November 2007 Archives

It's Called Experience

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Friday night, I had time to kill between rushing happily from work (oh what a long day that was!) and tentative plans I made with Banana. I wrestled with going home to grab dinner and drop stuff off, but I made a trip to Target for some cheap gloves and then wandered down to Dumbo for a nostalgia trip.

Strolling down hill from Sands, I got hit by a memory wave. The first time I'd gone there and I ended up on a very long walk from Hoyt because I didn't follow the boy's directions. How I made the trek from the bus every morning on the way to work. How the giant condo building went from a lot to scaffolding and glass to this lit up thing casting a wide shadow. I really gaped at the new drugstore at the base. The only one in the whole neighborhood. I was even tempted to buy something because I was so amazed. I passed one of the guys from the deli I used to buy my ham, egg, and cheese on a roll. He asked me where I'd been and I said I worked in Midtown now, but was popping in for old times' sake. We exchanged goodbyes and I said thank you, it's nice to be remembered and we shared a smile before walking in opposite directions.

I slid up to the bar to order. The bartender is newish, but I've seen her in there the past couple of random trips that way. I ordered a hot toddy and found myself in conversation with one of the old timers before sitting on the bench and letting my hands and body warm from the liquid. An after work crew had taken over most of the back and I smiled at the memories of being one of them. Later sitting at the bar, I met the owner for the first time and told him that the place meant a lot to me over the years. I had some weird flashback to drinking in there with the boy and having our knees touch sending all sorts of currents through me. It's funny that it's taken so long to actually allow myself to have good associations to him again. Maybe I am really putting that shit behind me.

I strolled out of there, 2 toddys down and happy. I wandered over to that place I go nowadays and chatted with the friends there for a while. It's changing before my eyes too: serving food, a party bar writeup in a local magazine, and now a wall knocked down to make it bigger. I'm trying to encourage myself to not be weird and emo because it's dumb to be nostalgic over...last week. I've been getting frustrated there because the last prospect to get me excited in a while has gone MIA and tracking him down through the connections is a bit overly complicated. It's making me a little wistful which annoys me. But it's just not as fun to drink hot toddys alone.

Saturday, I actually tried to change that and met a new friend over drinks in the Slope. I've been trying to hang out more this way lately. I guess I'm getting a little burned out on spending an hour trying to get home from the bar. We ended up making friends at the bar and helped compile the crazy/jerk scale for men and women. The worst for a woman's behavior were being Cameron Diaz in Vanilla Sky, Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, or Lorena Bobbitt. For guys, sleeping with your friend, sleeping with a relative and/or a man, and leaving a pregnant woman shit out of luck. The normal baseline for a person was a 2. The sociologist in me was interested that the woman's list was called crazy and every number after 5 had something to do with violent acts (a drink in the face, which I'm not familiar with at all, was a 3) and the rest with temper/jealous issues. The men's list all boiled down to cheating and/or majorly screwing you over. I got it posed to me earlier where would prolonged deception about paternity go on the women's list. I gave it 9, a 7 if the truth comes out early. It was an interesting way to pass the time.

This weekend I was very proud of myself for relaxing to the point of ridiculousness. Saturday until about 8pm was spent either in or very close to bed and today wasn't much better. I'm super well rested for a change. It was so worth it.

Could It Be

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I've been letting my temper get the best of me lately. Right now is very tense. Moving is a very stressful situation and I'm finding it really hard to keep a peaceful equilibrium going, so a few people have gotten the bark lately.

Halloween Night, I was perched where I always seem to be lately and not feeling well around the whole thing. It's become an irritating holiday for me over the years. I always feel like I'm kinda scrambling to make something work and end up feeling harried. I overheard this girl that I've run into there a few times and wrote off as a jerk, saying to my friend that she was moving over to my area and what a horrible ordeal that would be (because god knows, loftland Bushwick is paradise on Earth!). Already hating her, I seethed for a second and told her not to bother because we already filled our asshole quota and really didn't need an ill-informed idiot dragging the neighborhood down. She tried to bark back before running outside to bitch to her friends and try to rally them to have her back if she fought me. They all begged off and I said to her on return: "you touch me, bitch, and you're fucking dead." All about the peace and love I was. She slinked off in a hurry strangely. The rest of the night was amusing enough. I was supposedly on a budget, so the logical thing to do was of course go to Studio B and blow shitloads of cash. I make so much sense, really.

The latest top blowing episode was yesterday when Alafairnadia and I were strolling down Vanderbilt on the way to brunch. This stumbling jerkface and friend were drunkenly (at noon!) weaving their way down the street, when us crossing them prompted catcalls. I had resigned myself to ignoring him as he said how much he loved a chunky girl and I/we should appreciate his attention since as a fat man, he was as good as it was gonna get, though I/we probably weren't smart enough to acknowledge how big we really were. And then getting called out for having annoyed expressions on our faces when he was just trying to be nice. "You need to go somewhere," I said angrily and he exploded at me, "this is my block, I don't have to do shit." And then it was on. My parting shot: the finger over my shoulder and "go to hell, you drunk motherfucker!" His parting shot: "And look at you, hanging out with a white girl!" as his friend dragged him across the street. Stay klassy, shitface.

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This page is an archive of entries from November 2007 listed from newest to oldest.

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