went in tandem. I learned that if you plan on gambling the first night, you better be at least tipsy or else you'll be all "$25 mininum...well damn! Where's the $5 minimum table?" (Yes, my name is Cheapskate #1, and?) We hit up The Borgata, Caesars, Bally's, and the Taj Mahal and the boardwalk (but no taffy). My winnings were like $25 from the quarters slots...which I spent later at a table, but it was a good time. I can say that I truly ate myself to the point of almost vomitting when we had our $40/per person(!) brunch at the Taj Mahal. (We had champagne with our brunch, but no dancing monkeys for that price. The waiter threw in a bottle of Trump Ice. I'm so mad that the Donald has his face plastered on a bottle of tap, yo.) Next is Vegas for a 3-day weekend in October/November. Woo! Even though we were only down there for like a day, I felt so well rested when I got back to town. That was over approximately when I reentered the job brain suck. I was feeling like shit again by 2pm Monday.

4. I didn't mention the other week that I've gotten some new summer shoes...you know as it's over. They're like Candie's but with a solid black leather front and better and stuff. So fucking hot! I love DSW! Too bad it's apparently raining until September now. Bastards.

5. That emo boy article from the other week is still cracking me up. I was telling Lina about it and she was like "hmm...an article about Wes boys, that's great." I'm currently in a dilemma between two emo boys and one magnificently standard unavailable type. I choose...a hole in the head and clean slate, thanks. P. Fizzie also told me for future reference that it's not the best idea to tell the guy you're getting with that someone else is saying they love you and stuff. I think that's crazy talk! What does a boy know about the mind of other boys?! I'm saying.

6. Isn't it hard to move when you're utterly sick of reading real estate related shit? Yes, indeed it is. Hence why I'm having a bit of trouble with all that. Can I hire to someone to look at places and pick one, just leaving me to sign a lease? I wish I was rich right now.

The "gotta fill the empty space, dammit!" edition.

Two super fresh links courtesy of TMFTML: Some diamond ads that would have them flying out the stores, until men remember that they'll still be frustrated and out a few Gs. Such is life in the big city, boys. And the book Jay-V and I could've written blindfolded -- without that pesky overthrown the capitalist pigs sentiment.

And this one isn't web based so much as a media critique, but all over the net people are hyping the Barack Obama speech last night at the DNC. And I listened to 880 News this morning, hoping to hear a bit because I missed it. I think I heard the same soundbites from Dean, Teresa Heinz Kerry, and Ron Reagan Jr. about 4 times but no Obama. It's like it never happened. Isn't that interesting?

I've got a secret, I cannot say
Blame all the movement to give it away
You've got somethin, I understand
Holding it tightly, caught on command
Leap of faith, do you doubt?
Cut you in, I just cut you out

Whatever you do
Don't tell anyone

From Mo Ca$h:

On your current playlist, hit shuffle and pick the first twenty songs on the list (no matter how cheesy or embarrassing), and write down your favourite line of the song. Try to avoid putting the song title in the line. Then have your friends comment and see if they know the songs... I know y'all won't get half of them though:

1. "It's hard to keep a good woman down, so I keep coming/Blow for blow, I take and I get some/Still I rise in a civilized wisdom"
2. "People say you're wild/You've been christened a feral child/You need pornography to help you sleep the night"
3. "...and in the end we shall achieve in time/the thing they call divine/when all the stars will smile for me"
4. "I got, too much soul, rhythm and blues/R&B ya see, all that's cool/ but
hip-hop and rap yeah that's where my heart's at"
5. "You know when we talk we have a lot of fun, don’t we, girl/Dishin’ out the dirt on everybody/And givin’ each other the 411 on who drop kicked who this week/You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout"
6. "Inside always trying to get back inside/But it's so hard to penetrate pig-thick skin"
7. "Come on up to my roof top, honey/What I got is better than money"
8. "She says that love is for fools who fall behind"
9. "I wear my own crown and sadness and sorrow/And who'd have thought tomorrow could be so strange?/My loss, and here we go again"
10. "But today I worked it out/I got something I can shout about/Someone who believes in all the things I'm thinking"
11. "We argued like Archie and Edith/like Ike turned on Tina"
12. "I jumped into the river/Black-eyed angels swam with me/A moon full of stars and astral cars/And all the things I used to see"
13. "I heard you got a fever for the flavor/Somebody said you had it going on"
14. "Catch me in the club with a double edge banger/I'm the wrong one to fuck with"
15. "And I feel like some bird of paradise/My bad fortune slipping away/And I feel the innocence of a child/Everybody's got something good to say"
16. "Heart to heart as we hit the floor/Lumber up, limbo down/The locked embrace, the stumble round/I say go, she say yes/Dim the lights, you can guess the rest"
17. "it was an evening i shared with the sun/to find out where we belong/from the earliest days/we were dancing in the shadows"
18. "New York City/Just like I pictured it/Tall buildings and everythang"
19. "All five horizons revolved around her soul/As the earth to the sun/Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn"
20. "oh you wanna be a star/you're messing with the right one/I can take you there, I can make sure, you've got all the finest things/Baby, let me be your manager"

And the answers would be...drumroll please:

To pop that little bitch of a sidebar back to where it should be, the haps in brief:

1. We are now entering the "busy period" at my job, so I now only get a headache from pretending to work once or twice a week.

2. I'm planning an escape to AC this weekend. I was going to chill out on the boardwalk and beach for the first time all summer, but the forecast says rain. What's up with that shit?!?! Oh well, I'll just have to win and lose a lot of money instead to pass the time.

3. I'm officially fucking tired of browsing apartment listings. And feel no closer to having one.

4. I hate the "just talking" stages of pseudorelationship type interactions. As a no bullshit type of person, I like seeing progression. Less talk, more action and leave that emo boy crap at home. But on the flip side of that, I'm trying to do something new because of my so stellar results in the past.

In discussing FFPGINOANP on seperate occasions with Jay-V and P. Fizzie, I said that I feel he might be a little too grounded/new agey for me. Jay said that he doesn't seem like my type. But what is that really? Deadbeat druggies traipsing around the South? Pretentious snot scenester music aesthetes? Hypermacho assholes that'll throw you over for a jailbait beach bimbo if they get the chance? Call me bitter, but I think I should work against type for a change. But, that doesn't make him any less off for me. He's too old. That rule is around for a reason. I play all cool and grown up most of the time, but on off mode I like to be as stupid and immature as I want to be. When someone's got a good 9 years on you, it's hard to let your guard down and be that. I dunno maybe it's just me. I just want a guy to laugh at the stupid jokes I find on the net.

4. Speaking of silly, Tuesday night when I was just getting home and doing my unwinding before bed, Bill broke in with a frantic IM: "We've got to go to Butter." I queried why and he said because Prince was there eating mac and cheese. That mental picture alone, though funny, wasn't funny enough to get me out of the house. Who the fuck eats mac and cheese at a nightclub? That's so surreal. But my question is: with all the digicams and camera phones around, no one could get a snap of that? I'm saying.

Isn't it slightly problematic that I find it more respectable to be a computer nerd pottering away at 3am on a Saturday night rather than a slightly sick person in bed? But nerdish I was with "Blackout" by TAOS on megarepeat. Regardless, I'm still resting up instead of being out carousing unlike Friday.

I've realized why my body basically crapped out last week: my days just tend to be way too long. Friday, I got up a little before 7 for work, sat there for 9 hours, went to the gym and danced around for an hour and change, and then was off and running into the night. Trendvickster, P. Fizzie, and I were off to be all artsy at a shorts screening in a studio a stone's throw away from my job. The invite was received from the Film Fest Party Guy In Need of A New Pseudonym. Fizzie, being my most hardcore alkie buddy, came prepared with beverages and the three of us were having a grand old time before we joined the group at large.

We were off from there to the Upper West (eww) to a house party that was a little too dry for our tastes, but being troopers we had a good time. I pimped slightly for the upcoming Closet (more info and full graphic to follow on my site later, natch) and chatted with FFPGINOANP. Eventually, we took the party to this local place and everyone (but me of the iron liver and Fizzie's friend who joined us) proceeded to drink themselves stupid. I ended up finishing my night off after 6am in Weehawken not passing go or collecting $200 by falling stone cold asleep when my head hit the pillow as everyone was chatting in the kitchen. I really can't hang in my old age.

Saturday was a lazy day pottering around, feeling a slight relapse of the sickness. I put myself to bed at 9pm and woke up at 10 to 2. My friend C called at 2 and I sheepishly explained I was lying in bed but not asleep. I hung up with her and forced myself out because I felt like a loser. The highlights until 5 was hanging out in my PJs on a downloading frenzy. This brings to mind what exactly I'm going to write about this month. "I'm Retired: How being a nightlife columnist ruined my love affair with going out." I think that's got a certain something to it.

Sunday, PrincessNella and I were off to canvass. We were loving this street fair in Astoria and created our apt zone boundaries -- between 42nd and 33rd Streets and 31st and 35th Avenues. I also managed to drag her to Clinton Hill/Fort Greene to look and her Brooklyn bias equally dumbfounded Lina. Still, she had to give props to the food and bars sprinkling the nabes and we walked down to Junior's where we ate exactly half of our steakburgers before feeling like we'd had 10 meals and got some cheesecake slices to go.

Today, though I couldn't do a single thing I wanted to do before work this morning, I've got cheesecake for lunch and the world is alright with me. Plus I can breathe again. What's not to love?

The "other people are funny, so I don't have to be" edition. I'm at about 85% capacity after resting up all week. Of course, all of that shall be thrown out the window starting tonight. Relapse, woo! *sniff*

Anyhoo, best line of the week in the most random place -- Gizmodo on the Jaguar Black iPod:

My guess? I think the original iPods were black, and then were later changed to white, just like they did to Jesus.

TMFTML on a potential new reality series for HBO or maybe Skinemax:

We were talking to a friend the other day who suggested that there should be some sort of American Idol, but for porn. (We came up with the title Who Wants to Suck My Cock?) The scenario seems to construct itself: You have the vapid judge who applauds every performance ("Wow, you really took that double-headed dildo well! I love your energy!"), the judge who litters his criticism with meaningless "hip" phrases ("Aiiight, dawg, I wasn't really feelin' it until you pulled out and nutted in her face, but you did aiiight."), and, of course, the total dick judge ("That blowjob was appalling. I've seen better suction on a pushbroom."). You could even have an idiot host with an equally idiotic catchphrase ("Seacrest out! And in! And out! And in! And out!")

Closing in on the Prick of the Year: Is it Dame Diddy or Dame Dummy?

Is the outfit too bland? Too much white?

"Too much white?" retorts Dash. "That's what I would wear regularly - simple, fly and fresh to def."

Then he gets defensive.

"You can't do so much with a hundo," he says. "Damn. I got socks, sneakers, shirts, shorts. What do y'all expect from me? This is fresh. You're killing me. I'm done."

With that, his assistant hands him his phone, and Dash - who has just launched a magazine and purchased a BBC TV station - is already laughing with the person on the other end of the line as he descends the escalator stairs.

A Ford E350 Super Duty truck is outside waiting for him, along with his entourage.

Condoleezza Rice, sex symbol?:

If you're Steve Earle, she is. The rebel cowboy professes his love for Rice in the song "Condi, Condi" on his new CD "The Revolution Starts...Now" in what might just be the first love song to a national security adviser.

"You be the flower and I'll be the bumblebee/Oh she loves me; oops, she loves me not/

People say you're cold, but I think you're hot."

The country singer also croons:

"They say you're too uptight, I say you're not/Dance around me spinnin' like a top/Oh, Condi, Condi, don't ever stop."

While cynics may see the song as satire, Earle sincerely believes her power is an aphrodisiac. He recently told a skeptical writer for the music magazine Ice, "Well, don't you think she's kind of hot?"

The worst songs of great rockers list is so off...minus "Ebony and Ivory." Schmaltzy piece of shit. I have daymares occasionally of Wes pal christened Mr. President by Jay-V singing that in his own sarcastic way. In general, that song wasn't not funny but when he did it, I at least laughed. Anyhoo, "Numb" is a good song (but not as great as Lemon, natch. Yeah, I liked Zooropa, alright?!) and anyone who has heard it knows that The Edge is not rapping. You can reach and call it spoken word, but it's really just speaking a la "Meditate." And they know they thought it was sexy when Michael Hutchence did it. Plus, I think these writers have a bit of a ballad bias. It's okay to be sappy once in a while, people! [via Babelogue]

[via P. Fizzie off that shitty MySpace]

Thug Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Some extra special addition for you:

Constantly being out too late +
Habitually drinking too much +
More than a few days of smoking like a chimney +
Never ever getting as much sleep as I need =

A work day of me wishing i could just bash my head into the desk/rip out my defective lungs/clear out my sinuses so I can pretend I wouldn't rather crawl in a hole and die.

Good times for sure.

(An episode. Not verbatim.)

Mid afternoon. Sitting in front of the computer, I see the red light on phone flashing and hear the opening notes of "Mary Jane." The special ring. I pop it open and see who's calling before picking up.

"Hey there," I say.
Scream killer voice. "What are you wearing?"
I laugh hysterically for about a minute straight and get a chuckle in reply.
"How'd you know it was me?"
"Caller ID."
"Ah yeah."

Silly man, trix are for kids. Pleasant conversation follows.

The persona this week: fresh-faced wise-beyond-her-years ingenue. Pretentious? Oui. But I felt like rolling with it, so I did.

The weekend began on a Thursday night after work at some happy hour with people and stuff. Reunited briefly with Steven who was on his own little crusade that night. That's my Shecky, always up to something. He's moving down to the LES shortly. (Stay away from the dirty hipsters, Steven! Resist! Resist!) I was in a Chatty Cathy mood that night -- and no, I wasn't even drunk. As midnight began to get uncomfortably close, I said my goodbyes and went uptown, making a last minute plan switch and dropping in to meet Hani down on B. I hadn't seen him for a minute, so that was nice. As I am with everyone lately, I'm pretty unsympathetic to relationship -- or lack thereof -- issues. If you didn't fuck, I don't want to hear it. And if you did, I don't want to hear that either -- okay, maybe a little bit.

The next day at work, I was yawning like the Reach Man. I really was afraid of popping my jaw out of joint. I went to B&N after work to gather up some magazines and use my birthday present gift card up as I waited for C. I picked up the new Black Book, featuring my love Adrien. And I'm no Pianist come lately because I liked him since Summer of Sam and Restaurant. I even saw that jacked up Love The Hard Way, that's some love. I love him so much, I want to tie his ass to a chair and force feed him 2 Big Mac value meals, gently natch. My friend CR, a new LA transplant, reported that he saw him in Target and he was even thinner than he looked on the screen. That just ain't right. C came along and we wandered into Whole Foods. That place is like a vortex. I didn't really need that big ass carton of yogurt or nectarines or that sandwich with cranberry bread or the Brie, but that place made me get it anyway. Luckily, the prices are too ridiculous to have me getting food there all the time. It's so tempting to go there for lunch sometimes. It is only around the corner from the job.

A dispatch from Jenny got me to Bushwick for a loft party. [I've got to note: sheesh, is everyone moving to Bushwick nowadays? It's becoming party central or something. Just like Williamsburg, my actual likelihood of moving there is so nil. I come home way too often circa 5am to be wandering down some street with big dark ass warehouses and lots being the only things around. I'm not scared per se, but there's no point in courting trouble, nah mean?] Being a late tired ass, I missed the band a.k.a. the whole point, but had some good time just being in conversation. On the way home, I got to kick myself to note that I, who complain about the utter lack of interesting prospects, was flanked by three single (I suppose) hot guys yet played neutral and "boys have cooties." When did I regress to HS? Living at home has sufficiently sucked out my spark. I need to move like yesterday. Or relearn to make a move instead of just passively scoping. I need help.

Saturday, Jay-V and I made our way to Weehawken for a BBQ, thrown at the home of my phone tag pal, the Film Fest Party Guy. What a great view of the Manhattan skyline off the cliffside! If there was a better way to get there besides buses, I'd defect in a heartbeat. It was really nice over there. The event was held in a backyard courtyard with its own fountain and ivy covered stone. So gorgeous. Being the social animals we are, Jay and I held court on a bench until she left after a couple hours and I wandered around chattering away. It was nice finally seeing the guy again and get the chance to hang with him. Though everyone had some years on me and were shocked (positively shocked!) when I outed myself as 23 [note: I'm never sure whether to be pleased or insulted. Do they mean it that I can't be young because I'm not a giggly airhead or that I look old/bad for my age, even with my 16-year old face?], everything had a senior week vibe to it. We smacked a pinata and sprayed water gun shots of tequila into willing mouths.

I also realized why I like this guy (and the others) and what my prototype is: he's unassuming, artsy, ambitious, relaxed, confident, unconventionally good-looking. A bit of an edge where I least expected it. He's just natural and straight-forward. We can just riff on whatever and I feel engaged. It's all just fun to me, but not the shallow kind.

So, what's gonna happen? Who knows? One step at a time, like always. ETA: Guess who just reemerged like clockwork? He Whose Name I Can't Mention To Any Friend of Mine Without Them Getting Primed To Beat Me Upside My Head. The man has a sixth sense for these things. But, save the beatdown, kids, I'm not that erm, frustrated. Yet.

Random Thought Of The Day: Does "Trick Me" sound like an inverted "The Seed" or what?

Work is almost enjoyable when you know it's a short week. Wait...who am I kidding? No, it's not. During a day of being chained to my desk and staring at the cubicle walls, I made some afterwork plans to head down to the Virgin Megastore Union Square and then a little party for some soon to be cancelled show. I had the hardest fucking time trying to find someone to be in my entourage. My people have no vision!

At Virgin Mega was an indie hip-hop panel, distinguished most for me by the ranter who closed out proceedings by calling the panelists out, asking if they were invested in really bringing a DIY creative ethic "back" to hip-hop or were they like the draconian majors in disguise trying to tie artists to shit contracts for maximum money making. I wish I would've seen the actual panel because all I heard was the Q&A portion which doubled as "how can I be like y'all?"/"how do I go about getting y'all to help me?" blah blah way too much bubbly self-promotion cakes. I stuck around mostly for the RJD2 set and salivated over the latest Black Book. Mmm...Brody. My friend in LA had just reported a sighting in Target the other week and said he was even skinnier than you can possibly imagine. That's alright. I'll take that and force feed him some Southern cooking.

Then slightly uptown to meet TrendVickster at the party place. Standing in line, I spotted Abe -- though not especially surprising since I found out about it via him more or less anyways. I'd never been there before so I was a little intrigued by the space, or at least the little part we got to see. The DJ was actually okay (but some of those transitions: eek!) and I mentioned to Abe that I was a little afraid of him playing Keith Sweat because hearing a song I haven't heard in a while in a club usually signals that it's about to be put on the "50 Songs We Rotate To Death And Make You Start To Hate" list in no time. [And in a total aside, a major part of my weekend was shopping and I got sucked into H&M. Fuck that store is ingenious. 2 per block and different in every store. But, it's totally sad that I hear better (being a subjective word since they're on some Euro pop shit) music while strolling around in there than I do on the radio. They need a compilation CD because being that I bought Old Navy Soul years ago through subliminal marketing, I'd be all over that shit.] The crowd was hipish freebie seekers (a.k.a. my people) and I learned to hate the show before it even came on by seeing the same two promos on repeat for 2 hours +. The best parts were the free booze (you know, because I'm an alcoholic) and the goodie bags (which included a watch, mini bottle of booze, shaving kit, and other stuff). The show is indeed terrible, but I've gotta love the "get 'em so drunk they'll watch anything -- or not" event planning method. So fun. Special shouts to Neil for making it all possible.

On the 10-mile walk to our trains, TrendVickster and I took a shortcut through Penn Station. I was shit amused to see one of my co-workers walking -- but really, drunkenly stumbling -- towards us. "Hey there," I said with a nice big smile. "Hey," he responded, cautiously all "shit...gotta..keep...it... together." We made some small talk before he went on his imbalanced way and I laughed and laughed. Stumbling...that's for amateurs. Says the dummy who is cruising for a drunken fall soon. Karma's a bitch.

Apparently the "stay black, homey!" edition. This is post #500, btw. Damn, I write too much!

The latest in the strange wonderful world of building a band in The Morning News. This episode Gary gets a PSA from his new bass player:

Jacob: OK. [very serious, like a doctor] See, what you have, Gary, is a condition that is very common among white males between the age of 16 and 40. It’s called eye-cob.
Gary: Eye-cob?
Jacob: E.I.C.O.B. Entertainment-influenced Concept of Blackness.
Gary: [nervous laugh]
Jacob: [holding up hands] Now watch. Over on this left hand you have famous black people. P. Diddy, right? Missy Elliott, Oprah, uh, Damon Dash running Roc-a-Fella with Jay-Z. And Denzel. That’s E.I.B., Entertainment-influenced Blackness. Now, on the right hand here you have Jacob. And Jacob is playing bass and trying to get a novel together. He’s writing for Matchstick. He hangs out with his friends, and he has to go to a family reunion next month in piss-hot Georgia, and meet up with the same cousins who used to beat him up when he was 12. That’s J.P.B., Jacob’s Personal Blackness.
Gary: My cousins beat the crap out of me.
Jacob: My cousins are knuckleheads. [taking a drink] All right. [raising left hand, then right] You’ve got big wide-world MTV blackness, and little old Jacob blackness. And the problem—are you ready for the problem?
Gary: I am ready.
Jacob: The problem is that when white people walk down the street, and you see black people, you’re seeing the left hand of blackness. You’re seeing blackness in culture, this big crazy blackness with Jesse Jackson on one side and, like, Chingy on the other. But when you see white people, you don’t think, there’s a white man just like that Ted Koppel on TV. You don’t even see their skin, right?
Gary: Nope.
Jacob: You don’t watch The Apprentice and say, Donald Trump has taught me something about the white experience. Donald Trump is just an individual with fucked-up hair. Do you know what I mean?
Gary: [shifts in seat]
Jacob: So, you’re a sensitive guy. And you’re like, let me go out and get a cool black bass player, and be diverse, let me get some of that P-Funk vibe, some Bootsie cool. I’m going to do some good. But when you ask a man to play bass because he’s black, it’s not all that different than coming up and offering me a big ol’ tas’ey watermelon. You’re looking for left-hand blackness, but Jacob’s only got right-hand, one man blackness on tap. And when you expect my right hand and left hand to be the same thing, Gary, is when you commoditize my negritude.
Gary: [takes a long drink of beer] I’m sorry.
Jacob: All right. And because it’s obviously heartfelt, I accept that apology.
Gary: Thank you.
Jacob: You shouldn’t feel too bad. Even Bill Cosby is confused on these issues.

Make Jay a talking head! But, am I wrong in kinda liking that Spoke N' Heard show?

Oh look, Al found himself an extra suit from the Mo Money, Mo Problems/Been Around The World Era of Puffy!

I can't say I haven't made this mistake before:

IT must be such a drag to be a celeb, what with the cars, the clothes, the cash — and the mistaken identities. Case in point: on Saturday, a Mercedes Maybach pulled up in front of Downtown Cipriani. An attractive, casually dressed woman with a long brunette ponytail got out with a similarly attired man. A passerby called out, "Oh my God, J.Lo you are so gorgeous!" The woman in question smiled and looked directly at the fan. "Thank you," she said. "But my name isn't J.Lo. It's Beyoncé."

An interesting take on the recent history of the "n word." [via P6] Did anyone watch that show on Trio, btw? I haven't watched TV in weeks. Oh, and the Bill Cosby thread on Fametracker is a pretty good read.

So, in case you haven't noticed, working and making up for the brain freeze on the weekends has significantly cut down on my blogging time. Quite sad, but I'm trying to keep megaposts coming to tide y'all over. Then again, it's not like you really read all of those anyways, right? Too many damned words with not enough pretty pretty pictures.

Anyhoo because email is my lifeblood on those long days in my cubicle area (which is mostly more depressing than even that sounds), I'm using that opportunity to bite an idea I thought was damned good at the time. If you've got questions, I've got time to answer them and try to keep my sidebar where it should be. I'm genuinely interested to attach something to you unknown reader people, so step up to the plate.

Send all Qs via email to me at kittypower.com. Bombs away!

The name of my game is downplay, downplay, downplay. "Oh, I'm so bored with town...as I stay out until 6am all the time." Always remember: heavily edited for mass consumption. Besides that, if you couldn't tell, I was in a shitty ass mood last week -- coupled with work taking up way too much time. Fucking infringing on my blogging. We have to do something about that.

The theme of the long holiday weekend was: "great but could've been golden with a satisfying conclusion to the evening." I've been rolling with my trusty friend C and she's in the same boat I (and others) are looking to bail: the under lock and key so long we barely know which way is up. I don't know whether to be afraid or comforted that so many of my nights have fallen into the "oh please, I've been suffering so much longer. Get back to me in another month" and "yes, even bad shit counts. Subtract a month for you" conversations. Misery does love company after all. My status is pretty easy to explain actually: I did that on purpose to focus on the job search (then, the job) and since I've tentatively reemerged, all I ever seem to meet are guys with girlfriends and/or not enough oomph to make that jump out the friend zone or the late 20s/30s habitual druggies radiating the "more trouble than I'm worth" vibes loud and clear. I've stopped being a glutton for punishment in my old age.

Early Friday evening, loving the getting out at 2pm deal and playing with my new cell, I met up with Lina downtown to celebrate her new job with mojitos. She, like many I know, is nesting with a new guy and can't relate to my single struggles, so to counteract "my love life is so great," I've soften the bitterness parade with self-deprecating complaints and hopefulness in the small stuff. "He said 'I thought I was your bitch,' isn't that great?" I get encouraging murmurs in reply with a "poor you" headshake. Pity party, table for one, thanks. She and I went off to explore her Ft. Greene nabe to kill some time before my later engagements. She agrees with me that a person would be crazy to be anti-Brooklyn and encourages me to get a place by my damned self since the extra share would be worth the lack of aggravation. Isn't that the truth? We had a girl pow wow, doing the "man, I wish I could lose 5lbs!"/"you look great! i wish I had those curves!" This post might be complaint center as far as the private life goes, but dammit, I look good right now. I'm not afraid too modest admit it!

After that, I was off to meet my friend C and her friends for a truly cool experience. I'd heard about this bar for a minute but being not connected, I obviously had never been. It's this cool little place invoking the speakeasy from the decor to staff apparel and drink touches. No menus, just order based on their selection of juices and spirits (though I ordered a gimlet first because it seemed like the sort of place I could do it and not feel like a 60-year old man). The four of us drank ourselves relatively stupid and found that 3 girls plus one guy equals who's compatible with the boy. None of us apparently. I don't do dorky and neurotic because I've got enough of that to go around, thanks. Still, we were a good group and bounced around to Tribeca and this place I doubt I'll revisit. Hello, drug den! Not my scene. Plus there was a big and scary ass dog as big as horse. I hate it when people say, "she's a sweetheart, she loves people" about their frightening looks animals. Because when it takes a bite of my ass, it will be all "she's never done that before. I can't believe it!" Keep them all back from me. I've got the scars from "nice" dogs.

For the 4th of July, I wandered about a rooftop in Bushwick almost getting my hand amputated. "Wha?" you say. Well, I'm a brilliant individual who pulled my police bracelet like wristband too tight and just when my hand got numb and was starting to feel lightheaded was when the combo of scissors, kitchen knifes and keys were finally successful in freeing me. I vaguely watched the fireworks, but I was infinitely more concerned with not losing a hand. My wrist was all swollen and I got to walk around for a while with an ice pack. So attractive. I've still got the marks looking like a S&M session went a little awry. I settled down to lounging about for hours with C and her friends, including Mr. Man from back in the day. Still scorching, less skeezy. As my interest level rose and rose, I decided it was time to go. I got to run to the train station in the torrential downpour and find my interest in everything but my warm bed significantly...erm, dampened. Such are the breaks I suppose.

I've realized over this long weekend (that has been progressing ever so nicely) that I'd rather sit at home and find ring tones from my new cellphone than hang. So sad. Work has suceeded in making me straight up boring. Damn adult responsibility garbage.

Meanwhile, my 3 oh-so-lovely new rings are "Axel F" (yes, from Beverly Hills Cop), "Trans Europe Express," and the intro to "Mary Jane." But, I debated on getting "Here Comes Your Man," "Blue Monday," "The Hustle," "Grindin'" and "I Am The Walrus" before I realized they'd get really annoying quick. If I could get a "Pop Your Funk" ringtone, I might die a happy woman.

Someone help me. Please.

Currently being played to death on the Musicmatch, indicating why my head is probably all over the place:

Kate Bush, "Wuthering Heights"
Mobb Deep, "Got It Twisted"
Arthur Russell, "In The Light Of The Miracle" "In The Cornbelt" "Pop Your Funk"
Man Man, "10lb Moustache"
Jackson Browne, "The Load Out-Stay"
Earth, Wind and Fire, "Keep Your Head to the Sky"
Prince, "Alphabet Street"
Two Tons of Fun, "Just Us"
Oran "Juice" Jones, "The Rain"
Aretha Franklin, "Jump To It"
Billy Stewart, "I Do Love You"
Slave, "Watching You"
The Grass Roots, "Midnight Confessions"
The System, "You Are In My System"
LTD, "Love Ballad" (a.k.a. wedding song extraordinaire)

Right.

Yesterday, I was thinking to myself that besides the whole paycheck aspect, this whole working thing is way overrated. Sitting in one place for over a third of my day, during prime sun-filled hours, in a fucking ice box. Stupid annoying ass people, bitches walking like Peggy Bundy and skeezy guys hitting on everything that moves and this butterface who thinks she so fucking cute and these girls go to the bathroom in PAIRS it really is fucking junior high!!!

Oh, I did mention I had approximately an hour and a half of sleep last night? Isn't it obvious?

Anyhoo, yesterday I was like "you know, tomorrow's a 9-2 day because of the holiday weekend, so fuck it! I'm going wild." I popped in at Sapph as I do to find the yuppie brigade in full force, most in suits and ties. I asked my friend the bouncer with a sneer, "what is this? an office party?" Some eavesdropping girl was all "no!" really bitchily. I gave her a look and wished I was a man, so I could give her "deez nuts, bitch" gesture. It's one of the few man things I envy. "Suck on my left one" or whatever just doesn't have the same ring. Especially since there's always the fool that would be "umm...okay!" I'm not trying to get my Courtney Love on, thanks. (Isn't also fairly obvious that I'm only a semi-reformed tomboy? Yeah, I thought so.)

I really love Sapph. It's totally like Cheers. "Hey"s and waves all around as I saddle up at the bar. "Where've you been?" said my bartender friend. "I haven't seen you in forever! I thought you were dead!" Sheesh. "Umm...I was just here last week." "Hmm...well you left mad quick." "True...but dead? I was just a little tired, man!" Everyone was asking about P. Fizzie. Take a kid there twice and they're all "where's my boy at?" "At home with his girl," I replied. "Tell him to bring his ass here next week!" Consider the message passed.

Considering my disgruntlement with everything, I had a blast at Sapph. Once the yuppies cleared, it was the regs plus friends and randoms just chatting, drinking, dancing. I was a chatty chatterbox to the extreme. (Yay 2 for 1!) Then again, I'm a random magnet, so it's par for the course. I got one guy telling me his past relationship drama all bitter like (the synopsis: live in gf cheated with best friend and now they're dating and he's gotta move. Burn!). If anything I can say I've learned lately, live ins are a bad idea. It apparently needs to be held up as a relationship killer. But yeah, talking about relationship trauma, that's sexy...NOT.

There was this new DJ getting static and zero love because he drove the brigade out. I, of course, wasn't too burnt about that, but then again, it's not my money at stake. Can someone explain to me why good DJs who understand the principles of mixing and mood are playing small hole in the wall lounge parties and shitty hipster DJs are everywhere else? Is there someone who's like "yeah, I've got a space that fits about a 1000 and I want terrible music. Hmm...who can I pick?" This guy was really mining the crates and he played my request like 2 mins later. (I said Brand Nubian to go with what he was doing and he threw on "Slow Down." I've got "what I am is what I am" on a loop right now. Someone please give me a new song.)

We closed the place out and then some and I found myself at Houston and Allen at 4:30 feeling very sad. Long trek ahead of me and I still had to be up at 6:45. In my sleep disorientation, I got off at 71st Continental for some reason I still don't really understand. Great...that was another 30 mins on my trip. I stumbled into bed at 6:15ish and had the radio blasting until Ms. Mommy peeked in like "get up, turn that shit off, do something" plus some "you know you had to get up this morning so blah blah reap what you sow blah blah kernel #467 from the parents handbook." I was too tired to do a "deez nuts" this time plus I like my life.

And the story ends at work with a big ass cup of french vanilla coffee and a permascowl. I'm lucky that at 23, I can bounce back from this shit fairly well. But knowing me, unless I'm all super domesticated in 10 or 20 years, I'll still try it every once in a while. A little rager never hurt in the long run.