Kitty Power

Smells Like A Hiatus

I'm off to be grumpy and sulk and try retail therapy and and remember how to be all smiley and crap. It might take a while -- or because I put this out there, be tomorrow. Y'all know where to reach me. And I'm out.

ETA: Flighty, thy name is Candice. Sue me, sue me, what can you do me? You should know by now that I'm prone to whims.

You Got To Roll Me

The only problem with long weekends is having to go back to normal adult life when it's over. There definitely weren't enough days for me to relax and I'm very against having to reenter the grind tomorrow. Too much of my time was spent being mopey and sleep deprived. I thought a long weekend was when you got caught up on sleep and chilled the fuck out for a change. Ah well.

Post-Thursday's episode, Friday was a blah ass sort work day. I was in the mood for some retail therapy and was off downtown. I got caught out in the rain and happened to duck into the sneaker store. I emerged a while later with Asics #2 (more Tigers: Ultimate 81 Sax/Blue if you're curious.) Later was another night with the friends for Trendvickster's 23. We had a mini-HS reunion strolling around the village plus P. Friendster. We got to be the only freaks in the universe who actually used that new fangled Friendster thing and the only ones who didn't turn into pumpkins at 1am. He and I were then off to a fun weekly at a place for dancing and too much drinking, the typical routine.

Saturday night, I found myself at my aunt's bridal shower. I barely knew what to even bring because what the hell do I know about those things? My friends are (mostly) far from being married (knock on wood), so those things are quite foreign to me. Plus being with my aunts and friends of their age group made me even more lost. The main entertainment was the hired stripper that dashed every perverted dream I've ever had of male strippers. He was absolutely gross, with bulging muscles that would make Vin Diesel look like a malnourished shrimp and the most colossal dick I've ever seen hanging out there in a harness (for lack of a better word) barely restrained. I'm no prude or wallflower, but I all I could think was "he better not put that thing anywhere near me." I suppose sensing that, he came over and did some sort of dance in front of me smacking my knee with it, as I clapped my hand over my horrified mouth and thought that I'd have to wash those pants the next day no doubt about it. I can guess you're thinking, well, damn Candice, you're such a punk! You act like you've never seen a dick before. Hello, Ms. I Went To Naked Boys Dancing For My Birthday! You're all talk and no action! And you'd be partially right, but that thing (because it was like a deformity) was like 15 inches and the diameter of a Sprite can. I think my mind went into shock thinking of someone coming at me in real life with something like that. Never in a million years, yo. And imagine...until Saturday I thought I was a size queen! Ha! I was so traumatized that I had to go home and try to flush out the sight of it from my mind.

I woke up bright and early on Sunday to do laundry before traipsing off to Woodbury Commons with Russ and the visiting P. Diddy. Mmm...shopping. Mmm...Junior's strawberry cheesecake later that night for dessert. We were out and about when apparently no one else was. As if everyone really left town! I've seen more people out on a Sunday when everyone knows damned well they have to be up the next morning. We called it quits fairly early and I woke up early the next morning before ixnaying that and getting up mid-afternoon. PrincessNella and I saw Shrek 2, even more not for kids really than the first one. The adults were definitely the only ones laughing this time around. Plus Puss N' Boots reminds me of one of my cats.

All in all, I've been very boring. So sorry. I'm in a slump. Sue me.

Tainted Love

Despite my lovely kiss-off post from the other day, to pretend that marks the end of "Farmer Comes To NYC" story means that I'm not a bored and occasionally stupidly impulsive type of person. Because I definitely am. I've got to admit the cold to warm weather transition has been off for me (despite certain bright spots) because I replaced worrying and obsessing over the lack of a job thing to working and always sleep-deprived. The Farmer sitch is tres compliqué because before his regression to fall "that fucker that I'm going to punch out" era levels, we were humming along on some nice friendly shit to date -- until he got here and metamorphosed into a neo-The Continental. Hope for salvage has been springing eternal this week, you know, because I'm a jackass.

Thursday night was the extra special "congrats to me for having this job thing on lock" dinner here, featuring Jay-V, PrincessNella, Hani, and the birthday girl TrendVickster. In a fit of boredom at work, I had extended the invite to Farmer. I dropped that bombshell towards the beginning and Jay and PN, having negative opinions of him without having the pleasure of meeting him (which Hani and TV had) were equally adamant in not being seated next to him. We worked all that out, but it flew out the window when he arrived about 45 minutes after everyone else with a friend in tow. He plopped down next to the thrilled PN and announced they planned to just drink and not eat because they weren't staying long. I'm sure my eyes narrowed about then.

I suppose I can even admit since I'm being all nice and honest that it was a trap. And he knew it, so I can't blame him for bringing a buffer. Me, Jay, and PN in a row are a tough crowd under any circumstances. Poor Hani as the lone boy was lost and torn between playing peacemaker and staying all clear. And TV was the cutest little birthday girl in the history of the universe. She asked Farmer (he who lives on a boat), "Do you ever get sea sick?"

But, we were nice. Almost too nice in fact. We gave him just enough rope. Inexplicably, there were crayons at our table -- then again, probably to pass the time as you wait hours for your food -- and everyone but me (because I know where my artistic talents lie) was drawing little pics. Farmer's was a sailboat (*surprise, surprise*) with a piece of land in the background. He explained it as the island near where he lives and we all were good about restraining the scorn (while they was there). All masks were pushed aside as they got up to leave after about a half hour or so. At first, they weren't going to pay for what they ordered before thinking better of that and he babbled some crap about hanging out later. Umm...fuck off. "Thanks for coming," I said with the sarcasm positively dripping. The tension erupted to the surface and if looks could kill, he'd have been out in a body bag.

They slinked off and we all looked at each other and busted out laughing. Hani was still lost for whatever reason. Sheesh. I'm having a hard time believing that even a casual reader would have trouble paring down the real story in a few sentences or less. (Is there anyone who really is like "yeah, what is the deal with this Farmer person? I just don't understand what she's saying on that front"? If so, speak now or forever hold your piece.) PN found her claws and said he looks great for 33.
"But, he's really 26," I replied.
"No shit?" said Jay. "He looks really old."
"27 in July. It's probably all the sun. You know they don't age well when they start tanning like that."
We asked Hani's opinion on Farmer's looks/lack thereof and he feigned ignorance/cluelessness. Poor boy. He acted like he got thrown into a Lifetime Movies watching marathon. I guess he did in a way. He should've been taking notes because bird's eye views don't come along everyday.

Nuggets

A strangely fascinating interview at TMN about a new book aimed to change men's minds about foreplay. That's nice...but I'm sorry, I'd laugh at a guy if he said he knew all about "cliteracy." And when I think sexologist, Dr. Ruth always comes to mind. [via Gawker]

A scene I would've been interested to have been a fly on the wall for:

After a few minutes of stunned silence, Matheson, Young and the others ignored the royal decree and continued their lively dinner — while the princess demanded a new table.

But as she left, she circled the offending commoners, leaned toward Callaway, pumped her fist and said, "You need to go back to the colonies!"

After the comment, mayhem erupted among other shocked diners in the room, and Young decided to confront the raging royal.

"That she would make a comment like that, in this day and age — I was fuming," said Young.

Marchetto and other witnesses said Young marched up to the princess' table and demanded, "What did you mean by that, 'back to the colonies?' "

"I did not say 'back to the colonies," Princess Michael retorted. "I said 'you should remember the colonies.' Back in the days of the colonies, there were rules that were very good.

"You think about it," she told Young. "Just think about it."

Over at S/FJ, the unofficial top selling hip-hop albums of all time and it's hella weak. Is there any doubt that suburban future frats boys are the driving force behind sales looking at that list? (Salt N'Pepa withstanding -- BTW, how happy am I to see the girls representing?!) FYI, of all those albums, I've got 3: 1 (one, it's on cassette and was probably bought off the street, and two, it was a present when I was like 10!), 7, and 15.

The Long Goodbye

I used to be known for the slow burn and explosions. For a person who always said they hated to put up with shit, I actually had a fairly high limit of what I would take. I'd wear my mask of whatever it was (depending on the person) and seethe until one day out of the blue, I'd hand their head back to them on a plate. I was in a permastate of inner rage and all of that is just draining after awhile. My stress level was always through the roof and I would think what's the point of being tenuously with someone if it just gives me grief. After two many times hitting brick walls (My favorite saying is after all: "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"), I decided to just opt out and life has been really good. You can teach an old dog new tricks. Who knew?

Farmer has a knack for reentering just when I feel like I've got it all figured out. I've been anxious about the big reunion since I spoke to him last week. It's easy to almost mythologize someone when they're far away. You forget all the things they do that you hate and how they can get all your weak spots and screw you over. (Or maybe that's just me. That's totally possible.) From the first IM yesterday, I felt my eyes narrow and blood pressure go up in familiar ways. I was in full blown inner rage by the time we met up.

A blast from the past meeting deserves a blast from the past venue. A slight joy was meeting up with a friend of his, S, that I'd met once and was a part of the good memories of a night that got progressively weirder (which was of course, mostly unblogged). He and I chatted that it been almost 8 months since that night and I in turn thought that I'd be caught up with Farmer's bullshit for over 9 months now. And of course, he is as infuriating as ever: flighty, spazzy, inconsiderate, overly sensitive, has to be the sun which everything orbits around. Every possible trait I hate with a passion. Between that and the interior storm, I was all wound up and thought on repeat: "fuck you, I'm over this." The part that bugged me the most was that I had dragged my tired ass out to hang yet I was always finding myself sitting alone because he was MIA. I started texting with Jay-V to pass the time and he of course had to reappear then accusing me of being anti-social. Did you know that there was a nice screeching sound that accompanies red rage vision? Now you do.

I was dragged outside to watch them smoke before he ran off again. By then, I was tired of pretending that utter dysfunction was actually fun and made a phone call to talk to someone normal. I stood out on 2nd Avenue, chatting and feeling like myself. I was actually a little depressed to have to go back in. Finishing up my drink, sitting alone in the dark again, I thought, I really could be doing this (well minus the drink) at home, preferably in bed asleep.

I walked over to where the boys were holding court and said goodbye to S. "See you in another 8 months," he said and I laughed. Farmer remarked, "Uh oh, she's pissed off!" and I was almost amazed that I really wasn't. There's a certain zen in just coming to a place where you just wash your hands of bullshit and opt out. You really just cease to care. It's a great feeling. The girl he was chatting with made a mock attempt to engage me in their conversation by asking, "Do you like guys to be more passive or aggressive?" "Aggressive," I replied without skipping a beat. She was semi-amazed. "Aggressive vs. Aggressive, huh?" She made a sign of fists going up against each other to symbolize head-butting. "That could be a lot of trouble, huh?" But at least it cuts down on the time wasting bullshit. I shrugged and walked away. I was tired of talking.

I was so tired that I was knocked out on the F until 169th Street...a.k.a. the stop after mine. I had to wait 15 minutes for a train to go back the opposite way. I blame him for that too. In the meantime, good riddance. Hopefully I won't have to see him for another 8 months either.

We Now Return To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Alright, folks, enough with the heavy, back to the bullshit.

I'm playing catchup like crazy at work. I considered crying dealing with the intimidating stack on my desk. Doing actual work before 10? What's up with that?! But, I'm currently thrilled that Friday is a half day before a long weekend. Nothing wrong with that.

In other concerns, I'm doing some interviews because I can. Up on deck are Kate Ace Fu, Abe, and Steven -- not necessarily in that order. They probably thought I had forgotten about them. I'm on it, y'all! I'm also continuing my glutton mode by planning two big dinners for this week. Isn't it sad that I'm so happy about the short Friday because that means I can go back to my old self and wild out on Thursday? Bah humbug to being a working stiff.

The Great Migration

The strongest impressions I come back with from the trip are the fine grains of dirt that cover everything and never seeing so much farmland in my life. And also that my family is like a gang. We descended on that little town about 20 deep. I found myself amazed that there was a town smaller than where my paternal grandmother's family ran from nearly 50 years ago. At least in Raeford there's the industry of the turkey plant, but in Garland, there's nothing but trailers and open land.

Ten hours on the road from NYC to NC each way plus the various bits of driving around meant bonding time. Being held captive in the van, alternating between movies (on the way down was Menace II Society. Damn, I haven't seen that movie probably since it came out. Ultra disturbing as ever. Someone needs to put out an APB on Tyrin Turner, stat!) and the radio (It's funny that before this trip, I thought it was just NYC radio that was bad. It sucks everywhere. I almost ripped it out of the dash having to be subjected to this song like 50 times with the chorus "Slo motion for me, slow motion for me" without much else as far as verses went. Plus they're playing "In Da Club" like it's a new hit. On the plus side, I do like "Freek-A-Leek" -- the chorus at least -- and I got more than my fill), meant cousins bonding time to the extreme. I haven't spent that much time with them since I was a kid. We fell right back into old roles with some slight modifications. I'm still the sarcastic smart mouth who can drop a fool. We still like picking on the younger kids. My younger girl cousin still whines so that it'll bust an eardrum, even though she's staring 20 in the face. Speaking on the cell to PrincessNella, she noted the sharp tones and patronizing jokes we pass around. We are a gang. I wasn't really kidding about that. Some of us noted that the only time everyone comes together is at a funeral. We need a joyous type of family event to congregate at. Though, my aunt is getting married in 3 weeks, so that should be a good one.

And Jesus, was it hot! The thermometer hovered around 93 all weekend and I, in my suit jacket Saturday, thought I would melt. I had packed a sweater forgotting where I was and as we made our way down the coast, got the strangest looks at the rest stop. My face and hands darkened about 5 shades. So sorry for bringing the heat back with me.

Taking advantage of the South, I was all about stuffing myself stupid with food. Everything was slamming. Ribs, macaroni salad, cabbage, potato salad, cakes and more. I was on an Arby's hunt, but made do with everything else. It caught up with me on the ride back as I swilled ginger ale and tried not to move.

I hate funerals and all their rituals. So much time is spent over the body and you're expected to conduct yourself as if it isn't there. How can I focus to talk about what I'm wearing to a wedding in a few weeks when I've got the glaring reminder of who I'm not going to see there? The whole thing is so ghoulish, especially when they drag out the cameras/camcorders and start touching the body. I spent most of the weekend with the chills, trying to avoid proximity whenever I could. That was almost impossible because I had to be front and center with my father. I had been thinking almost all the way down about if I would even be able to cry being that I spent all my time knowing about my half brother either barely thinking of him at all or indifferent. Between the pictures his friends had and his family saying how alike we were and then the finality of seeing him just laying there, it was hard. It's stupid to say -- or think -- I'm tired of death, but I am. It's like a layer of your heart is stripped away every time. Especially since knowing me, I'll file it away to the sad file and wear the mask and go about my life. But every once in a while, I'll wonder what life would be like if they were around. Eventually, those thoughts come less and less and life goes back to its regularly scheduled program of high and lows, bullshit and the sublime. Such is life I guess.

The Best Laid Plans

On my plate this weekend, keeping me away from movie sets and dope ass shows, was supposed to be closing the school daze chapter for once and for all by revisiting Wes one year out. I had made plans to meet for dinner and a drink before jumping on the Metro North and splitting the cab costs to our final destination. Then wandering around campus trying to see if I felt different seeing places again. Seeing old friends and others -- just riding the nostalgia wave.

Instead, I'll be in North Carolina, braving the dry Southern heat and the red clay dust with the family. I'm not looking forward to the 8-10 hour ride in a van, even if my aunt did mention the presence of a DVD player in her guilt trip. I've been thinking to myself gravely that someone in my family somewhere must've pissed off someone important. Death and tragedy has become almost second nature to us. Most people in my family can spin the occasions into almost joyful affairs, making it like a mini-reunion, but I'm spiritually weary of death in my young age. I hate going to funerals and I tried to compartmentalize this away and escape to CT. But I got hit with the massive of the guilt trips and was especially bothered because I knew they were right and I should go.

So, in my third week of work, I'm taking Friday off and my semi-horrified boss wished me well. I'll spend the night traversing familiar roads with relatives and most of the weekend hoping I don't melt. Perhaps I'll make it back in time to stand on Andrus to watch the red caps fly, but I doubt it. Sometimes family trumps all. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

FYI

They've released the Summerstage schedule. Looking good for sure. And the scheds for Bryant Park and Celebrate Brooklyn are live also. The summer's gonna be dope!

Spring Madness

I'm a real "bah humbug" sort of mood on that front.

Probably because I'm feeling deluged by all the couples swarming eveywhere, attached at the hip, being so super saccharine that I contemplate vomiting to make myself feel better. (Yeah, I'm not the sunshine and puppy dogs type.) Making me more annoyed is that one of the cats has gotten into that game. She ran out the door a few weeks ago and is now hanging out in the backyard, running around with a calico. When I called to her the other day, she contemplated coming over before following him. Bitch. Even my kitty face is one of them. Fucking couples.

This morning, I was amused (yet not) to hear this loud ass kid on the bus with the analogy: "Women are like basketball players. If you get tired of having them in the game, bench 'em." My first thought was that had to be spoken by a punk who obviously doesn't have sex. But then again, with kids nowadays, you never know.

In expanding the analogy, I like to think of myself interacting with the season as a fairweather fan with a sweet corporate discount price for season tickets. I could buy the tickets and get the nice courtside seats, but maybe instead I'll just put that money in my 401K while following the results in the paper. After all, my home team's performance has been spotty. No point in throwing your money away on bullshit. But, if the squad got some fresh blood with skills, I'd be courtside wearing my jersey. It's all about hedging your bets.

ETA: And like clockwork, just when I got too comfortable in my whatever, I got a call from Farmer. He'll be back to shake things up next week. *gulp* I think I grinned so hard looking at the caller ID that I almost broke my face. Things are looking up...slightly. And also, a call from my volunteer party guy. I'm smiling again! One more call and it'll be a trifecta of those who make the supercynic facade fade away.

One Year Ago

I was in the computer lab in the midst of finals week. Trying to finish up my senior essay and tackle the yearbook. Knowing that I was in for a long next two weeks because of graduation and then after that a long summer until the book was done. I was feeling overwhelmed and wanting something easier than my previous site to write to. So, I created the Kitty Power blogspot site with this dispatch. Growing pains made me move on and buy kittypower.com and the ride has been really great. It's being a fun year. Some things change, but most have stayed the same. Happy blogiversary to me!

A year later, who am I? Candicissima a.k.a. Candice. 23. Random magnet. Night owl. Media newbie. Writer building a portfolio. Music junkie. Social intrepid. Lover of friends, drink, and a good nap.

Here's to another interesting year!

For The Best

If I said that I spent the entire weekend at home, alternating between cleaning my room and a Soul Food/Sex and The City Season 5 marathon on InDemand, would you believe me? Well, you should, because that's exactly what I did. And damn, it actually felt good. I'd say I'd do it for good now, but I'm me, so I only liked to novelty of it all.

This week is looking hectic and the weekend, I'm off to marvel at how things have(n't) changed in the almost year since I left Middletown for good. I'm just hoping it doesn't turn into a stupid nostalgia fest. I did my walk and I'm done with the place, but I'm going back to watch P. Diddy and others take theirs. The only thing I miss about college is having my friends close by and living the same late night whacked out schedule that was like second nature for me. Okay...and some of the profs, though I felt like actual learning was few and far between. In general, I'm proud of coming out of there mostly unscathed, but I can't be bothered to keep up -- if only because the place has only continued becoming a repressive pile of shit in the past year. When I read some of the stories/opinions in the paper, I get really depressed and feel glad that I'm out.

I feel like I'll go there and won't even recognize the place -- or at least myself in the context of it. Life there seems like a million years ago sometimes. I'm in a different place on a lot of levels. Then again, maybe I'll surprise myself and slip back into school mode effortlessly. I suppose I'll have to wait and see.

Nuggets

Somewhere in the middle of college life, I had an obsession with Vin Diesel. Probably because I'm a sucker for the gravely voice. In 2000, you could not tell me that man was not sex on a stick...totally against type for me. I ignored the Fast and The Furious and XXX debacles, treasuring Pitch Black on DVD and cable viewings of Boiler Room and Knockaround Guys. The love waned. Finally, after all these years, there's a Vin Diesel movie that I'll be there for the opening day of: The Chronicles Of Riddick. Probably because it revives my favorite character. Pitch Black is my shit, through and through. Jay-V, do I smell a future outing? [via Memefirst, believe it or not]

Bare bones summer schedule over at the Voice is looking good to me. My summer resolution is to be as close to on time as possible for Summerstage shows because last year I got the lockout more times than I'd like to remember. As well as the handy tool I've been looking for: it spits out the surrounding subway stops. Hella helpful! They had that in DC and it made life so much easier. [both links via The Broke City Dweller's Journal]

I love The Beta Band, so I was pretty excited to see that Vice has an interview with them this month. Fucking piece of shit magazine. Is that even 200 words? Regardless, check out the awesome video for "Assessment." US Tour in the fall? Yes, please.

Read up on your old school hip-hop history at The Foundation [via Abe].

Nothing...That's Everything

Wednesday night, I was sitting at home, feeling like banging my head against the wall. I had just discovered that the one, the only Prefuse 73 was back in town to spin the next night and I had missed countless giveaways and shit. Speaking to Jenny later on, she revealed she was someone's plus one and I felt like crying. I consoled myself knowing that I was finally going to catch an Afropunk screening and besides that checking Man Man show #4.

PrincessNella met up with me at the job where I was chained to my desk trying to finish crap before 6 (I finally got out around 6:30) and we went to the movie. I loved it because it spoke to a lot of the things I feel as the black girl at hmm...just about every show I go to. One segment that bugged me was when Mariko went on about how thereotically she wanted to date black guys but they weren't into the same scene she was (which I can relate to), but additionally that her mom told her growing up that all black men were abusive and involved in drugs and that she should stay away. It killed me how matter of factly she mentioned it, as if it's common knowledge. You think that might have given her a bit of a complex about that? I might be crazy, but I think so. (I won't even get into how fucked up it is that her mother would say that being that she's either black herself or still married to a black man.) I mean, I lost the bet with my mother about being taller than her by 18 and that shit still occasionally bugs me, so if my mom was like "men that look like you aren't shit," I know I'd have issues. Mariko, get yourself to the shrink!

Anyhoo post-movie, we went to a noodle house that served dumplings so huge that I felt a little ill after 3. It was like a yummy brick in my stomach. I got a call from Jenny saying that there might be a chance for me to get into the Diesel show and I scurried up there as soon as we were done. Strolling up the venue was fucking madhouse in the streets. Hipsters everywhere standing up against the barricades. I saw a kid I went to college with and he gave me that look of recognition and I ignored him. If I wasn't interested then, I'm not interested now is the general rule of thumb. I stood with Jenny, Cameron, and Kristina for about 20 minutes or so before walking up. The way I saw it was "no harm, no foul." Prefuse will always be dope and one of these years I'll see him. I reserve a ticket now for the 2007 tour.

I wandered down to Sapph to kill some time before heading to the other show venue. My Friendster told the bartender to mix me up something strong and cheap and he obliged with some sweet concoction with a gin base that tasted like candy. They love trying to get me drunk in that joint. I'm their mixology guinea pig. The most wonderful part is that I'm feeling like myself again. Dancing is back to being like second nature. It's amazing that I can go out and not scowl (too much) again and have a good time. I thought it would never happen. Cheers to a paycheck!

After a while, I was up to here to catch the show (after a 2 second detour into 419). I got a glass of water and searched for a vantage point to peer out from as I do. I happened to look before I sat down on a couch, luckily because there lay a person. The thought flashed in my head that it was probably Ryan or something -- and I found out later that I was right. The bill was only a quarter done, so soon a hip-hop band came on. I felt them only partially due to a few reasons: 1) Usually when I think "hip hop band," I think a semi-conscious type performance is going to follow. And I would've been wrong in this case because every typical bullshit topic was covered except for guns. 2) Most male rappers are boring because they sound like everyone else. Has anyone heard of flow and an individual style? Jesus. I couldn't even distinguish between the two guys onstage. But, the girl was dope. Or maybe I'm just more partial to a female rapper, especially the ones who are on the "yeah, I'm a tomboy but that doesn't mean I'm not a woman" tip.

After their set, most people in the crowd took it as their cue to bounce which was sort of disappointing. Still, I was ready to represent with my t-shirt and happened to run into Kate. It turns out we were sitting across the room for each other for a good while and no idea. Funny when that happens. She introduced me to some folks and I did the double take when she said to one "this is Kitty Power." Wha? As I'm aware, when you Google "Man Man Ace Fu Records" or something along those lines, I'm pretty high on the returns list. But, the fact that they happened to keep reading? Freaks my shit out. Stop it, people! (No, I'm just kidding. But, leave comments or something. I like it when lurkers come out of the woodwork.)

The set was great -- minus some level problems (everyone's a critic, right?) -- and people drifted in as they were playing. This one chick was doing some drunken out of control dance and I had yeti flashbacks and made a snide comment to Kate about how I hoped thet girl didn't start stripping. It's fun watching something click in people's faces as I'm sure happened to me back in October. I spent most of the set back then whispering to Jenny, "this is the weirdest, most awesomest thing I have ever seen" and I was hooked. But, let me stop...I'm such a shill. But, I might as well be shameless. Everyone vaguely curious about what I've been talking about non-stop lately should go to this show on Tuesday. For real. Because after all, this isn't my job, But, I hate seeing things I like languishing in obscurity for no reason. As Kate and I discussed, lame ass blogging bitches have hyped far worse.

The Ebbs And Flows

I've been relatively boring this week. But, that's okay. It was bound to happen. This "gotta get up in the early morning and board the holding pen like the other sheep" thing kinda cramps my style. I've set myself to going out twice during the work week at best because frankly, I'm a night owl and a wandering sort, so I get bored if I sit in the house too long. Especially since I'm in a "no interest in the TV" phase. I'm so boring that my good Friday night was getting in bed at 9:30pm for a "nap" (though I didn't really believe that for a second) and waking up the next morning and not bothering to care. Though, I deserved it because I strolled in the house at 3:45 that morning and I was yawning like the Reach commercial all day.

Right now, I'm happy because I'm not an idiot. After reading the manual and watching someone else do it and all those thing that don't really help something click, I did what will be my job for the first time on Thursday. And it wasn't that bad -- just time consuming like a mofo. Luckily for me, it was only 3 and not 50 on the campaign, but it was still kinda annoying. (Campaign, eh? you say. Do you really think I'm going to break it down on my blog? Yeah right. Go get your head examined.) It's always nice to show the boss "I'm not stupid! You can keep me!"

I've noticed that there's a bit of the problem with having an office where everyone except for about 2 people are under 30: a lot of people are on the mack. Casanova (due to my workplace IM convos but perhaps formally over lunch the other day with Jay-V) is heading for a bit of workplace drama. The girl down from me has the most desperate crush on him. It radiates in waves. Plus we've got girls coming from halfway across the room to ask him "questions." It amuses the shit out of me. He's not that cute, ladies. He's not my focus boy or anything. I'm bound to actually chat with him one of these days. Thursday as I strolled around in my new shirt, he seemed like he was about to make a comment on it but couldn't since we were passing each other in the kitchen doorway. It's just a matter of time. But again, focus boys = a bit of a game to pass the time while "working." Doesn't leave the office.

My favorite part about working in the dress code -- or lack thereof. I can be all buttoned down and business casual one day and wear jeans with my blazer and freshly attacked with scissors Man Man shirt the next. Both with my sneakers and no one even cares. Perfect for a prone to whims person like me. I thought Casanova was pushing it with those long jean shorts one day, but no one blinked at that either. It takes so little to keep me a happy camper.

Mini Nugget

A girl who could be me for real [c/o of The Black List]:

THE WOMAN IN MARKETING WHO GLARES AT YOUR COMPUTER SCREEN WHILE WALKING PAST YOUR DESK: You're sitting in your cube, hitting the refresh button at the top of your Hotmail account over and over while pretending to be busy or just not look so damned lazy. So you're sitting there staring at your computer screen like the good little day slave you are when that random fat lady in Marketing saunters ever so slowly past your cube. You feel her eyes on you, and a sidelong glance confirms your suspicions: She's STARING AT YOUR SCREEN WHILE SHE PASSES. Why? She's either staring at your screen to determine just what fascinating web fluff you're perusing, or else she's just staring at you because she hates you, or maybe because you're just so incredibly hot or so incredibly heinous or most likely, so incredibly LAZY that she just can't help herself. And watch, she'll do the exact same thing five minutes later while walking back to her desk? As if anything has changed in those five minutes, as if you're any less lazy or ugly or hot -- or as if you'd interpreted her poisonous glare as a prompt to "get to work" and you'd actually suddenly decided to begin WORKING. Ha! Good one, but nope. No way. F

The Office

So you've probably noticed that I've been at work for about a week now yet haven't said that much about it. I can sum up my general thoughts in some bullet points (am I turning into a worker bee drone or what?):

• Man, this early morning shit is driving me nuts. I am not a morning person and this commute is a bitch and a half. Stupid school kids are the real hassle. One more month!

• I am in love with the office coffee machine. Because it's snazzy and lets you make tea also. You put your cup in the right slot, a door pops open for you to put your bag in there, you close the door, and water starts pouring through the bag to make your cup. The best part is that it eats the fucking bag so nothing to clean up. Modern technology is the shit. I need one of those fuckers for home.

• I've got an office focus boy and hero. He's so stylish and so obviously has an interesting life outside of work like everyone ought to but don't really seem to understand. He and I could go to Subtonic and listen to Interpol records. (Then again, maybe not.) But, he's cute in a non-emaciated hipster way that is becoming ever so appealing in my old age. But like Bill, I know that dipping in the company inkwell is a bad practice. Besides, you don't date -- or even talk to -- focus boys. You just share smiles as you walk past them in the kitchen.

• I'm not a loner per se, but I'm not really feeling my row of cubicle mates as of yet. They're all so shrill and loud. The two girls closest to me were already complaining before the first week was up. Shut the fuck up and work, bitches. The girl next to me has a crush on the guy behind her, who thinks of himself as a budding office casanova. And then there's the other guy a little bit down that blasts his net radio and sings along that I'm gonna attack with a pen one of these days.

• Everyone in the office is pretty young. The girl next to me joked that they put people out to pasture at 30 in this company which isn't that unbelievable really. The oldest person on the floor is about 31 if that old and my immediate manager is only 25.

• Being broke, I've been going back to my surviving the city HS days where I've got to make a dollar stretch. I've been all about the toasted buttered bagels and Mac Jr's.

• In a few months, I'm going to totally disappear because I'm gonna get buried under a pile of work. Just letting you know in advance.

• Overall, it's very work-like but I like it so far. I'm going into this situation pretty open-minded, but I know damned well I'm not supposed to be having the time of my life. It's called work for a reason.

• I've got a feeling that this job will probably turn me against the phone and Excel forever. In training, they were like "it's not unusual to get 50 calls a day. Keep up on your voicemail because the box reaches the limit at 99." Just great.

• My blogging/IMing/goofing off got a massive monkey wrench because my cubicle is right on top of the copier and angled towards the main aisle. Everyone can't help but glance at what I'm doing as they walk by. Grr...because staying on the straight and narrow is obviously not an option.

• Whatever I may think otherwise, trying to jog up to my office on the 9th floor is a bad idea. I almost gave myself a heartache. I was doing good pace until 4 when I started slowing down, I practically collapsed at 6, and made the last 3 flights about tenth speed feeling like my heart was going to leap out of my chest and really considering giving up and sitting there all day. What the hell was my lazy fat ass thinking?

• I'm all about having the work and life split. As long as I can cut back on the 3am nights. Despite doing well on the sleep front over the weekend, I'm still tired from last week's crazy schedule. I'll try to cut it down to only going out one work night (besides Thursday which is standard and doesn't count). My body will thank me later.

Free Is The Way To Be

One of these days, I really ought to say to myself: "You know, self, perhaps it's not the best idea to get drunk and then get about 3 hours of sleep on a work night. As we discovered last week, that doesn't really work so well."

Then again, fuck it. I'm up, dammit, and we do know that is half the battle. Though, I might still be drunk or at least working my way to ridiculously hungover. Stupid whiskey shots. Bad Candice. I just need to invest in a pair of sunglasses and hope too many people don't try to talk to me today. But of course, watch me be in work up to my eyeballs. I'll just move half speed. It'll be okay.

This is a work in progress. The whole story is forthcoming. And you thought I was kidding when I said I'm back to a post a day, didn't you?

ETA: Can you believe when I got there they actually had work stuff for me to do? What's that about? Meanwhile, I feel like I'm gonna vomit. Good times. But I know you don't really want to hear about that afterword to my little
adventure, so onto the hijinks...

Yesterday was one of those banner days. I knew from that start that it was gonna play out like a good one. I thought I was looking quite good yesterday. A very nice outfit topped off by my much-loved white blazer. And my hair was in the not scary curly Medusa style (umm...you'd have to see it to know what I mean). Around 12:30 at work, my stomach was all grumbly and then I remembered the catered lunch. And boy was that good! I made a complete pig out of myself by bypassing salads straight to sandwiches. Ham and brie on a baguette...yummy! Grilled chicken in spinach wrap was my personal fave. I don't even want to say how much I ate overall, but I was definitely getting those "what a pig!" looks and also took 2 home for dinner. No point in having it go to waste. I did end up feeling a little ill though I have to say. I've got food issues for sure. When I get bored, I want to snack, but I've restrained myself at the job because I sit still way too long to get in the habit of going to the vending machine. And I'm fucking broke too. But, whatever a girl who eats...the fucking horror.

I killed some time strolling down from Chelsea Piers to Christopher Street through Hudson River Park. I never cease to be amazed how great it looks -- minus the occasional dilapidated warehouse here and there. When I grow up and make some serious money (or ingratiate myself into some rich person's will -- it's all the same really), I want a loft on West Street. One night PrincessNella and I walked along that strip and glanced into apartments (since apparently obscenely rich people have a thing against curtains) and basically drooled as we went about our business. But yesterday was lovely and it was nice watching everyone stroll/bike/walk by as I camped out on a bench and chattered away on the phone before making my way to the party.

Because the fest was rolling with the big bucks, they rented this whole place out and gave us an open bar and food to amuse ourselves with. I was reunited with my Tuesday screening buddy and we gathered others to make a pack of wisecracking booze and food hounds. Being the wandering type, I periodically made rounds up and down the venue. I stopped on the middle floor when I realized that I had an optimum skewer grabbing position and stood to wait. I found myself in a conversation with a guy looking for a veggie skewer, but was shit out of luck. The carnivores ruled for a change. He was the first and only fest volunteer that is a filmmaker yet wasn't creepily hyper focused/intense/boorish about using the experience as a launchpad for Hollywood domination. We got to talking about movies, music, and all that shit and then bonded over whiskey shots (which is the reason I'd like to crawl in a hole and die about now). The worst part about the shots was that I actually said that I was a trooper mixing different alcohols, but once whiskey came into the mix, I was a goner. You'd think that would've stopped me, but I'm me, so...yeah. I did my part as a Man Man shill to convince him to go to one of the upcoming shows and even dragged him along with my merry band as we changed venues.

Drunk people are funny. About 8 of us made our way up to here for whatever reason and ran like kids through the torrential rains. We settled into the bar and I drank water trying to at least make waking up Tuesday until we all split up after an hour or so.

On my train ride home, I finished that last sandwich and went to bed without passing go once I got home, sometime around 3am. Did I mention I'm experimenting with waking up around 6:30? Yeah. My eyes were blazing red, my head was pounding, and all I could think was that I could really throw up. That feeling never left me unfortunately but I didn't, so it's all good. I don't want to die anymore fortunately but I'm not feeling good. I think I'm on going out hiatus...until Thursday at least.

I Confess

I supposed it's just because I've realized that my one year blogiversary is on Saturday, but I've been reflecting on this whole webspace/writing thing. I'm sure all the words on here could've written about 3 novels. It's been a good run so far.

I think it's interesting that

A) I've stuck with this so long and got so obsessive that I went out and bought the domain -- plus have it almost filled to capacity with stuff (though the mp3s have more to do with that)
B} sometimes it seems like everyone and their mom has a blog
C) I've met so many people through this whether fellow bloggers and/or just readers
D) I don't think I'll ever get used to someone referring to me as Candice Kittypower, though I've taken that naming practice into real life
E) despite having so many words about myself and what I do on here, I never fail to be surprised when someone references something I've put up or say that they read it.

Wednesday night was hilarious because the just about the first thing out of Ryan Man Man's mouth when we sat down was: "so, I hear you have a problem with my moustache?" "Wha?" I feigned. "I never said anything like that." "Kate said you did. She said she read it on your blog -- whatever that means." In case you don't want to work your way through that old megapost, the incriminating piece in question was:

My highlight was this group Man Man (aka Magic Blood aka Gamelon) from Philly, that seemingly appeared out of nowhere to be a B-52s/Talking Headsesque colossal bit of wonderfulness. They've got a fucking xylophone! It's two keyboardists and two percussionists, but everyone also plays percussion too. Dude, they've got a song where the chorus is "Meow Meow." Man Man can have all my kids. I'm in love. But, we'll only consummate after the singer guy cuts that damned poor excuse for a moustache off.

And despite what some may think, there's so much self-censoring going on around here. Isn't it almost scary to imagine that these long posts of "I went here did this, then that, blah blah 2500 word narratives" are only part of the story half the time? I try to leave out the parts of episodes that make me appear to be insane, a n____o (let's not give the p0rn seekers any leads, shall we?), a step away from rehab, too misanthropic, and/or the dumbest girl alive, but believe me, there's a lot of shit packed into those long posts. Sometimes I throw in really scandalous shit about 3/4 in because I know y'all don't really read all of that. Not blatantly of course, but it's in there. Or maybe I'm just fucking with you. You tell me.

There's been plenty of days when I want to talk some serious shit, but I know that person might read this, so I save it for the journal. Like Saturday, there was this party where P. Friendster and I ran around boozing it up for real. (Poor P. He tried to match me drink for drink, but felt that shit the next morning. I've got a pickled liver. I can go about my day and be alright, so me in the moment is no real judge.) Now, I'd like to talk about the party, but I'm kinda torn. It was thrown by a friend K (who I seriously need to hang out with more) who greeted me with a "Miss Kittypower" which really threw my shit off. I'm tempted yet not gonna get all into the stuff that happened at the party -- especially not how I got cockblocked and am still bugged by that -- except I just did, but that's so vague that it's almost meaningless.

It took almost a year but it's kinda like a science.

Resurrection

What a difference some sleep makes! I feel like a whole new person. My death cough has lessened considerably, I've stopped aching, and I'm feeling all fresh faced again. The wonderful side effect of running a breakneck insane schedule is losing a little weight because I was too busy/poor to eat. I'm fitting into shit that's been off limits for like a year and shit. Dope!

Of course staying in on Friday wasn't that bad. I really haven't seen much of the inside of the house for a while. And the cat was so happy to see me. I give the best rubs. She knows it. I spent the most of the weekend pottering around the house, being all domestic and doing laundry, answering emails and other computer stuff that's been neglected, and writing because my new article is on the late side (oops!).

On the computer front, I'm back! Volunteering has wrapped up and after Monday's "thanks for volunteering, now get drunk and eat on us" party (actually that day is gonna be pretty awesome. We're getting a catered lunch at the job too. This is truly a "it's good to be Candice" week.), I'm free...until Summerstage starts if they take me. I again recommend volunteering to everyone out there. Free shit like a mofo! I've got a collection of stuff which I'll be rocking to the extreme all summer. I've really missed posting and I've finally realized the optimum times for doing that being that I'm just a dork and all. So, I'll be averaging (hopefully) a post a day (or perhaps a few megas a week because I truly do hate it when the links are longer than the content) again soon enough. Sit tight.

Last Hurrah of A Supposed Former Night Owl

In a nutshell, I've had a week of:

Monday, being a computer geek (spending a chunk of the reception time as a wallflower and getting all excited to meet a fave blogger, among others). But, most importantly, the long awaited reunion with friend and journalist extraordinaire, Steven.

Tuesday, using my volunteer perks and good luck to catch 2 screenings and be up on a hot dog and tequila afterparty (where I ran into a blogger and continued to talk about blogs like a geek while saying I hate to do that)

Wednesday, after getting an IM from Kate Ace Fu, chatting, drinking, and wandering the streets with a fave musician who says I must be from a different planet because I am so weird and that we should get married so he can move to New York (perhaps and I don't think so. I was preoccupied thinking how he and Alex are like seperated at birth and then later writing Alex an email to the same effect).

Thursday, seeing Bill and the DiVASget their asses kicked for the second time in the past couple of months (over 4 hours plus intermission) from a sweet balcony seat.

All while hating myself and wanting my bed.

I'll flesh this out later. Then again, maybe I won't. TGIF! Sleep shall be mine! But, you know, I did feel a little twinge of "I'm a loser" when Ms. Mommy went out to go party and I was sitting at home playing with a cat. Sad really.

It's A Living

Stupid work. It interferes with my blogging! Just kidding (sorta). But, you might be happy to know that my social life is swimming right along, thanks. In fact, so much so that I've been averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night and I'm contemplating taking a quick power nap in the bathroom just to get through the day.

I've settled along comfortably into my space. Not that they would let me feel otherwise. From the second day, I've been buried in a mountain of work and when 6 rolls around, I've got a full digging process to go through in order to get out the door. I'm easing my way into office sociability. It really doesn't come naturally to me. Perhaps next week I'll be all Ms. Super Social (however doubtful) chilling with everyone, but I'm definitely in the "observation and minimal interaction" zone.

The one thing I've learned is that when you know you gotta be somewhere at 9, something you should try to avoid 4 nights in a row of not getting home until 2:30 or later. Especially not with an old temperamental stereo that refuses to alarm. I'm truly amazed I've only been noticably late once (which is way too much yadda yadda, but this is me we're talking about. I'll probably late to my own fucking funeral. If not, I'm just kidding). Only 4 more hours until I can bounce and go home to spend a Friday night in my fucking bed sound asleep with no regrets.

I'm so exciting now I can't stand it.

A Man, Baby!

Your Inner Sex Gender: Man

For you, sex is a highly physical act. It's all about how good it makes your body feel.
And while sex with someone you care about is great - it's not a requirement.
You know that sex with a stranger can be hot, sometimes hotter than sex with someone you love.
Besides, when it comes to sex - you crave varity. If your lover doesn't offer it, you might look elsewhere.

What's Your Inner Sex Gender?
More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

Dispatch

Against my inner independent and social self, I'm turning into Candice McFrownyface here in the working world. Day 1 and I'm the outcast that stops a conversation dead. I'm all friendless and shit. Excuse me while I go sulk behind my computer.

ETA: Of course, it got better. You know me, I'm a trooper. It just took a little time. My biggest real life secret is that I'm actually quite shy and anti-social to start off in any new situation, but I'm golden once I reach a certain comfort level. I actually bonded with a guy on my way home that night talking about a mutual love for Ranch 1 Chicken Caesar Wraps. Poof, a lunch buddy.

And isn't it sad that the happiest I've been all week at work was when I heard through cubiclemates that we could download Trillian. How lovely it is to be connected to the real world again! I'm such a computer junkie. And I've got two megaposts in the queue. Don't worry, folks. You won't be abandoned for long.

Criminal

I've been neglecting my blog. I'm a terrible person.

The past couple of days have been a blur really. I'd love to sit down and write my little heart out but it's not happening. I've got to go to bed and be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for my first day of work. But later, I'm all on top of this updating thing, I swear.