Kitty Power

Return of the Mack

It's been a crazed, bittersweet, and beautiful summer.

Without any warning, a lot of things transitioned naturally on their own. Some sad (another relationship spectacularly bit the dust, my lovely kitty of the past 7 years is on her last legs), some brilliant (the perfect present for an alkie: my own signature drink, the great new friends I've met this summer, new apartment). And in two weeks is school, the biggest change of all. I'm excited, terrified, and best of all: hopeful. And for once, moving forward with my eyes straight ahead instead of over my shoulder.

Wish me luck.

Living In The Light

Arthur Russell - In The Light Of The Miracle

Sometimes life just feels better enjoyed and tossed about instead of documenting in precise detail every happening. I'm a neglectful blog mother, but I know the thrill of the word will come back sooner or later.

Life has been coming at me 150 mph and I've been doing my best to bob and weave. I turned 28, got into grad school, and found a freelance job all within a few weeks. Also my bathroom flooded for the third time due to my shitty upstairs neighbor (lease up in June! yes!), was in my first serious fist fight in over 10 years, and I'm trying to get past the sticker shock of taking out loans for 1 year of schooling that are more than what I owe for 4 of undergrad plus interest. I'm struggling with those extra pounds and trying to stay healthy. Also finally at a place where I can wrestle with wondering if I'm in love with a boy or in love with love while not being haunted by all those that came before. And I am so looking forward to Saturday when it's 70. In other words, I'm up to the same old shit...but generally happier. That's gotta count for something.

Sugar Honey Iced Tea

Circlesquare - Dancers from Bienvenido Cruz on Vimeo.

I spent this year's Hallmark holiday with my friend Banana at the movies. We sidestepped the ridiculous line to see He's Just Not That Into You to see Taken. It was sufficiently fun and badass (though lacking the wonderful scene with the nails in the commercials) and that was almost enough to ease the bitterness of movie tickets being $12 nowadays. Now I remember why I go to the movie theater like once a year. Perhaps almost 28 is long enough to finally experience this movie date thing that other people seem to do. Obviously I'm doing something wrong. Afterwards, we successfully sidestepped couples grabbing burgers at a diner, then drinking at semi-divey Gramercy area bar. Good night overall.

I meant to go upstate for the day, keeping with my new getting out of town more often mantra, but that didn't work out so well. Instead of cleaned out my fridge and danced around the house to reggae. Life is so exciting right now!

We Start To Dance and Now We're All Dancers

Skeletons - The Masks

I've been strangely keeping myself busy as unemployment has rolled on. It'll be a month tomorrow and I've limped past previous record of having a new job in 3 weeks' time. The going is a little slower this time around, but then again, I haven't been trying as hard either. A nice money cushion will do that to you. Plus I was dying for some time off. I've got bad robot workaholic tendencies.

I went to the grad school interview last week and the results are inconclusive. In about a month, I should find out if I'm in or not, so I'm trying to push it out of my mind. It was a trip having to fill out all the financial aid forms this time around since I'm an independent student or whatever. I definitely wanted to be magically transported back to high school since the government is under the impression I can devote a 1/3 of last year's salary to paying for school (they're nuts!).

DC and all the inauguration madness was great. I kinda miss that town and it was fun to stroll around as an actual adult. One of the first thing I saw in city limits was my old AU program dorm and I let myself go down memory lane a bit. A was my gracious host and we dragged each other all over. Being on the mall, though way far from the action and watching on the Jumbotron in the freezing cold, was pretty epic and I got to live out of my 02 fantasy of going to the Eighteenth Street Lounge (as awesome as I knew it would be). Getting out of town was surprisingly nice and painless. I'm that much more excited to go to WMC in March now because I've broken the streak of out of town disasters (I hope).

One of my resolutions for the year is to update here more. Once or twice a month is really lame compared to what it used to be like. It's kinda tough though because I just lack that oversharing compulsion of the old days, but I still think I can do interesting stuff here. We shall see. Meanwhile, I've got a newish blog I've been playing around with. It's all about bizarro ads that I've run into. It's a fun little distraction besides cyber window shopping (want!).

I'd Rather Waltz In and Play Along

Skeletons - Eleven (It'll Rain)
Roy Ayers - We Live In Brooklyn, Baby
Rae and Christian - Get A Life
New Birth - Dream Merchant
Herbert - You Saw It All

The flip side of being a random magnet is accepting that life rarely will ever proceed without some sort of monkey wrench. I enter mid-January 2009 laid off my full-time corporate job with a college interview scheduled for 2 weeks from now. The name of the game right now is ambivalence. I feel like I'm in the midst of a time where I can do whatever I want, but instead I sit at home in some sort of existential crisis limbo. You can lead a horse to water, but drinking it is another story.

I am going to DC on Monday though to congregate in the masses and hopefully gain some inspiration to bring back to frigid NYC with me. I started a new blog to document the WTF reaction I have to so many commercials nowadays. I am extracting myself from romantic limbo to wait for the person who can make me giddy and can embrace falling for me too. (That's the one area I'm tired of aiming low in.) I'm trying to remember that there's about 11.5 months ahead of me and this is just the start. This year hasn't quite played out the way I want and I can still change it for the better.

You Think You're Tired Now, Well Wait Until 3

One of the most important things I've taken from '08 is despite the best intentions (and wishes, hopes, and dreams), sometimes shit just doesn't work and you've got to pick up and move on. I've always been horrible with that kind of thing. I play tough, but occasionally I let things slip out of the marshmallow core and it's hard to repack shit once you've let it out. When I'm in emo mode, I let that crap drive me to distraction without fail. And eventually I accept the shipwreck and let melancholy set in. In dark days, I wonder if it's ever worth it since it always ends the same way. But, I know the answer is always yes. Sue me, I'm a closet romantic.

New Year's was predictably insane. I flew around town like a comet and had a hard come down that's taken all weekend to recover from. I'm trying to balance between waiting for things to happen (the app result, whether I'll even have a job at the end of the week) and taking care of business (the neverending apartment decoration project, building a better me). I'm just trying to scale down the fuckups this year and make it to 2010 without too much dumb shit happening. I'm aiming low this year. It's better that way.

Sure Thing

Just over 6 weeks left in the year and it's got some potential to trail off in an interesting way. Finally.

I'm channeling my employment fears into a grad school application due December 1st. Since I haven't had to do this type of thing in going on 10 years, the procrastinator in me really appreciates that I can submit my forms online...at 3am in my pajamas. The only thing I have to mail in is my transcript. I don't remember fondly trekking to the big post office on 8th Avenue in the middle of the night trying to get that crucial postmark before midnight. Gotta love modern technological advances.

The weeks leading up to the election were predictably insane and I spent just over an hour standing on line in the old neighborhood on the day itself. I was exhausted and finally getting around to a late dinner at the Raccoon when the official call came in. I only smiled and felt like I took the first deep breath of the whole day. The neighborhoods I passed through had fireworks and kids all over in the streets, but I just happily bypassed through the crowds to go home and sleep.

The weather is strange and wonderfully bipolar. At least I think so until the steam heat makes my apartment temperature unbearable and I dress like it's beach time instead of mid-November, then go outside and freeze in the cold. Not sick yet, but knock on wood. Then again, that's why I drink so much whiskey. Definitely for the germ killing properties.

When I'm Bad, I'm Better

Skeletons - The Things

After all this time, I've decided to get a tattoo. It's an idea I've been kicking around for a few years, trying to figure out what's a spot on my body that won't be too prone to expanding and contracting. I've decided on the inner wrist (once it's back to full motion range) and Excelsior as a bit of a tribute to 5 years of Latin, also the NYS motto, and generally good phrase.

The last couple of weeks have been a blur and at this moment, I'm just trying to make it through the next 10 weeks without financial/employment meltdown. Some random highlights: I finally got to Ikea to buy some much needed apartment gear, but don't really have the motivation to put that shit together. I got myself a shiny new cell phone. I have some ideas of starting a band fiercely gathering steam. I also went to Anthony's fun birthday party. And if dancing and glowing in the dark (thanks to paint) at a gay sex orgy ever comes up in an "I Never" game, got that covered.

There's been some annoying lowlights springing off the last wordy post. That random who spent too much time talking about his thwarted sex life and I ended up being chatty for a while. I found out that he was garbage picking freegan and the ick response overwhelmed the typical "that's random enough to intrigue me" train of thought. But, what really deaded him was the utter lack of a sense of humor. Some of the Raccoon folks had a house party and he was so spazzy about chatting with me that he spilled a whole cup of beer all over my clothes, the horror I tried to downplay with some jokes. But, he was so twitchy that he couldn't even laugh about it. One night a bit later, I dragged Alafairnadia to bingo night and introduced them. Her first words were "so I hear you eat food from the trash..." and he bolted. And hasn't spoken to me since.

I overheard him the other day at the bar ranting and raving to that same friend from that night somehow getting onto the topic of a long ago incident that occurred outside of another local bar. The scene he was setting started to sound vaguely familiar and I had a memory flashack to the night I met Trigger, he was aggravated by this local kid who he lent money and was being weaselly about paying it back. I didn't meet the object of his wrath at the time so it took until this Sunday for the connection to be made. Beef with Trigger aside (because he's volatile at best and that situation is none of my business), that kid referred to me as a fat girl that was preyed on at the bar in the story, so he can eat a dick. Let's chalk up that whole convoluted saga to the brain keeping me out of trouble for once.

I Feel Like Music Sounds Better With You

I don't think it's a secret that things are generally sucking for me right now. 27 and everything that makes up this life is overwhelming and I'm on major lemonade duty. You just get kinda sick of wallowing after a while and I'm trying to make a point of having some goddamned fun again.

To that effect, I made a real effort this weekend to have a good time. Friday evening saw me rolling downtown with Faiks and N, having a much needed cocktail klatsch. I've hit the point where telling stories about the recent makes me laugh instead considering smacking myself, so that's a start. From there, off to my usual perch at the Raccoon, with a bizarre batches of randoms taking the seats cattycorner from me.

I'm still not that much of a fan of Bushwick even though I spend a shitload of time there nowadays. I've been hanging out steadily at that bar for over a year now (time flies!) and it's kind of amazing how the little world around it has changed over time. Right now is prime next wave of kids flooding into town and the demographics some nights are hilarious. New New York is weird and a bit alienating to me sometimes. Everywhere is supposedly super safe and wonderful where even ex-frat boys and sorority girls are slumming it in a ramshackle Bushwick railroad. Everything's fun and games until someone gets mugged...or killed. I'm semi-traumatized by a Raccoon friend telling me last week about a girl that was raped, strangled, and thrown off the roof three doors down from her and how she was scarred by letting curiosity get the better of her and looking out the window at the scene. They make everything look much prettier on TV than it is in real life. The worst part of the whole thing is that it didn't even make the news or the local neighborhood blog, which advertises itself as some kind of bullshit authority. Fucking crazy shit happens all the time. Some aspects of the city never changes.

As I was sitting on my stool watching TV, this pair of randoms sat near me. The guy half was a drunken tool and making a spectacle of himself. I shot him a few withering glances and then for whatever reason, they tried to chat with me and I wasn't having it. Then he got the brilliant idea of making noises and faces to get my attention and I ghosted them. I was definitely heartbroken when they went away. The next set were a guy and girl, having a hilarious conversation that about how she slept with every other guy in the neighborhood and might as well give him a chance too...except for them being "homies." I covered my face to stop from laughing out loud and later let him know that I had heard everything. He was a pretty good sport about it.

I've been trying to improve my shitty eating habits and I had a minor victory later on the way home when the local diner over there was closed (no 4am breakfast for me) and when I got off the train near home, so was the Crown and I resisted the urge to go two blocks out of my way for White Castle. Every little bit counts.

I lounged lazily Saturday until the family decided to make a guerilla visit. The funny thing about living alone now is that I'm constantly fielding calls from the 'rents checking up on me. Never when I'm in bed on a crying jag, but that's a good thing I think. It's good to know that someone will be checking up on me after a day or so if I fall off the grid. This place has been a bit of a trial. I had a major problem with my kitchen sink that stretched on for weeks and ended up getting fixed after going through the ceiling of my downstairs neighbor, installing a new pipe, and all sorts of ridiculous shit. But I felt proud last week that I put up my curtains by myself (complete with installing the brackets) despite my general decrepitude. I entertained here with a sink full of dishes and tried to get my dad to help me solve the broken futon mystery (missing pins is the answer) until they felt satisfied that I wasn't totally falling apart and left me alone. In my playlist is this random remix of Lollipop, so I wasn't thrilled when my little brother (9!) was saying that it was his favorite song. WTF? Kids nowadays...

I ended up getting bored later in the night and went on a wild goose chase for dinner and a potential party down in Dumbo. That didn't work out at all and I went to the Raccoon to see what was up. It was pretty quiet and I chatted with everyone until heading off to that fave of mine monthly warehouse party. Last time I went, I got exposed to a band that I'm playing to death nowadays, so I had high hopes. I ran into some Raccoon buddies and was having a shenanigans-free time until we merged with another crew and then it all became a blur. I woke up at 8:30 in a very compromising position in an art cave statue with the party very over. The space is unreal with the lights up and no people or music. Everything that looks so mysterious and fun in the dark or with flashing lights takes on a comical air with the bright sunlight washing over it. I stepped out into the morning feeling like a vampire and fell deeply asleep once my head touched the pillow. I had a very good time.

Why Don't You Try Being Stupid Instead of Smart?

I've always been susceptible to the bizarre gesture. It's due to contrarianism at its worst. Sometimes I feel like I live my life like a shell game. Plain cups hiding a jewel and occasionally someone picks the right one and gets something special. Or else, they get nothing but disappointment.

I'll admit that I came out on a Monday night looking for trouble...of some sort. I was in the midst of moving inertia and it seemed like good a night as any to abandon myself to whiskey and conversation and see who I ran into. I was in the midst of a sentence when he appeared next to me and my friend. We gave each other a mutual dismissive glance when he tried to interrupt. Keep it moving, buddy. Then he ordered a Jameson and High Life and went projectile about a minute later. That deserved an eyebrow raise.

He babbled about bad falafel and rushed to clean it up and we at his end of the bar laughed cruelly. Who would think that'd lead to any sort of a conversation? Then again, you're not me. I was looking for trouble and I found it.

Five months later, I'm trying to shake the badness. This year has been epically disastrous. Almost ironically since I've been so focused since December on not making the wrong decisions and instead choosing the bad option every step of the way. I've spent a lot of time thinking of that old conversation about finding your fit. Farmer apparently was right and he's got plenty to show for it, but my gut always seems to be wrong. That self-imposed exile year and change was obviously a waste of time if the first one out of the gate knocked me square on my ass worse than before. The Boy almost doesn't look so bad in comparison now. But, let's pretend I never said that.

The Dog Days of Summer

I'm in a bit of denial that it's already August. Because if I acknowledge that, I have to accept that I've let most of my summer (and year) blow right past me. Not to say I haven't been busy. The so-called slow summer season at work has been anything but and I'm still half living out of bags and boxes in the new place. But, I definitely feel that lack of good old fashioned fun and abandon this year. I need a vacation.

I'm definitely feeling a drag to my year because of the lack of a WMC trip. Going to Miami in March is generally a good kick in the ass for my year, the first blast of warmth and a chance to get some ideas for the year's new soundtrack. I've been feeling burned out for 90% of 2008 and I need a recharge desperately. I'm kicking around the idea of going to Europe or finding some Caribbean island that won't get trampled during hurricane season. I need some blackberry and cell phone free time to stare off into space and love every second of it.

Everything seems to be in flux this year. Among my friends, there's breakups, job losses, existential crises, and general feeling of failing as an adult. Then again, what else is new?

Pack Light

Not so long ago, I was known as a pack rat. (And a slob.) It was one of those things that developed gradually over time. Cleaning in my room was always the chore I hated the most. I never had the attention span to sift through things I liked and weed out what was less worthy of being at a visible place to grab when the mood hit me...whenever that might be. In some dark days of my youth, the maelstrom look of my room was a secret organization method for me to see immediately what had changed when I had my back turned. Back then, things had the habit of mysteriously disappearing and it gave me a little piece of mind to be able to visually confirm what I still had or had to chalk up to my "faulty recollection" of having it in the first place.

In adulthood, the mess became attributed to sheer lack of time and attention. In the past few years, home is probably the place I spend the least amount of time. My desk isn't so neat, but it's contained in a way that my bedroom floor never could be said to be. It's easy to forget dishes in the sink or laundry on the floor when you only see it for a few hours between sleep and leaving. As this year has unfolded jaggedly, the mess has gotten worse. But finally, I found an interesting solution to the clutter problem: moving.

I've been working up my way to this for a long time. For many of the past six months, I've been stuck with my head in the sand as shit got insane around me. I've been the queen of bad decisions. (Or maybe it was perfectly logical to let a barely working ex-dealer and felon move in with me and coast for a month or two before I woke the fuck up? Yeah, I didn't so either.) After spending 3 and half years here, this apartment means a lot more to me than just a place I've kept all my shit. It's the longest place I've lived straight since I was 14. And it's also filled with a colossal amount of garbage. My M3 conference pass from '05? Trash. The piles and piles of magazines I've gotten in the mail and never read? On the curb. Random dinner receipts and old flyers to shows I didn't even attend? Out of here.

What surprises me the most is how good it feels to reduce the clutter so much. Not to say that largely moving myself doesn't have a bunch to do with it, but where in the past I would've held on to everything "just in case," I have to curb my instinct to pick up everything and toss it. The new place is a lot smaller and most of the garbage I've been spreading around 5 rooms just doesn't need to go there. And that is a very good thing. Streamlining FTW.

The Stars Should Lie Upon My Face

While I've been off bullshitting, I've been getting older. Starting my Saturn return and all that. 27 in itself doesn't really feel like much, even though I thought of it as this semi-magical age when I was younger. The age when you become a real adult. In reality, it's kinda...eh. I suspect it's because 26 was so fucking hectic. I'm all about closing the book on all that. A fun fact is that when I used to run around with Farmer and The Boy (separately, natch), they were 27 and I think that's when it first became crystal clear that it was just a number, not a particular badge of maturity. They're both over 30 now and Farmer's a daddy, which is scary and awesome at the same time. The Boy, on the other hand, is still running around like a jerkface. I had a hilarious and random encounter with him and his BMX near the Navy Yard a while ago. Time really does fly.

This year, I decided to sit out Miami and my annual tradition of going into debt to pay for that trip. Though the cosmos is toying with me: Robert Owens is doing a show here Sunday night and he was my highlight last year, but Erykah Badu is playing a free show down there Thursday. My plan for this year is go to Sonar and spend some time visiting P. Diddy and Alex. I've never been to Europe before and the best airfare I'm finding is about $800 (not to mention the dollar vs. the euro is pathetic at the moment), so I need to save my pennies. That might be easier to do if I ever got around to finding a roommate... Baby steps.

Lately, I've been struggling trying to get this Life vs. Work equilibrium thing right. I've spent a big chunk of the past five years being a party girl and it's an adjustment to realize now that I'm actually building a career (I sure wouldn't have said that this time last year), staying out all night most nights can't really mesh with that. I've been experimenting with ways to build up some self-control and still have fun. It still needs adjustment time for sure. Let's not even mention that whatever balance I build can potentially come tumbling down if I introduce a new boy into the mix. Then again, I'm so far out of that mode. I don't even remember what it's like to date at this point.

I was kicking around the idea of resolutions for this year, but what I want is pretty simple: staying healthy, even greater career success, traveling more, having fun and keeping good people around. And I guess blogging more, but I always say that whether I mean it or not.

Breathing Fire Doesn't Look Good On A Resume

Willie Williams - Armagideon Time

The decision for me not to move was actually an annoying one. I had been racing around scouring listings and checking out places for a good month and a half leading up to the end of the year. I'd only ended up with a handful of places I really liked and the one I got as far as picturing my stuff there and calling up my future takeout places was snatched away in the time it took me to fax fourteen pages of information to a stranger. The real estate market is a bummer. I'd designated my holiday off time between the 21st and the 2nd as do-or-die hardcore moving time and it was going pretty shitty.

And then there I was the day after Christmas, coming home from a long night out at the local. I got as far as the inside stairs (because the front door isn't always quite locked. A highlight of slumlord living!) before I looked in my bag to find no keys. And I had a crystal clear picture of putting my keys on the couch earlier and perhaps neglecting to put them in. I put out a 2am call to my mom (she was super thrilled with that, let me tell you) for the emergency spare set and surprise, she had neglected to keep them in a safe place because I hadn't bothered asking for them in the three years I'd lived there. Sonofabitch... I crashed at her place (thankful she'd moved back to Brooklyn, but not so much that she'd defeated the whole purpose of the spare set), went to look at another shitty apartment the next morning before trying the super (didn't have a pair) and Ant (who was in France unbeknownst to me) without luck.

The last resort was a local locksmith and I got quoted a $75 price (before tax) that I had to grin and bear. And natch, it wasn't quite as easy all that. The one lock was always a pain in the ass and it turned out to give the locksmith a load of trouble. So over the course of the next three hours when I got a new knob, lock, and faceplate for my door and was out $165, a thought bubbled up: fuck it, I'm not moving. And I weighed the pros and cons. The temporary poverty was about the same for either option, likewise for the aggravation. But instead of handing over an arm and a leg to someone new and still having to figure out a way to move all my shit, I'd deal with the slumlords and area I knew and could get a chance to live alone for a bit while I redecorated and all that. So I called the management company and got a new lease sent over and here I am. Broke as shit, but sorta happy, if unsure how to motivate myself to start over. I'm super lazy and poor, but moreso lazy, and riding the slumlords to get all those things we ignored too long fixed is a full time job. Also finding a new roommate is gonna be a bit of an adventure. Ah well, we'll see what happens.

Who Do You Belong To?

I had a bizarre run to close out the year. I've been mostly keeping my head down guy wise for a long while, especially when I had the cast on and self-deprecatingly noted that a girl with a hobble probably wasn't high on anyone's priority list. I couldn't even dance with that thing on...nor for a fair amount of months afterwards. It's only been the past month or so that I've really been feeling consistently close to my old self again and still I'm at about 85% with some fun physical therapy sessions to do. Exciting stuff I know.

Anyways, just before the ankle blew out, I adopted this bar I've alluded to in my spare posting as my non-local local where I can perch, drink, and pass the time in peace. That peace last a few months before strangely enough the randoms got used to my face and I became fair game. I was good about fending off advances and became this weird yet friendly untouchable barfly. I made friends and finally allowed myself to have crushes and it was all humming along until one night.

This past year, I've been disentangled by choice. The situation with the boy in itself didn't mess me up, just the fallout and a few years of self-directed bad feelings. It was important for me to focus on getting my shit together without dumb distractions and I did it. Besides it was tiring on the soul to basically date the same guy with a different skin over and over again with the results constantly ending up the same degree of suck. You begin to wonder if the problem isn't with you at a certain point and I think it was, so I (hopefully) fixed it. Still, I wasn't quite in the nunnery and there was a brief moment where I got genuinely geeked over this new kid I met over the summer. It was nice to be with someone unafraid to be smart and literary and the long buried English nerd in me rejoiced at the possibility of coming out of cold storage. Didn't quite pan out, but I was happy for the widening of the criteria besides the old vague template.

But, the one that boiled over was straight out of my typical mold. He reminds me especially now of this kid I liked for a few angsty months in high school: musical, wears too much black and punk attire, long hair, and masking the issues with manic behavior and wit. It built over months and I got drawn into this strange push and pull thing and soon it was visible from space that we liked each other. Still, I tried to resist it all because at this point in my life, I don't see the point in doing all the old habits over when the end result is always the same. I don't feel like being as careless with my feelings as I used to be.

Unfortunately for me, I'm a sucker for a major declaration. After a long night perched at the bar leading to an after party at some random's loft, he cornered me mid drink pour with "I like you. I know you like me. Don't you? So what are we dancing around this for? What are we going to do about it?" And I said "nothing because I don't think it's right for me." And he pressed me for reasons and I halfheartedly spoke of work, being busy, and just not being in the game and he smiled at my hollow words and ignored them. We woke up together the next morning in his freezing apartment with me fully clothed including hoodie, minus shoes. As the day was heading into the next one, he formally asked me out and I think I finally started to silence the little cynic in me.

That was a waste. We had talked briefly about getting together after work (for me) early in the week and I was in charge of planning. I threw some ideas out there and realized they'd fallen into the abyss soon enough. So, imagine my surprise to see him strolling in the bar and walk up to me nonchalantly after blowing me off. I asked him to explain himself and he said he'd been on a four day bender and didn't mean to let me down. I coldly responded that there had been a window open with me that was now closed and he slunk away. Only to return a few minutes later if I wanted to hang out and watch a movie. I gave him a funny look, but spontaneously agreed because I wanted to see if I could get a less ridiculous excuse out of him.

Not quite. But, I did get a load of emo and it turned me off him for good. It reminded me of what I'd taken the break for. I just don't really have it in me to play doormat for some vaguely self-destructive narcissist anymore. Especially since eating all the shit doesn't do much in terms of having a good relationship or an especially lasting one. I called him on his pity party and countered with my own set of problems and the fact that some days it took all my energy just to feel okay, so I didn't have it in me to prop someone else up also. "God...who hurt you?" he said as if I was the messed up one. Wouldn't be him, that's for sure.

Over the holidays without work or much to do, I was a professional barfly and all that crap made hanging out at the bar tense for a bit. It was water under the bridge as far as I was concerned, mission aborted before it got out of hand, but he was acting very funny for a while there. One night, I had way too much to drink and let my mouth run (poor blackout ruined the memory for me), but from what I gather, it wasn't very nice, but at least deflated some of the excess ridiculousness. An uneasy truce has been called, but the place is kinda ruined for me. I'm glad all that time off grew me some backbone at least. Not so long ago, I would've glossed over the blow off as him being sweetly misunderstood. Nowadays, it correctly pegged him as a jerkface and he got the cane. Life's really just too short for that crap.

You Can Be My Blazing Arrow

Happy New Year! I've basically been a sicky mess since then. I was on vacation for about a week and a half leading up to it and started the wild run early, so once it was time to go back to work, my body conked out on me.

New Year's Eve is a bit of a blur for me. 2007 was a pretty insane year and I was happy to see the tail end of it. I spent the early part of the day scrambling to finish off shopping and cleaning and getting things done and failing miserably. And just when I thought I had enough to preoccupy me, yet another bombshell. '07 was the year of "aww fuck, what's next?" I was never allowed to get too comfortable before a seismic shift came along to stir up everything. It sucked, but I think I'm a better person on the other side.

And there I was at 11:30 on New Year's Eve, surprising myself by wearing a party dress. I'd been wrangling with it since the dressing room the day before, still wondering if it wasn't just a bit too short. It was fine in the front and sorta in the back as long as I didn't bend over or sit down or something useful. And unlike some crazies I saw later in the night, I had tights to keep it all from being a little too drafty and indecent. To cap off a year I'd spent transforming away from minimalist and preferring to be unnoticed, I went with big hair and earrings and loved my reflection. I swilled cheap champagne and danced for the passively observing cat and waited for PrincessNella's call and just felt totally relieved. I had made it through the loss of the hell job, being so sick and weak for a while there that I could barely get out of bed, all the dumb entanglements, and the horrible potential move to something like happiness and (partial) stability for the first time in forever. I buckled down and suffered, but I did it. I earned my fucking adult tag.

Midnight was me and PN and champagne and fireworks from the park. We just listened to music and kicked it for a while before we rallied to go out. Studio B was the destination for the second year, but this time, we didn't kick around that long before she was off home and I was en route to the still patchy part of my night. But, I hear I was quite the dancer and I even made a friend to go off to another party with. Beforehand, I'd made an appointment to get cable installed on New Year's Day, so imagine how unamused the cable guy was to hear me pleading for him to come back later with a techno background since I still wasn't home at 11am. I stumbled out in the light feeling like a degenerate soon after, but still missed him because he called back while I was in the passed out part of my day. Good times. I even got a food delivery from Ms. Mommy with the affirmation that yes, my dress was too short. But hell, it looks different without tights is my final word on it.

I don't really have any formal resolutions this year. Besides maybe be as good to people as they are to me, do the right thing, and curb the dickheads in my life. And stay healthy, but that's more of a wish. I've already discovered that's not much under my control. Oh, and I guess to write more here too, but I can't make any promises.

It's Called Experience

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

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.

You Can Start Over

Mea culpa. I'm always disappearing lately.

Nothing to report really. Life working with the mothership has its ebbs and flows. I'm gearing up to move at the end of the year to my first solo place and worrying about saving right and what I'll do with all the crap I've accumulated over the years. The cast/bandages are off and the ankles are a little crunchy, but at least I can dance again with only a bit of hobbling.

Over on my Facebook page, I've been building this photo album with some old pictures I unearthed when Helga was retired. Most of them are from senior year and the immediate time afterwards when everything was awesome and scary all at once. I'm constantly struck by how long ago it all seems. Sometimes I miss being filled with so much energy and piss and vinegar, but never feeling so awkward and unsure and hungry for any kind of experience that I could get. Looking back, I wasted a lot of time being passive and confused. Everything's not perfect now by far but there's something to be said for (mostly) feeling like my head's on straight.

It's kinda easy to ride the nostalgia train. It's been almost a year since the infamous drink episode and about six months since I crushed The Boy's ridiculous friends attempt. And I haven't seen him in a wonderfully long time which sometimes makes me smile at the thought that he ceased to exist or something like that. Farmer's my newish Facebook friend and I got floored at the news he's going to be someone's dad the other week. That's just...wow. I figure Mr. Sailor is probably married and/or with kids now too. I laugh at how stupidly intense I felt for most of the stupid shit I used to mistake for love. It's amusing the strange turns life can take sometimes.

At the moment, I'm just trying to have a good life and feel great. Sometimes a little solitary ambition does a girl good.

Talking Only Me And You

Andreas Kauffelt & Toby Izui - The People

Most exciting news of the week for me: Soft Circle is opening up for The Sea and Cake at Warsaw. Yes!

My site is still kinda broken. This post is dated from when I started scribbling in it, but is definitely not today. In case you care, the cast thing has become less devastating as time has passed. I'm less bandaged (even though both feet are in the act now) and am back to wearing regularish shoes. It's gonna be a while before I can slip on anything with some height, though if you see me semi-normally, you know that's about par for the course except I can't if I wanted to. Instead, my stupid knee is the hobbling culprit. Oh the good times! My mother wasn't kidding when she said you fall apart rapidly after 25.

Life at the new mothership is pretty rad so far. Minus my hideous ID photo in which I'm frozen for posterity as a bewildered 12-year old with a fat neck. I've been obsessing over that quite a bit.And also last.fm which I just got my shit together and joined. (Please ignore the random Goo Goo Dolls songs sprinkled in. Thanks.)

And now for a story: some weeks ago, I went to see the Battles show at the Seaport. It was one of the few summer early Fridays I had managed to take advantage of and I'd had a nice nap at home before coming back out. I spent most of the show squeezed against a storefront while random packs of tourists went back and forth from booze cruises and the Water Taxi, but I had a pretty good viewing angle and the sound was great. After the show, I wandered further downtown away from the mass hipster stampedes and had a nice burrito at Chipotle before grabbing the J.

Across the aisle were some drunkie girls that seemed like a bit clueless college girls and at Fulton, this random dude got on. From the start, he made me uncomfortable practically boring a hole into my head with his eyes. I was sure not to make eye contact and not squirm. But when he responded to the drunkies' goodbye at Bowery with "goodbye you stupid sluts!," dude got upgraded to crazy fast.

The teenager across from me eyed him nervously out of the corner of the eye. New York kids' reactions are always along the lines of "is this motherfucker gonna lose it or what?" and it reinforced my feelings of uneasiness. A pretty woman on a date sat next to me and chatted with her guy and the man across eyed us both like steaks on a plate. She got off at Marcy and he whispered something in her direction before sitting down next to me.

I dug up courage somewhere and eyed the side of his head icily as he made a production of removing his headphones to talk to me. He turned to me and said "are you going to keep looking at me like that?"

"Yes," I replied, in a stronger voice than I expected.
"Why's that?"
"Because I'm wondering why you're sitting next to me."
"It's a public transportation, sweetheart," oozed the bastard.
"Okay, that's fine. I'll move then." And I got up to wander halfway down the car. Sometimes I wonder what's the point of being in the conductor's car if it doesn't make you feel an ounce safer.

He eyed me the whole time I walked and stood in the doorway and then when I sat at Lorimer. I refused to look and when I rushed off at Flushing, my heart beating in my ears drowned out what he yelled after me. I walked to the newest non-local local eying the sidewalk behind me every other step. Sometimes people are crazy and you'll never know what they'll do. My night was ruined from there. I haven't taken that train since.

I Want To Kiss The Concrete

Skeletons and The Girl-Faced Boys, You'da Been Better Off

I haven't been having the best luck health wise this year, but I'm trying to avoid even thinking "worst body year ever!" The latest saga is my foot. I've been feeling pain in it for a while and my no insurance head in the sand fix was to get some arch support and stop wearing flat ass flip flops worked for a bit. But the other day, it became pretty unbearable and I got tired of hobbling along, so I used my 4-day old insurance (we heart The Freelancer's Union!) to stroll over to the podiatrist and get it checked out. I was hoping for a nice sturdy insert and some painkillers, but instead I got a soft cast and next week I go back for the real way. Yay me? I guess I'm gonna get my money's worth out of these months of insurance I just paid for. And amazingly, I woke up this morning finally not in pain for first time since I don't even remember. So, it's heading towards all good.

The drawbacks are: 1) strangely, a bandaged foot is a prime target for stepping on. Goddamned jerks. 2) It doesn't really get me a seat on public transportation. I just end up with funny looks really. 3) I'm showing up to my first day of the new job looking like an accident prone dumbass. Ah well. 4) This more or less ruined a really fun weekend I had planned. Hard to dance in a cast and boot. 5) The only places I'll probably be the next couple of weeks are work and my damned fourth floor walkup. I think my couch and I will develop a very special relationship.

In other life, this job transition is very nerve-wracking for me. I really liked the place I left today. Not only because it was a great port after feeling so adrift back in the spring and helped me gain a lot of confidence and pride in my abilities, but the people were awesome and taught me a lot and working for one of the motherships (even as a lowly freelancer) does have its advantages. Now, I'm transitioning across town and it's like Monday is my first day of school. I'm sure it'll turn out great, but it's very overwhelming at the moment.

Lately, I've been listening to the old Skeletons album, the new Battles, and Oui and the latest Sea and Cake. Considering those are the three groups I've been obsessively going to see this spring/summer, I'm sure that's not very surprising. Oui was unearthed when I was randomly browsing through CDs. That CD is very junior year of Wes, sitting on the porch of 68 High with Alex and Tino and the crew. I've been thinking a lot about random school times since my brand new Facebook obsession is putting me in touch with randoms I haven't seen in years and the reunion is looming. Five years! I was musing the other day that the current class going in there is Class of 2011 and I'll be 30 when they graduate. Then I thought how my brother will graduate high school in 2017 and I decided to stop playing that game. I need to learn how to live in the present more. Most of the summer I've been looking in the rearview or getting ahead of myself.

These Girls Are Smart

My blog has been stuck in breakdown limbo the past week and change. It figures that I don't actually have the urge to write until it was all fucked up. Hopefully everything's back to normal now. Here's a post that's been waiting impatiently for primetime:

A few months back, I went to the !!! show and the opening band was terrible. Actually, terrible is too nice of a word for their level of suckiness. It was a painful experience that I will always come to when I think of worst performances I've ever seen (up there with M.I.A. in Miami a year or two ago, but that had more to do with her crap songs than utter lack of everything). This group was basically made up of chicks dressed like Stephanie Tanner -- complete with side ponytails -- and their music was utter garbage. Listless atonal clamor with hipster posturing. No fucking thanks. So imagine my surprise when I got my weekly podcast download and song #2 sounded strangely familiar except, like, decent. I did some internets research and it was that same shit band shined into diamonds with a fucking good remix. And I've been listening to it all week…willingly! I hear there's a blizzard forecast in hell…

September is a good music month. On my radar, the free Battles show Friday (August 31st but close enough) at the Seaport (I even have the day off so I can avoid the working until shit late and missing the show predicament I usually find myself in trying to see something there.) (ETA: Went! And it ruled. More on that night to come later); GZA/Jamie Lidell @ McCarren Pool; The Sea and Cake (again) @ Warsaw; Fujiya & Miyagi @ Bowery Ballroom; and the old fan is considering checking out Underworld @ Central Park. It's fairly typical for me that I'm planning days to stay up late when I'm starting a new job in a couple of weeks. I'm moving from midtown to…midtown. Actually only going across town to the West Side where the food is at least 10x better. A girl can only eat so many sandwiches for lunch, Now I can eat hot food from the supermarket! Progress!

I Know You Need It, I Need It Too

I'm a terrible slacker, I know. My summer output has been pretty anemic. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

The highlight of the summer was the Daft Punk show at Keyspan. Trendvickster and I checked that out together. My souvenirs (besides an obsession I couldn't quench until I found a bootleg recording of the whole damned show and a desire to go to Vegas for that festival around Halloween) were pretty shitty photos and vids via my terrible cameraphone and some glowsticks that are looking pretty pathetic two weeks later. And I survived a forty minute wait on line at Nathan's and came out with a wine cooler in a big cup and some delicious mutant frog legs. It was fun jumping around at the show and being a part of the big roar of the crowd. My only nitpicks were the shafting of Face To Face and how irritated I was by the sound of Harder, Better, Faster, Song the third (and possibly not the last) time it got mixed in with some other song. But, that stands as #1 on my show of the year list so far. Maybe GZA/Jamie Lidell next month can come close, but won't top for sure.

Besides that, I've been chillin. This summer has been all about the lazy routine. Sunday evenings, one of my more recent neighbor friends and I meet for drinks, takeout, and Battlestar Galactica. Tuesdays after work, I splash around in the pool at the Y doing Aquacize. I've been making random pilgrimages to my new fave non-local local bar. Last Thursday, I was propped at the bar, wincing at a terrible sketch on that incredibly unfunny show on Comedy Central (cookie to you if you can take a wild guess on what show it was) and got into a conversation with this random next to me about the horribleness. Which led to talking about politics, work, travel, love, life, and all those things. And it felt nice in the way it can when you feel like you've beat the odds and actually made a connection in the most random of ways. But, I saw him off with a "have a nice night" and "maybe we'll see each other again." You never know how those things will play out.

Hey Mr. DJ, Let The Beat Play

My new fave commercial. I think the bemused British chuckle does it for me...and dude being like "I'd be happy with just one." I think I realized as I watched it that I had never heard Becks speak before. And damn, he sure is blond.

I'm about 95% free from this mega-project I've been devoted to for most of the past couple of weeks. It looks pretty dope if I must say so myself. (Ask me off-site if you're remotely curious about the link.) While I've been mucking through it, me being me, it's not like I totally stayed at home...at least not on the weekends. I might still be a little burned out from the out and about every night of the week thing from a month or so ago. I'm old and tired, I can't roll that (much) anymore.

The other weekend kicked off early Friday evening when I rolled from work (Summer Fridays never seem to work out as planned lately...) to the monthly happy hour of this downtown agency my old job collaborated with. TrendVickster came along and we chatted and drank and oohed and ahhed the company head's brand spanking new iPhone. He tried to front like he was nonchalant while fumbling through the controls and the whole spectacle got a meh. TV and I split a slice of cake (what a nutritious dinner!) and I was off to the wilds of Bushwick to party and get a fangirl thrill.

It might be the Brooklyn girl in me but I don't get why Bushwick is hip. I hear the name and I think nowhere worth going. Williamsburg is vaguely understandable being that it's super convenient from Manhattan, but Bushwick is just out there and it really hasn't changed much over the years. I got off the train at Morgan to find this place and turned a corner to feel like I was in a horror movie. One where the zombies come out from the empty lots and seemingly abandoned warehouse buildings to drag a poor unsuspecting girl in the wrong place at the wrong time away to feast on her brains. And then I walk down the street to see something or another filming and this converted factory building with a gourmet supermarket and cafe and little hipsters hanging out on the bench in front. And I walk another block and it's back to zombieland, with the faint sound of techno coming from a roof. I hobble my way up the stairs and the joint is packed with hipsters from god knows where, most looking fresh off the road from Bumblefuck, USA and some real neighborhood kids amusing themselves. I was feeling antisocial and wandered across the street to this random bar that I'm a little in love with now. I chilled with the bartender and randoms watching Saturday Night Fever (one of those movies that you realize is super fucked up when you actually really pay attention to it) on DVD. I went back to the roof to satisfy my thrill (oh so dirty sexy pretty!) and left just as I heard the sirens coming to shut the party down. Back at the bar, I ended up in this overlong conversation about work and the crazy admark industry and I kinda felt like a very fulfilled nerd. And then called a cab to drag my drunk ass home to my doorstep. Good times.

Saturday's vague highlights was marvelling at party locations nowadays. I'm just waiting for someone else to do a laundry party at this point. This one was in some random ass loft next to a gas station and I saw Abe and other folks I know. I had a spazzy moment with my current fave DJ from the party that I'm becoming diehard about where I told her how much I loved her podcasts mixes on the bathroom line. Ah well.

Last Friday got me back to 419. My knee hurt, so I perched myself on the back bar stool and was content to sip on something and people watch. But, noooo...whenever a woman is sitting alone somewhere, it obviously means that she's dying to get picked up, right? Wrong! First dude slid across within 5 minutes and he had sub-game and I was beyond monosyllabic and after some uncomfortable minutes, he finally went away. This other dude rolled in all fake thug in a hipster party and sideglanced me for a while. He was easy on the eyes and I may have noncommittally looked back once or twice. His big move was telling me to let him know when I wanted a drink because he could hook me up and then saying he'd be right back and SMACKING ME ON THE ASS as he walked past. I totally gasped and him booking it was the only thing that didn't have me getting up and hurting him, lame knee be damned. Who the fuck seriously does that? Jesus Christ. It's bad enough that being by yourself in the midst of people and stuff means you have to get damned every bullshit pass in the place, but the ass slap is beyond disrespectful. I was fuming. I even broadcasted it to my dodgeball list in fact. I was bitching about it later on to this random who amusingly looked on when guy #1 and the slapper tried one after another to kick it to me again upstairs on the patio. The slapper was really close to getting a drink thrown in his face (he doesn't know about me...I'll do it) when he was mewing that I'd gotten my own drink instead of letting him get it. Fucking lamer. He was pretty beat later on when I was chatting up the random too. So strange that ass slapping isn't much of deal sealer.

In the best of circumstances, I'm admittedly difficult to meet at a party. I loathe being hit on. If you try, you're deaded. In fact, you probably just wasted your time bothering with the walk over because I'm not trying to hear it. Where the random vaguely succeeded where the other two failed (though the slapper torpedoed his own chances) was that I'd given him "can you believe this crap?" exasperated glances during the loser parade and when they left me alone, we had something to chat and joke about. In a nutshell, I might minorly be a control freak and I hate feeling like a piece of meat. Not that I like doing all the work, but I don't respond well to the "you're my prey and I'm pouncing" methodology. YMMV I suppose.

If You Really Knew The Answers, You Wouldn't Brag About It So Much

There's not much I don't love about the summer. Away with the sweaters and coats, on with the lightweight clothes and flip flops. It's mostly all good as far as I'm concerned. I spent most of the spring hustling for work and all that related stuff, so now I'm trying to reap the rewards and have some fun. Health-wise, I haven't been feeling a 100% for a while, so I feel more determined to plow through it and try to feel as close to the old me as I can get nowadays. And how do I do that exactly? By doing a marathon week of events/shows/being out and about.

I've been out every night since Tuesday, after a Sunday and Monday of rest after a bit of a wild weekend.That night I went to 419 and stood in the corner of the patio drinking overpriced drinks until I made an escape to Brooklyn to see an awesome show by the Yohimbe Brothers at Zebulon. That's one of those venues that I'm always amazed that I don't spend just about all my time at. I've seen some kickass performances just stumbling in there randomly. Wednesday was going to Soundfix to catch The Sea and Cake's in-store and getting annoyed at the crowd and the shitty opening band who just droned on and on (same problem at the Webster Hall show except their set might have been 3x as long). At the store, most of the people left when that band finally released the stage which was incredible to me. Oh the power of indie hype. Both nights, TSAC ripped it. I've got a major soft spot for them. I was theorizing Thursday night that they all look like teachers I wish I would've had in high school. Sam is English, John's Calc, Eric is Drama, and Archer is the science teacher I would've spent a lot of time thinking inappropriately about. I have to get around to checking out the new album. Friends of friends I randomly came across in the audience Thursday said it ranks high up there with the older stuff. I was happy to hear Mr F, Parasol, and some others I've forgotten between now and then. Good times x2. I got the fun experience of the bartender remembering my drink on the first pass, so every time after that she was like "another gin and tonic?" with the unspoken drunkie on the end as the night wore on. If you had to endure 45 minutes of that middle band, it'd drive you to drink too.

Also Wednesday, I went down to Dumbo at this newish venue, a coffee shop that apparently turns into a big event space nightly now. The show was old school latin soul and it was a good time. The thorn in my side is this guy I keep seeing around. I used to have a bit of a crush on him and go out of my way a bit to set up the opportunities to interact with him, but now he just annoys me. His general reaction is to just look at me as if I'm supposed to run up and give the full court press. I don't even care enough anymore. He's not all that. There's just something about him that doesn't make me want to try. I take that as a bad sign.

Friday night, the recently back to NYC Trendvickster and I did up the hipster event in Greenpoint pretty big. Well, I did and she was along for the ride. As I'm getting older, I'm starting to finally distinguish between the good and bad (for me) liquors. The borderline out of control episodes of the not so recent past: fueled by rum. A good indication that the night is going to end with something rather inappropriate (though pretty fun): scotch. Left to my own devices, I chatted with former associates through my old job and confessed my slight crush on one of their coworkers to more than one person; played a lot of pinball; would have some pretty scandalous photos if the photo booth wasn't busted; and was part of traumatizing some random who just wanted to go to the bathroom. All before 1am. And it's not even the first time I've misbehaved in that space, despite the name change. I think I might have to avoid that spot for a while. Good thing I've never claimed to be especially angelic.

Saturday night had me at Studio B, mostly leaning and watching instead of dancing like I wanted because of a hurt foot. The funny thing about going out frequently again is that I see people I know a lot more often. Which can go either way in terms of bad or good. In Flagranti and G. Rizo were great, but I was pretty disappointed in Mr. Oizo. He really couldn't mix for shit and the space between the songs and/or the abrupt switch overs were really jarring. Ah well. Fun night regardless.

Rest Your Sad Head and Let That Shit Go

A moment of silence for Helga, my formerly indestructible HP that conked out on me. I had it about two months shy of 8 years, so I can't be mad and getting above and beyond my money's worth of it. I've been saving up for a shiny laptop for while and today I bought another HP tower that I'll pass along to my mom once I get my piggy bank ready for the laptop buy. A $400 computer was still lightyears away from what I've been working with all this time. Luckily, I've been slowly migrating my info to my external hard drive for a few months now, so no big info loss. I'm still vaguely confident that I can transfer settings, but it remains to be seen. That poor computer survived 8 years of moves, dust, good writing, bad writing, many IM conversations, angry emails, overlong blog posts, music downloads, and days and nights of overwork. The new computer clean slate feeling is kinda interesting. I feel like everything happening around/with me right now has something to do with salvaging the good pieces and/or rebuilding from the bottom. I don't mind really. Change is a very good thing.

The other week found me venturing into Midtown on a Saturday night. Very strange since the last thing I do when I leave it on Friday evening is clamor for more. I was off to check out this new to me band that I'd been digging for more info about. The show was in this art gallery, hidden in the shadows of office buildings and delis and theater row. The space was transformed into a maze with sculpture and writings decorating the walls. I wandered in, looking for the music that was promised to be at the end. I saw a band, not the one I was there looking for, sitting around and taking apart equipment. I looked at them, they looked at me, and wandered away. I came across this guy, looking like an antsy hipster complete with the shaggy hair, hoodie, and classic sneaks (shelltoes in this instance), and we struck up a stilted conversation as I asked where the refreshments were hiding. Our chatting would reoccur as the night passed. The place was on the miniature side. Three turns and you were either out the door or back where you started. I tried to wait patiently for everything (the set to start, the drink girl to replenish the supply, a lightning bolt to hit this girl who started some story with "not that I'm a racist, but..."), but mostly aimlessly walked around and around. That guy was from SC visiting for the week and one pass we talked about the upstate region and its little cities and towns. I felt a twang slip out and I missed my old summer trips for the quickest of seconds.

And then the band played, mostly acoustic with the music going low as the mike-less singer sang. I was mesmerized by the bass, all strings and neck. I stood in the corner on a bucket and tried to keep my balance and take a pic or two with my shitty camera phone. Almost at the end, there was competing noise from a sax player and drummer playing out front on the street. They wrapped up quick and suddenly and everyone ventured outside. The discordant noise brought down a tourist to complain about her lack of sleep. She walked about and fumed helplessly and everyone watched the showdown between her and the saxophonist amused. I used the lull to stroll off the next destination. There were no more fireworks to be had there that night.

I had a choice of parties to go to with one big possible drawback to them all. I was playing the shell game and trying not to be where The Boy could end up. But true to form, I paid my money and bought my first drink and looked to my left to see his friend and then him sitting there. Figures really. I kept to myself and this random I knew from the neighborhood where I used to work and he hovered around like the mosquito you can't quite kill and finally just ghost. I coped with the Long Island Iced Tea special and chugging to calm my nerves. Too bad my stomach wasn't so happy as time went on. I spent the next day at home lounging like Sheba and considered how fun it would be to live somewhere where my past wasn't always been thrown in my face.

Tuesday, I attempted to see a show by the old faves, but fatigue and the noxious crowd turned me back. Instead I went to the 2nd show of the week by Saturday's group. There again was that guy from SC. We had another strange conversation and he confessed that he was at the show for lack of a better option and stir crazy. I gave my condolences on that and perched myself by the bar hoping for a good watching angle. It was a good show again and I was happy that I got it together to see them. That guy had disappeared before the show was over. I hope he had a good trip.

Every Day Is Saturday Night

I'm annoyed. (A quick aside, I often think how fun it would be to have some Movable Type hack – yes, I am a blog nerd, And what? – where you could have mood displays a la Live Journal. And then I think, well first of all, my mood would usually be annoyed, so it'd just be redundant. And also, I can save that for my real LJ where I can go on and on and on in private and non-cryptically. So, this is a dumb aside basically. My prerogative. Whatevs.)

It's a shame I'm salty because things are really not bad. My new favorite pastime is podcasts by East Village Radio, Stones Throw, and XLR8R. New to me – or even, memory jogging – music is always good in my book. Hours and hours of fun that is. The weather is nice, really nice. I had a good weekend split between much needed rest and reconnecting with folks. Brunch and a nice stroll through the nabe even fit in there. I saw a fun show by Kenna
last week at the new Luna Lounge and had the loveliness that is an Iona cider. I ran into one of the few Wes kids who it isn't (that) painful to see and I had a funny text convo with Justin when I got fooled by hisdoppelganger. He said he was at PB&J and I was confused about that until...er, about 20 minutes ago. I'm so out of the loop with what the kids are listening to nowadays.

Anyway, I think it's just one of those states where the good is awesome and the bad fucking pisses me off. The problem (if it can even be called that) stems from being a little too focused right now. I had myself on overdrive and did what I had to do, so now it's like I'm in that mode and I don't know if it's worth it to slip out. I feel like my game has been elevated and now I don't want to go back. Still, I know there's a significant amount of fun missing. I just feel stiff or something. I guess that's to be expected. It's been a big two months for me. So, I'm just a bit restless and impatient. I don't have it in me to wait around and hope I make square pegs fit in round holes. I'm tired of settling
and being jerked around. That's how I spent most of the past three years at the wrong jobs and being with the wrong people and spending too much time feeling bad. I'm not exactly sure what I want, just that Ihaven't found it yet. Clear as mud, eh?

She Seems Happier At Night

Despite things still sorta swirling around strangely, I feel mostly good.

Going to midtown every work day and looking like an adult instead of a college kid in limbo is an interesting experiment. I nipped in the bud -- rewind, I crushed with my best stiletto heel -- the pseudofriendship thing the boy was trying to push for. Just thinking about having to talk to him again was making me crazy. It was like a rewind to all the shit I thought I worked through in all these months. Some wounds get infected when you pick at it. Proving that we're both mature and responsible people, I told him that I wanted him to go crawl back under the rock he was hiding under for the past six months with some cold East New York flavor I didn't know I had lurking in there and he crank called me like a bitch the past Friday night. We're both obviously winners. But who cares! It's really truly spring, so I'm happy.

I've been pretty much a homebody during the week again. I've got to get up damned early (for me) with the added bonus of not going only 15 minutes away anymore. Not that it's stopping me from staying up too late as usual, but it's hard for me to get motivated out before the weekend. Last Friday was a marathon day for me. Late at work, then off to meet up with C to repay my $60 from Miami and enjoy happy hour. Red was there with friends and I said hi for a bit then went back to my table. Faiks came in for a long overdue hangout session and we grabbed dinner. She turned into a pumpkin and then it was Red and I drinking and trying to rally...which ended up being eating at Unos (I swear I haven't been to one of those since high school) and sitting around in the park before rolling back to Brooklyn. Next day was Chinese delivery and watching Donnie Darko. Chill fun. I've kinda missed just aimlessly hanging out with someone cool a la Fizzie. Getting into trouble sometimes, but mostly bullshitting and chatting about real stuff. Low maintenance and non-dramatic is nice at this point. I'm still sorting a lot things out, so a distraction is good.

The most exciting things from Sunday were: 1) A really good energizing ride around the park. I took these interiors roads for once and that was cool. I also need to ride more because my stamina sucks. 2) Taking my awesome new shoes (yes, shoes not sneakers) on a test run. 3) I actually fit into the size I'm supposed to be in the fitting rooms with minimal "goddammit, I'm a fat cow!" trauma 4) After two years of cohabitation, the cat finally seems to be giving Ant some love. That was actually really cute.

Another reason why life is all good as far as I'm concerned:

Can't wait!

The Rolls and Waves

This past week, I've just been trying to keep my equilibrium going. I'm one of those people that need a neutral balance or else I'm going to fall into the hole. Last Thursday was a pretty shitty day, for instance. I got beyond drenched out in the rain, had some very not so good interviews, found out my insurance was cut off, and just felt super alone and loserish and overwhelmed most of that day. That great mood carried on to early Friday when I tried my best to just stay under the covers and cry before I got the call about some more interviews and then had some drinks and tried to perk myself up.

I ended up at a big party at 3rd Ward that night. I was determined to enjoy myself and succeeded. There was an annoying interlude with this random who latched onto me early and wouldn't leave me alone. He was too old, marginally funny, looked like a lost member of X-Clan (well, not that there's anything wrong with that part), and had this really irritating habit of singing in my ear. I had to break out some stealth moves to finally shake him. Good thing about huge warehouse parties is you can go hours withough running into a person again. I ran into Benny and Tim and ended up talking with Benny about their group and an upcoming show. He said that they were looking for singers to do background stuff and I (strange for me) volunteered. Er, haven't done more than entertain my cat in four years. That's going to be an adventure. And then I wandered around and around for hours before escaping at 8am into the insanely bright sun. It's always tough strolling in somewhere in the dead of the night and finally accepting that it's daytime and you need to go home. We party hard.

I made a new friend Sunday and I shall call him Red (for obvious real life reasons). We went to Floyd's and didn't play bocce (which is almost blasphemous) and then to see Disturbia. Which made me really hot for Shia LaBeouf, until I found out that's he's not even 21. You'd think I'd be on some what's good for the goose is good for gander since I'm hard pressed to think of the last guy I dated/liked/whatever that's not older than me, but yuck at younger guys. I'm sure I'll change my tune in 5 years or so.
Last night was another Battles show. Most of my time was spent wishing bodily harm on this group of jerks who decided that no matter what the song, a mosh pit was needed. The boy came over at the end all "you're here, cool, I was going to text you to see if you knew about it, but here you are." Blah. He should make himself useful and get me a damned Battles bag. I've talked so much about it this week that the crazed need is awakened.

This week was kinda tough. I've been worrying a lot about the job situation, natch. Good/bad effects: weight loss. The "so stressed that I'm despairing" diet works wonders. But I've been working my ass off the past couple of weeks and it paid off with mad interviews and finally today, a new job. I'll be freelancing as a PM/producer at an agency that could eat my old one for breakfast, so I'm really excited. And I even have nothing but goodwill (today at least) towards my old boss for forcing me onto the market to make a living wage. Yay for me!

Can It All Be So Simple

I still haven't learned how to relax and accept that being home during the day -- at least compared to never seeing the light hit this place except for on my way out in the morning -- kinda rules. The streets around here are interesting. Old people, people with babies, and the stray kid and/or unemployed person like me. It's fun being able to zip around so fast with hardly anyone in the lines and stuff. I almost feel like I have to retrain myself to stroll along leisurely and not let the four walls close in on me. I haven't been doing park stuff like I should, but exercise DVDs are my new guilty pleasure. Man, if I stay home another week or two, I'm going to be super buff.

The weekend was actually a strangely good one. Friday night, met up with Banana and we tried to do the artsy rounds before we settled on this bar in the western reaches of Soho with $6 well drinks in a pint glass. It was like heaven. They also had a gang of menus so we could order in stuff (wings and nachos, yum). It was just a fun kinda cheap night shooting the shit with randoms which is always good. We made a detour to visit Justin spinning at 419 before going home and passing out.

Imagine my surprise Saturday morning to get a query about brunch from the boy of all people. That was some interesting timing. Curiosity got the better of me and I agreed, which turned into a seven hour adventure of chatting and wandering around the nabe. I made it to a First Saturday for the second time in over two years. It was a little awkward for me, but we got along. He's (admittedly) been storing up things to tell/ask me about for the past six months, so I guess it was like Christmas for him. I'm still on the fence. I tried to hang with the ex-coworkers for a bit that night, but awkward feelings sent me running across Williamsburg to this other party the boy had told me about. I indifferently watched him with his new flavor of the night and lost myself dancing and trying to melt in the little room everyone was crammed in. I went home alone, feeling good, and got up earlyish the next day to plow through my room. (Three days later, it's still going.) I spent Easter with Alafairnadia and friends drinking bubbly and eating good food.

The boy kinda wants to be bffs or something and I'm going to decline to overthink something for once and just go with it until it becomes a bad situation. Knowing him, it won't take long. I might still hate him a little bit under the shiny surface. Still, we saw Grindhouse (oh man, it rules! But everyone rushed for the bathroom when it was over. You really have like a 2-second potty window in between the movies.) together Monday night and that was fun. And he even inspired me to reconnect with Farmer. So the grand experiment is already good for something.

Make Some Lemonade

T. S. Monk - Bon Bon Vie

That's my new favorite song. I've known it for years, but while I was browsing the goods I couldn't bring myself to drop tons of cash on in the Adidas store in Miami, the DJ put it on and I cornered him to get the name. I came back to NY and Soulseek wasn't being helpful and Bill thankfully gave it to me. It's such a strange song, very upbeat music with some really depressing ass lyrics. It fits what I'm going through right now.

I've been holding a post in draft all week because I couldn't find the right words/tone or encrypt things like I usually do. I'm going through a really bad time and I can't write cute around it. I just feel lately like every good thing that happens to me has some swift negative counter and it's bringing me down.

Miami was great, warm fun (minus the hotel losing my reservation, the fruitless lines at the Scion parties and getting shafted at hotel bars -- no matter how many times I go, $12 well drinks will never be okay). A highlight was making a friend at the Robert Owens show and geeking over the artist behind Strings of Life. Yay house and techno!

My doctor was harassing me while I was down there and I made an appointment with her for the Friday after I got back. I started seeing her over some random phantom pain in my knee that had been bothering me for a while. She did a complete physical (I'm fat and weigh a lot more than I used to, no shit) and took a heap of blood and got the results while I was away. It turns out that my joints are fucked and I have an appointment with a specialist to see if it's a bad disease or a worse one. Um yay? ETA: It's the mild version of bad. In case you were sitting on the edge of your seat or something.

Funny thing about Friday, I also got laid off that day. I was having a hellish week back at work and totally swamped with work. My boss walked up to me at 6:15 all "can I talk to you for a second?" and I said no because I had a shitload to finish by 7. Yet she was insistent and I went to find out to my surprise that I was out of a job. I don't even know how I felt. I was pretty relieved yet also frightened since being out of a job when you might potentially be really sick is no good. My work friends rallyed for me at the local bar and that was nice. Despite my evil boss and being overworked and grossly underpaid, I liked my job and most of the people there. It makes me sad to have that suddenly taken away from me, but I'm not really worried about landing on my feet. It's weird being home during the day. I've working more or less straight for the past 10 years, so I almost don't know what do with myself without a job, even if part of me just wants to fucking relax and write like I never have time for and collect unemployment for a minute. Instead, I've been applying and doing interviews and thinking about where to apply. I don't think I know how to relax sometimes.

Last night was the Battles/Prefuse/Soft Circle show at the Bowery. The show sold out last week (over the weekend? I dunno), something I didn't discover until I checked online to get the box office address to go buy a ticket. I made new friend off Craig's List (off the strictly platonic section, pervs) and got to go. (Thanks again, E!) I've heard a lot about Soft Circle, but never heard the music until yesterday. It was pretty rad, one man band drumming with droning vocals and electronics. Prefuse did a drum-less set with him and two dudes on the turntables/mixers/electronics. One of them was this DJ from LA called The Gaslamp Killer. Last year in Miami, he DJed this party I went to and dude's an experience. He's like a mixtape come to life or something. After/during/between a song, he starts with the hype man shouting business. It's half entertaining, half annoying. Battles was great also, but by the time they took the stage, I was already over the edge of drunkenness with no return. A fun result of that: I ran out of cash in my pocket, so I used to my credit card to buy a drink I didn't need. And to kill the tab, I bought drinks for Prefuse, Beans, and some of their friends. How random.

As I vaguely feared, I ran into the boy at the show. He rolled up on me when I was chatting with E before the show started and I eyed the drink in his hand really warily. He said that he read the email (actually MySpace message) that I had sent him, but he'd been busy and hadn't had time to respond (whatever, fuck him). I didn't really say anything in return and for once in his life, he took a hint at the awkwardness and went away. I ran into his friend (the one I've seen at Sputnik a few times and have a pretty good relationship with considering) and told him about the job situation, so when I ran into the boy again later, he said: "sorry to hear about your job, but you're one of the most resourceful people I know, so I'm sure it'll work out for you." Which was nice, but way to pass on my bad news, friend! We had a nice conversation which was strange and I said as much. He invited me over to hang out with him and his friends and I didn't. I feel good about the whole thing though. I wanted a nice postscript to the whole thing and now I have it. I'd rather look forward to something new than keep looking back.

The end of the show is a drunken blur. Somehow somewhere I fell and hurt my elbow and sorta broke my phone (thank god for cell insurance!). I cabbed it home and woke up in bed fully clothed. I've spent most of the day convinced that I lost my phone and was inconsolably hysterical for hours (missed two phone interviews also...yay me), but there it was randomly a few minutes ago when I bent down to get my fallen pen, off and taunting me. Meh. At least it's here. Sometimes shit just works out...sooner or later.

Come Around My Way

Two posts in as many days? I hear hell's getting a cold front.

I've finally succumbed to the plague that's felled everyone else in my office. After a slight bout with the chills yesterday, I'm left with the hacking cough. I've stocked up on Theraflu, EmergenC, fruits, and Hall's, so I'm gonna kill this fucker by Thursday. Or else I'm gonna be that annoying passenger that everyone hates since the canned air will make the hack worse. PrincessNella's gonna love me for that.

In honor of what I was talking about last post (letting shit be water under the bridge and all that), I sent a really nice note to the boy. Basically saying that I wish him the best in his life...far away from me. I don't actually expect a reply. It was just for brain dump's sake. That was my good deed for the month. Back to regularly scheduled piss and vinegar.

Did I mention how PSYCHED I am for Miami? I am, really. In case you didn't notice.

In the life can never be simple files, I swear NYC has only 300 people in it tops. No matter what the census says. This guy I think I could like (if he wasn't so shiny and kinda accomplished in his way and so high profile and put together with really nice hair and I wasn't in this weird phase where I'm shy and feel like flying under the radar and being a little self-hating) and I apparently overlap on every circle. If not him, someone that's about half a degree away from him. MySpace, real life friends, nabe life/the board, parties, and now the goddamned local deli by the job. The whole thing makes me want to run and hide. He sees me, I see him, no one's ever going to do anything about it. I get the distinct impression that I'm not the type of girl he would like. I'm too...everything (see, self-hating phase) and he's probably started wondering if I'm stalking him. I might have done some minor net detective work (damn, it's easy), but I can't put in the effort to really mount a chase. My post-trip life is focused on whipping the body into shape in time for Tino's hippie wedding to avoid total mortification. I'm a little over the phase where I run headfirst into rejection.

Let It Whip

So sick of that view. Miami in 4 days! In great news, I got my new ID early, so no worries about the TSA.

I've been on a bury the hatchet letter writing kick lately. As they say, those who anger you control you. Not all have been sent. Maybe I should burn what I've written to fully complete the dippy new age sentiment. I don't even think at the end of the day I expect a response to the ones I have sent. They're more of a symbolic door closer to some prickly memories. Now, let me go burn some incense and meditate on that. Gag.

My mp3 player is a thorn in my side at the moment. A few months ago, the headphone jack cut out and I shelved it out of frustration. I did some Googling and found a place in the city that would fix the audio thing, but now I've got a new problem: another defect is that the battery told discharges itself when it's underused, so now it's too dead to be revived. At least without opening the whole thing up and giving it a shock or some sort of shit I read about on the internet that would having me with a burned broken player if i tried it. Sonofabitch! So now my best hope is to take it to that repair shop and hope the bastards don't try to sucker me into getting a new battery. The best laid plans, I tell you.

Verse Number Two

I would say that I feel old, but I've felt that way for about 10 years now. I'm still cute, but rounder than I'd like to be. I could make more money and try to keep my room clean, but really I can't complain. I'm trying to be kinda zen this year. You can't make people do what you want, but you can also not succumb to the brief satisfaction of kicking their ass...no matter how good it might feel in the moment. I had vaguely designated some prospects and they're not panning out. Granted, my non-movement attention span is about a week. I've spoken to one a grand total of twice and the other has been in a holding pattern for months, though I recently learned that he can at least be funny. I wondered for a while there.

Honestly, I'm just trying to focus on the trip to Miami next week. My first vacation after a crazy stressful year. The sun break will be well appreciated -- unless some random TSA agent decides to make my life hell because of my temp DMV ID. I've been having nightmares about that all week.

The birthday day was spent at the churrascaria in the company of an assorted group of 12: friends from a couple of months to 13 years and Ms. Mommy and J. We all ate ourselves stupid for the first bit and then spent the rest of the time praying they'd stop coming around with the meat. I was embarassed (yet secretly pleased) by the balloons and the neverending sparkler on my cake and it was a good time. Though I wasn't able to eat again until almost 20 hours later. The party night didn't go off as well and I had to really struggle not to get annoyed, but it was good to see old/missed faces and I appreciated Aaron not playing a night of Tears For Fears like he threatened.

Viva 26!

Everybody Is Trying To Be His Friend

Birthday in less than 17 days! Despite my love of the countdown, this year feels like a non-event for me.

I'm marginally amused that I'm not doing much to uncomplicate my life, despite a nice little run of quiet I had there. Of all the boys in NYC that I could have a) a crush on and b) want me for...something besides my big, entertaining brain, it would have to be roommates. Ugh. Extracting myself from that situation with no one but me (and you, my delightful non-them readers) knowing about it is going to be interesting. Good thing I was playing Girl Scout for a while there because it'll be a lot easier since nothing's gone on all around. I don't really want to bother with either of them. A girl would like to be surprised and swept off her feet for a change. That's not happening with either of them.

In many ways, I'm pretty much mentally checked out of the city. As it stands, I'm either finding something new to do that's awesome and well-paying or staying where I'm at working up towards a move in the spring. Top 3 destinations: LA, DC, or SF with LA being the front runner. But I'm starting to downplay that since the idea is making (almost) everyone I know foam at the mouth. To answer the inevitable "why?!" I'm getting from everyone, I just want a change of scenery. It might be millions strong, but it seems like my little hometown more times than not and I'm at a place where I'd rather miss it. It's starting to feel clastrophobic. Either everything I remember comes rushing back when I go certain places or I end up feeling down because so much has changed. And there's the constant turning a corner and seeing a HS or college person, a failed date, a former coworker, some random I met once at 2am in a backroom. I want to go where I don't have such a layered history. Just for a little while. And if I hate it, the city will always take me back.

Like Back In The Day, Love

Winter '07 faves:
-- that damned song/video. I guess I wasn't watching VH1 Soul enough when that came out the first time. And I'll admit to a perverse pleasure in singing "no not any more!"
-- Dragons of Zynth. The trick is getting my shit together to get to one of this month's residency shows.
-- Nino Moschella
-- The Let's Mix Love mix with the greatest opening song I've heard in a while.
-- The stupid word blipster and the great site it has spawned.
-- Actually enjoying myself at parties again. It was bound to happen I guess.
-- How fun it is when the shoe is on the other foot. Gotta love the boys who didn't give a shit months ago suddenly having a change of heart. Tough shit, babes. You missed the bus.
-- Kings of Tomorrow "Finally" and its 10,000 all awesome remixes.
-- Jay's video entries
-- "Nothing says birthday like free shit and porn and open bars!" 4 weeks! And we're going to meat heaven this year. The countdown begins.

Same Old Trip It Was Back Then

I've been listening to a lot of 90s music. Tis strange. A kid at work has been blasting decade themed music every Friday lately and I requested grunge and C+C Music Factory for the other day. Listening to 90s stuff makes me feel like an angsty kid again. Strange how those songs just bring all the weirdness back. Good thing this was nostaglia week I suppose.

I'm kinda upset about work. I feel like the situation is getting worse and it frustrates me to feel like I'm basically in the same position as last year, except halfway in the poor house because of the paycut. Adulthood blows. PrincessNella and I are masterplanning a trip for March again. The main draw for Miami is lessened a bit this year, so maybe California this time around. I've got a little under six weeks to get my license -- I've decided that since my learner's permit (shut up, I grew up three blocks from the subway and they didn't do driver's ed in my Manhattan high school) is expiring, I'm going to get a damned license instead of being embarrassed by renewing the fucking thing -- so maybe we can even tool around in a rental. I promise to avoid crazy LA drivers and fire hydrants.

A rather bizarre thing in my world right now is modern technology (yes, as all encompassing and vague as that is). I feel like I'm getting more socially inept as I get more connected to things. Recently, I've been friended by these DJs I see a fair amount out and about since I'm on their mailing lists and they play the shit I like to hear and all. And they've been vaguely communicating with me via these technological things and for me it's like "well, now what?" I'm strangely too chickenshit to bridge the gap and being a known unknown freaks me out. Dilemma, dilemma.

In a fit of randomness, I ended up swept back into the Sapph scene tonight. Crazy C and her ragtag bunch of friends. Being around them makes me amazed at my lack of a drug addiction. The super blast from the past was The Brit and his brother. His brother is a nutter and he's so obsessed with my laugh. He makes me feel self-conscious, especially since he has a totally different picture of what went on with me and The Brit than what did (which I'm sure he didn't try to set straight). Speaking of him, we didn't speak at all. It's been a year and a half damned near and we barely know each other anymore at this point. The episode was fairly painless. How different my past year + would've been if I'd had some barely worth recording flirtation that never got off the ground with the boy. But, as I thought to myself bitterly one day, the wrongs are always the easy ones to catch and the hard ones to throw away.

Resolutions

I don't know if I can muster up the attention span to do mega-end/beginning of the year roundups like I used to. I've had shit sitting in draft for weeks with no end in sight, so I'm throwing in the towel on them. Last year was rough. I feel that much has been obvious around here. In some areas, I'm more distant and unfocused than ever and in others, stuff is/has come together in ways I wouldn't have imagined. Everything needs work though and I'm just trying to keep some sort of upward trajectory going.

I could list my regrets for days, but at least I really felt like an active participant in my story for the first time in too long. Everyone's annoyed at me for slowing the output here down to a crawl, but if it's a slight comfort, the less I'm writing here, the more I'm out there actually living. I need more of a balance this year.

Anyhoo, the resolutions:
01. Move
02. Ask for help
03. Rebuild my nest
04. Get the savings in better shape
05. Leave the past in the past
06. Stop neglecting my site
07. See one secret creative project to fruition
08. Go easier on myself
09. Kill the inner control freak
10. Have more fun

Everything Leads To The Big Bang

I was feeling pretty blah heading into the long weekend. I'd worked the dead week at a mostly empty office and all those things that I actually had to be getting done, just weren't happening. And I had a nice demoralizing convo with my boss. All in all, I could've comfortably laid in bed until New Year's Eve. But then I wouldn't be me, would I?

Friday was a miracle day: off work way early (not that it helped me in my fool's quest at Circuit City) and had an honest to goodness fake date that wasn't a disaster (well not from my perspective, but what do I know?). I was engaging, cracked jokes, made fun, made cute, and was unashamedly terrible at video games. We wandered around the greater downtown Brooklyn, chatting and laughing. It was...nice. I didn't think I had the capacity to be lighthearted and cool anymore. Occasionally, I surprise myself.

Way later that night, I ended up wandering around the Financial District after an ill-advised detour to Williamsburg. I was on my way to one of those parties I'd miss if (really, it's when about now) I leave NYC. And it was what I hoped it would be: good music, packed with people, more than a handful of those I knew and liked. I even got some blasts from the past: The DJ strolled in looking like death warmed over (drugs are bad, kids) and an old 68 High/Wes buddy (I was feeling inappropriately warm currents there. Let's try to pretend that didn't happen). I even ran into the boy gang from the building's 10th floor. I'm amused at how they travel in packs. The guy from 10 that I like sometimes despite myself rescued me from a confrontation with this random. I had been standing on the wall minding my business when this sweaty fool came in my face saying I had dissed him. I was gearing up to give him a good neck roll and stream of obscenities when 10 guy stepped in on the pretense of chatting with me. The weirdo kinda stood along there for a second before he went across the room to randomly spring up on the next girl. Again, drugs are bad.

Saturday night, Alafairnadia and I went to a party near the Gowanus. She left a little early and I made lemonade out of lemons by recruiting my nearby work friend Banana to the festivities. The whole place was a little bizarre: optional costumes with a table full of props to choose from (I passed), the planned bonfire with a wooden contraption, and the highlight had to be the giant stuffed Shrek packed with dry ice and then blown up. I would've hated to be a neighbor on that night. The two of us momentarily fell in with a pair of freaks. The ringleader of the two was flirting and at the same time saying "why do people think it's weird that I go out without my wife? Do you think that it is weird." Umm, perhaps a bit. And then the shy sidekick who wheeled around the backyard in a wheelchair and uncomfortably humped my leg. Good times...or something.

And then New Year's Eve at Alafairnadia's place. The early on crowd was packed with board people talking about the board and I thought my eyes would get stuck in the rolled position. Let's talk about the internet at a real life party! So fascinating! And let's use our board names because it's not like we're real people with real names! Super! Ugh. We hit the stroke of midnight on the roof watching the fireworks from Prospect Park. Another fun ringing in the new year with my friends. Let's hope '07 blows '06 out of the water. At this rate, it wouldn't take much really. A group of us wandered off to Studio B for minimal dancing but maximum chatter. I randomly found someone who had made the move from here to the West Coast some years ago and spent way too much time drunkenly talking about how I needed to just drop everything and go. Definitely not news to me. I'm not long for this town, but I plan to enjoy it while I still can.

I Can Feel It In The Beat

I'm holiday partied the fuck out. The whole week has been a blur of coworkers and I travelling in packs and imbibing and mingling and acting (a little bit) like fools. It's interesting actually working in a fun part of the media world for a switch, so I can actually be social me instead of always wearing the mask like the old place. The sad part is that our work party isn't even until next week, so I wonder if I'll even be able to do anything but whimper at the sight of alcohol by then. To avoid that, I've grounded myself through the weekend to stave off another bout of the 6am dry heaves. My liver was threatening to commit suicide.

Tuesday's party was in celebration of the passing of the 21st Amendment (which ended Prohibition and all that). Our lovely clients were the sponsors and all of us who slaved on it got to run around and drink ourselves stupid. My coworkers rule. It's always a pleasure being around them. Getting there was a big adventure with the meeting on a strange corner and then shady random (damned good actor) giving us directions. We ended up being the first bunch at the party...which wasn't that cool, but it evened out. We were mingling furiously. A few years back when I was newly returned to NYC and barely in my 20s running around with late 20 somethings/early 30 somethings, I wondered where the hell all the guys my age were. Now still running around with early 30 somethings, the guys my age have appeared from a secret mist or something. And they're some accomplished cool ass fuckers too. I can't bring myself to date or "date" any of them (yet), but seeing them makes me happy. Likewise, these random packs of 23 year olds everywhere. They're so earnest. It almost warms my cold bitch heart. Erm, sidetracked. So, to make a long story short, we heart media boys and the ad world and open bars. Amen.

Except when some of those media boys see you at parties and spazz on you. Wednesday's party was another company's holiday party that we all got the 11th hour invite to. Yes, I will be there with bells on to drink your top shelf spirits and stuff myself with hors d'œuvres and maybe even dance if i can be persuaded. Imagine my surprise when I came face to face with this random who lives near me that I've passed some meaningless time with. Well, I actually wasn't that surprised at all. It was established that we both worked doing the same type of shit, though his company is like 5x the size of mine. I was even amused when he visibly blanched when he saw me across the room. Kids nowadays aren't skillful enough at playing it cool in front of pseudogirlfriends and coworkers. So much for that one.

You're Going No Further

I'm supposedly looking like my old old self again. The reactions I'm getting are kinda amusing. Then again, I'm actually smiling nowadays and lost like 185 pounds of dead weight. Things like that do wonders for a girl. Even my mom was saying I needed some fun in my damned life, so I'm off having it. Viva rebounding! There's the danger of reversing the initial happy loss with the holiday season carousing I've been doing to excess. But who cares? Pass the ham and yams and egg nog and hot toddys. I'll exercise more...or not.

I've been trying to do something about all the stuff I've been complaining about. The shitty boy down, next is me being super kickass at the job. Wordlessly mewing never got anyone anything. We're heading into a massive busy time (ever wonder what I do? Here you go.) and I plan to give no doubt that I go above and beyond. I want a really happy new year on that front. Ant and I are on the mega apartment hunt. It's the pits really. Balcony, 1 big room, and a cave? Two equally sized big rooms and no living room? Awesome place near where I spend too much of my time but kitty corner from the projects? Dilemma, dilemma. We're still looking.

Most surprising thing about recently is that I've been writing a lot (not here obviously)...and believe it or not, songs. We'll see what happens to them. Once the initial excitement passed, I was very meh about it. I'm listening to too much A Cloud Mireya. It makes me think I can do it too. I suppose as long as I resist turning the saga of the rebound kid's cat turning me into human pincushion nightly, it'll be salvagable.

Bring It All Back

Left to my own devices, I brood and obsess and internalize. I lounge and overthink and become melancholy and wring my hands about what next steps to take. I usually decide to sit and wait for inspiration to hit and take things in and bite back my reactions. This year, I'm mostly about shaking that bad habit.

And it's hard. I think I've cried more since I have when I was a child. Fucking change is hard. Sometimes I don't feel tough enough and I slip and do what I'm trying not to. I've always been a person who does the "right" thing since it's the good thing to do and the mysterious they say if you work hard and rightly enough, you get nothing but good things back. But, what the fuck do they know? Do they have names and can their references be verified?

I've been precariously trying to keep equilibrium. I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I want. Sometimes I just don't know. Other times it's clear: happiness, success, security, respect, and feeling appreciated. I've ripped up some of my foundations with jackhammers and tried to subvert everything I thought I was about. I've tried to kill the dead weight and be forceful and be me. I know I've been more self-absorbed than usual, but I don't get the same thrills in sharing that with others that I used to. I'm just trying to keep shit together a day at a time, even when it seems like things are falling apart all around me. I quit my old mostly comfortable, but extremely hated job and threw myself into a new scary place that makes me proud and cry and be upset and want to do the best I can and sometimes just want to throw in the towel and start again. It's hard for me to not be my job nowadays especially when it has me for 60 hours a week. The rents think that I am insane and alternately encourage me to walk away and stick it out. I don't know what I'll do. My mind changes daily.

I feel raw this year, all exposed nerves and shaky. Just when I'm putting one foot in front of the other to maintain, weird shit happens and I'm thrown again. There's been death and Mr. Daddy's medical crisis surprise (all better but still weirds me out) and getting a blast from my little girl past and the random thoughts of having screwed up and not being able to fix my trajectory. And the forceful expulsion of people from my life. Sometimes I have random dreams about Farmer and we're still friends or whatever. I miss him sometimes and wonder about him, but mostly think the break had to happen. Sometimes you just care more about people than they do about you and life is better when they're not around. Sad but true. I had the long overdue showdown with the boy the other week. I didn't realize I had so much anger simmering under the surface until I threw a drink in his face. It was a bad quick episode, but also on some slow motion movie shit. That was like the bow to a colossally shitty week. I'm sorry but not especially and I wrote him a vitriolic letter that I buried in my notebook and will never send. It's my nature to try to have a coda and make things tidy, but I'm starting to accept that sometimes endings are jagged and bad.

Thursday night, I revisited a place that had some appeal over the summer and the kid who introduced me to it. I was sitting alone, not really sure if I was waiting or not, feeling aimless and drinking a cider. I'm pretty sure I was frowning and ridiculously far into my head and the problems I'm sorting through. The bartender made minor small talk with me and I responded in monotone capped off with a weak smile. The kid came and we small talked and I resisted the urge to dump the bad at his feet. I killed the work and bad old relationship talk and focused on the moment. A nice little bar, a good cider, a DJ randomly playing the Metro Area album, colorful bar characters, the fun flirtation and the unspoken knowledge that it was leading to more, and a real smile on my face probably for the first time that day. It's just better sometimes to focus on the great little things.

Until The Dream Is Life and Life Becomes The Dream

I read once somewhere or another (more than a little skeptically) that my star sign is all about opposing duality. That's not especially news to me. I feel like I'm always fighting between doing the right thing and not making waves and saying "yeah, fuck that shit" with my ass-kicking boots on. Sometimes I'm a perfect Girl Scout and others angelic is least appropriate descriptor. Then again, can't that describe almost anyone? Such is life I suppose. I can't think of a time when I didn't have a reputation for being mercurial.

I'm trying to wrap up an overly extended delayed gratification period. All work and no play makes me a dull girl. I'm getting back out in the world with baby steps. I realized that the revisted boy trip was like aggravating a sprain. I'm itching to really get my shit together already. There's so many unicorns out there to catch.

Friday night started off with my bad habit of following 9-10 hours of work with a visit to the boy's studio downstairs. I dimmed as he tersely fumbled around on his computer and half-ignored me. I seethed as he brushed off my expertise and could barely feign interest at this design idea I need technical help to make a reality. I took pictures of the back of his head and contemplated making a desktop dartboard or at least a fun Photoshop defacing project. I spy him reading an email from my bizarro, the ex (we have the same initials, how freaky). I contemplate if he'd feel differently about me if I was a lying cheat or over the top in my self-obsession, and quickly shoot that down with the thought that I'd be stuck with him then. And I wondered when my stupid unromantic life began to resemble bad R&B song lyrics. I thought I outgrew all that shit years ago.

We traipse into town in search of open bar action and good music. I think to myself that it's the first time I've been to Manhattan in 2 weeks. If I didn't see it from the window at work, I'd forget the place exists sometimes. He constantly talks in half-baked bullshit and the dark hides my scowl. I am not entertained. At the place, it's a Sapph reunion with the people I saw weekly for years and I feel almost nostalgic. I'm forced to introduce him to one of those old friends and I wish I had resisted harder because it implies we're together. This terrible dancing shaggy-haired hipster fuck makes me look bad. I scowl some more until the music uplifts my mood. He leans down to whisper in my ear about the greatness of the song and I whisper in his during the next one about my awesome memory of that one. He leans away and cuts me off.

That night, like every night, I synthesize his every word and he loses interest in mine after the initial couple. I call him transparent and he calls me inscrutable, except he doesn't know that word. I call him shallow and he says that I am "the opposite of shallow, high like the Himalayas. You're always so above it all." I scowl at him and say, "you don't even know what the fuck you're talking about. The opposite of shallow is deep." And he says I'm wrong and we snap back and forth. I spit out: "every stupid episode with you is just a cheap imitation of bullshit I've already been through with someone else. I'm tired of it, it wears me out, and makes me feel like I'm 150 years old." And only glorious silence follows.

Saturday night was a big birthday blowout for one of my favorite coworkers. PrincessNella and I rolled through.To my surprise, there was one of my unicorns from yet another coworker's party. He's a friend of a guy I work with constantly and we had shared a night-long flirtation and a dance before I dropped the ball as usual. He came over and I got my formal introduction...and then dropped the ball again. I explained pathetically to my friends that I can't even interact right anymore. I convinced myself so that unicorns don't even exist that I don't even know what to do when confronted with one. I can do passive dysfunctional fine, but anything else is a challenge. Still, I'm trying my best to change. I deserve a unicorn.

Sing Your Memory Here

I found myself on the wrong side of 6am this morning. Not only do I feel like the only person still getting eaten alive by mosquitos (it's not even hot anymore, wtf?!), but I was tossing and turning all night about work and going in early to tackle a lot of shit and if I had links right for this major campaign that's torpedoed my life the past couple of weeks. And the only thing that stopped me from really obsessing about that all weekend was that my computer is too busted to do what I would've tried to do. That's just super weird. And because I'm still awake and can't go back to sleep, I'm probably going to be a zombie all day. Awesome.

Life's just kinda going. A lot of it just revolves around work which can be a good thing sometimes. I hung with the coworkers Friday night in a two borough hijinks fest and that was fun. I also gained a new bodily harm idea: choke slamming. I'd have to work out the logistics to actually do that, but it's a good threat. I saw a cool new-to-me band the other week on my first ever trip to Red Hook and I also got a random voicemail from one of my old faves. I spend an inexplicable amount of time just bullshitting with the boy. It's not making me rethink him in the least (yes, I do actually think that's true), but I love to hear him laugh for some reason. I want someone to say the same about me, but there's a certain amount of time for that I just don't have. I wish I was the type to meet people just going on the same circuit I do everyday. I've never been one with that kind of luck.

They Got The Steely Dan T-Shirt

I'm such a lady, but I'm dressing like a ho....aurgh! Shoot me. No more VMA clips. I'm a little amused by the resurrection of Timbersnake. It only makes me feel worse for my real 'Nsync fave, JC. Dude doesn't stand a chance in the pop world at the moment. He'd be better off doing some random ass XLR8R-approved techno/electro collabo and trying to recast himself as hipster avant garde.

Banksy v. Paris: video | flickr set | news article. Maybe it just makes an asshole but I think you almost deserve to get a doctored version with "That's Hot" on a megaloop if you actually purposely go out to buy a Paris CD. [via Abe]

Interview snippet:

10. What do you think of laptop DJs?

Its whatever, I dont think anyone likes seeing someone checking their Myspace profiles for new messages from hot girls during a set.

If youre gonna act like a performer, then do something magical.

Laptop DJs should be hidden in a black box because its distracting and very unflattering what they are trying to do.

Ouch.

I've been having more than a few moments lately (especially when I start to think about the upcoming new apartment hunt) when I think it might be fun to pick up and go somewhere new. And then I remember I can't drive and/or speak more than the basics of a foreign language and that I'm broke and then that nips itself in the bud. And then I had one of those "it can only happen here!" couple of days and I really forget about that.

Thursday night, I left work and went downstairs to the boy's lair. We're friends it seems..at the moment...I guess. I'm just the type of person prone to silly entanglements, but I'm trying to get better. (In an aside, I've decided to blame my guy friends for that. Besides them giving me mostly ineffectual advice, I must be the only girl in NY with a horde of attached guy friends who know nothing but...other attached guys. What are the fucking odds for fuck's sake?! Since I'm left to my own devices, all I've got is recycling and the internet. le sigh.) We palled around about dumbo, then went to the birthday party for this band guy I used to harass the hell out of. The boy intro'd me with a "you remember Candice..." and I got the unsure blink of recognition, but at least he didn't say "you're the bitch who used to get on my nerves!" I might have if the situation was reversed.

Everyone at the party besides me and a handful of people were giants. I'm about average height, so it's very strange to be somewhere that 95% of the crowd is 5'10"+. It makes me wish I had a spare pair of heels stashed in my bag to at least be in the same atmosphere as everyone else. One of the other shorties was this random who was very weird. She and the boy are friends of friends and they were chattering away. She looked at me once like "are you lost?" and then again after some time had passed like "hmm..you're not going away..." What did I do? Well...nothing. I was drinking and passing the time, I didn't really feel any way about her besides amusement. When he wandered away for some reason, she gave me the grilling (why do they do that?!) and I was pretty blase. She perked up when I said I lived in the Heights and she dropped that her boyfriend lived a block over from me on Lincoln. Well...bully for him. Soon after, she poofed and I'll admit I got a slight thrill dropping to the boy about her bf living in my hood. He kinda visibly deflated. I might have hid a snicker. Good times. But, some good advice: let's just avoid the hero at 3am, even if someone else is paying. It'll just make you feel bad the next day. Seriously.

Saturday night, I was representing for the office at a coworker's DJ gig. Also there was this guy we work with that I had a crush on until I realized a) we'll always be working together, so it's to my best interest not to be that into him b) he resembles a young Tom Cruise circa Risky Business and reminds me of how much I always hated that guy with his dead eyes and chicklet teeth. Poof! Crush gone. Biggest thrill of the night was hearing "Sweet Freedom" and then spazzing with the DJ partner about how much we love Michael McDonald and how a yacht rock mix would be the sweetest thing ever. Yacht Rock...bringing people together. Also, being at a party in Williamsburg with the '06 crowd of FOA hipsters made me feel like I was 40 years old. Deliverance now!

Alafairnadia and I took in a show at the shores of the Gowanus Sunday afternoon. I love shows in random ass places. We heard good music, got a new DJ hero, and even got to see Justin...though saying hi almost got me a broken foot. Ouch. Amusement was making a bathroom line friend by talking shit about how slow the people in front of us were and running down how we and others reacted in other lines. Kids gotta get their kicks where they can I guess.

So Does Everybody Else

First, the quotables:

"What ruins polka for me is that it's all guys from Minnesota singing about milk and cookies"
I laugh. "Or cheese and bread!"
"Or the Mall of America!"

"Okay, I've figured it out. They're either gay or German or gay and German."
"I can see them being all those possibilites."
"Yeah, they totally seem like they're gonna make out. They need to just get it on already."

"That's the cute girl? She's not even that cute!"
"I. Know!"

More TK.

I'm On It

Er, so I really fixed the comments this time. Sorry to Alafairnadia and the creatively named theglow@shonuffizabeeatch.com for the rejection. Re-comment away!

It's a fucking scorcher in the city. 110 heat index for today and Wednesday. Utterly brutal! Needless to say, the bike is staying at home until it has passed. I'm really not trying to pass out from heat stroke in the middle of Fulton St or something.

To all those who've expressed their concern over the past post: eh, you know me. It's usually all doom and gloom cryptic-cakes, but not for the reasons you'd think or as bad as I made it out to be. It's mostly all good. Minus the fact August is going to be a really financially tight month for me. No Chicago trip. Sorry, Trendvickster and David! But, guess who's getting lean and mean? Try the girl who lives on the top of a hill and has to carry her bike up four flights of stairs!

Weirdness of the week: I inadvertantly got the urge to check up on Farmer and I found out that he's like buddies (at least photographically) with my favorite Soda waitress. No way! Why he can't be friends with the bitch we all hate who almost got her ass handed to her last week? Ugh. He's tainting everything!

We're very much on Ghostly's jock right now (and so is XLR8R!) ...and in a parallel aside, if you can identify this DJ (we suspect Bodycode cause that's what we think we heard at that party), you might be my new best friend. ETA: It's Adam X. Music critics are good for something after all! We should've known better to listen to an idiot tripping off Sparks. He did play Bodycode though, if I'm not mistaken. Speaking of that party, it was fun as hell and kids were even dancing. But the obscene amounts of alcohol might have helped with that. I even quipped: "since when do fucking hipsters like techno?" That is the question of the summer.

Believe it or not, someone called me "Candizzle" yesterday and my head didn't explode. I only made a half-hearted threat of bodily harm even. While smiling. Ugh. I'm getting soft in my old age. I'm such a sucker for a pretty face.

She's Pretty And I Like Her, But She's Too Well

I've been trying to tell myself this week that summer romances are overrated. Disdain and retreat is after all the last refuge of wounded pride. I don't even know what I want exactly. Non-rejection would be nice for a switch.

The past couple of weeks have just been a series of painfully demoralizing misadventures. I'm sick of the freaks, they just make me feel worse. I've been stood up, rejected, non-optioned, and made to endure ridiculous monologues about exes, pharmaceuticals, and dysfunction. It's bad enough trying to go through internally trying to get back where I was in some respects with being kicked halfway back down the hill. Even though I feel like the most well-adjusted girl in NYC in comparison to some of them, stick a fork in me, I'm done.

In the meantime, I'm focusing my dissatisfaction on Love. Okay, the décor kinda sucks. It's more than a little heavy on dark cave meets acid trip with that random picture of MLK Jr out of nowhere and the flow stopping door that separates the dancefloor from the rest of the place is super ill-advised. But, the best soundsystem and usually stellar lineups and it's always TOTALLY EMPTY. Okay, it's been not empty once for Alexander Robotnick, but that's one time in the damned near 10 that I've been there. A crying shame really. That place rules and with one good party, it could be amazing.

I went with PrincessNella, celebrating her birthday by dragging her around town and getting cheap drinks in this NYUcountry bar until the screechy idiots drove us out. The painfully empty party was fun. Sweet, glorious techno. Some random cornered me (literally) and decided to chat music with me. He was like "is this house? Or techno? I can't tell the difference. It sounds like progressive house to me" and I shook my head at him sadly. Boredom kept me from walking away until having practically pinned me into the narrow space and traded cards and asked me for my AIM name, he was casually all "I run a record label...with my wife. We have two kids..." and I gave him a well-deserved "WTF is wrong with you?" face and made an escape. Gah. I just don't know if it's them or me at this point.

Love Me In Your Language

I'm so boring that I have my apartment all to myself for 4 days and the most exciting thing I can think is "yay! Now I can finally clean!" Sigh.

This week's pet peeve: guys who think they're too slick for their own good. They're so transparent and just end up looking stupid and greedy. In some ways, I've given up masterplanning. It never really works out as planned and/or usually takes up more time and energy than I'd rather be devoting. Nowadays, I'm either into it or I'm not with gradients for both. I'm trying to avoid unnecessary trouble. I'm tired and working on limited time.

I'd rather occupy my time riding around Brooklyn and thinking up fun little summer mixes:

Roni Size/Reprazent -- Share The Fall (Full Vocal Mix)
Faithless -- Insomnia
Daft Punk -- Too Long
James T Cotton -- Oochie Coo
Voom Voom -- Bounce
33Hz -- Hot Flashes
Kudu -- Love Me In Your Language
Willie Hutch -- The Glow
Talking Heads -- This Must Be The Place (Naïve Melody)
Thievery Corporation -- Originality
Steely Dan -- Pretzel Logic

She Likes Disco and Tastes Like A Tear

ETA: Check out my latest Soulseek spoil: Wille Hutch -- The Glow. Yeah, from The Last Dragon soundtrack. And what?!

Most of the summer has been a blur. I've been baked to a Hershey bar color and spend most of my free time outdoors, riding, walking, and catching shows in the park. June and the beginning of July wasn kinda rough for me on multiple levels, but I'm bouncing back. In the spirit of life picking back up, when one door closed (with a Photoshop coda. Luckily for me, I never said I wasn't a bitch...), another has opened. Life really is just too short at the end of the day. And there's no rule that says you can't be zen and over it and still be gleeful at eyewitness accounts they've fallen off hard. All's fair in love and war. It only took 25 years, but I think I've finally stopped being a glutton for punishment.

In the shit that figures category, when I finally reach the point to start riding my bike to work would of course be when the temperature is damned near 100. And I do live at the top of a mega Brooklyn slope and work at the bottom of one. Good times, no doubt. I should arrange for the ambulance to be waiting for me when I get home tomorrow.

New worst habit: checking my work email at home. I can't escape!

I had the best Saturday last week. PS 1 (which is apparently $5 before 2pm...good to know!) for Warm Up and browsing the exhibitions, then to the Water Taxi Beach which has the distinction of being rad yet kinda bizarre at the same time. Good food, drinks, DJs at night, and if you just focus on the sand, you might think you're not overlooking the toxic waste dump also known as the East River. And a Justin sighting! Then to that party I love so much where I put myself off smoking for a good month I think by indulging in that treat that made the night so weird that other time. This time, however, I was borderline tripping and barely functional when The Director and his crew passed through for a minute. I was out of there by 3:30 which is just about unheard of for me and was kinda fucked up until at least Monday night. Eh. Started off well enough I guess.

Looking ahead a bit, I'm marking my calendar for a mega lineup at Summerstage and Chicago in mid-August. Should be fun.

Digital

I Know You, I Live You

The dilemma I face when I'm home and avoiding responsibilities: to buy the PS 1 summer season pass or not? I think I went a grand total of twice last year, but going halfsies with someone wouldn't make it too bad. (Like my mom likes to say, the less time I spend in bars, the more money I'd save. Should we let her know I'm not in bars that much anymore because I'm too busy chained to my desk? I don't think she believes it anyways.) Though it's still hard as hell to get there for my house. We shall see.

Dilemma #2: when shall I plan my weekend trip to Chicago for? Original plan was to go mid-July, but yeah...ain't happening. (You know what's sad, I work so much now that I was actually really beat about having two days off for the holiday because that was two less days to build into the production schedule, which is gonna make this week a bitch and a half! Help, I'm a pod person!) I guess I'm waiting until August now. I need some sort of activity to plan my trip around. Paging David the Chicago social director!

In general, I'm having a really bad month, but I'm trying to look on the bright side when I'm not mewing. Ever been like exhausted on multiple levels? It sucks. I also got the "I think of you as a really good friend," not as stinging as "I think of you like a sister" (Thank God. That one is like the basis of justifiable homicide or something), but saddening and infuriating all at once. I think I'm hitting crazy depressed cat lady territory. Mew. I blame the rain. Umm can I get a dose of wild and exciting summer stat?

I'm Back With An 808 Cause I'm Bossy

Help, it's 80,000 degrees in my apartment. The cat and I are considering laying on the floor in front of the AC to sleep at night. And it's only June, so August is gonna be a real blast. Sigh.

Thursday was one of those old school nights (where old school means like two years ago) in terms of just simply being out and about. It was nice to leave work on or close on time and I went off to the special "Arrivederci, Mr. Daily Heights!" happy hour. Without him and the site, my neighborhood social life would be a lot different I'm sure. Post that, I was off to meet friend C somewhere in NYUcountry and partake in free spirits. The journey continued to Aaron's party where he practically cheered when I said the blog was as good as half dead. Tsk, tsk. I think I've finally found my motivation to write more, y'all!

I was caught up in a nostalgic moment leaving there and went to Sapph for the first time in forever. What a waste. Nothing there even remotely appeals. Between that, Rothko closing, and more scary pubs than you can shake a stick at, I'm ready to just to declare that part of town a wasteland and not go back . Not that I've been there much in the past couple of years anyways, but you know.

After all that, I went across town to the 8th Circle of Hell a.k.a. The Meatpacking. Did you know they charge $3 for hot dogs from a cart in that neighborhood? Utter bull. Shudder. Did I really used to hang out around there all the time? That's how I feel just about everywhere in town lately. Did I used to hang out in this space when it was Tapis Rouge and now these bitches are selling pimp juice for $5? Lame, lame, lame. Now that going there has become a novelty, I can totally just write Manhattan off as a waste of time generally. Except for $1 vodka drinks at Lit and open bars. There's always time for that.

I met up with the lovely Claudia and her friend at a place I probably never would've wandered into on my own when we discovered we were about a block away from each other. Dude was gorgeous, smart, funny, with an actual career, and 25 years old. Er where are those guys in Brooklyn? I'll trade my infinite supply of 28, I mean 27, year old artists for a guy my age who has his shit together. Not that a guy like that would be interested in me anyways. Meh. I'm not as bitter as I might sound, but I'm going through a frustrating period. Guys. Can't love them and can't kill them.

And then a trip to 419. God, that place is like forever perfect. Even with the sniffer assholes. I waited 10 years to get into the bathroom and out came a trio looking like the fiends they were. And what did I find on the mirror ledge when I went inside? A lost bag of sugar! And I trashed it with a toss. I considered being elaborate about it, sprinkling a path to the toilet and flushing it or whatever, but it wasn't worth the effort. I come out to seethe fiends waiting outside. I walked past and went back to the bar. They sit across from me and keep glancing my way. Finally one comes over.

"Hey."
"Hey."
"Did you see anything in the bathroom when you were in there?"
"Huh?"
"Did you see something left behind in the bathroom?"
"Er, no."
"No really, you can tell me. I won't get mad."
Blink. Sneer. "I don't know what you're talking about."

And he walked away. They kept looking at me from across the way and one stood up and went back to the bathroom to do a real search I suppose. They found what they were looking for and went dancing happily for the rest of the night. Pathetic.

Standing at the bar, I caught sight of this guy I knew who used to work there and the last I'd seen, had gone off to greener pastures. I expressed my confusion to the chattering guy sitting next to me and he said that dude was now the manager. Weird! I chatted with the guy and after all these years, he still remembered my old drink, a glass of Taylor's 10, and gave it to me on the house for old times' sake. I can't believe I used to slide up in there drinking port all the time. Times sure change! But, it is nice to be remembered.

She Smells Like 2am

In my slight hiatus, I've: worked and worked and worked (working until almost 1am on a Friday night is strangely not the bomb. Who knew?) and listened to music (James T Cotton and She Wants Revenge, ho!) and played silly games with the boy and became overtired and was a bit of a homebody for a while there and/or stayed in the confines of the B69 axis (going to Manhattan is like a novelty to me now. It's kinda amusing) and experimented with the camera on my new cell (Jay-V sees an invitation for seduction and I see the colossal grocery filled sized bags under my weary little eyes. Not to mention the chained to my desk diet working for me.).

To that end, I declared Saturday night would be the end all and be all to celebrate the homestretch of my insane period. My treat: banana bread, the special kind, sold only at the party I look forward to obsessively every month. I had imagined that the vibe would be on the chill side with all the little college brats disappearing for the summer. So just picture my face when I strolled up and found the line halfway down the block.

Still, I waited patiently and fought my way through the colossal amounts of people inside to get to the magic table. "Banana bread?" I said hopefully and the woman smiled at me to pull out the special baggie of heaven. I scurried off with my piece like a kid ending a candy store pillage and scarfed it in mere seconds. Magic? Magic now? Not quite. I think I feel something. Do I feel something? I dunno. I'm being neurotic and overthinking. I'm so in my head that I can't tell if it's working or not. Gah. Fuck this. I need this to work. I need another piece. Ever been utterly useless brainwise? That was me circa 2:30am. It rules.

Just my luck, I ran into a random from HS. I can say this is a kid I never really thought about at all, now or then. He was our grade stoner, nice enough in the less than 10 encounters I had with him in 6 years there. Only notable because I remember him being overly concerned with me leaving at the reunion a couple of years back. And here he was gushing about high school being the best years of his life and who he still hangs out with and vaguely reminiscing with me while moving steadily closer. I had a strange sense of worlds colliding interacting with the sheer potency working its way through me and mumbled a vague something before bolting further into party. Where I came face to face with the boy.

"I'm so happy to see you," I murmured, despite also remembering that we were in the middle of a days long freeze and still looking over my shoulder for HS weirdo. But, he smiled and came out with a string of apologies and I smiled too. Oh, young...distractions. And the smiles are short-lived against the typical push and pull. We wander our seperate ways.

I am conscious of music and spectacles and people through a distant fog. I'm feeding off the energy of the environment and just happy. I meander my way around and around and as things work, I run into the HS guy again. He talks to me near the scupture maze and I'm slightly surprised to find myself mindlessly chatting back. I feel a tap and see the boy's friend giving me a quizzical face with a side glance at the HS guy. I greet him warmly, while feeling annoyed and amused. The old cock block. He disappeared soon after and I bolted again after a few minutes when the bizarre vibes became too much again.

And I walked around and ran into the boy again. We danced and chatted and left for White Castle and the B48. Two wishy-washy people equals the constant push-pull. But, I know how to fix that. He later shakes his head at me and smiles despite himself. "You just do whatever you want to, don't you?" "Yes," I say with a smile. He knows he lives for it.

Hello, It's Me

Busy and slightly distracted, but all good. And that is what's important, right?

No, It Never Did

Party crasher, DUMBO style:

Busy week, busier weekend ahead. I managed to get in a ride tonight and it felt good to be in the park..at least until my legs cramped up on the home stretch. Next time, I have to remember to get some stretches in before I tear out the house. It's a bitch and a half racing home to beat the sun, but the ride is so worth it.

The week's highlight has been watching my small plan from the party finally kick into gear. Even if I am currently out the game, I can still make up some plays for others...and maybe scope out some players for next season. I've been amusing myself by rubbing my hands together in anticipation and getting my Hannibal on (I love it when a plan comes together...). I'm very intrigued to see where it goes from here.

You Just Think Too Much, And It's Such A Crutch

The office party...hella fun. And I can diffuse my grudge against the guy from 10 because he was cool also. Maybe the original chatter episode was an off-night. Trendvickster and Alafairnadia were my guests and we drank and ate to our heart's content, then wandered over to Low Bar where the excitement was spitting out a dumpling mere moments before I bit into it and got an unpleasant surprise. Damned food allergies.

Rest of the weekend has been chill and no further than the locals. I've been breaking out the bike and riding in the park. I've discovered that my fears of total flabby uselessness were mostly unfounded. I might be riding to work sooner than I figured.

I've been really into the "new to me" musics also. Last week, I finally got around to ripping some M3 promos (That should be my spring project: rip all these random CDs, so I can get rid of them.) and discovered some cool stuff. New Dabrye! Woo! Also been exploring the James T Cotton alias. Considering that I pretty much like all his output, it's funny that I haven't reached the Herren/obsessed with everything he does level yet. Give it time I suppose. Loving the Jimmy Edgar and Multiply Additions. Listening to Gnarls Barkley and it's just work background music minus about 3 songs. About to jump into Voom Voom and rediscovering K&D DJ Kicks. Lets just preemptively say that my spring playlist is glitch hop, techno, and downtempo stuff and call it a day.

What Is The Question Again?

To start off with an aside: Prefuse @ Summerstage on August 13th! Woo! Now, I feel even less regretful than I did yesterday (that is to say not very much) about totally skipping the May and June dates. I love summer in the city. Everyone swings by for free sooner or later!

Jamie Lidell show #4: ridiculously amazing. Alafairnadia and I made good on our promise and trudged the whole er, 7 or 8 blocks to Southpaw. Jimmy Edgar opened up his set kinda shakily.and we wandered around, coming face to face with Justin. He's my personal gauge of if where I am is gonna be good time or not. Ain't no party unless he's there, etc. I'm amused when people say that about me. I barely even go out anymore and free and/or cheap drinks are my standard of fun really. Anyhoo, we wandered back and the Edgar set picked up considerably. I'd never heard of him before, but now I'm a sorta fan. Yay for new music!

Jamie came on the stage and killed it. It was very techno heavy (but not as meandering and noodly as the Rothko show), but had straight up versions of things like my fave song "What's The Use?" and "Music Will Not Last" plus the Edgar/Lidell live collabo for "When I Come Back Around." "Game For Fools" and "Multiply" as the encore. And the encore was when things got interesting. He had to go the audience participation route. Too bad most of the audience was filled with utter fucking freaks. This one chick, who we'd been contemplating beating with a shoe for most of the show since she was running around screaming and vamping, was the first one to the mic and was all "Jamie, I want to rock your world!" Then came the guy who said: "I want to make romance in your body!" Er, what now? Not to mention the other clowns who decided to house the mic since they got confused and thought they were on Star Search. And all that before everyone got on stage and this "singer" decided to torture us with her painfully off key melodies before breaking into a rap. Chaos. And that was our cue to bounce.. David quipped when I was telling him the story that perhaps Jamie Lidell is the hipster Usher. Could be...

Amusingly enough, the one piece I forgot to mention about that party is what became the thing today. I work the floor above this company that's a big shop for music people of a certain ilk and am forever seeing these kids who work there in the elevator. Especially since there are only two and all. For the first week or two of work, there was this one kid I was seeing just about everytime I rode it and then one day riding my bus. And then there he was at the party! Curiosity killed the cat, etc, so I introduced myself to him saying we worked in the same building and stuff and he was all, "oh. yeah. I've seen you around" completely disinterested and intro'd me to some other guy who supposedly worked there too and disappeared. I was like "okay, dick, fuck you too" and didn't think anything else about it since I stopped seeing him after that as those things go. It'd be one thing if I was hitting on him (I wasn't), but a) I'd had a lot of $1 vodkas b) I was still the new girl around the office/building and I was just excited about running into someone I recognized from there c) I'd had some open bar stuff too before those $1 vodkas, so I was just being happy drunk friendly overall and him being kinda lame pissed me off that much more.

Fast forward to today when I'm coming out the building and dude's standing on the curb with some boxes. I wasn't going to say anything at all, but he's all like "hey!" I reply "hey" in a whatever tone and go about my business. Later on, I'm sitting at my desk and I spy this dude at the office door talking to one of my coworkers. And then he looks my way and waves. I kinda frown and look around all "is he waving at someone else?" and then wave back with a sorta puzzled expression when I establish that I'm the one. And then dude comes inside and walks over to me and starts shooting the shit like "hey! remember we met at that party? I wasn't sure if you recognized me earlier. I'm DJing the office party tomorrow" and on and on. And I reply kinda half frowning, hella confused. He blew me off and now he's acting like we're cool or something? See, this is why I've given up on guys for the time being. They're fucking bipolar. Plus that was embarrassing because I could see my coworkers all "hmm...who's this random?" And I'm dreading having to shoot the shit at the party. Utterly lame. Moral of this story: no point in being nice to the douches on 10.

Flash Forward

I need a new computer desperately. After too many years of service, my girl is about 3 months from the scrap heap. I'm trying not to get too heavily seduced by the iMac at work, especially now that the Mac action I remember well (a.k.a. the computer being a total fuckup) is beginning to rear its head. Laptop? Desktop? Mac mini? iMac? Decisions, decisions...

I'm getting back into that old habit of raging and working during the week and taking Friday as the day to go to bed at like 10pm and get a breather. It's weird getting up around 8:30am on a Saturday morning well rested, and also to see all these text messages and voicemails like "you out?" but the good night's sleep is amazing. I'm loving the new job, even if it's kicking my ass a bit. It's hard for me to be clueless and I'm working hard to soak up all the knowledge I can. Every frustration is a lesson at the end of the day. I still don't regret a thing though. It's so worth it.

Last week was a bizarro blast from the past type deal. Except for a silly little crush that I'm intent on not letting get anywhere, I'm detoxing from liking anyone and the inevitable crappy patterns that follow. I came to the conclusion that it's pretty much a waste of vital energy and I'd rather be hanging out with my friends or getting in shape to ride my bike to and from work or staring off into space than being as frustrated as I used to feel all the time. Life's too short yadda yadda.

Anyways, I was at a friend's party and saw that guy who had given me his card some months back. I'd been running into him for about a week straight and got like 0 recognition. So, I walked up to him and started shooting the shit and then he remembered and was sorta flirting with me just like he had before. So, the pessimist in me was right and the cards don't mean much. Weird. Over that, I was wandering around at the same party and came face to face with The DJ. He's looking like hell, must be on the sniff and water diet. Our common friend mocked him when he turned away and I mentally patted myself on the back for having all that just kinda stall from the start. Dodged a major bullet there. Last Friday was my inaugural "stay in and sleep," so I missed the "Farmer has taken up residency in the nabe" bombshell. It's one of those things that sorta amuses and irritates me at the same time. We saw him Saturday and he looked ridiculous and out of place. It's not really worth thinking much more about on my end. I'd probably hardly ever see him anyways. Out of sight, out of mind.

I'm really looking forward to the rest of the spring and summer, especially now that I have two cents to rub together again. I was painfully broke for a good month and it's nice to let go of those "how am i going to make ends meet???" nightmares. I'm starting to get back into my swing of things. Looking forward to the Four Tet DJ Kicks. Catching Jamie Lidell Wednesday at Southpaw (hoping for more Bowery/m3esque and less Rothkoish). We're loving and hating Hot Chip at the same time. They're so fun on record, but total wastes of time in person. Though, I am giving them one more chance in the summer -- because it's a free show. They're playing South Street Seaport in August, if i recall correctly. Something random to leave you with: I've got almost the whole dance routine from the Sean Paul "Temperature" video memorized. Love it!

For Your Trials And Tribulations

I'm considering selling my bass guitar. I've owned it about 6 years, hardly ever look at it, hardly ever think about it, definitely don't play it. It's like a reminder of failed endeavors. A logical solution would be to learn how to play it for once and for all, but that costs money and that's something I don't have to spend on random shit at the moment. (I'd like to take a moment out to send a bad thought or 10 to Farmer who greatly screwed up the April projected budget. Asshat.)

I'm more than a little bit scattered at the moment. As I'm known to do, when one aspect shapes up, I have to go work on something else. We're reconfiguring the music/social life. All we like listening to at the moment is techno, techno, techno, old soul, techno, techno, dub, tech-house remixes, and more techno. Detect a pattern? That's what I gathered as fresh fun for my ears from Miami more or less. We're planning a Sunday evening excursion to dance dance dance at Love and we're slightly amused that we won't have to feel bad since the party is over by midnight and all. Though if we're thoroughly wasted by then, that plus won't be so major. We need more dancing in our life. We also like boys who like techno, especially when they pretend like they don't know anything about it (despite collections of it).

It suddenly dawned on me that I like too many weirdos. Where did this love for crunchy artsy cornballs come from? I mean, when dude's dancing made me cringe so much that I had to immediately get him out of my line of vision, that's a problem. Some things are just too big to get over. Someone who isn't trying to go out and doesn't know what to do with himself when he is, just isn't for me. The Wes indoctrination has made me a little more accepting than I ought to be. I'm fine with opposites attracting, but I think we were from different planets. Fresh blood, post haste.

Let's Groove Again

It's spring! Minus the weird patches of snow we've been having. I, being allergic to like nature and shit (which makes living two blocks from the Botanic Garden and park kinda...funny), have been wheezing and coughing and throat clearing my way around town while loving the parka to hoodie transition. I've discovered that working in Brooklyn really has cut down on the amount of times I go to Manhattan now. Why go to the city if you don't have to?

My most uncomfortable moment of the week: "So, how about you? Are you seeing someone?" "Yes. No. I don't think so. Uhh...I'm not actively looking or actively not looking. I'm just trying not to think about it. Uhh...how about that weather?"

The weeks have been a blur really. Work is great! I'm really happy. The houseguest situation didn't work out so well (color me surprised!). I'm on a Bobby Womack and Gonzales kick. I need new sneakers. I have yet to really get started on my spring fun. I can't wait to ride my bike to work and have a 15 minute commute. All those hills down in dumbo are kicking my ass. In the good way. I think I'm a lot quicker to smile nowadays. I don't really have any complaints. And I'm totally going to try to do something more often around here. How hard is up for debate.

And You're So Hot For Me

I have returned!

I shirked my blogging duty in Miami this time around because...well, because I was just too lazy to do it. I was on vacation after all. The weather wasn't the hottest and the Summit wasn't as cool this time around, but in terms of good times and relaxation, it was tops.

The trip started off "fun" as Farmer and I went out boozing the night before my 8:30 am flight. I, being me, had left most of the packing and stuff of that nature until the last minute, so I got to have a delightful mostly drunken allnighter session of getting my shit together before heading off to the airport with no sleep and general muddled idiocy. I discovered in my journey that AirTrain takes Metrocards...but not unlimited ones and now hate the confusing ass Atlanta airport that used up my 40 minute layover just trying to find out where the fuck I was supposed to be. The Miami hotel was kinda budget, but that pool and oceanview with a pretty decent sized room was totally fucking worth it. I dragged my exhausted ass across Miami Beach to a party featuring Prefuse and friends -- very heavy on the friends -- DJing and was that girl at the party barely fighting the urge to nod off in the corner. I finally gave myself a break and went back to my room after a while.

Every other day is a blur. I boozed, I danced, I laughed, I chilled with friends, walked around, chatted with randoms, had fun, and looked forward to summer in the city when I could wander around in my flips on my home turf. I really thought M3 was terrible this year. Too scattered, sound not so great, acts not so inspiring. The better performances: Jamie Lidell (though he said after the set to the dude standing next to Alafairnadia and I that he was rubbish, he was pretty stoked when we were like "you were awesome! We can't wait until your Southpaw show!"), Curumin, J'Davey (even if the chick's voice got on my nerves), Vitalic (yay techno!), She Wants Revenge (just on stage presence alone -- singer dude is totally the Prince and Robert Smith lovechild), Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, Bugz In Da Attic, and The National Trust. I missed a lot of acts I would've like to see because the presentation was just fucking boring for most of it and I would just wander off. Better luck next year. The most fun was random ass parties either in West Bumblefuck or with spring breaker randoms where the music was just fun to dance to and I did until my knees ached. Good times, even though the weather kinda sucked (75 with a breeze is not that hot really...I wanted to fry!), UPS is fucking incompetant (8 days for an overnight package...good job!), and Farmer, house- and kittysitting, kept calling me with things going wrong to stress me out.

The best part to me was coming home after all that to finally be done with my month of leisure and back to the working world. All Brooklyn, all the time for me now. Farmer's actually living with Ant and I for the moment, which is kinda amusing and surreal. We're cleaning together and making dinner and shit. It makes laugh because I think, "didn't I used to hate his guts? And now we're friends?! Weird..." Times change and kids grow up. Or something. Here's to a good spring regardless.

Here In The Night

I think I'm pretty much relaxed to the point of near comatose. Except BSing around and going out a lot, I haven't done a flipping thing in the past 2 weeks and change of this vacation. I honestly haven't had this much (relatively) stress-free time off since I finally put the yearbook to rest and came back to town. It feels great and at least I something to remember fondly when I get chained to my new desk (in the good way) on the 29th.

I went out every night this week from Tuesday on and I was supposed to check out a show at Southpaw tonight, but ended up being too exhausted to do more than veg on the couch, watching the braindraining Sci-Fi channel doubleheader of Jason X and Freddy Vs. Jason, which might be two of the worst movies I, as a lover of bad movies, have ever seen. I had a fun weekend with my blog buddy David visiting from Chicago, wandering about town and corrupting him with my late night hijinks filled lifestyle. Amusingly enough, we left our computers to meet internet people in the most random places. He's so lucky that what happens in New York, stays in New York. Meanwhile, I realized this weekend that I'm on the same party circuit as all the acid freaks. That's a bit strange.

Now I've got two days to pack for Miami and get my place all clean and stuff for Farmer to half-kitty sit while I'm gone. It'll go down to the wire as usual knowing me.

From Here To Polarity

Favorite thing said to me on the birthday: "Your music is really turning me on." Peaches is good mood music for a relapse.

That reminds me of an exchange I had a few weeks back. Dude was like, "so what kind of music do you listen to?" and my response was: "techno. And Man Man, and Prefuse 73. And The Sea and Cake. But mainly, techno." I'm not really sure where that answer came from.

The Kelley Polar show was fucking something. I've seen some spectacle heavy shows in my day, but it took the cake. It was like Ladyhawke the musical. Pretty fun and entertaining though. Dude was wearing armor strung through with Christmas lights that would alternate being lit and not. The kicker was the disco lights deal with the chest plate during the encore. Woo boy. The crowd was pretty much dumbfounded through most of it and after a certain post, most just gave up the gaping to chatter. It reminded that I don't really like the KF main stage as a venue. And if there was any justice in the world, that would've been an M3 performance. Drunk people at the Surfcomber's heads collectively exploding. Ah well. Always hope for next year. I appreciate songs like "Ashamed of Myself" that I barely gave half a listen to before a lot more now.

The birthday itself was pretty low-key and consisted of me watching soaps and lounging (like every other day last week) until sundown approached and I started to feel like an idiot for neglecting to line up any real plans for the day. Katebklyn and the boy came to the rescue and I went from drinks to more drinks and fun chatter to even more drinks and the whole day perked up. It was a nice day and I feel like I have a really good life. The night winded down a bit unexpectedly, but ultimately a lot of fun. The birthday party was overwhelming yet very chill. The DH posse represented in full force, Wes friends rolled through, PrincessNella, A, and Trendvickster had oldest friends bragging rights, The Director and girl came, my mom hung out with everyone, and I drank most of those lined up drinks and shots without a wince. I am a professional after all. It was a little hard to get up before noon and hit the shopping trial with PrincessNella the next day, but I survived. Saturday night wasn't the nice weekend cap like I would've hoped though. Between a homicidal cabbie, overly aggro dudes everywhere at my favorite party, and the boy holding me hostage with his emo shit (ugh...we just don't work!), I was really stressed and unable to even enjoy myself. Fucking sucked.

Less than 10 days until I go to Miami! Woo! I need to make some money and get my trip list together. And the strangest thing I've noticed lately: the more weight I lose, the younger I look. Weird.

25 Candles Plus One For Good Luck

Yeah.

I might be getting old, but I'm still cute. Happy adulthood (or some mess) to me.

And So It Goes

6 days! Party to be held next Friday. I formally resigned yesterday and I'm basically still getting paid for a couple more weeks but outta there. I'm not going to complain! I now have a little under 4 weeks to BS around and thereotically clean the hell out of my place and watch soaps and hang with the cat and go to the gym and see all these random things I hear go on in my neighborhood when I was formerly in Manhattan. And also head to Miami on my $159 roundtrip airfare (how's that for special less than 3 weeks in advance?!) and get all the sun and fun I can before throwing myself into the new stuff. Great!

Thanks to everyone emailing and IMing me about you know what. Schadenfreude: tastes great and less filling! I never said I was a nice girl...especially when it comes to those I've advocated dismembering. Shit sinks to the bottom sooner or later, doesn't it?

It Really Didn't Make Sense, Just To Leave This Unresolved

I'm going to try to challenge myself and post more. Especially since I'm going to have a bit more time on my hands soon -- well, until I fall into the work pit that is. I don't have much to say really. Planning the party in the nabe (next Friday night: my house or the less annoying local? Dilemma!), trying to extract myself from the dead end situation with the boy (I just can't continue to be excited about someone who I feel isn't excited by me), going show announcement crazy (two Man Man shows! Kelley Polar! Sam Prekop & Archer Prewitt walking distance from my house!), decorating the home space. I have yet to buy my Miami tickets (to leave Wednesday or Thursday? Aurgh!) yet I'm so there mentally already. I've realized this week that I've never quit a job the right way, like with a resignation instead of "well, I'm leaving the town, so I guess I'm done" or qutting in a fit of pique. It's kinda frightening actually!

The weekend was fun! Man Man show #2,876,305 was a good time. Kate Ace Fu threatened/promised/proposed running around in hot pants and she brought back bad memories of the infamous trampled by a guy in a yeti suit night and I had to fill Alafairnadia in to the story. People have really fucking shitty show manners and I am a rager, so they generally heard it from me. Really, what's up with standing an inch in front of someone and not only blocking their vision but also invading their personal space? Sure, it's gonna be cramped and that's to be expected, but when you can't even lead with an "excuse me," you can eat shit and die and I'll tell you as much. I was heated! From there, we were off to Jay-V's birthday celebration and I kicked myself for not going to the ATM since the bar had a $50 minimum. Ugh. We made a Scenic pitstop and had no sign of the random of indeterminate origins. He joins the mythical ranks of boys seen only once (or twice) that inspire a bit of mental headslapping and wistfulness down the road.

(As an aside, there's one custom I'm still trying to get my head around as "real" adult: giving someone your card. I actually had a long involved convo with PrincessNella about this. I dont' have a card -- though I will soon I believe -- since I don't have any official business or whatever and/or am still stuck in the "well, let's trade numbers or email addys" mode and/or shy away from things like that since I'm a networking dumbass. Weeks back at a party, this dude gave me his card. Business card yet not 9-5 business and it had all his contact info if I wanted to get in touch I suppose. He's stupid cute and I'm thinking the odds of seeing him around again are pretty slim unless I grease the wheels a bit. But the retardation comes in because I don't know if I got the card on a "hey, contact me and we should get to know each other" thing or if passing out cards is just the thing to do when you meet people a la the new handshaking. I can't deal with cards. I'd rather someone call/email/My Space message me, but of course, I do understand that if they don't have a card with that info, how would they know how to contact you? Everyone can't be a computer junkie with a lot of time on their hands, photographic memory, and craftiness I guess. I'm fucking stuck, man, because I kinda do want to get in contact with him. Advice someone? Anyone?)

Saturday night, I wandered off to Nublu and did my typical holding up the wall thing. I really like the place, but something about it always makes me super inhibited, even when I'm having a good time. I dunno what it is. Saw Justin who apparently spotted me at the Man Man show, but didn't even say hi (I don't actually mind, I'm just amused at busting his chops about it). Sunday had me up early (for me) and going to gym before I'd even had breakfast, then cooking and rearranging my furniture and stuff to make my bedroom feel like less of a crypt. I tried to bribe the tallest guys I know (Farmer and the boy) with home-cooked dinner to help me change my lightbulb which has been out for embarassingly long by now, but no dice. I'll just keep ruining my eyes and squinting in the lamp light, guys. Nice to be loved.

I Don't Get Money, Man, Money Get Me

Just under 2 weeks to go! I'm looking forward to this birthday so much. I'm definitely sick of being played out like a kid because I'm currently under 25. I mean it's ridiculous, as if once I cross that line, I'll be magically more mature. It annoys the hell out of me. A hardcore post-birthday perk is if I ever learn how to drive, I can finally get those good rates!

This year's present wishes include: the Trapped In The Closet DVD, a ticket for the Kelley Polar show, strawberry cheesecake with strawberry ice cream from Junior's, someone to tell me what those jeans with the gold-colored A on the back pockets are, and drinks at Milk & Honey. I'm pretty easy this year.

And to stop being all cryptic for just a minute, I've been working hard on resolution duty and I'd like to report that: I fucking rule. What I was alluding to last month was me feeling really bummed about my work situation for a long time and giving myself the deadline of March 17th to either get something new or walk away. And I found a place where I think I'll be a perfect fit and I start at the end of March. I haven't been this excited about a new venture in years and it's my opportunity to be as creative and successful as I've always wanted to, when I wasn't second guessing myself. So, I'm happy happy happy and pretty much just working on extracting myself from the present situation and looking forward to Miami/M3. Honestly, it just makes me feel really fucking good that I really am a desirable and I didn't go into school debt for my health. Go me! Job hunting and feeling stuck is mega demoralizing and all the props in the world go out to the friends and the fam for being so encouraging when I really was beginning to think I'd forever be a drone getting my brain sucked away. If this doesn't call for a celebration, I dunno what does!

No Parking On The Dancefloor

Okay, I might be overindulging this week. I woke up crazy fuzzy Thursday morning and convinced myself that my cell phone was lost the night before. I went back to Subtonic and searched all over, feeling super discombulated in the meantime. I, of course, didn't find it and began considering the fucked luck of losing a phone 3 months before gettting one practically for free and thinking I'd do an eBay search for a new one. And also that someone might be calling Madagascar from my phone. (Phone aside: my contract is up in May and I was thinking of getting a 917 number again. Anyone think it's worth it? The two people I know with landlines's long distance bill would thank me.) I moaned and whined about it all day and night, only to get home at 2:30am and discover that I'd left it my pants from the night before. (Yeah. I'm an ass.) And then I went on Friday night (and got a case of the fuzzies when bartenders at 419 I haven't seen in a good year and a half recognized me) and vomit is never a good look. Now I just feel like refried shit. I'll rest up tomorrow and Monday.

But the past couple of days have been fun. Alafairnadia and I went to a Playgirl party where they gave us the most swagtastic goodie bag (toys for days, dude) I've seen in a while. I saw yet another ANTM judge in the flesh -- which brings my grand total to 3 plus my wacky encounter with Janice. Since Twiggy doesn't count, Tyra and I crossing paths is now inevitable!.The mag itself sucks donkey balls. Way to make naked men really unexciting, ladies! The female nudity is about neck and neck in it for one thing and the whole thing is just thin and toothless. The only advertisers are like Boys Gone Wild and bigdickchatroom dot com or whatever. The best part of the night was free drinks, the not so much when the bartender kept coming up to where we were and then ignoring us. Lamer.

The most exciting part of my week has been a sudden influx of great new (to me) music. I DLed this really fun mix by Ulysses featuring "No Parking On The Dancefloor" (among other things I must get the names of) and I'm getting my Miami dancing conditioning on. I've finally accepted that I'm going to actually use My Space and I've been making friends with musician pages. Even discovered a new Prefuse production! Woo! (Speaking of him, "Illiterate Interlude" on the new album is hilarious. I actually have heard people say that about the last one. And people say dude doesn't have a sense of humor!) And I've somehow ended up obsessed with Gonzales and Cosmo Vitelli through some musical links I followed. Be my pal. Here's some songs:

TTC - Dans Le Club (Gonzales Piano Remix)
Daft Punk - Face To Face (Cosmo Vitelli Remix)
Push Button Objects - 360 Degrees(Prefuse 73 Remix)

And let me talk about this week's pet peeve: My job title is trafficker (traffic coordinator, if we want to be specific) and unless you work in marketing/advertising/production, you probably don't know what that means. (I, of course, don't talk about my job because I'd like to leave voluntarily and not be fired for blogging or whatever). But hey, I don't want to assume no one knows cause sometimes they'll surprise you. So when people do the annoying "what do you do?"/how does my job stack up to someone else's thing, I say "I'm a trafficker" and every FUCKING time, the reply is "human or drugs?" People, just no. It might have been chuckle worthy the first time, but now: no. Not original, just stop. Sorry. Had to let that one out.

Come Here, Baby, I Love Your Company

I've been thinking lately why I'll inherently never get ahead in certain spheres and just decided to opt out: I'm not a brown noser and I don't really stop myself from broadcasting if I think something is not worth the time. I can muddle through my own bullshit well enough, but I'd rather not have to deal with someone else's too.

On that front, want to hear a joke? The Plug Awards. That thing was an utter disaster. Unrehearsed, meandering, more people in the VIP section than the main floor at one point, shoddy production values, boring, and terrible in every sense. I don't even want to get into the "funny" little taped skits. The MTV VMAs has nothing to worry about. I was pretty sure that I spotted Shady in the crowd (surprise, surprise). I'm not really sure if he saw me or not (if he had, I'd probably get a random IM about it. Bleh.). The boy and I were wandering along and was just like "*shudder* We need to not walk that way." We stuck it out about an hour before making our escape.

Hanging with him was great. We met up near the venue and I pushed going to get a drink -- to ease the pain of staying late at work again and to kill some of the initial awkwardness. Despite a rough patch where he went off about marketing people and companies like the one I work for (don't give me that self-righteous hippie bull, son!), we were talking more over those two drinks than we may have...ever. Then off to the awards and to a Beans show at NYU which was the point of meeting up in the first place. We chattered and people watched, both confused by this thing one of the guy in the band had that was like a cross between a tape reel and a spinning wheel. Dude looked ridiculous throwing tape over his shoulder and we couldn't actually distinguish what kind of sound it made. I dunno. From there, more wandering and it was just insanely comfortable. Of course, it's up in the air like everything. I'm getting used to it.

It Ain't Easy Having The Attention Span of A Flea

Work. Sucks. I don't think I've left the office before 7 in almost 2 weeks.

I got interviewed for the paper about my neighborhood and talked the poor man's ear completely off. If I get more than a quote or two, I'll definitely link it.

My favorite line in a music review this week: "He appears in the CD booklet's foldout poster in a suave love-man pose—slit-eyed, shirtless, with rippling washboard abs and a goatee whose lustrous sheen could only have been achieved with the aid of professional landscapers." Second best line: "Give this guy a ceiling mirror and a vat of baby lotion and he'll be set for the night."

Jamie Lidell's gonna be at the M3 Summit! Holla! If they can get Tiga on a bill, then it really would be golden.

A quotable that would never make Overheard In New York:
The Doctor: But why would you have casual sex with multiple partners?
The Patient: Erm....because it's fun?

I'll Come Back When I Go

Good thing I'm still dragging on those resolutions cause update more really needs to be on the top of the list. My attention span is getting only worse I'm aging (25 in 52 days, you know), so I can't successfully juggle all my fun little hobbies when I could, like, go out or like, go to sleep. But I'm totally turning over a new leaf. You'll see.

But, the fact of the matter is that I haven't been doing much of anything. Chilling with the neighbor friends. Applying for new stuff and wringing my hands. Trying in vain to clean the homestead. Prepllanning the WMC trip. Gettng a clean bill of health at the doctor's. Last week was terrible work week and I was beat. I have been slowly but surely making losses though. Can you believe you can actually lose weight if you eat fewer cheeseburger deluxes and drink less than half the week and you know, exercise too?! Shocking, isn't it? Much work to be done in a lot of areas though. Ant and I (mainly I) are kicking around the idea of a 1-year anniversary of being in the apartment party. I find it really unbelievable right now that this time last year, I was lugging all my shit in here and just desperately hoping that we wouldn't be a disastrous roommate pair. And (*knock on wood*) it's been a good match. Here's to another year of good times.

It's Like That

All year, I've been telling myself that I would get my shit together and submit a proposal for the Pop Conference. Everyone made it sound so fun last year! And I had a topic I thought was pretty meaty (Trapped In The Closet and the mainstream success of the chitlin circuit) and have been definitely not shy about music punditry over the internets -- as poor Anthony's email box can confirm. But in typical form, the deadline's fast approaching and of course, I haven't written anything yet to send off. Oops. I think I'll go anyway though. I've never been to Seattle and I will ask probing questions and/or jeer for kicks. The meantime, I'll try not to let dumb things elevate my pressure and try to hold back the "eat a dick" in correspondence. After all, my (forthcoming) list o' 2006 resolutions includes see at least one creatively satisfying idea through and stop selling myself short. As harsh as I'll ever be on anyone, I've always been my worst critic.

In case the title doesn't make it obvious (or perhaps the album on the sidebar), I've surrendered to Mariah for the moment. I haven't really hated her like I did in elementary school when I cursed "the annoying bitch hitting the stupid notes only dolphins can hear" in forever -- I even bought the #1s collection thingy in Discorama some years back for $6.99 I believe. The songs I've heard so far -- the singles really -- have caught my ear (well except for the latest one), but watching her videos really bother the fuck out of me. The desperation is usually wafting off the screen. She's always preening like a horse (show my left side! left side!) and usually wearing something real questionable. In the last video, was that her soccer outfit from when she was in junior high? Just no. Or maybe I just secretly still hate her and a few catchy JD productions isn't making me feel otherwise. That's what I suspect.

Maybe Your Baby Done Made Some Other Plans

The neighborfriend girls and I have been conferring about the shark-like atmosphere that seems to exist in some of our neighborhood haunts. The dudes tend to be aggressively on the prowl for single girls when they nine times out of ten are definitely not single themselves. It's just an annoying extra layer of questioning you have to endure. "Do you have a significant other...in any and every technicality we could think of? Is there some person that would be potentially upset to see us here together?" People who use the semantics game to do lies of omission really bug the fuck out of me. And then there's the curious case of the unabashed two-timers like this guy who frequents the local and I've seen numerous times making out with one of the waitresses. One day when I said the waitress is his girl, Alafairnadia corrected me with "nah, it's someone different. They come here together all the time." Hanging out with your girl where your other girl works? Erm, that's some Ricki Lake shit. Sorry. I think I just inherently don't like those who are having their cake and eating it too. They're just being selfish and greedy. Ooh...look at me, the moralist. Not quite. I just don't like overt sleaze.

Anyhoo...Farmer and I have mended fences. Or rather, he stopped being a dick and I gave him the "you're on my shit list" attitude, but things are swimming along again as well as they ever are I suppose. In his bipolar way, he magically reappeared on my buddy list and in our brief little chat, he let me know that he was coming back to town soon. I was a little underwhelmed honestly and imagine my surprise getting a phone call from him 10:30pm the next night all "hey, I'm in Queens. Can I stay with you?" I grred and cursed, but ultimately caved and we had a nice little visit once I got the gruffness out of my system and started to laugh at Team America. He's moving back to NYC and looking for a place. I randomly IMed with the boy on Saturday when I was bored and saw him pop up. He doesn't know my SN though because er, why and he's mostly in the dark about the various internet activities of mine. And I actually forgot to say who I was also. Shame on me. He said he's looking for a place also. He and Farmer should room together. What an odd couple! But it would at least give me a definite destination to avoid...for a minute anyways.

Shake It Off: Roundup Part 3

I was a goddamned bitch for a fair chunk of 2005. I think it's kinda funny now. Not as much as I did then...well, not always. I liked two guys for real in an honest open hearted sort of way and it didn't remotely work out which made me temporarily emo (The Brit and the boy) and everyone else I chewed up and spit out...or we reached a mutually acrimonious end. I sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to have dated (in any interpretation of that word) me for the first half of '05.

Yet I was honestly nicer and more mellow than I've ever been. ("Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." Word.) I've made some new friends that I think are great and have really good relationships with everyone that really matters to me and I feel settled here with a home in a way I haven't since I was a kid. I emotionally pulled myself up by the bootstraps through a lot of shit and I might not be satisfied with every aspect, but dude, I'm really happy now and I definitely wasn't this time last year. I think it was the first year I can say I was actively handling my shit. I was really worried about me for half the year and was just a fucking emo wreck, but I proved that I can do what I need to do for myself when I'm floundering and I've come out better for it.

I might still hate my job and be broke and not weigh what I would like and 10,000 other things but I can shake that shit off and be a functional awesome person making plans and living a good life. And I can think of ways to change that stuff for the better too instead of being held hostage by the feeling that everything sucks and there's no point in trying. I definitely streamlined even more than I was last year. Most of my fun happens in a 6 block radius from my apartment and I'm cool with that. I don't really do 90% of the bullshit stuff I used to. I guess standing on the wall looking at "cool" people did lose its novelty...but free drinks? Never. (Though that maybe could change too honestly.)

I'm really just happy that last year I can say most my really brokedown episodes weren't really stupid boy emo stuff. The thing with the boy made me really unhappy (sometimes still does) because fuck I was out there and it just hurt hurt hurt, but really I wasn't going to lose it totally over him. I was disappointed, yes, but I was a fucking great would-be girlfriend and I don't have a single regret. Likewise for The Brit. I could look at it that they didn't prompt the hysterics of a Farmer or a Mr. Sailor because I wasn't feeling it, but no, I just grew up and stopped being an overly melodramatic asshole for 2005. I could have a real crisis thinking about not wanting to be stuck in a career that currently feels mentally dead end and/or upset that I had a such big learning curve about how to be responsible and keep my head above water. But, a crying jag over some boys I was barely dating? No fucking way. And that's gotta be progress or something.

My Mic Sounds Nice, Check One

Happy Fucking New Year!

We convinced PrincessNella to join us in our neighborhood to ring in the new year with the neighbor friends. She, Ant, and I went to KateBklyn's place where we saw most of the crew and Cupcake and drank and watched the fireworks and made merry. It was an awesome time and I always feel good about starting the New Year with friends.

Because I'm me, in the wee hours of the night, I was ready to keep the party moving. PN and Ant were off to bed and I was flying solo. I traipsed myself across Brooklyn via cab to go this warehouse party somewhere in Bushwick. It was crazy, crowded, and everyone was basically drunkenly hooking up where they stood, but I was amused. I got in for free (yay!), drinks were $3, and I even had some hijinks. Dude who invited me there is one of the cutest guys in NYC and when we saw each other, we made the move to do the kiss on the cheek and just missed. And kissed right on the lips. He grinned and I grinned and shrugged and said "happy new year!" Awesome. There was also my bathroom mishap where I was minding my business and wondered what that weird smell I detected was. Oh, it was just my purse on fire! I jumped up all "holy shit!" and dumped water on my charred straps. (This year is 2 days old and I'm already super slicker!) Later on, I'm chatting with the guy again and I'm like "this party is crazy! I'm setting my shit on fire because I'm retarded!" and we're talking about something or another and he said the phrase that'll usually make a single girl's blood run cold: "Oh, that's funny. My girlfriend says the same thing!" I'm pretty sure I made a face. Ah well. Flirting him is just fun regardless. But, I was pretty much done with the place after that and navigated my cheap ass home on 2 trains and a bus and got home around 7:30am.

I wasn't doing shit most of New Year's Day. I rolled out of bed after 2 and jumped on my computer like the addict I am. Some long buried random IMed me -- just like he did while the transit strike was going on -- all "hey, want to hang out?" you know in that sweaty naked sense. And my general response was "eh..." and I instead spent about 12 hours hanging out with my neighbor friends. A girl's gotta have priorities.

Resolutions 05 Revisited: Roundup Part 2

So at the start of this year, I was poised to:

01. Be more social
I think I did pretty okay at that. Made tons of new friends I'd say.
02. Reconnect with those I've lost touch with
Good job on this, even if most of them found me!
03. Update my personal style
I wasn't really sure what I meant by this at the time, but I'm not as college kid shlubby as I thought I used to be -- even wore dresses willing -- so done.
04. Take a class
Didn't happen.
05. Dust off my creative side and start cracking
Eh. Barely.
06. Keep writing
I think I basically stopped writing this year. That's a real problem.
07. Be more proactive
Yes, I was very good about that. I went after a lot kinda admirably.
08. Build an oasis at home
If by oasis I meant a place I can be as comfortable as easily as I was at home, then check
09. Do something career wise that makes me happy
Yeah...no.
10. Get a new passport and take a major trip
Nyet. I kinda sucked at that also.
11. Fine tune the radar
I'm going to give myself a major pat on the back for this one. No more sniffer reveals to ruin my day. I could finally see it from miles away. Go me!
12. Keep building the nest egg
Haha. We sucked at that. Broker than ever!
13. Take more chances
Another pat on the back for me. Good job on that front.

You're Good As Gold

I'm home sick and I've been having silly out there dreams. In one, I went to London and married Dizzee Rascal and became the Martina to his Tricky. In another, Tantrum and I collaborated on an electro song and it was a hit. And then I bought a crazy glass walled apartment and threw parties and slinked (yes, slinked) around NYC with my sunglasses at night indoors before jet-setting around the world. I guess I just dreamed I was G. Rizo. I have no idea what her apartment looks like, but she's the bomb and I wouldn't call her out for briging aviators inside. She chatted with me at her party when I was an anti-social retard and she's insanely cool. Cheers to her.

Also a heartfelt congrats out to Steven and Rachel. I didn't even have my typical "eww...engaged" reaction, so good for them.

Doing up the blast from the past thing last week was Grandmastah H, back again from London. I finally dragged over to him that air matress I borrowed almost a year ago that was my bed for the first month and a half here. And in return, I got smoked out and dinner and drinks. Good fucking deal. He dragged me out unwillingly Friday night with the promise of more drinks and I hung with him and his friends, partaking in the bottle popping. He's my favorite Mr. Moneybags.

A reminder I could've done without was the boy sending me an email out of the blue. It's never a good sign when just the sight of someone's name in your email box sets you off screaming and flipping off the screeen, futile or not. Ultra frustrating that was. I was advised to just delete it, but I responded back fairly nonchalantly. "Glad to hear you're well or whatever." Let's close the book on all that now, shall we?

Ms. Mommy came to us to make Christmas dinner. I love how parents can tell you how fat you are one second and then make a feast with ham, chicken, stuffing, macaroni, yams, and cornbread that it's obviously up to you to eat. Ant and I noted amazed that it's probably more food than we've ever had in our fridge at one time. And damn it's good too! I got her a mini mp3 player that's so cute that it almost tempted me to buy one for myself. (Speaking of mine, it's finally on its way back to me! I dropped it too many times and they just scrapped it and gave me a new one. Yay! Though, gave implies I didn't have to pay $100 for them to do that. *sigh*) My combo Xmas/birthday present is her covering the WMC trip in March. Woo! Less money for me to save is always nice.

Christmas night, Ant and I went to see Wolf Creek with apparently classloads of kids. I'm old enough that I never had to deal with buying a PG ticket just to see an R rated movie, so imagine how annoyed I was when all the brats buying tickets for The Ringer ended up in my theater. And you know I wasn't happy about the assholes with the baby in the carriage either. Yeah, your 1-year old is totally going to sleep through that loud ass horror movie! Dicks. People suck. That's probably why I don't go to the movies often, besides it costing $10.25 at that place. Damn. I still remember how pissed I was when the $2 theater went up to $3! I feel old.

And before I forget, my favorite Christmas text: "Merry Christmas. Thanks for you being you. And for letting me be me."

I'll Stand By You

So yeah, you know about the strike. It's pretty rough. I walked to and from work Tuesday and it majorly sucked. My knees and joints are staging a mutiny against me. I also found out that bridges give me a case of vertigo. I almost passed out on my walk home. Not so awesome.

I took the LIRR in Wednesday and caught a ride back home that night, It's pretty nightmarish, but I support the TWU (my mom is a former member) and find the coverage on the news generally biased and disgusting. I can only imagine with glee the book my former Jobs, Unemployment, and Social Welfare prof will write about this. May the union prevail! No wonder why Mr. Sailor called me a communist.

Like I Give A Shit

On my shitlist today is CBS for interrupting the last 10 mins of As The World Turns to talk about the NYC contingency plan in case of the strike Friday. And I'm pissed because frankly, most people sitting around watching soaps on a weekday afternoon don't give a fuck. Like for example, ME! Save it for the nightly news, assholes!

And then there's my neighbors -- the building next door, our apartments share a wall and windows face across the alley. I got greeted by the sounds of a baby nonstop crying totally out of the blue last week about midnight. It's like they sat the brat right next to the wall or something! And then I got the extra special Sunday morning treat of Lite FM at 9am. I am not down with being up for 20 hours and then having to deal with Shania Twain where I can't break the radio into a million little pieces. Oh, what was I doing up at that time of day, you ask? Well, I got back from Rubulad at 6ish and I was just..erm, hanging out..*cough* The fact of the matter is: I hate them and I want to leave a nasty note in their mailbox. Or bang on the wall in anger. Or engage in sonic warfare. Grr.

Just Say No

I've always had a bit of an uneasy, occasionally amused relationship with babies. I guess they're okay in the abstract sense. I was one, my brother more recently was a cute one. Sometimes I run into them and they make funny faces or whatever, but I usually try not to think of them at all. They're in that same zone of things I'd rather not have my downright laissez-faire existance intruded on and the whole "where is my life going?" crisis set off that, like marriage and responsibility. Bad, bad words.

I was getting slighty afraid to notice lately that I'd softened considerably towards the kidlets I see around. They were making me smile and make those cooing sounds I save for the cat usually. "What the hell is wrong with me?" I asked myself. "We're just being weird. Don't let them suck us into the vacuum! Turn back that biological clock!" So, fate stepped in.

My Secret Santa person around the office was this pregnant lady about to go off on maternity leave. Yoiu want to know how connected am I to my office/co-workers? I didn't even know she was pregnant until like 2 weeks ago when I overheard someone asking how far along she was. I just thought the waddle walk was caused by average issue weight gain. The floor holiday lunch turned into a secret baby shower and I decided to just kill two birds with one stone and get something from Buy Buy Baby since it's about a block from where I work.

That place is...weird. Baby crap everywhere with the faint sickening smell of formula. It kinda made me sick just to be in there. I paid for my gift and got the hell out of there. I could almost feel my ovaries shriveling and began to feel like everything was right with the world. Now the little devils invoke a feeling of terror. I try to avoid eye contact and the cute net. I see their evil schemes: first, they want to pop our your vagina and then, they'll take all your money. No thanks. Stay in your world, babies, and I'll stay in mine.

You Supplicate

Believe it or not, I just noticed the inverse relationship between the level of my job satisfaction and the amount of time I'm chained to my desk. I've been more negative than usual about the whole thing in the past month or so and it dawned on me, "that's because you scraped the November vacation and have been working non-stop since March, more or less, genius!" So, this week (until Friday at least), I'm hanging out around the house, watching As The World Turns (so good lately!), eating chips, and curling up next to my cat for midday naps. It's like a perpetual weekend and therefore, wonderful. But, I still am at a point where I'm ready to be a media bitch somewhere else.

I don't actually have nothing to do of course. I won tickets to a show at Canal Room tonight. Oh man, I love to win. Since I don't have anywhere to be early, I get to go to all those early week events that I usually wisely avoid just so I can get my lazy bones up and out easier. And then Wednesday, I've got the extra special plans of getting the gas meter read and my semi-annual checkup at the doctor's! How awesome! Thursday's going to be fairly pesky, in terms of feeling like a zombie on Friday morning, because the DHers are having a Festivus party. My head preemptively hurts already.

All around, things are pretty great right now. I let my nerd out and downloaded Firefox and now I'm in love with an internet browser. I'm asking for gift cards and/or money for Christmas, so I can make up the difference between my little pile of saved pennies and what I need to get that laptop. I had a delayed reaction to actually going off to listen to DFA79 after the show and I'm loving it! More energetic non-emo and slightly sleazy rock, please! If I wanted to dwell on things bugging me, I could consider the present fissure between Farmer and I (too much to get into really. It's always complicated) or the Friday emotional crisis I had where I wondered if all this stuff related to the boy is some sort of sign about him (no, no, no...we're not going there on any level). We're not unpacking those bags because I think it'd be nice to try and have December be like the only month of the year without some sort of romantic/emotional garbage getting me down. More kitty snuggling, less wallowing the dumps.

Measure By Measure, Drop By Drop

Man Man - Tear of Octopus (Adam Sparkles Remix)

I've been trying to figure out for the past 2 days exactly where I got that song from and why it's been unloved and unlistened to all this time. It's exactly the type of stuff I would've been loving all along: Man Man chopped up and gone borderline electro. Thank you, sir, may I have another? It fits the general wackiness of the weekend misadventures lately. It’s all been fun if occasionally borderline absurd.

Last Friday, neighbor-friend Lirio and I were off to Dumbo to do up some open bar action. I’ve resorted back to mostly not thinking much about that neighborhood at all since a) it’s shit inconvenient to get there from where I live b) my only connection to the place was the boy and…yeah. I was actively dreading the chance of running into him since we had to walk right past where he works and the place was about two blocks from his studio, but no dice luckily. The gallery has this sign outside that really pisses me off: New Tribeca. Come again? Dumbo really is bad enough. (“Hey, let’s name our ‘new’ neighborhood after this acronym that’s also a cartoon elephant! Awesome!”) But to then try to rename it after another fake neighborhood name where the new one would just be actively retarded? Oh hell no. Does anyone see any triangles or a Canal St in Dumbo? Yeah, I don’t think so. Stop smoking crack. And then in the gallery, the open bar consisted of vodka and Mountain Dew. Do you know how nasty that is? Plenty disgusting, let me tell you. That didn’t stop us from drinking, erm, 4, but it was really gross. If it wasn’t free and all, we would’ve had a real problem!

From there, we went a block over to this bar to drink hot cider with rum and pal around with the locals. I really like that bar because it looks so sleek and borderline fancy, but really is a cheap neighborhood joint. We watched the bartender literally throw this drunk dude into the street on his ass and got chatted up all over the place by the randoms. I ended up in this absurd debate with a guy from Manchester about who got the worst end of the stick: the working class in Britain or poor black people in America, but I really just wanted to ask him if he was perhaps Jimi Goodwin from Doves having set up shop in Brooklyn. Or at least related. The resemblance was kinda uncanny really.

The next day, I persuaded Alafairnadia to roll with me to this random art show/magazine party in someone’s apartment about 4 blocks from us. I figured it’d be good for a time killer and boy was I right! Everyone in the place was about 19 and most were totally socially retarded. Any slight feeling I’ve ever had of missing college house parties were totally erased by it. There was a makeshift bar in the kitchen with $3 40s or $5 unlimited rum drinks. The “bartender” actually had a measure to make the drinks with and she, by that point, was so trashed that she could barely get the liquid in the damned thing. Not to mention the annoyed looks of romantic rivalry passing through and the total absence of game anywhere. It was like a painful episode of “This Was Your Life.” Such a bad scene. And the “art” sucked.

This Friday was some sort of photo book show in Williamsburg with Lirio. [Oh, look at me, I’m such a hipster! All I do is go to art parties! No, not quite. I’m just a freeloading lush. I don’t know shit about anything except which liquor sponsors mean fun mixed drinks and real(ish) bartenders (and that would be Bacardi. Viva their marketing team!).] The place was a madhouse since everyone had traipsed through the fucking treacherous streets to just get there, so goddammit, we were gonna double fist those drinks if we wanted! All was cool until this aggro bootleg Mr. T asshole went nuclear when Lirio noted that he was practically knocking her over. Major prick. Then we met some randoms and I planted the seeds to bring back some old high school slang.

And then we leave and here’s where it just gets strange. We’re strolling down the main drag and we see this guy and a girl about to cross us carrying a Christmas tree. The guy is Ian Battles and I’m all “hey! You! What’s the deal with the Battles bag?” And he’s looking me like I’m retarded (which is the only way to play that) before he goes, “oh yeah, I met you at the Bowery show.” He blah blahs something about bags soon and I’m all “yeah whatever.” Maybe some time before the apocalypse, guys! So, I turn to the girl and I’m like “you’re [his gf], right? I’m friends with [the boy].” And she’s all “cool!” (The boy and she are friends.) We all stand around and shoot the shit for another minute and then it’s back to walking through the cold. The two of us were off to town to dance and I got home about 4am, scarfed down some leftover BBQ chicken, and was out like a light.

Saturday night was the party I adore so much. I met up with Alafairnadia after retrieving her from a few wrong turns en route. Fun dance night for sure, but I’m really not into the whole “woo! We’re dancing like we’re extras in Animal House to the old soul 45s” thing. Nothing I can actually do about it though. Two of the bands were interesting: this group of dudes that looked like professors who were finally playing their Sonic Youth-inspired songs somewhere besides the faculty lounge and this group with an amazing kick ass bass playing chick that really has inspired one of my new year’s resolutions to be take the fucking bass out the closet already and figure something out. I’ve had that thing since ’97 and I think I know how to play it less and less as the years pass. I almost ripped this girl limb from limb in my first try at the coat check line when she dumped all this fake snow in my hair -- and I'm still picking little hidden pieces out two days later. Grr. But, heaven is splitting a plate of pasta around 4am. The randomness for that night was running into one of the dudes from the Dumbo bar. Small world. For reference, I’m ridiculously vain and flattery really does get you everywhere. Well that and the right frame of mind natch.

Drop In The Ocean

After almost 25 years of snow, we've decided that we like it as long as we don't have to go out and function in it. Pristine, just fallen snow: great. Dog-pissed, slushy, wet icy snow: shit. I'm amazed we didn't either drown or fall in today's journey to work and believe me, it was hard not to. Nothing says awesome like flooded boots in the morning!

So, you know I was pissed when the lady came onto the train doing her "praise Jesus!" shtick. And especially so when she plopped down next to me and started a-chattering with the lady beside her about how Jesus is everywhere. A little old man got on the train somewhere around Wall Street and he looked pretty dismayed that there was nowhere to sit as he shook and could barely hold onto the pole -- incidentally, right in front of that chick, now reading her prayer book and averting her eyes like the rest of us. I looked around as he did, hoping that someone would leave and he could take their spot, feeling kinda blah and lazy and tired, guilt tripping myself because I really hate seeing older people have to suffer around town. So, I got up at Park Place and he took my seat. He smiled at me and I went "eh...whatever" and took his place in front of preaching lady. Still awfully engrossed in the Lord's word. And I got a new seat at Chambers. That's my good deed for the holiday season. We now return to the "bah humbug" already in progress.

This week was a bit amusing overall. I've accepted the truth after so long: yes, I am a self-loathing hipster. I'm not proud obviously (being self-loathing and all), but I can deal with it. After all, what else would I be if C telling me this (new to me) piece of gossip that a certain supernova scenester-type (who may or may not be pictured here) does their wig and glasses shtick to hide the fact that they are a middle-aged sort perving after young idiotic sniffers. I think it's awesome personally. Reason #1 why I don't hang out half as much as I used to: you never know who'll crawl out from under a rock to talk to you. But when you're doing all the bad things, it's a part of the adventure. Natch.

Alafairnadia and I made a pilgrimage to the toy shoppe. I was especially up for it because after not thinking of the boy at all for a while (because of my short-attention span and all), it seemed like everyone was asking about him/us and then I started to wonder about him...and we're not going down that road. He literally is someone that can be better replaced with plastics. Flipping through this lame ass hipster "smut" mag, who did I see in a spread only half-naked (thank my lucky stars) but The DJ! You could've knocked me over with a feather. Especially since for once and for all, he's just not that hot and has the body of a 14-year old. Ugh. Oh, the dark days of former crushes! And then just to amuse myself, I picked up this glass/hard plastic toy and used it for emphasis as I chatted with Alafairnadia. There was this couple skulking around that got redder and redder as I did. "Oh noes! Someone is holding a sex toy in a sex toy shop! Horrors! We'll just have to get that Bend Over Boyfriend online! It's just embarrassing in here!" And they fled. Tsk, tsk.

Slow And Steady Wins The Race

I've always been a bit of a big picture/eyes on the prize type. I dream big things and build them up in my head...but usually get waylaid by ADD and inertia. Writing career? Yeah... Moving to LA? Er, no time soon. Learning to drive? It's been about 10 years since I first got excited about that and literally no movement in a year.

But when I really put my mind to it, I can do something -- and do it right -- no matter how insane it might make me in the process. Jay-V probably remembers well my sophomore year adventure in play directing. Then there was the yearbook literally built from nothing through sheer blood, sweat, frustration, and tears. The never fucking ending apartment hunt that came out alright. I can be a tenacious little fuck when I want to be. It might not be a timely thing, but if I want it bad enough, it will happen.

So today, while trying to think of new and exciting ways to procrastinate, I had a eureka! moment: if I'm going to work myself to death, I'd rather it be for something that's mine and I can build. I want to open a business (no, it's not actually that vague. I just feel like being it at the moment) in the nabe. I've got vision and drive, but of course, no money. I've already started some research (as much I can while working and "working") and am ready to master plan in a major way. And I really think I can do it -- in a way I haven't been serious about anything in years. We'll see how it all develops. It's the possibility to be a hell of a ride.

The Song Remains The Same

First, a few reasons why I'm a lamer:

1. This whole "10 posts in 10 days" thing isn't going so well. I'm just lazy (and lame). Sorry.

2. Most of this weekend has been me lounging around all day in the house -- barely rising to eat -- and then emerging when the sun goes down like a vampire.

3. I was actually telling myself today that I need to give up on this weight loss/exercise kick because I realized that the first thing to go would be my breasts. We can't have that. I was flat chested for too many years to let them go! Yes, I am obsessed with my own tits. I am totally weird.

4. I've spent over $100 this weekend on nothing but takeout and booze. That sucks.

5. I was in H&M the other day and I heard this song playing and correctly identified it as The Arcade Fire, even though I've never heard them before. That shows you how much goddamned time I used to spend on ILM.

The weekend was pretty great though. Friday night, I did something that's been thwarted for over a year now: saw Lisa Shaw live. True to my lucky ass self until the end, I won tickets and VIP seating. I wasn't especially crazy about Canal Room, but free is always good and she was great. Then off to a few joints on C for Hani's (belated) birthday gathering. Drank, drank, drank. Then met up with my friend C on Chrystie and was bored. Waiting forever for the train and getting home about 4. I just enjoyed the novelty of leaving Brooklyn on a Friday night.

I took no less than 3 naps Saturday and did jack all day. Fucking wonderful. I met up with neighbor-friend Alafairnadia for Wing Wagon wings and whiskey and cokes at this local joint Mooney's. The best. And then off to Soda, another nabe place. Cider. Then I got the golden idea to walk from there (Vanderbilt and St. Marks) to Classon and Flushing. Why, you ask? Because when I drink too much, I get all sorts of dumb ideas and roll with it. Though, I was pretty soberish (and freezing my face off) after that 30 minute stroll. Thank God it was hot and crowded as fuck when I got there!

I kinda look forward to parties there all month. I first found out about them in February and have been going pretty steadily ever since. I got there a little before 2am and left about 8:30am. With the exception of last month with Trendvickster, I don't actually go there to dance. I drink and wander and people watch. This month had people I know DJing, so it was cool to chill with them for a minute. And Justin! Who I've only seen around once -- and that was his party, so it didn't count. He introduced me to his friend and was all "she has a site, etc" and I was like "hold up now! Just because it's on the internet, doesn't mean everyone's gotta know about it!" Or something...right. The royal we likes him though, he gives good hug.

I drank and wandered, drank and wandered. Started a-chatting with randoms. Lost my goddamned belt. Grr! Drank and wandered. Ran into this dude that I used to always see when I used to be a 419 resident. I told him that I recognized him and left out the part that I remembered he's a drug dealer as well. Drank and wandered. Helped this kid find his friend who was making out with a literal 16-year old. Drank and wandered until the place was practically empty and I couldn't ignore the bright ass sun any longer. Of course I stopped at White Castle, but since it was all day and all, I opted for the breakfast sandwiches. Strolled more than halfway home before I got tired. I was waiting for the B48, but it roared past me before I could make it to the stop. Goddammit. So, I took the Shuttle (I told you: stupid drunken ideas) to the 2 and collapsed until 2:30pm. Good times.

The highlight of the Sunday evening was QT with Ant and the cat, who is finally brave enough (after like 7 months) to let him touch her. But, she had such a spazz attack afterwards that it'll probably never happen again. Cats. She's 72, for christ's sake. You'd think she'd have grown out of the whole scaredy thing by now. She's just a big baby.

In It To Win It

If I had $310 million dollars, I'd be fucking richer beyond my wildest dreams. Of course, rich isn't the end all be all, but you know, I'd like to test that theory out for myself.

If you can't deduce, I've been playing Mega Millions this week. I had $2 and a dream to spare Monday and went for it. Of course, I'm not going to win since I a) have no extra special luck like that b) if I did, just jinxed myself, but I've thinking about the ways I'd spend those hypothetical millions and what I'd do. I love to imagine the possibility of cartwheels in the office as I quit and buying some stupid nice apartment somewhere in the city. I'd probably go set up shop somewhere with nice weather in a beach for 3 months to 6 months, where I can chill out, write, and wander about aimlessly. Maybe I'd donate money to one of my old schools to get something named after me. Maybe I'd take one of those interesting internships that I wouldn't be able to survive off of in real life. Buy something or another for the folks. Splurge on all the electronics I've been denying myself. I'd probably lose it just trying to wrap my head around that kind of money. I'd have to roll around naked in a pile...just because I can.

My grand winnings ended up being $7. Hey, $5 profit! What sucked was that I was off by 1 number for the remaining two and could've been $250,000 richer -- theoretically. Ah well. Was fun regardless.

Where The Heart Is

The past two weekends, I've barely gone beyond a one-mile radius of my apartment. One reason is laziness and another is the awesome batch of neighbors I've got. This week, I was hanging with at least one of them 4 out of 7 nights. They're all pretty much without fail amazingly cool and it's usually a pleasure.

Farmer's heading off soon to go back to traipsing around the world and I'm pretty beat about it. This friend thing is going swimmingly and it makes me feel so justified that I believed in him as a person even when things between us were at the worst. Soon, he shall be reunited with his girl and I'm really happy yet sad about it at the same time. I want to meet her and yell, "hey bitch, don't take my friend away. He means the world to me and I just got used to him being this wonderful rock to have around." But of course, I wouldn't do that (out loud) and instead I'm just "mew. Don't be a stranger, man."

The other day I asked him if I was territorial and I got no pause before the "yes." I was amused at the total lack of hesitation, but I know that it's true. I am loyal to a fault when I like someone and when someone else comes in making waves, the gloves are off, the nails are out, and you better watch your back. I've had plenty of arguments with friends as the years have passed over their significant others and my general disdain for them. I love my kids and only want the best. If they're with some wack trifling idiot, I'm not going to hide my feelings. After all, I don't have to like who they're with...I'm not fucking them and I generally don't feel like I ought to give more than a passing thought if I think they're idiot just like everyone else. I'll go out of my way to avoid people and be real cold. I'm a bitch, but hey, it's better than fronting.

There's very strange dynamics at play with the neighbors sometimes. We've built a bit of a clique that does it up on the reg. There's inside jokes, a truckload of messages, and of course, a little gossip to keep it all fun. [CENSORED] Alas, the world keeps turning and it keeps chatter over drinks interesting.

But, it's one of those things that seems ripe for a dramatic coda. If I was more inclined, I'd push fate along a bit. I theorized to Jay-V the other day that I'm just an alpha bitch in beta's clothing. I do so enjoy stirring up the pot. Still ultimately, not only do I hate getting my hands dirty, but pish to effort. For now, I'll just sit back and enjoy the soap opera shit.

Doesn't It Make You Feel Better?

I've decided to turn back off the bad slacker path I've been on and do 10 posts in the next 10 days. I asked Jay-V on how long she thought I could keep it together and she said 4 days before I just forgot to post again. My guess was 1 day, but dammit, I'm gonna focus and do it for you kids!

The week's highlight was seeing Death From Above '79 in Greenpoint at this Polish nightclub turned into a rock venue for the night. Like I said before, I missed them at the NIN show (pesky on-time starting show!), so for $10, I figured it'd be worth it to finally check them out. True to me, I missed the first opener because my attitude is unless I know of them and have a bit of curiosity, who the hell cares? I'm kinda feeling blah about rock in general, so nowadays I'm pretty much only interested in who I consciously paid to see. That night it was DFA79 and Japanther because I'd heard the names and wanted to see what was up. I saw the band before them and wished I didn't. They sucked. The girl couldn't sing. They couldn't keep their equipment together. Waste.

This two man band thing kinda amuses me. I look at it and think, "geez, that's just a lot of work. Is it really that hard to get one more person?" But I think it's admirable when it sounds good and/or makes a lot of noise. Then again, I like basses and guitars, so only one is like "aww...some poor guitarist can't catch a break because of you guys. Maybe they'll start their own 2 person band. Or pull a Braxton and go solo with his pedals." Japanther were fun and noisy and they sang in mics rigged in old school telephone receivers. The drummer had his back to the audience. I was pretty much "okay...but I like this!" DFA79 are a perfect fit for that NIN tour. Probably better than Queens to tell you the truth. They've got some serious volume for 2 dudes and good songs, even if the singer is on Styx-style shit with all the trilling and yelping. But, they should never open up their stupid mouths.

Here's an idea of some of their stage banter: ""Let's talk about Tom Hanks. He's such a good actor. Like in Splash, he was trying to get rid of Daryl Hannah was splashing around in his tub and in Philadelphia, he was trying to get rid of AIDS splashing around in his body. Or like in Big, he was wishing that he could go back to being a kid. And in Philadelphia, he was wishing he didn't have AIDS. Oh you want us to just shut up and play, okay?" Or "I think we're gonna do a cover. Like that Kanye West song" *dude sings the video/radio version of the "Gold Digger" chorus* "Sing along, guys. Broke broke...oh you guys, you didn't say the word! You're all scared to say the word nigger. Well, we're not, cause we're Canadian! We don't have any African-Americans in Canada, just Canadians...oh...and Jamaicans and Haitians and stuff like that." *plays a bit of "Wait"* "Oh, I love that 'beat the pussy up' song!" Ugh. Can you believe I almost forgot they were signed with Vice? Well, they couldn't have that! I think it's general rule that the bands on that label have to be more than a little douche-like.

Winning the best friend of the week award is Farmer, who got off a plane from Houston and came straight to the show to hang out with me. And gave me hugs and tough love. (And everyone thought I was crazy when I called him my NYC-version of Tino!) According to the super wise Farmer, the general blah going on right now has about less than 5% to do with the boy and more to do with an overarching sense of "where the hell is my life going right now?" I'm going to be 25 in 3 days shy of 4 months and I'm finding it pretty hard to process. The road leading up to that birthday hopefully won't lead to another quarter-life crisis type deal as 24, but it'd be really good to wake up 25 and think that I have most things exactly where I want them to be. Right now, it's not there at really on a professional level, but I am happy overall about getting over most of the personal "real adult" speed bumps in not too bad shape. The one thing I hated was always feeling so removed in my own life, always making sure I recorded everything. The good part is I can just go out and do things, but the downside is in general I write a lot less about anything which is of course, Very Bad. The suggestion he gave me was to just refocus my energies on me: making a real nest out of that senior year looking minimalist joint Ant and I call home and actually doing something about the fixable stuff I complain about. He's completely right, so I'm doing it. I've gone to the gym three times this week and I've never felt better. Ant said he's already seeing results and I do love it when people blow smoke up my ass, so yay! I can get all strong and beat the snot out of all the assholes who say rude things to me on the street. That would be very satisfying.

Review The Situation, Take Part, Take Over

Sometimes changes just sneak up on you. I've been thinking a lot lately about how sometimes I don't recognize myself in good ways. When I first moved back, I had a million hopes and the huge fright that kept me from everything for years. I really latched onto the blog thinking that I had blank space to fill, so I better make it good. Off and on, I began to feel beholden to reporting everything and it started to feel like I was too busy living to write (debatably) interesting things and not actually doing anything for the sheer thrill of it. Then I went to the other extreme, doing everything for the pure visceral thrill. It's either in the pan or in the fire with me. But, I'm getting sorta old and tired. I've let go and settled down a lot. The infamous ill temper has mostly dissapated (but I'll still curse out a bitch!) and I'm even, like, mellow for the most part. It's kinda scary sometimes. The most random thing for me was looking down at my hands one day and realizing that I had nails. I've had the terrible habit of biting my nails pretty much ever since I've had teeth. Yet I looked down and saw these nails had kinda snuck up on me. Crazy. But, I keep scratching the shit out of myself which is annoying.

In the midst of all this, I met this kid who I'm having these interactions that are even straying from the norm. I used to always feel like I had to mediate myself or else I'd have to spend more time explaining/backtracking than just saying what I was about. He wants to know what I'm interested in and doesn't recoil from/challenge me when I'll let loose on, let's say, the Prefuse obsession. He'll be like "hmm...I don't know anything about that. Tell me more. I want to experience that too" and I'll think "where the hell have you been all my life?" (Not really, but that's way fucking sappy and I'm not that fucking mellow.) And I'm all "tell me about you and the work you're doing" and he'll go off talking about his art and the projects he wants to work on. And I say, "that's interesting, but I don't know much about that" totally without embarassment and it's no big deal for him to explain it to me. Cause there's nothing wrong with an honest information exchange. Sincerity is a lost art.

Over the weekend was a big arts fest where he was a showing his stuff. Seperately I dragged Farmer and Trendvickster to check out what was around and do some recon. Thumbs up from the kids and I was happy. Hit a little snag with some vague friend of his who was a little upset that I was "muscling in on her turf." She brought out the cattiness by obnoxiously giving me the third degree and I neutrally answered her questions while threatening with my look: "you better back the hell off, you Suicide Girl reject. I will fuck you up." Like I said, not that mellow.

Soon, Trendvickster and I trotted off for a belated birthday party for Lina, where there was an hour of open bar but no guest of honor. My patience with the place was pretty finite -- the West Village on a Saturday night? Oh hell no. I was off to meet the boy and his friends off in Williamsburg. I got there and received the biggest smile from him. He helped me get rid of my deja vu by pointing out that the venue used to be Volume, that big old space which always was in trouble what seems like forever ago. Bands were playing, including this drums and guitar pair that made so much noise that it was really kinda amazing that there were only 2 of them. A-chattering with the friends and randoms before it was really time to go.

Living in other parts of Brooklyn, Williamsburg is a bitch and a half to escape from in the middle of the night. A 61 passed by as we were walking aimlessly and the next one was due in an hour, so the G it is. That's gotta be the worst train in NYC. A snail-drawn buggy has got to move faster than that thing. On the walk to the train, he had a freakout that was apparently prompted by the bitch from earlier asking if we were "dating." I basically laughed it off because I'm a real stickler for technicalities. You've really gotta be as a single person. The gradation for a non-platonic guy relationship for me is:

1) talking = hanging out mostly non-sexually
2) seeing = hanging out with a sexual connotation
3) dating = hanging out with planned activities
4) "boyfriend" = formalized agreement of a relationship, i.e. The Talk has happened

The outcome of a facing a freakout is when you're known for being more than a little high-strung under pressure, you're gonna have a little freakout of your own. It was a more than a little ridiculous. Drunkies shouldn't do anything more than quietly go to bed. This one stupid point of contention became the event on Thursday. We had planned earlier in the day to go together and now it was "you're going, but not with me?" "No probably not." "Are you still going to the Prefuse?" "I'll see you there." But, what about the Prefuse thing?" Over and over and fucking over again. If only we could've been run over! It was really annoying. Drunkies are universally dumbfucks.

But, we're good. For now. Drama! I'd have less stress as a cat lady. For real.

Lilac Wine

Dear Readers,

On the glass is half empty/half full tip, like clockwork when I take my feelings out of deep freeze, the super fresh thing with the new boy has totally (and messily) imploded. I've got no immediate plans besides retiring to my apartment as a mopey cat lady. I guess technically that means so much more free blogging time for you. Too bad all I can manage at the moment is a sniff followed by a "fuck a blog, man!" So, I might be back in full force. I might not. I'm off to sigh dejectedly and look forward to a night of ice cream and cookies and booze. Lotta, lotta booze. Peace out.

C.K. Reports of our demise might have been slightly premature.

Sorry, Rabbit, Trix Are For Kids

Hmm. I didn't realize my blog had totally disappeared while I off. That sucks. Anyways, I'm back.

We just finished a nice 5 day visit from Fizzie, on his month-long pimping all over the world journey to Iceland and back. Good times were had and I'm left with a post-housewarming type of situation where there are tons of bottles that need to be drank and only one resident alkie to spend months working on it. We've done two DH happy hours this week and ruined my cool cred last night by squealing after I noticed a missed call from the boy. I'm so not slick.

We went to the worst event Thursday night with Alex and that deserves a (forthcoming) post of its own. We have to send our poor little Zen in for maintenance for being such a clumsy idiot that dropped it one time too many. Luckily (in that not sort of way), my warranty expired about a month ago and they erase everything on it when they fix it. Plus they keep it for about 2 weeks. Boo all around to that.

The rest of October is concert time: Jamie Lidell/Four Tet Monday, and Jamiroquai on the 24th on the definite list with other things (Jamie again Wednesday, 33hz, Dumbo Arts Fest) on the vaguely planning to do list. We've been passing the time finally handling over the long promised mix CD to Alex. He wanted basically a "what have you been listening to in the past year or so" primer and it ended up being about 3 CDs. He's gotten disc 1 (the lull you to sleep mostly one) so far and I'm tinkering with the rest. That is:

1. Prefuse 73 - Suite for the Way Things Change
2. Four Tet - Smile Around The Face
3. Prefuse 73 - Ty Versue Detchibe
4. Jamie Lidell - What's The Use
5. Damian Marley - Welcome To Jamrock
6. Diverse - Ain't Right
7. Erykah Badu - Back In The Day
8. Common - Go
9. Ada/Erlend Oye - Luckycharm/Intuition
10. The Sea and Cake - Sporting Life
11. RJD2 - Someone's Second Kiss
12. Prefuse 73 - It's Crowded
13. Etienne De Crecy - Tempovision
14. Man Man - Gold Teeth
15. Massive Attack - Exchange
16. Jamie Cullum - Frontin
17. Handsome Boy Modelling School - I've Been Thinking feat. Cat Power

Get Your Mind Right

Posting is something I can't quite do at the moment. Though, I've finished the megapost. That's all I've got, folks. I need to rest up from forcing myself to do that. Meanwhile, I'm busy flitting around town. Everyone's making fun of me because I'm really all gassed with liking a boy. I'm usually the rarely mention and hide until I can't avoid it type, but I want to bring him around everyone I know and withstand the inevitable rolled eyes/chuckles because I'm that into. Now watch everything come tumbling around me like a house of cards any second and me to set off on another multiyear "relationship...bah humbug!" jaunt. Eh whatever. We'll see.

On deck for download:

Chateau Flight, Ongaku
Diverse, Ain't Right
Dry & Heavy, Love Explosion
Battles, Dance
Man Man, Gold Teeth

I Hear That Everyone You Know Is More Relevant Than Everyone I Know

Yeah...whatever I said about newly having my free time back was a fucking lie. I've gotten the crap slammed out of me at work this week. I'm so glad that the weekend is finally here. I couldn't take another day of crazy working. The plan (unless I oversleep like I have twice this week) is to be to work at 8:30ish and hopefully be out by 6:30/7. Yes, this week is kinda sucks to be me.

Not to imply it hasn't been fun. I made time to apparently take up take up a mid-week residency at Soda. Tuesday night, I went to meet up with Mr. Now (for lack of a better pseudonym) I guess and while I was waiting, one of the neighbors strolled up to me. I was neutral and we chatted for a min and he offered that I should knock if I needed anything in a way that made my skin crawl. Yeah...hold your breath for that, son. He slinked off and soon after the boy came along and I smiled and everything was good. Back to the same bat station the next night for the weekly happy hour episode #1. I've got some pretty cool neighbors and we had a great time. With the bonus of spawning a hilarious thread on the board. You know I must've been worn out to say:

Hipsters are like chihuahuas, I'm Lucky the Ghetto Poodle. Both are little bitches, but I'm more entertaining.

In the meantime, read up at Four Four (categories on Tyra Banks, ANTM, and other crackhead-filled shows plus music!) and Angry Black Bitch. I should even finally getting around to posting the Prefuse boat show wrapup...like Sundayish. Hopefully.

Get Right

The busy season at work seems to have subsided, so I can finally rejoin the land of the computer-tethered timewasters again. Well, more than the couple of lines here and there like the past month and change at least. I can't tell you what I don't have: much money. Bills, bills, bills are killing me and I'm trying to keep my eyes on a New Year's trip prize, so the LA and Toronto trips (and things I've wanted for too long like a digicam) are ixnayed for 2005. Lease renewal time (is that crazy or what? time flies!) is also coming around the bend.

On the bright side, Farmer has finally returned from exile in England for a brief stopover, Alex is jumping back for a min from Portugal soon, and Fizzie is making a long-awaited visit to NYC in 2 weeks. Yay! I've started back with the gym and my legs have been throbbing ever since. But it's okay. I know you've got to go through a little pain to get thighs like steel. I've got about a half year's worth of sluggishness to reverse. And I seem to have discovered random guys my age in this town. I feel like Santa Claus in that M&M commercial: "they do exist!" And me proving myself a lucky ass bastard once again won tickets to the Prefuse/Dub Trio booze cruise (well, they're not identifying it as such...but it will be. Trust.) on Sunday evening. I think The Director is coming with, but I'm pretty much undecided.

When I haven't been at work actually working, I've been out and about at all hours of the night. I've been drinking a lot of spirits to keep me going and I think Ant is starting to eye me as if he is wondering if it's intervention time. I'm okay! Tuesday, I got my senses assaulted in Park Slope at an open mic night that a new friend and I stumbled upon in horror. I think a good 90% of my experiences involve making a wrong turn somewhere and then wondering why I'm there instead of cuddling with my cat where I belong. We escaped to one of the only places I know by name in the entire neighborhood (with a special note in the archives as where I first met The DJ) where we discussed New Orleans rebuilding in the empty joint with the lonely bartender, his accent getting thicker when J identified himself as from Texas. I won $10 when my rap knowledge got challenged. Shit, I mean I know I don't listen to the radio or much hip hop nowadays, but I sure as fuck know that Trina and Trick Daddy are from Miami. Please. You know I gloated. Too much to drink and too little sleep persuaded me to call out sick and I bummed around the house eating takeout and watching ATWT all day.

I emerged way after sundown to get denied at the Man Man show for being a non-ticket buying procrastinator. Still, I hung out, got partially rained on, and got to say my hellos to Kate Ace Fu and Mr. Schmancy Panelist Anthony before trotting home like a good girl. I ran into the same motivation difficulty Thursday night before talking myself into trotting across Brooklyn. I caught Hot Chip and their technical difficulties, but I wasn't feeling the "quirky" especially with a crowd filled with drunken assholes making me annoyed. This one dude plopped himself directly, I mean 3 inches, in front of me. I poked the shit out of him belligerentely with my phone all "hello! I. Can't. See!" And he probably saw the dangerous gleam in my eye and how I was clutching my bottle neck, so you bet your ass he moved.

Not soon after, I left to check out a friend's party only to get stopped at the door and accused of having a fake ID. I finally replaced the learner's permit (yeah, that's right. I'm a non-driving ass New Yorker!) I lost back in December a few weeks ago and it was fresh out the mail and my first use. The day I signed my forms and paid the fee, I had eyed that poster at the DMV wondering what dumbasses thought of such a shit design. And then there I was protesting: "I'm 24! I don't need a fake ID!" He looked at me really skeptically and I remembered what else would someone say but something like that! Then a chick came up with an actual fake and instead decided to pitch a bitchfit. Yeah that's a good way to bypass the bouncer, dick, piss him off. Kids nowadays. Dude finally stopped being on my case and let me pass because I'd been there before. Whatever.

The most exciting version of a good Friday night this week to me is in bed with my cat where I belong. And that's where I'll be.

The War At Home

I'll return to the shallow side of life soon. I can't help but note though that this summer has been like high season for the (not-so) closet racist/classists assholes who populate too many corners of where many of us have to live and interact everyday. But then again, it's only racists when white robes and hoods and crosses are involved and we're all middle class in America, so class biased against who? They make me fucking ill. And in general, I'm feeling a little aggro.

I've been having a war of wills with some dudes on the block. If you know me, you know that I don't take any shit. You want to argue? Let's go. If you're going to fuck with me, I'm not going to roll over and play dead. I am very well aware of my status as gentrifyier. I pay too much to live on a 4th floor walkup in terns of my neighbors, but comparitively to what they're trying to get around here almost a year later, we're not getting shafted that badly in terms of the NYC housing market. But, I also know that I blend in pretty well being brown (Ant, about halfway. There's a shortage of non-commercial enterprise affiliated Asian men in our neighborhood). The fact I'm young, black, and (assumed to be) "rich" yet moved in here is like a novelty to some of the neighbors. I get on pretty well with the old guy next door and the family below a.k.a. the ones I see the most but, the dudes outside (and some of the ones inside) are a different story.

I'll always be a sociologist at heart, so I can easily break down the problem. I'm young, black, (appearingly) single, "new" to the block, passing through quickly and quietly for the most part, not especially engaged what's happening on the block. They're young, black also, probably grew up here, spending all their time hanging on the block --the gate between my building and the one next door in particular -- in groups. They know everyone around but me and I'm not especially open because I spend upwards of 10 hours at work/in transit and when I'm around, I've got tunnel vision trained on dinner/quality time at home/bed.

It may be a neighborhood thing. On my block in East New York, I knew everyone and my family had two houses next door to each other. I didn't really think of hanging out on the stoop when I could just go inside. No one was really big on hanging out in the front there. Maybe to play rope or run around or whatever, but not just to sit. To say my apartment has been an oven this summer is the understatement of the year. I can't blame anyone for wanting to escape and stand outside. When you're standing around with people you know, it's a social thing. Everyone's been hanging out for hours when I stumble along, sweaty and tired at 7 or whenever, so they're all relaxed and shit while I'm focused and on edge. And it doesn't make it easier when I'm trying to do a Point A to Point B and they're staring me down. And I'm not especially open to anyone looking me up and down like a steak on a plate either. We're at an impasse.

The other week, I was headed from laundry and one of the dudes who is always hanging out was standing there alone. He said hello and I replied neutrally.

"Oh, I thought you didn't speak," he said, kinda snidely.
Defense mechanism popped up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you never say anything when we're hanging the block."
"I'm not going to say anything when I'm all distracted and tired."

I went inside and that was that. A few days later, I'm late as shit for work and popping out to run to the train and hope I can still make it in decent time. Some guys are standing in the typical spot at 9am and I'm not paying attention and just hauling. I hear a voice behind me say, "I see how you are."

And I was thinking about it the rest of the day. It bothers me that there's some sort of antagonistic relationship. Part of me is like "We're more alike than we're different. Why's there got to be some resentful bullshit when you don't even know me?" And then I think "fuck 'em. They're not keepers of the fucking block. They can hang out and chill all day because they don't have jobs and they're living with their mothers. Fuck that giving me shit because I'm not peppy enough. My apartment doesn't pay for itself and I've gotta do what I gotta do and fuck what they think." There's nothing that I can especially do about it. Am I supposed to bake them cookies? Fuck that. This one will probably be a stalemate unless some random day the bridge is crossed. We'll see.

If You're Patient, We Could All Get Out Of Here

Yeah. I've been slacking again. It happens.

I'm totally exhausted! Someone remind me again that I shouldn't go out and drink after midnight on a weekday! But besides that, falling into a nice relaxed little groove. I'm amusing myself with my knack for finding all the dudes seperated at birth from each other. Apparently this summer if you're wiry, tattooed, and prone to manic bursts of conversation, yes. I'm experimenting with being laid-back near to the point of comatose (unless I'm playing air hockey or trivia), so the contrast is funny to me.

The most exciting part of my week so far was buying a $20 Dust Buster at National Wholesale Liquidators and getting the Slurpee I've been longing for at 7-11. Hani fed me bad info and said they only had two flavors, but there were so many to choose from! 7-11 is a novelty thing for me because I can think offhand of only two in the entire 5 boros when I was growing up, so not having to go to LI to get a Slurpee is pretty sweet. (Though I discovered last week that Target has an imitation Icee machine thingy, so even closer to home!) I was a grinning fool on the train ride home today and everyone else looked very jealous.

Special birthday shout going out to Abe. I'm involved in a collaborative blog thing (one of two, but the other is still in progress) here. The theme is Around The World In 80 Mins and I hope I don't get somewhere in the South Pacific, an area I don't have a quarter of a clue about. Should be an interesting mix in the end though.

Attention NYC Readers

We here at KP are in need of aid. We supremely love Six Feet Under and haven't been watching this season all because in our lovely walkup, we have no HBO (for the record, it's all Ant's fault). But for the last episode ever, TWOP recaps isn't going to cut it. So...who wants to have a little bright-eyed funny girl like us over their place Sunday night at 9pm? We are the perfect house guest, cracking jokes (not during the show natch...unless you like that) and lighting up a room with our magnetic personality. I'd be your best friend and I'd even (maybe) bring your preference of cake or liquor. Please please please? Give a shout to your girl! Thank you.

/end public service announcement

Real Hot In The Shade

We take this time to interrupt the angst fest to note that it's been a heat index well over 100 in NYC all weekend. *whimper* We didn't even pretend like we were considering leaving the house today and instead laid around naked trying not to breathe too much and/or melt. Also feeling bad for the poor cat who just laid on the floor miserably. And yes, the A/C was on full blast. It's just a fucking sauna in this place. Viva rain! Let's hope it stays cooler just for a little bit.

But, I did find the time to update the music page. I left off the most obvious song and instead put it here: Third World, 96 Degrees In The Shade.

Also, some event pics came down the pipeline. This is why I hate pictures. I always look like someone's crosseyed drunken grandma. And it's official, I've lost the battle of the bulge, so back to Crunch I go. Let's not even mention that the weather always has me dripping with sweat. I'm so gross this summer.

Next Level

It's one of those not so secret blog things -- you know, openly alluded to but not explicitly stated to pretty much cover my ass, e.g. my last name -- that I've been on the fence about my job for a minute now. The typical complaints: over-/underworked and definitely underpaid.

The summer's been tense on that front with a lot of switchups company wide and I got a raise, which was nice but didn't help much. My super great boss resigned the other week which was really surprising, but she's off to go live out her dream or whatever, so that's cool and I was sorta jealous at first. I was being semi-pushed for her job, but was on the fence and I opted out of that. A girl on the team stepped up (I actually pushed her towards it) and I wavered for a minute if I was going to take her old job, since I already basically do it half the time anyways (a part of the overworked bit). Yesterday was the "interview" with HR where I put on my enthuasiastic face and worried that I was sounding like a total ass, but found out the paper work was basically drawn up for me to sign and they were just waiting for me to show some initiative.

So, I got a promotion! Go me! I'll also have a lot more money coming my way and a semi-schmancy title (though no one knows/understands what I do anyways, so whatever). In some ways, more responsibility and in others, 75% less aggravation. The shallow happiness comes from now being on par with what I know people my age in similar industries (whom I've been resenting heavily like forever) are making. I might actually have something to save now! Imagine that.

Still, this kinda throws a monkey wrench into some plans I've been drawing up. I'm locked in through the fall now, but I think my free time and general happiness/stress level should only improve. After that, we'll see what happens. If I wasn't so preoccupied with Thursday's happenings and probably wanting nothing more than to sleep/chill after that, I'd suggest a party or something.

If That Don't Beat All

In the midst of running around like a chicken with her head cut off (both at home and work), I've been having a strange creative upswing lately.

Just as I was considering how to make $10 stretch for a week and a half and trying not to revert to begging the 'rents mode, a writing job literally fell from the sky. (Oh look at me, I networked!) It should be a nice brain muscle stretch (with money!), so I'm pretty excited yet nervous. I haven't written much of anything in too long. New leaf perhaps? The timing is funny because I was chatting on IM yesterday and damned near went into catatonic shock hearing about a payment. I'm all up for making rent in one shot. This job is peanuts, but it's a good starting point. I realized not too long ago that I've got about zero confidence and hustle on that front, which is of course bad. Gotta sharpen that pencil and shit.

I was also fleshing out some outline ideas for the damned story always on backburner progress. And my ILX Canuckistani friend and I are working on something fun. Will it be hot? Oh, indeed. And I also had a new t-shirt idea on the train: Starfucker For Hire. Too much is definitely jamming the brain right now. Next stop: writer's block!

Sure Thing

It hit me yesterday that I'm not a spring chicken anymore. I'm not coming up on social security natch, but damn, I'm in my mid-20s! Talk about something sneaking up on you when you're not paying attention! Age is nothing but a number blah blah, but "whatever I'm young" was my general go-to phrase when I realize I can be a bit of a fuck-up. "Damn, I never have any money. Savings? What's that?" "Ah, whatever, I'm young. If you can't be poor now, when?" "Shit, everyone's all coupled down and getting engaged and shit. I'm such a loser." "Whatever, I'm young. I've got plenty of years to worry about that."

Yeah, I'm not so young really. Not that I'm going to go run and save and get a boyfriend post-haste or whatever. I think I've mostly begun looking forward to being a 30-something single cat lady with a crappy studio down the road. Hopefully making more money, but probably still having nothing to show for it. I think I'm just getting all angsty because of the job search. I'm fighting my urges to underplay, underplay, underplay and get some damned confidence and hustle to pursue what I really want. Whatever that is. Quarter-life crisis alert!

Meanwhile, most of last week was the extended birthday celebrations of PrincessNella. I drank too much and stayed out way too late three nights in a row. Sunday afternoon, I woke up fully dressed with pennies stuck to me (yeah...I dunno). It was mostly tame for me though. No extracurricular activities or anything but good clean friend type excitement. Minorly hilarious is the continuing streak of blast from the past encounters popping up all over the place. It was sort of like "Candice, this is your love life!" with randoms even as far back as high school popping out of the woodwork. It's kinda like an evil joke, but I, in my infinite conceit, know I'm looking better while they're looking worse pretty much across the board. Or maybe I always had bad taste. I've always been lazy and/or mildly retarded in that respect. Standards and morals have always been duking it out. Before I was almost angelic in my morality while picking arbitrarily and now all's fair in lust and war while I think the quality is improving. I might be fooling myself though. Regardless, it's all good. I think of it as story fodder.

It Sounds Sorta Familiar

Hello, lovely readers:

I am currently buried under stacks of print out and folders doing double duty at work (Gotta love the fall rush!) and until August 11th, I'm also digging deep to find some assured sociability to promote for The Closet (linkage forthcoming when I get some time to put on my webmaster hat...le sigh). Expect tumbleweeds for a min. There really aren't enough hours in the day.

But NYC locals: I'm totally up for Taco Tuesday, neighborhood pints, Company's happy hour, wings on W4th, and all of those other episodes that combine chatting and/or eating with some social time because otherwise my head might explode. Visit some of those fine links.

And everyone else can IM me and listen to me complain. Laters.

Love, The Management.

Happenstance

It's probably a bad sign when I hear about those bloggers getting fired from their jobs and I think "ooh...those lucky fuckers!" I can totally see where that would be Worst Nightmare worthy, but the lazy, creatively-stifled bastard in me thinks that hanging around idily at home would probably be fun for a good two weeks or so, i.e. when I'd start having to worry about bill paying. Besides, I'm not crazy and haven't been slagging off the place per se just the way I feel. (Please take mercy on me, HR!) I actually think my boss would get a kick out of this, especially since it's not like she knows much at all about me after a year and change. The seperation of church and state is not a game in my world.

Wednesday, I forcibly removed myself from in front my keyboard and the fan to go out and meet my neighbors at the happy hour. Me being me (i.e. inexplicably shy and socially retarded), I got as far as the patio door before turning around and running back to the bar -- more than once. I actually ran into one of the few people I met from the hood independently and tried to encourage him and his roomie to come with to the gathering. No dice. I amused myself by standing at the door peeking and trying not to hyperventilate at the thought of saying hello when I was spotted hovering and got a convo struck up with me. And that's all it took really to make me feel okay. I can be so ridiculous sometimes. The site regulars were all totally cool and it was a good time. I definitely drank too much cider and got a little stupid as the night went on, but par for the course I guess.

You Don't Know Me

To tie back to the last post, the day was spent like most of the weekend: considering the list of activities to do, but mostly being really idle.

I dragged myself to the muddy Summerstage and saw Femi, but I was so disgustingly sweaty that I stood still long enough to inhale a bottle of water and get my body temperature back to normal before heading back off. It was the daytime mirror to Friday night's adventure in Williamsburg (I've spent more time there in the past two weeks than I have in at least a year for sure). Then, I wandered the streets in search of a place I'd been trying to make way to for a few good months and ran into G, Wes friend/former housemate of Tino, Lina, and Alex. He tried to help me but was too stoned to be much use. I reiterated why I generally avoid the hood (too dark and creepy, hardly anyone strolls alone like I do, too many shadows like a horror movie set) and he said that he always felt safe. I considered arguing man vs. woman/self-preservation tactics vs. bubble induced stupidity, but decided it was a waste of my breath. Anyways, I ended up in my destination and chilled to try and stop being a miserable sweaty mess. This random kept popping up to bug me about why I wasn't dancing. Erm...cause I don't feel like it? What do you want? "Don't want to be swept in with the white people embarrassing themselves...haha." Get out of my face. Whatever. "I'm building bridges with you by making fun of my people. I'm so enlightened and self-aware! Aren't you impressed?!" It always reeks of insecurity and annoys me. The Friday guy and the one yesterday at Summerstage had that same overeager "give me a point!" facial expression like puppies looking for a pat. Ugh.

An unrelated episode had me wasting a lot of time talking with this random. A total motormouth spazzy freak. I was searching the whole time for my escape route when he said that he was gonna take off because he didn't really feel any "passion" between us. I almost laughed in his face -- I should've actually. As it was, I was just sorta amusedly dumbfounded. I think he thinks he was rejecting me. He wishes. And a semi-devestating (to my music pride) mistake: "Is this the Erykah Badu live album playing?" "No, it's Miles Davis." *shame*

Faiks and I spontaneously decided to check out a movie last night. It was the first one I've paid to see since...Chronicles of Riddick maybe. As I've gotten older, I don't really do movies...unless it's free/I've gotten passes or catch it while I'm waiting for food in that Chinese restaurant near my house that doubles as a black market new movie seller. We meant to see Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, but apparently Sunday is super movie night and every showing was sold out. We chose Happy Endings instead. I think I've seen the trailer for every indie flick coming out in the next 6 months. The ex-drama geeks had simultaneous orgasms as the Rent trailer played and I snickered. Our movie was really great. It had a lot of heart and drama without being so ridiculously self-congratulating as most indie flicks are. Lisa Kudrow was awesome, but I like her in just about anything that's not Friends. She's got more nuance that you'd expect seeing her in that show.

The movie made me melancholy and I've been thinking ever since about love and hurt and taking chances and whatever. I've been in one of my "bah humbug love" phases lately since couples seem inescapable during the summer. I've been hearing dispatches from England about Farmer so happy with his girl and wandering about almost two months and counting. I noted the other week that Mr. Sailor's been popping back into the brain. I think I'm just bummed about being utterly prospectless and trying to make a clean break from a lot of things. I've got a lot of wonderful friends and new people around that can become friends, but I really miss the heart flutter excitement of building a relationship. And I don't even really remember what they're like. I almost wonder if I missed my chance and didn't even realize it. I dunno. It's just a jumble of stuff.

On Deck

Look what I found browsing the archives:

Conscious self	Overall self

Take Free Enneagram Personality Test

Still totally spot on.

The weekend's been lovely. Mostly being lazy around the house, trying to get my room clean once and for all. I've been considering tying the cat down and using a Dust Buster on her. Fucking hair is everywhere and the brush provokes kitty panic attacks! I've rarely answered the phone and been laying around mostly. So nice in comparison to the past couple of weeks. Today's extra special plans: Laundry (or not). Summerstage (or not). Apps (or not). Nap (likely).

Reading Is Fundamental

Because I reserve the right to reverse my opinion on everything every few months, my new thought is: grad school! Eek!

The last time I mentioned anything about long-term planning, I was planning to make the LA move in January (and everyone was highly skeptical). Throwing a bit of a monkey wrench in that is the current job situation because the thought of staying here through then frankly makes want to step in front of a bus. I've been half looking for a new job but ridiculously busy and the thought of finding something great and then packing up and leaving it in 5 months sounds kinda stupid to me. So, I'm not leaving town anytime soon if I get a job here -- I'm still eyeing things on the West Coast, but have made no moves towards driving, so hands tied, etc.

Meanwhile, I've started to kinda miss learning...which might sound a little ridiculous. I've been reading some fun books and thinking about how I really miss arguing in class and formulating theories. Being able to talk with others about what I'm reading and the satisfaction of crafting a really good argument in a paper. Also, I've been feeling kinda assed out on the job front here. It's like I got here after flying blind for years and found out there was a heap of shit I should've been doing in school (like a gazillion internships!) that have put me at a disadvantage. 24 is young enough to spend a year or two circling the wagons a bit. I'm legally responsible for my own education costs, so I can get away with the "but I'm poor and independent" tack and I'm responsibility-free enough to survive a few more lean years.

I'm considering three local programs right now. I could start as early as January, acceptance willing. We'll see what happens. It's just a thought right now.

Seven One Eight

Today, I'm totally exhausted but really happy. The event was a complete smashing success. Everything I micromanaged went off without a hitch. 300-400 people came out with us to drink, dance, chill, and listen to music in the middle of a fucking laundromat. Hilarious was when I was pitch hitting as a bartender and people spontanteously started tipping. Money for me? Nice!

All around it was awesome. I was a little on edge the first hour and a half, but even I relaxed and had a good time. Thanks a million to Bill and Kelly, Amy, and Oliver. Pictures hopefully TK. Event #2 coming up in about 3 weeks and then The Closet. But first, a weekend of sleeping and turning off my phone. I deserve it.

What Is The Question Again?

The big event is tomorrow and I've been running around like a headless chicken all week. Blah blah stress blah blah is it Friday yet? I've been passing my time with some choice songs: Jamie Lidell "What's The Use" | La Caution vs. Chateau Flight "Une Epave Sur La Route Feat Alin Adren" | Handsome Boy Modeling School "First...And Then (featuring Dres from Black Sheep)"

To all NYC area folks with no plans for Thursday evening:

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L to Bedford/Lorimer - G to Metropolitan

You Got Me Up

Loving the new Jamie Lidell. I've glanced at some reviews/chatter and the Jamiroquai comparison bugs me. He sounds nothing like Jay Kay (speaking of him, an AOL music performance of Space Cowboy. I love that leaping little gnome!). It's actually a lot like the AZUR stuff or a male Nikka Costa.

I've been running around like a maniac most of the past week. I might have alluded to it once or twice already, but I'm helping throw a party Thursday night. It's gonna be nutso (hopefully): in Williamsburg, a 6,000 sq feet laundromat by day covered with giant art pieces with a band and a DJ and alcohol sponsorship. It's definitely been a challenge being an event planner in basically the 4 hours of the day not sucked up by work and the rest of my life. It's been seriously dramatic -- I don't even want to say how much (yeah, that's been edited. You might not be crazy after all). It's felt really good and I'm exhausted but hopeful. The friends know I've been cursing up a storm for weeks about it, but I'm secretly loving making sense out of the chaos. I'm off to jump back into it. Of course, this won't be the last anyone is hearing about this. Wish me luck.

Buildings Wrap Around Me

I read Rules of Attraction last week and it turned me into more of a hater than I am usually. (Imagine that!) In the same way that my overdue freedom from Wes turned me into a dancing vampire (for a min anyways), a book sending up the inanities of GOSPLACs has me on a residual anti-pretentious bit. Less syllables, less words. I, of course, am exempt because I'm running this show. It pays to be the boss.

I rang in the 4th with Faiks and Trendvickster on a terrace outside the U.N. "Happy birthday, America!" screamed out this little old lady who'd be overly enthuasiastic the whole fireworks show. Faiks hooked us all up and it was cool to be the closest I've ever been to that type of stuff in my whole life. I was reminded why when we and the thousands of other people watching the action from the FDR Drive were penned in going up 42nd Street. It took us at least a half hour to go a block. Not so fun.

A was my co-pilot for Taco Tuesday, my fave event so far this summer. It was funny just catching up and thinking that he's known me since the first day of seventh grade, almost 12 years ago. We were in school together for 10 years. Have we changed at all? I'm less angry, sometimes less confident, still opinionated as all shit, and always talking a mile a minute. He's come more into his own and still struggling to keep up with me. It's just fun to reminisce sometimes and be with people who've seen you change and grow over the years.

We've both got the "what's next? what do you do when you're from the place people like to move to and you're bored with it?" thoughts running through our heads. We're also busy. He's in school and working. I'm running around event planning and working. Sometimes it's just nice to be still for a moment with an old friend.

Everybody Get Random

Thanks to ILX, I've got two posts just chilling in draft mode cause I'm too busy talking about R. "All I Need Is A Full Bladder and A Preteen" Kelly to finish them. But, I've also got the greatest idea: t-shirts! I shall make some at home in my free room with lovely phrases like "Gentrifyier," "You Only Like Me Cause You Think I'm an Oreo," "Black Girls Do It Better," and "Trustafarian." Cha-ching!

And I bet you think I'm joking. You'll see.

Rewind

Oh yeah, I forgot I should be posting..

I know I'm old when I think to myself, "oh yeah, school's out. Now, I can leave the house later because the little assholes aren't clogging up the train!" Yet later in the day mentally remark, "ugh...why are you shits so loud on the streets? Year-round schooling!" Happy summertime...

Besides that, we're broker than broke. And in a mood. We're slacking in life lately. It's more fun to lounge about and nap with the fan on level 2. The weekends are too short. We've got big projects that we're working on with the potential to be awesome or totally disastrous. We have a whole list of things that we want so badly, we dream about them. We're not really sure why we're using the royal pronoun, but we're going with it. The family still thinks we're blimp-sized which is why we only check in once a year. We can put ourselves down just as well, thanks. Pass us some more pizza.

We'd like it to be 10 degrees cooler. And somehow unearth a hundred or so to make the crunch less painful. But, summer is our favorite season because most things worthwhile are free. A good bit of luck and we'll be solid again.

ETA: To keep y'all entertained, here's a fun little thing I've unearthed from the depths of Helga. It's a blast from the past snippet of a interview that I did with dear friend/rock star Alex senior year when I actually believed I could focus long enough to write something -- and that I never did get around to transcribing. For the record, I don't think I've giggled since that much in my whole life. I'm not really known as giggler. I also hate the way I sound on recordings, but that's neither here nor there.

Wandering About

The one problem I have with the summer is that there's nothing to hide under. Perhaps it's the latent tomboy who hates attention in me, but when the heat forces away my sweaters and jeans, I feel doubly exposed. There's the obvious level where I have to confront the feelings in my own head having my flesh out there and resist the urge to wear a jacket no matter how hot it is. Then there's the cause and effect of stripping away layers and skin exposed drawing the stairs. I got whistled at by a truck driver crossing the street yesterday at lunch. It bugged me to hear him still talking as I tried to suppress the urge to rip his throat out and thinking to myself: "well, I guess I should be used to it by now." I don't want to be used to it.

The other day at home, I calculated that I've gained approximately 50lbs in the 6 years I've been out of high school. It's been the evolution from athletically skeletal to the chubby side of average. The numerical aspect is kinda frightening but I don't mind really. I'm prone to fluctuations and I've been in a losing period lately. Which no doubt will probably be hastened by the summer. On the street, I'm sick of watching them watch me being barely restrained by things that used to be looser. I feel like a steak on a plate. And I just quit my gym. Time to buy a bike to ride around the park on!

Ugh...if I hear about another girl my age or younger getting/being engaged, I'm going to scream...isn't that "everyone around but me is getting married!" angst something you're supposed to be able to wait until at least late twenties for?! I'm not even dating anyone -- and that doesn't bother me (most of the time) -- so the pressure is just annoying. It's strange to say, but thank god most of my friends are like me in that respect because if one of them went all Bridezilla, I'd freak out. 'Cause it's all about me, me, me ! No non-singles in my vicinity...except for Lina, but that's complicated. Of course, I kid...sorta.

Anyways, the other week, the whole company was corralled into going to see a teenie movie since the book was written and then the movie produced in house. All of the other divisions of my company are so much more fun that mine! I'd basically gone kicking and screaming since it was required, but it was a damned good movie. Don't tell anyone this, but it actually made me cry a bit. Sob...don't die, little girl! Sob...you've remarried and made a new family, but what about me?! Sob...I thought sex would fill a hole in my soul but it didn't! Sob...this movie is hurting my cold heart! Sob! I'm a closet sap. I totally admit it. And I want to see The Perfect Man...on cable one day, just so I can be happily sappy in the comfort of my own home.

Off 2 Work

I'm attempting to work on my first review type thing ever -- and because I'm a clown, the focus list of one album would be the one that I can not track down to save my life. Both of my trusty pirating methods failed me. (If you've got it, give a holla.) I'm off trying to force myself to think of an alternative. Le sigh. ETA: Hot damn! Found it! Viva La Slsk!

In the meantime, I dragged myself down to National Wholesale Liquidator and bought a fan. Everyone in the store, street, and train looked like they wanted to bumrush me for it. Chill, y'all, it was only $14! Go get your own! And now that we're not burning up, we can go back to room dancing with today's slk spoils: Dizzie Rascal, "Off To Work." (original | instrumental | remix instrumental | craptastic video on some timewarp Big Daddy Kane shit) It's reminded me that I've always wanted to drop anchor in the LDN, but with no money and skills, hella unlikelier than just about anything else. I shall continue living vicariously I suppose.

I'm Like A Bird And Shit

I almost forgot that the whole point of this blogging thing is to you know, blog.

The weekend highlights: Domestic errands. Battle of the Bands. Being amused by fave band is gone! (WTF?!) I was too much of a lazy bum to see Sam Prekop's two Mercury Lounge dates (Boo at me). The cat and I laid in the dark trying not to move so we wouldn't pass out from the heat.

I haven't been up to much: obsessing about Trapped In The Closet, trying not to melt in the oven otherwise known as my apartment, loving that I can leave the sweater and scarf at home, masterplanning a summer trip that won't break the bank (I'd love to go to this but the fucking airfare is like $700+! Le sigh.), and breaking the news all over the place that I'm pretty certain that I'll be jumping town to LA once the fall/winter rolls around. It's hit the stage that I'm semi-amused by the jawdrops and "you're joking?" Apparently, I'm the last person they'd expect to leave town. Despite it being *New York City*, it's home and I'm more than ready to fly the nest. I mean, I love this town -- I've had good times here and great experiences, but I'd also like the chance just to restart everything somewhere else to see if I sink or swim. I'd rather go to a new city and totally fail than stay here my whole life and always wonder. Also, this city is definitely not going anywhere and who knows if I'll ever have the chance to be as free to go wherever I want again.

But besides that, I'm just bored with being around here. This town brings out all my base bad habits. I need a change of scenery. Of course, that plan is down the tubes unless I learn how to drive, natch. My biggest challenge is probably saving up money. And I'm not ruling out finding another/better agency job here since I've kicked up my search from halfhearted. I would also say there's the dim possibilty of meeting someone who would make me stay in town, but a) I'm a coldhearted cynic b) I've exhausted my own patience for even caring about crap like that c) I'd probably leave anyway. My cousin is off in LA this summer doing an internship and the plan is to visit and scope out the place. The current plan is a December/January exodus. We'll see how it plays out.

Moving Along

The other day after work, I did something big for me. I kept on going around the circle until I ended up all the way around Grand Army Plaza. I crossed Eastern Parkway and strolled up to the library. And then, I went inside.

I spent so much time in that place when I was a kid. Every big school assignment meant a trip to the Central Library with my dad and usually a stopoff at Wing Wagon on the way home. I haven't been in there since at least '95 and it looked so much larger than I remembered. I waited in line and got my shiny new card (I lost the old one in my wallet losing extravaganza before Christmas). I set off in one direction and then another before I walked up to the info desk and asked "uh...where are the...other books? Here's a number I'm looking for." It kinda felt like old me leaving the place with a big stack. I'm so behind on stuff I want to read. Scored: Hip: A History. Ego Trip's Big Book of Racism. Swift As Desire. In My Place. Girls' Night Out. I wanted the Zora Neale Hurston bio but no dice for me. And then I got home and started thinking about taking a class this summer. And went into shock when I saw they wanted $450+ in two weeks. Err...I've got to think about that one. But, I'm finally trying to get over the malaise and do something to get my mind working again.

Oh, did I mention that the present plan is that unless I can find some awesome new job here in town before the end of summer, I'm just going to finish up the lease and decamp from the city altogether? West Coast, here I come! Perhaps...I'm leaning towards there. I want somewhere really different from NYC with more sun (but no desert) yet with enough things going on that I can still feel I'm seeing new art/music/fashion/whatever. Oh yeah, and a place I can get a decent job also. Independently wealthy, we are indeed not. Though if I spoke Spanish/Portuguese/better French, my ass would be out with the passport so fast, your head would spin. In my dreams at least.

I'm throwing out the pre-plan out to the folks this weekend. I can hear now Mr. Daddy either freaking out and/or asking me what guy I'm running to/from. He's silly like that.

Round We Go

Hi, I'm a dummy that broke my Movable Type when I called myself updating! I'll figure out sooner or later how to get the comments back... I fixed it! I'm the shit! Too bad I spend more time fucking around with my site instead of actual things I have to do.

*sigh*

That's pretty much how it went this weekend. All ridiculous and comedy of errorsish.

Proving that mentioning his name is like tempting fate, Farmer popped back into town and wants to catch up. My first reaction was to go all dramatic and refuse the offer. The hazards of chatting when I'm imbibing a homemade (read: like paint thinner) concoction. Hilarity was when he said "oh yeah, Farmer's out, right?" and I responded "been reading up, have you?" Back in the day when we first met and the blog was a baby, he was amused by me forever quoting him but generally it wasn't on his radar. I'm not really surprised he was checking in while we were on the outs -- in fact, I suspected as much. (The tracker is a most useful tool!) People I've had conflict with reading the blog and keeping tabs: shocker! If only everyone was so helpful. He is actually. Net addicted writer sorts obsessively writing on the web, net addicted photographers obsessively posting pictures up pictures on the web. Imagine that. And I'm not immune to checking up on others either. Shady's site is good for a nice eyeroll or 10. God bless the internet! Anyhoo, the next day with my hangover, I rethought my position and we might meet up. And my friends have all sent me cyber slaps on the head, but yeah well. Mistakes are good as long they're fun and painless. Now I just have to endure him wanting to rehash old posts and shit. Holy hell.

The party Saturday night where I got my hangover was this random thing I went to with Alex and his brother in Williamsburg somewhere. A girl moving into his brother's building was throwing a party in her empty old apartment. Did you know the new thing with the kids is to get drunk and start tossing beer bottles onto the floor? Yeah. I dunno. We ran into this Wes girl who moved into my senior house, affectionately called The Cake House For Midgets, the year after and now lives around the corner from me. We got into a convo about which corner store we had allegiance to and she declared: "I can't stand going to that one at the corner of St. Johns. I mean, if you can't afford all the letters on your sign, you don't deserve my business!" I was totally dumbstruck. Why I tend to avoid random Wes people personified. Let's hope no one lets her know about Daily Heights happy hours!

The cat was nowhere to be found all day Sunday and we were frantically looking everywhere. I had the same stupid exchange with Ant too many times.
Candice: Where the hell can she be? There's not that many places to hide.
Ant: I dunno. You sure you looked everywhere?
Candice: Yes I did. *beat* Are you sure you guys didn't do something to her? It's okay. You can tell me.
Ant: No, we didn't. Maybe she ran away?
Candice: She's too scaredy to run away...she runs and hides if I move too quick! *beat* Are you sure J didn't kill her?
Ant: He's a gay pacificist!
Candice: Hmm. Well. I hope she turns up.

My mom visited and looked too, but no dice. A quiet mew around 9pm helped Ant and I find her in the fucking dresser drawer. My cat is a clown. She learned from the best.

On How It Goes

Jamirakid: everyone's all "la la la love!" this spring
Bill: i'm long overdue for some "la la la love"
Bill: and i mean *long* overdue
Bill: like, if love was a library book
Bill: i'd never step foot in the library again
Bill: they'd probably tackle me down and steal my wallet
Jamirakid: ha
Bill: or something like that

Bill brings the funny, so I'll give him a pass for ASSuming I was M.oh you know fan.

Meep

Dear Someone In Charge,

Just like 5 more hours in the day would be very nice, thanks. Sleep deprived and eyebaggerrific is not a good look for me. I'll regret this tomorrow.

Best, Candice

Then again, if I wasn't aimlessly awake and yet still not doing what I should be at 2:30am, would I have found out that a fave artist of the 2002ish era not only has a new album but mad albums for me to find and play until I get sick of them all sometime next year? Probably not for a good while. Hot damn! Shawn Lee's the bomb, y'all, and now I shall go forth and make my Zen tracks even more disjointed than they already are! Woo!

Suite For The Way Things Change

What a difference the sun and a furry companion make! Believe it or not, I've actually been going around with a smile on my face. And when I'm lounging about my house, I'd rather be making tuna casserole than fucking around on the net...haha, that's a lie. I'm always on the net but I've also been making tuna casserole. Help! I'm turning into a pod person! I'm all mellow and shit. And with one of my fave friends Alex back in town, the mood can only improve. Sorry, folks, you might have to get used to a cheery me. It was bound to happen eventually.

I've been busy mostly. It's review and raise time at the job and I'm trying to have all my shit in order. I'm taking on more responsibilities with the crew, so that'll keep me heavily occupied come summer. Trying to make some goals and stick to them. As always, there's personal changes and I'm trying to rediscover things that make me happy. I was getting sick of myself being so melancholy all the time and I'm actively doing something about it. Farmer and I had falling out #1,598,237 the other week and it might just stay that way because I'm just tired of caring most. The like molasses moving thing with The Brit is just funny and fun because it's so chaste. For the most part, I never meet anyone cool and normal and my age, so I just want this to develop as it does. I'm most amused that it doesn't even really bother me that at this rate probably won't even kiss him until some time in the fall. Of course, I'm not dead, so other prospects are indeed on the table.

In other news: I need to do a total revamp of the links. Some of that stuff is way out of date. My neighborhood blog is the bomb -- and not only because they listened to my suggestion. One of my dear HS friends just got engaged and Ant and I rolled up to the party to drinks some Belve and see how the other half lives. I finally saw a group I've been trying to see since I moved back to NYC. But I missed one of my fave DJ/producers at a party I haven't gotten my shit together to check yet. I was mere blocks away listening to The Brit's brother drop some dope d'n'b. Everyone wants to be my myspace friend...God, people, don't make me log on! I hate that thing! But I did log on long enough to make Man Man my friend and I might even wear my shirt to their first NYC show in a min on Wednesday.

And you know, I'd be even happier if I could find a bike for under $100.

You Never Know

I actually had a long funny post that I slaved over to put up, but my work computer ate it. I guess non-angry/bitter/(insert emotion here) posts don't make the cut. I'm actually in a pretty good mood -- I mean, it's finally spring...yay! I'm sitting S the cat while Ms. Mommy moves and such. We've been rolling around on the floor and having a good time. My everlasting love only temporarily wavered when she woke me up at 4am mewing to let her run around outside my room and ran across my body to get to the window.

Anybody want to hear about my new bath mats? Hmm...no? How about my latest pilgrimage to Western Beef? (Ice cream, tater tots, and Carolina red hots, y'all!) Oh, no to that too? Well, I'll you how my weakness got the better of me and made me lose a house wager...

Ant and I are a bit of an odd pair. He's a super sensitive nice guy with an inner frat boy dying to escape and I'm...me, temperamental with a heart of gold (or ice -- depending on the moment) with a Suzy Homemaker side steadily revealing herself. When we moved in, our love lives were pretty stagnant and the prospects weren't looking good. I suggested that we make a bet that the first person to have a turnaround and christen the house (so to speak) had to buy the loser a 6-pack of our favorite non-beer beer, Woodpecker. Because I've got strange luck, my turnaround was first, but being a crafty bastard -- and the sheer fact that I was living on an air mattress for over a month -- I got out of handing over the pack. I've been on a sabbatical (for a myriad of reasons) and was happily expecting to be a "loser." Ant's actually on an admirable course: a nice guy finding a nice girl and them being super nice together, but hell, it isn't getting me any Woodpecker!

My slip was inevitable really. The doom and gloom mood has passed. The weather's great. Prospects on the table is always a plus. I've been gearing up to kick a lot of fun things into go mode. I created an opportunity and went for it. Trying to be slick to the end, imagine my surprise to find Ant and our temp roomie J wide awake and shooting the shit at 1:30am on a Sunday. Ah well. I "lost" fair and square. I need more situations where the outcome is pretty sweet no matter what.

It's A Living

I've got the disease known as GOSPLAC dementia. It's what happens when you send broke kids from broke families to play with rich kids for most of their school lives and then set them out in the real world where they have to make ends meet.

I've been thinking a lot lately about being dramatic and walking away from my job because I don't feel challenged enough. Though I can (and do) go there wearing whatever t-shirt/sweater and jeans that didn't look too dirty in the morning rush, I can sit and listen to my Zen all day and be as anti-social I want to be, and the pay while not i-banker awesome is considerably better than any shitty publishing job I probably want. At least weekly I tell Jay-V and PrincessNella that I just want to walk out and never look back. And then I come to my senses and urge myself to stop smoking that shit and to just suck it up and deal because there's a lot of people out there who can't even consider something so ridiculous and bourgeois because if they don't work, they don't eat.

And then I kick myself because I'm one of those people too and I've always had the bad habit of forgetting that. What the hell is wrong with me? I've been working since I was 15 and have no savings. I rarely if ever pay more than $70 for sneakers and I haven't bought a new pair since last summer. All my clothes come from Old Navy or H&M. The reason I wear my hair natural is because I really can't afford the money pit of being someone who literally does not know how to do all those super girly things (you know like keeping it from looking like you've been electrocuted and stuff) to their hair. I've got over $40,000 in student loans. I'm still paying off the three credit cards I maxed out and "forgot" about in my early days of school. My share of the rent plus utilities and food is more than half of what I make a month. Rooting out parties I can go to free or damned near isn't just me being a social butterfly or whatever but because I can't afford to go out otherwise. If I quit my job with no net, I'll be ruined within the month. And who's going to bail me out? My parents? Yeah right. They've got money problems of their own. If I don't work, I can't survive.

In a financial sense, it was stupid to even strike out and get the place, but there's a serious part of me that would rather be poor with a place (mostly) of my own than how I was in Queens, relatively flush for a crappy money handler but having to be bound to someone else's location choice and rules. I worry about money a lot -- no nightmares of bankrupcy...yet -- but like Jay-V said to me earlier, it's better than feeling like a kid pretending to be an adult like I did at home. Obviously, I didn't need to go to LA or Miami because I just spent money that could go to bills, but sometimes it's just good for the soul to say "fuck it, it'll be tight for a min afterwards but I work hard, I deserve this!" Sometimes I just get so sick of having to be so on the grind that I have to splurge on a carrot to make life worth living, i.e. the Zen. And that may still be ultra bourgeois of me, but it is what it is.

It's tough being raised knowing that you can't fuck around with your money because there's always someone to pay and at the same time being around people who are so carefree about it. I simultaneously envy and don't understand people like Alex and Farmer (who just took a trip to Cuba on a whim!). They're both flitting around foreign countries all relaxed, hardly even working, ultra blase about coming in and out of the States and I can't even wrap my brain around being free enough here to go abroad. Sometimes I get really bitter and mutter under my breath that if I was a white man I could not give a fuck and do what I want too, but it's more than that. I just feel like my hands are tied and I know it's because the system is set up that way.

Ironically enough, one of the last classes I took at Wes was about this. It's sad and more than a little ironic that they don't teach it anymore.

Mixed Bag

Since I got back from Miami, the drawl has been more pronounced.

"Drawl? WTF?" you say. "Aren't you like from Brooklyn, girl? Stop tripping!"

Yeah, I said drawl. When you're spending 2-3 months out the year traipsing in Carolina backwoods between 4 and 20, the byproduct is a bit of a drawl, aight? My speaking voice has always been a hodgepodge of random shit I've picked up along the way. I love to mimic. Right now, everyone's a "nutter" in Elisa's Londoner lilt or "mothafucka," all deep fried style. I may be vaguely Southern, but I'll never be genteel.

I'm jumping all about this week because I'm trying to reconcile the energy I had out of town with the in town responsiblities and happenings. I'm searching and destroying for spring -- getting rid of shit that just doesn't fit into my plans/mindframe, clearing some space, taking no prisoners. I'm a little prickly at the moment, but when am I not really? It's all about the transitions. Bear with me.

The Long Haul

This is staying at the top until March 18th has passed. (Oh, look -- it's here!) It's that time of the year again and I'm not even going to pretend I'm going to keep up on updates. But, I actually did pretty well I think. Even though, some smarties didn't notice that there's been plenty of new stuff right below this. Next week is the birthday (party details forthcoming...I guess) (check. I'm a million years old!), then The Closet, and then I'm off to the WMC.

In all seriousness, come to The Closet! It's gonna be the shizz for real. You can watch me tear my hair out and try not to let my head explode! But there's a lot of cool shit in there that you'll be kicking yourself about missing afterwards.

So basically, KP should be back to something resembling normal in umm...April I guess. Of course, because I just said I probably won't write, they'll be some new shit underneath this since I'm contrary and all. (How right I was!) And if there isn't, imagine me running around like a crazy and probably having fun. Toodles.

Sugar And Spice And Everything Nice

Jamirakid: aaron the outer is a fucking dead man
Jay-V: why
Jamirakid: he's got other people saying "oh you're the blogger girl!"
Jamirakid: "my friend aaron told me about you"
Jay-V: lol
Jamirakid: this bartender in 419 who i've been seeing for fucking years said that to me
Jamirakid: i totally recoiled
Jay-V: LOL
Jamirakid: i'm gonna kick his ass
Jamirakid: i also saw shady at aaron's party last night
Jamirakid: with a fucking clone of me in 2002
Jay-V: he's still alive?
Jamirakid: apparently
Jamirakid: he's so fake. "oh how are you? we should catch up blah blah"
Jay-V: well what did you want him to say?
Jamirakid: "fuck off, bastard. a) i'm on the phone b) stop playing"
Jamirakid: he made such a production of it
Jamirakid: a drive by "hi" would've done well enough, thanks
Jamirakid: and that girl wasn't really a clone
Jamirakid: a) she was ugly too b) she was lame
Jamirakid: mmm...i had a big cup of hater tea today!
Jay-V: lol you sure did!

Good thing I never said I wasn't a fucking bitch, eh? Later on,

Jamirakid: i've got people around town going "oh hey, you're the blog girl! my friend aaron told me about you!"
Jamirakid: okay...one, but that's too many even
Aaron The Outer: *shrug*
Jamirakid: grr
Jamirakid: you suck
Aaron The Outer: maybe this well help you learn to not take yourself so seriously, and that the internet isn't a virtual phonebooth that allows clark kent to change into superman ;)
Jamirakid: oh stfu
Aaron The Outer: bwaahah

Take That, Rewind It Back

* KP Disclaimer: Whenever I come out boldly against anything on a definitive thought basis, I'm bound to change my mind immediately afterwards. (This only applies to "I think"/"I feel" type statements.) I'm flightly as hell and beyond that, those declarations are good for making something happen to make me wish I never wasted the breath in the first place. (My forbidden phrase is "what else could happen?" because that usually makes things worse.) So, know that and understand it. Thanks. The Management *

What I was really complaining about the other day in regards to parties and their non-fun is a lack of the zany randomness that used to punctuate nights out and about. I need occasional assurances that I'm not the only weirdo in the world.

I had a couple birthday non-parties last week. The first at The DJ's night where having cute guys hug me so well was a present in itself. PrincessNella and Anthony conferred to choose for me which guy spoken so much about got the Friend Seal Of Approval. They picked the surprising one and it's good to know, but as usual, I'll do my own thing. I saw The Outer again (not surprising being that it's his party too) and he pronounces my AIM name totally wrong which annoys me. It's like Jamiroquai minus the -oquai plus -akid. Then again, if he knows enough to blow up my spot off of one misuttered word, he probably knows that and is just being a jerk. I take my AIM very seriously, goddammit. Friday, the kids came over and we stood around in my kitchen and ate that fucking good $30(!) strawberry cheesecake from Junior's. And I ripped a rack out of the wall in a semi-drunken wrong grab. Then, we walked out into the mini-blizzard and I discovered my neighborhood summer hangout spot. It doesn't get any better than cheap and around the corner, folks.

Last night, I found myself rolling out the house at almost 1am which is becoming par for the course when I've decided to keep the night in BK and not too far away from me. I'm into all these places sorta near my house (meaning a nabe or two away). So far I've been mostly popping up in Clinton Hill. The last blah night out had me going from a new Marquee-esque place by the Navy Yard and this chill spot where I got an African dance show(!) in the middle of the party. Then again, both places (well, maybe not the first) were super cool. I'm just a jaded asshole.

I ventured to the Clinton Hill/Williamsburg border and was amused to feel like I was transported back to a party at Wes or something. What do you get when you combine fresh faced Pratt kids with late 20s/early 30-somethings with an art collective space? A good fucking party, that's what. I spent the first bit of time there semi-apprehensive. A million little rooms -- but bands and a few massive dancefloors made up for the ultracliched sidecafe with bad poetry. Ever notice when people reading poetry that really sucks that they're all doing that hyperaffected tone? It makes me want to maim for real.

The second person I recognized at the place was The DJ. On some movie shit, the crowd parted just so and we saw each other. He gave me a wave and I waved back. I ran into him periodically as the night went on. Unless WMC brings things to a head or some miracle, I'm about ready to let that one drop. The first person I recognized was B whose band I was there to see. I've been rocking their gifted EP and popping up at their shows/DJ nights because I'm a fan. I've come to the conclusion that it's the '80s throwback clothes that make him look like Leisure Suit Larry because the resemblance was back for me. I dared not mention it again because he was a bit salty about that the last time.

ETA: The best part which I almost forgot. I was standing around in the bathroom line when I got into a conversation with this random (like I'm known to do). We're shooting the shit and he's like "I'm David, I DJ." I'm thinking *yawn* who isn't nowadays but me, but I say "oh really?" He drops his name and I go superfan spazz as I do everytime something like this happens. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. The funny thing is we actually met before in my Wes days when I was hanging with Mr. Scenester for a min, but it was a two second thing and I'm sure I look astronomically different. He handed me a flyer for his party this week and I chimed "oh, I already know about that." (Bugz! Squee!) He introduced me to his girlfriend Kitty and I repeated it lamely at her because I couldn't believe an adult could be named that, but she told me it's a nickname for something I forgot. The kicker though was when I was all "yeah I've been listening to a lot of [eh. check the link] lately." He sorta winced. *buzzer* I lose. It's bad form to be bringing up people's ex-wives at a party. Minus points for me.

I found myself bouncing all around, making friends with randoms. Dancing, drinking too much, wandering, laughing, just having a good time. I'll be bold and say that the stupidest sounding thing a guy can ever ask is "can I kiss you?" It is guaranteed a smirk and I've been known to come out with a "no" and then walk away just to be as ridiculous as that question. You could've colored me shocked that I emerged from the place at 6:30am. The light hurt my eyes! In a drunkie state, I decided to look for food and a good old crosstown bus. I was successful on the food front (mmm...White Castle!), but before I knew it, I had walked home from Flushing Ave. Ah well. I need the exercise since I'm on "Getting Back The Beach Body!" mode. I've got nine days, people!

Perhaps This Needs More Thought

That new leaf apparently meant Junior's strawberry cheesecake out the box, sweats, and an IM marathon. I think I need to rethink that. My pants can't handle it. Plus it's boring. Ho hum. Back to the drawing board...

I think what I really need to work on is impulse control...and getting rid of some Catholic guilt I picked up by osmosis. My life is ruled by too many binaries. I = reserved, boring, full of ideas, needing the push. I'm drawn to those arrogant, loud, full of energy, exploding everything in their path. I like people who are what I'd like to be and would rather gloss over flaws and warning signs because I've got baggage of my own. I decided somewhere along the line that I can be as obnoxious as I want to be on the inside, but it's better to have people around openly doing the bad things I can be contrasted with and made to look better next to. While I do all kinds of more screwed up shit undercover.

Most of the people I know fall into the category of squares or crazies. I'm rolling along as an unhinged rhombus. Or I'm just bored and in love with angst and need a stepladder to get over myself. Super likely. But, what's really good?

Hard Times Befallen The Soul Survivors

One day in, 24 can go either way.

In many ways from last year's blowout to now, the excitement died. Right after the party in '04, I went into hardcore job hunting hibernation. I'd spent most of the post-school fall and winter as super temp over at the evil empire (with some funny episodes) and having the best of both worlds: hardly working yet having enough money to finance going out up to 5/6 nights a week (plus the knowledge and skills to leave the house with $20 and come back after a long run with $19). But by March, that was mostly over and I was staring at walls again. Farmer had moved to Florida and I was adrift. I'd spent too much time for comfort in strange places just disassociated from everything. And really I admitted to myself that I was simply bored doing fuck all and wanted to settle down and be respectable.

So, I went and stayed in the house until I landed the job, then I started staying in because I just couldn't hang (often) until 5am and then whip into shape in an hour and change to get to work on time. But, I kept at it because I'm really a night owl and I had to work through my whatever with needing to find something more interesting at all times. Spending 3/4 of my time in the straight world and trying to make some sense out of compressing my running around into bite sized fun has failed miserably. The same parties, the same people, the tired music, the outdated trends, the terrible mismatches. I'm tired of paying in time and currency to stand around and wish I was home. I can't find excitement out there anymore. I was born jaded and my current state is really beyond the pale. As anyone who knows me well is aware, I do the most inexplicably fucked up things out of boredom. (Didn't I used to not smoke? How did I end up in so many strange situations?) I've been cruising towards the brick wall at a steady pace and early this week, I crashed. I'm down here on a heap, so the only way to go is up. What better time to make a real change than the year leading up to my quarter century anniversary?

Here's to foresight and using that undervalued brain in there somewhere underneath all the hair. And less melodrama -- dumbly manufactured and reaction wise -- in 2005.

24 Candles Plus One For Good Luck

I've heard this strange rumor that it's my birthday and stuff. So...yeah.

The people at my job, however, heard no such thing. Good thing I hate them already because I do for real now. ETA: My boss forgot and was embarassingly guilty. Should I hold out for a present to be evil? Hehe kidding...not.

Also, my present to myself this year was the first piece of soul-sucking plastic since I chopped them in despair three or so years ago. My first impulse was to go buy jeans. My second impulse was to go wild and buy tix to both of the May Prefuse shows. I. Will. Not. Miss. A. Prefuse. Concert. Again. I forsee financial ruin and/or strange salvation in my future.

The WMC listing I'm most excited by at this moment in time -- subject to change as I keep combing the masterlist:

THE ONITSUKA TIGER INDUSTRY LOUNGE

Presented by: Asics Onitsuka Tiger, the South Beach Group, and UrbanGroove Artist Development

DJs/Performers: Guest DJ Sets All Week By: Radio 4 (Astralwerks), the Fever (Kemado), Junior Sanchez (Cube), parag (haus), the Bravery (Island), Danny Dominguez (Counterflow Recordings), Manuver (Counterflow Recordings), Benzos (Stinky/NYC), Karibomb (Up!/Pianos/NYC), Spencer Product (Black Moustache), Alexander Technique (DJs ARE NOT ROCKSTARS), nihal (Chakra/UrbanGroove/SF), BOYJAZZ (Frenetic), and many more TBD.

Where: The Catalina Hotel & Beach Club, 1732 Collins Avenue, Miami Beach

When: 12pm - 6pm

Price: FREE by invitation only � RSVP by March 21 w/ name and industry affiliation

Details: The ultimate industry retreat. Take a break from the conference madness with food and drinks and guest DJ sets all week long. Grab some brand new Asics Onitsuka Tiger kicks, bags, and gear. Demo games on Nintendo's new DS handheld video game systems, and pick up travel certificates and other goodies from JetBlue Airways. Giveaways and contests all week long!

Not Bad Meaning Bad, But Bad Meaning Good

It's all early 00s up in the Zen today.

In other news, we hate the snow but at least it's not doing it tomorrow like we feared. Instead, it'll be the coldest day of the week! Woo? Also, someone up there got sick of my "I'm fat" talk and thought it amusing to almost blow me into traffic with some wind. Fine. I'm not fat. But, I am big boned which is something those evil scales can't differentiate. And if someone rich is up for some last minute shopping, yes please. For kicks really.

And speaking of Fox Brown, Jay-V IMed today:
Jay-V: foxy brown has a papa john's
Jamirakid: haha are you serious?
Jay-V: thats what wendy is saying
Jay-V: shes reading something about her...i dunno i just turned it on
Jamirakid: funny. what's next: a subway?
Jamirakid: golden krust outpost?
Jay-V: lol i know. will celebs start buying up other chains?
Jamirakid: mariah carey relaunches crazy eddie's!
Jay-V: lol
Jamirakid: "our prices are so low...they're insane! just like me!"
Jay-V: jigga's 99 cent world!
Jay-V: heh apparently foxy owns a papa johns and something else too
Jay-V: i want to say a starbucks but i cant remember
Jamirakid: she owns a dunkin donuts!
Jamirakid: or a krispy kreme!
Jay-V: yes! thats its
Jamirakid: hahahaaha
Jay-V: *it!
Jamirakid: i was really joking
Jay-V: like wtf??
Jay-V: no i really think its a krispy kreme
Jamirakid: that's fucking hilarious
Jamirakid: i'm gonna fall off my chair and get fired!
Jay-V: lol

Is This All There Is?

I think I'm ready to declare 2005 a bust. Yes, I know it's only the second week of March. It just sucks that hard. I've spent the past couple of weeks running around like a wind-up toy about to crash. I'm becoming even more cynical than usual if that's possible. I'm having a repeat of my dentist visits a few months back where I was humming along cluelessly for years and then go to the doctor's to find out that everything is falling apart. Let's say it's nice to be all insured and stuff.

But, my birthday is Wednesday. I guess I'm excited sorta. I'm trying to think about all the glorious cake and chill out. It's gonna be at this party and I'll be the sullen girl -- or perhaps the drunk and happy one, depends on the mood.

Gently Downstream

Believe it or not, sometimes I actually do pause at the random invites I get. One email that came through last week was for a reception at a furniture store for a chair launch. Do I give a shit about chairs? No. Do I like raffles and open bars? Indeed. So, am I going? Undecided. We'll see how that one plays out.

Friday night, I hung with the friend C in preparation for the immersion in Miami. We met up at Superbar before ending up at a mag launch/concert in midtown. The headliners were this group I went to HS with, several years older. I remember I used to think it was a big deal that they were playing all these shows and opening for cool people. I caught their slot before Slick Rick in '98 I believe and I remember being so underwhelmed. Six and some change years later, the beats are still tight but the flow is still weak. Some things never change.

By the time Saturday night rolled around, I was beat. I had been out way too late almost every night and my mood had been deteriorating as the week went by. I really had to kick my own ass to get to the last Public Enemy panel at NYU -- I was late as shit, but it was really worth the trip. (The response to the record company exec who wanted to know how to "build" consciousness in his artist: "Get a new profession." And the woman who said "I've got to ask two questions since I'm the only sister who got to the mic." The Observer roundup has more jewels including some I missed.) I strolled through Washington Square Park afterwards, excitedly telling Mr. Daddy about the event and setting up a joint birthday trip to our fave spot. I wandered into Kmart and felt perplexed when they said that they weren't selling gloves anymore. Why the fuck not when it's 20 degrees? I think that's way more appropriate than tank tops and flip flops!

I dragged my carcass home and made a big dinner without burning the place down. (Fun fact we got at the lease signing: our building is so old that if there was a fire in our place, our shit would get burned and whatever, but the walls are so thick that the neighbors have nothing to worry about. Woo?) I lounged and considered a nap, checking email and feeling blah until I decided to go out and keep it local(ish). Some folks I sorta know were DJing about a mile away at a place I wanted to check out for a min.

I ran in and got a drink before going off in search of the bathroom. I leaned on the wall and thought that builders need to realize that equality just isn't logical in terms of bathrooms. I feel like I waste hours of my life out and about just waiting on line to get in one. At the far room, I noticed a guy getting pushed out by a disembodied hand. He looked startled but was also grinning madly. Fucking sniffers, I thought to myself with an eyeroll. I looked at him dispassionately as he walked my way until my brain clicked into gear. It was The DJ.

He was newly back from a Caribbean trip, looking refreshed and great. Actually, scorching hot. So fucking hot that it beat my sniffer bias into submission, but not enough for me to be more than my usual blase self. Sometimes I wonder how I'm perceived. I know I definitely run hot and cold. When I like someone, I'm friendly yet a little reserved. But when I'm just kicking it in a non-tension filled sort of way, I can be super chatty and engaged (which then gets mistaken for flirting...blah). So, I like him, but I'm not feeling him per se, since I hardly feel any closer to knowing anything about him than I did back in October. But anyways, that's something for offline chatter which is why I keep getting in trouble/my spot blown up. Because who you least expect is always reading. We chatted about maybe having the birthday party at his night (undecided) and both heading down to the WMC this year. And that was it, more or less.

Monday, I was back in the the thick of event planning and thinking of all these places to hit with flyers and promo. I wish it was possible to just throw flyers in the air and people would just take them. I'm becoming way more anti-social and hermit-like in my old age. Talking to strangers enthusiastically? No thanks. But, part of life is to suck it up and deal. Or so the mysterious "they" say.

But don't mind me, I've got a birthday staring me in the face. I'm another year closer to infirmity and feeling rather disgruntled about it. I still young (natch), but mentally I feel about 124 and I've got to go-go-go for the next few weeks while running on fumes. Perhaps a good night's sleep would change everything.

The Body Politic

Sometimes I like to be dramatic and say that puberty ruined my whole life. After the initial toddler catepillar period, I was a lean and mean sort of kid. I escaped chocolate when I became allergic at eight and spent the time away from TV and books with a basketball or a bike.

Puberty and its accompanying annoyances threw the body for a loop and it made me into a reactionary. I hated the attention that a budding body brought me. I resisted the bra push from my mother and stuck to undershirts as long as I could. When men noticed the curves and started commenting, I sought refuge in baggy clothes and dark colors. That was also when I started wearing hats. I wanted to blend into the woodwork. I enjoyed the confusion/curiosity on people's faces when I came along with my hat pulled down low to my eyes, giant army jacket, jeans two sizes too big and layers of shirts. Was I a boy or a girl? I wasn't sure myself. I would wear a skirt once or twice a year and spend most of it hiding. But as junior and senior years rolled around, we had our class formal dances and I broke out forcefully at both with such overwhelmingly girly dresses that I shocked everyone. "You're so pretty. Why do you wear all those clothes?" Because I could, more or less. The irony of a hardcore tomboy wearing a floor length pastel pink ballerina prom dress with pink heels was delicious. A fitting end to six years at a place where no matter how much you changed, you were that ___ kid from 7-X.

I'm never going to be stereotypically thin. I'm just not built for it. I've accepted that fact. The least I've weighed since I started curving out was 133lbs in the summer before freshman year, when I wore a size 8 and had bones sharp enough to cut glass -- not to mention skeletor face -- with muscles and a booty. Just before senior year, I was flouncing around wearing a 8/10 and hovering around 164. I was complaining about my chicken legs and flat chest, but I enjoyed having finally shaken the remnants of my tomboy reactionism and embraced color. For my annual visit, the doctor clucked at my weight number and suggested I lose a few pounds to get on track with my BMI. I looked at her like she was insane. I was still bones with muscles and a booty. It wasn't possible to be any thinner without starving myself to death. I turned my back on scales and have been trying to ignore the numbers thrown out at during the physicals ever since.

Ms. Mommy (always good for words of encouragement) enjoyed warning me through the years to enjoy my metabolism while I could because after teens, it was all downhill. She's thrown out there that 25 is when your body gives up and goes to shit. I have no idea what I weigh now, but I spend a lot of time thinking about it. I guess I've gained about 20lbs or so in the past two years. Besides my mom lecturing gleefully that I have bad genes and it's not a good sign that our weights changes are inverses of each other, shopping is becoming increasingly frustrating. I am the average sized woman -- height and clothing wise -- but I might as well be a freak in the average store. Some days I look in the mirror with a mental red pen marking up the problem spots. The upcoming trip to the WMC is scaring me shitless because I've never felt less prepared to throw on a bathing suit.

Mostly, I just feel angry. I'm not fat in any sense of the word. In my office, I'm one of the tallest women at 5'5" and the fattest because unlike most of them, I'd be hardpressed to shop in the kids' section. The first couple of months, I looked at them and me and immediately thought I needed to go to the gym so I wouldn't stand out as much. That worked for a while but I just got tired of restricting myself to follow the status quo of the people I most hate anyways. What I has been bothering most is the attention. I've never been so openly ogled in my whole life as I've been in the past two months. The street peanut gallery has been in rare form. I've been whistled at, catcalled, yelled at, followed, pawed, and menaced because somehow they feel that I'm not a real person and just a walking Black Tail pinup. The disrespect pisses me off and I'd be too happy to Mace someone if I got the chance. Not so long ago, I was with this guy chatting about first impressions and he felt the need to add that he liked that I was stacked. What's next -- someone saying I'm built like a brick shit house? I'll admit I'm overly sensitive about things like that, but it's a dance I've been through too many times. It's always the guys you least expect that will unconsciously reveal that you're playing the role of Black Fantasy and they just want to get you naked to see if you're really different from all the other girls. (What came first: the visual images or the physical episodes of black female sexual exploitation? Are so-called "video vixens" the Venus Hottentots of the 00s? Then again, I'm just a negative cynic, so YMMV.)

But really, fuck it. I'm happy with my body despite the complaints. I'd rather look like a woman with distinguishable curves than androgynous like I did when I was 11. Especially since I'm just not built anymore to ever look like that again. And old saying is that a time comes in a woman's life when she has to choose between her ass and her face. I choose both with a slice of cheesecake...and a burger.

Briefly

Yes, I'm still around. I've spent most of the week disgruntled, so I've been keeping it to myself.

Massive gas face going out to the local pharmacist who had to have the convo with me abot my prescription and ailments at full volume. I doubt there was one person in the place who didn't hear him query me if I knew where I had to put my stuff and ask specifically where it's going. If it was like hemorrhoid cream and/or I wasn't blase as shit, I might have been embarassed. But since it was stuff prescribed by the derm (and therefore, innocent), I couldn't be bothered to give him the satisfaction of pseudoblushing. I just kinda narrowed my eyes and glared at him. This is why I'll probably go to one of the 20 million Duane Reades around town next time. Fuck a local business (in this case).

Virtual middle finger going across the land to Farmer, disappeared for a while and coming back to whine about his love life as if I give a shit. Boo hoo...chicks on his jock as he lounges about aimlessly in a foreign locale. Cry me a river. Just to think, I was fairly fuzzy about him not so long ago. Self-centered lame ass sniffer bastard.

I'm also fairly bothered by paying almost as much to go to Miami as I did for my LA plane ticket. Last time I checked, it's way closer! But, I'll pay it because I'm sick of snow/cold and I want to see some performances and flounce around in flip flops and short sleeves. First off, I need to actually do some exercise so I don't have to drape myself in baggy clothes and pants because I find my out of shape body so unacceptable right now.

See? I shouldn't be blogging. I'm off to rustle up a good weekend. Catch you on the flip.

Go Shorty

Heartfelt happy birthday going out to Jay-V, Wes partner in drunkenness, bitchery, and internet addiction for going on 5.5 years! She's hit the big 2-4 and is keeping my seat warm on the "staring the quarter life crisis in the face" bus tour. Hope the day was a good one!

Being that my birthday is two weeks from Wednesday, I'm trying to figure out how to top last year's event. Ant and I are still into the whole Chuck-E-Cheese thing because neither of us have ever been to one and a pack of 20-somethings running around with little kids is just funny to us. Do they have some sort of an age limit there? Most of us are short(ish) at least. If I take off the boots and bind down the chest, I could pass for a tween -- especially considering I've seen some 12-year olds that look older than my mom. Too bad there's no BK around the nabe because all I really want is a cheesy crown and to be inappropriately drunk in a family friendly environment. I'm sure we'll think of something.

Like Gold

I went to a big blogger party (and a smaller one) and met a lot of bloggers. It was like every other blogger party ever -- except this one had music people and they strangely (mostly) knew who the hell I was. I'll leave the mad linking/blog fucking to someone else, but woo...the extra traffic is a little frightening I've got to say. But all in all, it was amusing and as par for the course, there was some adventure had (alas, my lips are sealed).

The main focus of the weekend was Ant and I rushing around trying to whip our place into shape before the housewarming party. Somehow, it all came off -- though my spanky new bed wasn't delivered until a hour and a half before everything got started, I wasn't even dressed with people came early (Q: who the fuck comes to a party early on a Saturday night? A: Binge drinking lamesters. They were so Ant's friends.), and I had to go and buy a shitload of beer (as if I drink that piss). I was cowering at my own party at that first wave of folks and P. Diddy and G were scared off pretty early on. But, appearances from Trendvickster, PrincessNella, Lina, Faiks, and wonderful HS/Wes friends helped me enjoy myself. We had a party freak (again, one of Ant's friends) that was following everyone around and making a nuisance of himself. Jenny played DJ with the Zen. The chillout room (a.k.a. our spare bedroom done up with candles and super massive pillows) ended up as the makeout room a certain point (tsk, tsk). The solitary barfer was pretty well contained. Not a peep was heard from a neighbor despite it going on until the wee hours because this is a post-war and the walls are thick as hell. We got mad compliments on the space and my wonderful cake. They didn't trash the fucking place and we've got liquor left over for the next blowout, i.e. my birthday pre-party in a couple of weeks. Good times, good times.

The best part of the weekend stuff personally is that there's not a solitary fucking picture out there of me, the most non-photogenic person alive, to drive me nuts for the next few months. And that Monday's a holiday. Everything else...blah.

Sunday Sessions

This weekend was rather boring and I thought it was great. Staying around the house/area for long periods of time is still a novelty thing. My main highlights were making the pilgrimage to Western Beef, dragging Ant to National Wholesale Liquidators, finding sour mix at Key Food, and finally finding the window shades I wanted at Target. Low key is especially good since this coming weekend is going to be a monster. The housewarming party is Saturday and that means we've got about five days to whip the place into shape. I'm still waiting on my bed(!) to arrive and our extra room is still a shoe/storage bin glorified closet. And there's always the wonder at how we're gonna fit the 70-something folks we invited in here if at least half show up. But, I'm making cake and we're having enough refreshments to drop an elephant, so it should be all good.

I watched the Grammy Awards natch. The good: Alicia Keyes, Usher, Southern rock medley, Queen Latifah's performance, Mavis Staples (first part) and the Blind Boys, Joss Stone and Melissa Ethridge (though I couldn't help but gasp when I saw her), Green Day. Meh at the rest -- especially "I guess we'll never know what I would've done -- cause I'm a winner!" He actually had me halfway happy for him for a split second until he let the ego back out the cage. That Across The Universe was terrible. Norah Jones is so awkward on the stage that it's really hilarious. Does she do her "uhh...I'm uncomfortable...don't look at me" shtick for her performances also? Fucking Black Eyes Peas...they didn't win anything for Let's Get Retarded I hope. Just seeing them annoys the shit out of me. I saw them in 97/98 at Roseland on the Snocore Tour (check this lineup: DJ Spooky, Black Eyed Peas, Soul Coughing and Everclear!) and it was one of the best shows I've ever seen. Their old singer was amazing and they were great performers. I can't even recognize them anymore and having an 80s Disney channel reject as a singer is even worse. The weird: Gwen Stefani looking like a shipwrecked pirate wench, the Franz Ferdinand singer guy's hair (He looked like a German Jimmy Fallon), Scott Weiland who might actually look better on drugs, Jack White looking like the undead taller Ryan Man Man, how on point the characterization of Joe Adams was in the movie Ray. I loved Ray Charles, but the sweep was a bit much. I prophecized to Ant that by the summer Jamie Foxx will be releasing a record and he'll be all over the music stations. (ETA: Was I right? Or was I right?)

There was a strange bit actually. I was hanging out with Faiks and we met up with some older Wes kids. I was being introduced to one when he was like "ohh...hey, we've met before...I'm [Crackhead]'s friend!" My eyes narrowed so quick. It was interesting that he pegged me after all these years, but it just annoyed me when he introduced me to someone else as friends with Crackhead. "Not friends per se..." I said, cautiously. Fucking weird. The paranoid in me knows that he was chomping at the bit to tell him later about the encounter. The hate is resimmering just below the surface, but as long as I don't run into that fool, all is well. But, I probably just jinxed myself...NYC is ridiculously small when you don't want it to be.

Minor Waves

"I know who you are!" he said randomly. I gave the patented "huh?" look and played dumb.

My first mistake was mentioning the blog. I usually avoid that sort of thing with strangers. I do this whole blogger thing in a bizarro way. I'm not necessarily anonymous because it really wouldn't take much effort to know my last name (as is the case when you're doing interviews and shit) and y'all already know what I look like -- I mean, hello, step back from your computer and my face is right there. But, I'm also not trying to be overly stalker friendly either and I strip a lot of things out. And I'm so not up on the whole blog networking thing. That's a personal problem I suppose.

This situation was a little unique. The scene: where I've been hanging out too late on a school night one Wednesday a month for a while now. The guy who was outing me wasn't necessarily an unfamiliar face. I'd had a eureka moment about him the first time I ever went there, but I was playing that close to the chest. I wasn't necessarily waiting to be cornered like I ended up, but I wasn't going to make a random dummy out of myself for kicks either. I've run into him plenty of times being that he's a friend of some newish friends of mine. We've been casually introduced but he said he didn't remember.

I was at the party in a chatterbox mood. I'd run into that friend of a friend and I forgot for a min that musicians can be sensitive when I mentioned his resemblance to Leisure Suit Larry at that show (btw, does no one else but me and a handful of kids my age remember that? Is it one of those things that unless you're an '80s baby, you've got no clue?). He wasn't really amused and asked my feedback on costuming. My constructive criticism skills have been waning since Wes times because I know what I like and what I hate but I just don't care enough to be helpful in my old age. I was also on some ADD shit. Oh hey, it's The DJ! Chatter, chatter, chatter. Oh hey, friends of The DJ I met last week...chatter, chatter. What can I say? I was in a good mood. I'd taken a sick day and I was relaxed for the first time in too long. The fact I had a drink of my own making (read: more like paint thinner than a regular drink) at home didn't hurt much.

I found myself jumping into a convo about that artist I love to hate...no, the other one. I totally went off and mentioned having a blog in the middle of my tangent. Suddenly, he gave me a funny look and said: "I know who you are!" I went into "deny, deny, deny" mode with "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your AIM name is Jamirakid, right?" "No."
"You've got a South Park character on your page..." "No..."
"Your blog is all color and black and white..." "Uh...no. What does that even mean? You're giving me a headache."
"You blog a lot about the shows you go to and Prefuse..." "I do not blog about shows I go to, Prefuse maybe...uhh, no. You're just wrong!"
"No, I know you. I know exactly who you are...and I know you know exactly who I am. I just can't remember your blog name...tell me what it is?"
"Okay dammit, fine...maybe you do know. I know who the hell you are too."

And then he told me how he made the connection between where we originally came across each other (definitely not as terrible as my crypticness is making it sound. It's really not that serious. It has a lot to do with the last time I was outed actually.) and blogger me by stumbling onto the old version of KP. BTW, can I go back to being semi-under the radar and not giving a fuck again? This was actually a funny story but I've edited it to be as bloodless as possible to cover my own ass a bit. Just look at the tone change between outing #1 and #2. Regardless, just imagine me yesterday squirming and being totally unconvincing in my denials, while pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. It was a total farce, but great for a laugh once I finally fessed up. He said that he's a music blog escapee and now I want a URL (natch), so I can be a nerd and we can be on the same playing field at least. He even urged me to write this up. Good thing because my sidebar was in an unsightly place and I've been too lazy to write lately. (Oh, don't let that last post fool you. I'm not the slightest brokenhearted. That was putting down a lame horse.) But cheers to him (sorta) for amusingly blowing up my spot, not so much for promising not to mention it with a "who would I tell?" and dropping bits to almost everyone. He did turn me on to Google having an SMS search and a new place (mmm...regional Carolina sauces...) to go this weekend when Ant and I are on our eating our way through the hood tour.

He's cool enough for a non-collect call responding punk (bitter? me? never...ah just kidding. It was hilarious and random fun) and it helped the night stay interesting at least. The DJ rerevealed himself to be sniffer and I think I'm gonna find better things to do having learned a little something from the Farmer episodes. All in all, typical misadventure.

Growing Pains

I've been preoccupied with reassessing and redefining. Last week was emotionally rough as it seemed everything kept getting so twisted around that I lost my own perspective.

The theme of that week was disappointment. I actually expected to be rewarded for being a cheerleader, but was told I should be happy for it if I got offered the scraps. And after a year and a half of navigating the twists and turns, Farmer and I got to the end of the road and I've decided to walk on alone. Is it strange that the conclusion of both of those episodes has made me kind of relieved? I think I've been working hard at changing myself for the better here yet those things were definite throwbacks to when I did bullshit for the sake of the angst and time-wasting and "adventure." I'm been feeling beyond that and finally my actions are catching up to the words.

The highlights were looking forward to next month. A year older plus WMC, ho! It's cool to be on the fringes as people you know are making moves. Friend D came out of left field with wanting me to do PR for his record, even though: a) I'm no publicist b) as if I'm not totally clueless on where to start. (Still, it's not worth tripping over because they say such strange things when they want your attention.) And there's The DJ in my sights anew because I've knocked some sense into myself. In what universe is being shy a crime, considering all that came before?

And so it goes. My world still turns with some dead weight dropped off. I might be on blog vacation for a min though.

Moving Along

Says The Peanut Gallery, "what's that blog meta shit about? We don't really care. Can we move along please to things that would make our time wasting go faster please?" "Sure, no probs," says I, the proprietress.

Two weeks into the new place and things are going sorta swimmingly. Ant and I are having fun and trying to work out a system for household things. We're a couch and a futon away from being totally furnished. We finally got the gas and electric switched over to avoid some pesky blackout type sitches (I'd like to joke that we don't cook, but I was all over the stove last week. The oven, on the other hand, is for pot storage. That probably won't change until around the Housewarming when I bake a cake or something. Or just act like I did and pick up something from a local supermarket. But, pretend you didn't read that.) and the cable/(legal) net/phone triple whammy (courtesy of Cablevision who just added our block last week) is coming this weekend. Apartment life during the blizzard was sure toasty, but I was climbing the walls after being stuck in the house from just after work Friday night to off to work Monday morning. The wireless kept drifting in and out and we were running around trying to find ideal signal positions. We're gonna suck it up and pay $30 a month cause it really isn't worth all the hassle.

Seeing the neighbors has been an interesting experience. On the move in, everyone just kinda glanced at us struggling to carry things up. One girl queried which apartment I was setting up in. Everyone's fairly nice and I think a little surprised that a black person moved into the building when that's generally not the trend on the block as a whole. When the super showed me the place, he was almost excited by that. It's pretty much an all black building minus Ant and the rumored (until today) white girls across the hall. Everyone else seems like families who've lived there for years and I'm sure they're paying better rent than we do.

What's being irritating me most (besides the creepy guy diagonally across who looks at me up and down like a steak on a plate and was strangely hovering in our open doorway waiting for someone to come out on the move in day) is this barking shit of a dog who lives across the hall. Every time I hit the landing, it starts barking its head off and generally getting on my nerves. To say the least, I'm not really fond of dogs. I tend to run into the psychos of the family and have a scar on my face to prove it. I wrote the fucker off as a yappy little thing with a Napolean complex and that was that until today.

I was running late and coming down the stairs to the 3rd floor when I saw a girl who could only be the white girl across the hall, known from today forward as That Stupid Neighbor Bitch, with her dog. Which is a fucking Rottweiler. That was looking at me like "ooh...breakfast!". And walking around with no leash.

I froze and tried to crack jokes. "Oh...let me guess. You live in 16, right?"
She nodded and played with her little monster who was watching my ass like a hawk.
"And that must be your dog. He's always barking at me."

"Oh...haha...yeah, this is her. She barks at everybody." (Hmm...wonder why.) "Don't be scared, she's a sweetie." (Lifted from the pages of So Your Dog Is A Psycho...Owner's Manual)

I laughed hollowly and walked through the landing. As I was walking down the next flight of stairs, I look back to see that fucking dog following me and looking at me evily from the top of the stairs. Gulp. "Uh...can you get your dog please?" I said with more than a touch of hysteria in my voice.

"Sorry," she replied in a tone you'd say "bummer" or "fuck off." Stupid bitch.

It was only fitting to me that she was a stupid hipster with a skunk streak in her hair and wearing fucking legwarmers, for Christ's sake. Hipsters are the only thing I hate more than dogs after all. Regardless, I think I held my breath until I was safely outside. I had a flash of her letting the dog rip me to shreds and then saying "oh, bad girl, no doggie treats" over my mangled body. If it kills me, I'm gonna haunt her ass. I'm serious.

Limbo

(Before I get into it, I've actually updated my page o' mp3s to grab because I love.)

Over the weekend, I was cross legged on the floor surrounded by papers, keepsakes, and all sorts of accumulated crap from the past few years of my life. There's that book about the puritan family I couldn't unload from my US History class. A little wallet sized photo of me in my pink princess prom gown. Graduation program. Yearbooks. That photo of me and The Ex that I still love. LA pics. Me, Ant, and Farmer at Union Pool. Do I need Find Law printouts from the DC program...shit, almost three years old? Yes...no...maybe.

I'm mentally moved into our little walkup place, but I'm physically boxed up in Queens. As terrible as it sounds, I almost didn't realize Monday is a holiday until I got an email about it at work. I've got the long weekend to get my stuff in and nest a bit.

I made a harrowing trip through town with Grandmastah H's lent air mattress strapped to my back. I couldn't even be too stoked that I made it door to door from the West Village in 25 minutes because that fucking thing felt like it weighed 25 pounds. I was doubled over in pain at Underhill, almost unwilling to walk the extra half block. But, I made it and faced down my new apartment nemesis: the tricky lock before inflating the fucking thing and collapsing. All the while, I was thinking "I can't die out here. I've got to get home first." Because that place already feels like home. Probably because home is where your money vanishes into thin air.

The weekend was pretty low-key. I've been rolling lean and staying out of sight because $10 can only take you so far once you've gotten used to being limitless. Saturday though I found the best parties ever. What I like to call "that crazy motherfucker going apeshit" party at the Knit. I was surprised to see it so underpopulated but the man is unstoppable -- DJing and scatting with horn players and percussion. I love that shit and I was amused at the yuppies just in for a drink who were glancing at the stage like "what the fuck is going on over there?" I like an element of "what will that crazy do next?" at a concert. Most shows are the same old setups and proceedings, so a dash of zaniness adds a little something. Plus they've got cider on tap there. I'm all about enjoying a glass of not!Beer for a cheap.

From there, I was up at Starfoods for this. I was doing the old sitting off to the side and taking it all in routine, but the music was so ridiculous. I love that party but something about it makes me feel inhibited. Perhaps it's the feeling of social claustrophobia as I see the same old friends of friends plus randoms I've met along the way. For a city of millions, I see the same 30 people everywhere I go. Maybe I'm just burrowing deeper and deeper into the scene, even as I "branch out," or perhaps maybe this is all there is. As I've been mentioning a lot (only on the web, I don't know anyone who'd care in real life), MF Doom was supposedly there also. I think that's neat because what little I know about him, I feel cool to be somewhere he might be. Compared to if it was like, I dunno...Fabulous -- one of the reasons I haven't gone to Gustavino's (does that place even still exist?) ever again. Of course, me being cameraless -- no mugging with him. Not that I'd know him if I fell over him. I know he's black and that's about it. I've got no identifying features besides that...which is kinda the point, I suppose. At least I can admit I'm fronting in this situation. I'm good for talking to someone I guess I should know as a music fan sort, i.e. running into the Greenskeepers guy when I fucking love them, and being all "duh...blah blah let's talk about bullshit and I'll kick myself later." Or looking right at them and not reacting at all (hey, Rufus Wainwright!). Ah well. At the end of the day, they're just regular folks. I've had my one lifetime "famous" person spazz episode, it's all whatever after that.

On To The New

Happy 2005, everybody! 2004 was a bit meh, here's to hoping it can only get better instead of worse!

I started my New Year's Eve traipsing across Queens and Brooklyn to meet up with Ant and the management company man. We read and signed and read and signed and read and nitpicked and signed. Exchanged checks for keys and papers. And with some finals handshakes, Ant and I became official residents of Brooklyn. We made our way from Boro Park to Prospect Heights, strolling up Flatbush and deciding that the birthday dinner (just over 3 months and counting) shall be held at Chuck-E-Cheese this year because...well, just because. (We were amused by the imaginary exchange: "So, how old are you this year, erm...little girl?" "Oh, 24.") We had a good old southern food lunch on Vanderbilt, murdering our food upon sniffing. We're very excited about all the stores in the area. We went to the place to guestimeasure rooms and confer on where furniture would go. This week, I measure for real. Next weekend is move in. Yay for us! And I spent everything I had in the bank minus $30 to get to this point. Not so yay!

New Year's Eve proper was rather anti-climactic. I dragged my feet and ended up where I wanted to be later than I planned. I had my first of 3 train rides with stupid kids running off at the mouth trying to start fights. WTF was up really with all the 16 year olds on the loose last night? In my teenage days, I knew I'd either be in watching Dick Clark on the TV, at a party with the folks, or someplace random like church. I sure as fuck wouldn't have been roaming the streets in a pack of knuckleheads. Later on that night on the G, two groups actually did get into a fight that other adults, being more benevolent than me (who just raised an eyebrow and then laughed at first with the folks sitting across from me), broke up. But when the group of little white kids (plus one boy of interminate ethnicity who had been getting angry that he was getting "played as a punk"), cowering in fear not mins before until the black girls who had been getting ready to open a supersized can of whoop were subdued, started talking smack now that it was safe again, I screamed on them to shut the fuck up since they were underaged little shits causing drama and we all should just let the girls beat the smirks off their stupid faces. And they did.

I rang in the New Year with my comp glass of Andre in Subtonic of the screwed up toilets, darkness, and DJ who was too busy playing Black Box (or something equally as random) to realize it had been 2005 for about 3 mins before he started the countdown. I had to quickest ride from Delancey to Bedford-Nostrand (like less than 15 mins) and strolled into the party at Jenny's invite. There were mini-cupackes, people! Cupcakes + alcohol = triple plus good in the Candice book. Listening to music, talking...I had fun. I made a half-hearted attempt to check out a party on 14th and then realized that I was definitely okay with going home at 4am. And the best part was not spending a fucking dime all night long! Return to the frugal crafty ways of back in summer/fall '03 era? Perhaps. Viva '05!

Un Hypoth�tique

So I know this girl, who I'll call Randice, and her roomie-to-be, named Mant, who have this pretty cool apartment lined up and are all set to start the moving in this weekend. The management company man has put across that for the signing they need first, last, and security which is pretty much standard here. The place is all big and rent-stablized, near the park and in a pretty neat neighborhood. The catch is that Randice's mom works for Housing Court and when she told her about the sweet deal, she replied that not only is the rent too much but it's technically illegal to ask for 3 months upfront because for a stabilized place it should only be 2. So now, Randice and Mant are pissed but nervous because how should we, erm, they proceed? Should they let him know they know he's trying to pull a fast one and let the cards fall where they may? Should they suck it up and sign and be happy they found a place they love? Or follow Randice's mom's advice: sign and pay, but file a complaint with housing people for a rent readjustment and return of the extra fee? Dilemma, dilemma!

ETA: I've been mulling on this all weekend because shit, I'm worried...about Randice's situation. I actually started a CL housing forum topic about it. Look at all those responses!

I Swear I Didn't Say "What Else Can Happen?"

So here I was about to lament the worst week that just finished. Lost my work passcard! Party on Monday killed my will to leave the house (besides work) until Saturday! All I did was go home and go to sleep but still felt exhausted! [censored]! I had decided to go ultra "bah humbug" and say "fuck Christmas shopping" altogether! Fuck guys...they're ridiculous! Ant and I are waiting on pins and needles for Mr. Would-Be Landlord! And then, I lost my wallet in some way I can't even understand (the only thing to be happy about is that I cut up my credit cards years ago, so I don't have to report those. But, I've got to get a new ID and gym card and insurance cards and SS card and bank card...which is the best part because a new one will be here in 5-7 business days and meanwhile, the telephone lady suggested I can like go to the bank and write a check to myself. With no ID? Yeah right, honey! It's gonna be fun trying to figure out how to get new all of those without the others.)!

Today was looking up sorta. Nice train nap and the door at work was open, so I didn't have to get buzzed in like the jackhole I am. And then my boss announced that my poor co-worker on leave to be with her mom who had cancer called in to say her mom had died. Eek.

Season's greetings? Is this year over yet?

La La La

Fucking shit. There need to be 30 hours in a day. I'm not even that busy but I don't have time for a thing.

So, lately I've been interviewed (along with Jay-V, but she was the lucky one with a quote. Bitch!). I've developed a strange addiction to Craig's List (you might want to know, but I don't plan on elaborating further. Deflecting, Rants and Raves is a fascinating place. What strange thoughts lurk in the minds of people!). DC was fab, thanks for asking! As the person who could've given the least amount of shit about U2, it figures I would find myself face to face with the slowest moving truck in the universe yesterday on my way to Whole Foods. I'm working myself up to pitch (and trying to grind out what gigs I already have). I'm trying to be the only person in my office without the sniffles. Farmer coming to visit is something I might be looking forward to a bit too much. Moving announcements are imminent. Next year, I'm planning to hit Miami, Mexico, and Hawaii before the year is up. I think this might be the one holiday season in memory where I don't think I'm missing out. Singlehood is a blissfully underrated and fun path. I think I'm too selfish to ever settle down again and I'm okay with that. (Declarations to be made void any week now when drama begins anew. O sweet flighty bird of youth!)

Meanwhile, NYC is fun again. Fall is one of my fave seasons. What I lack in sheer quantity of choices is made up by quality nights out -- either alone or with friends. I've rediscovered some sort of joy to wandering around again. Quite nice.

A highlight was the Man Man show at NYU the other week. Though I spent most of the show wondering was I ever as young (-acting and otherwise) as the kids in the crowd (because I've apparently bypassed 23.5 and gone straight to 65), I was in hysterics at the antics of the band. It's been a while since I've seen a show of theirs and also one where the people on stage were into having a good time and playing their stuff with enthuasiasm. Sincere joy at being there is also an underrated thing. It was nice to take time off from the shows, gaining local and far-flung converts, and then to go back and have an honest to goodness good time. Viva Man Man! Buy their shit!

Also, the most interesting search that led to this little corner lately has been "Morgan Geist blog." Does one exist? It should. He's pretty interesting -- at least this article makes me think so. I think it's fascinating when musicians have them. I, casually obsessive fan, love hearing about the creative process/random bullshit. The Prefuse news page/musings is tops. 1 Prefuse page = (KP Blog golden moment)^50 in my book.

Ho Hum

*whisper* Can I go back on vacation? Or can we at least speed up this end of year thing and bring on the holidays? Work is fucking torture for real. I'm starting to feel again like I did before I left, i.e. frowny and hating everything. I'm still heavily into "LA was awesome!!!" mode and have more comments and pictures to give y'all, but being stuck at work all freaking day all week is an energy zapper and sucks my invisible nuts.

And Fizzie is gone! Wah! And men are clowns...and I'm a silly little clown myself. But on the flip side, I get to run the town with Alex and he's going to help me be less of a bumbling fool. And the kids and I put down a deposit on a massive ass place in Astoria (cross your fingers!). So, unless someone up there hates me, stuff's going to work out fine. Plus this wretched year is almost over. I'm glad about that.

KP Hearts LA

Most amusing now that I'm reacquainting myself back to the routine is the tan thing. I think most just can't acknowledge me as tanned given that I was already, you know, pretty brown. They can't tell the difference! Their eyes aren't made to detect slight gradations of brown! Browner is still brown! Ms. Mommy, on the other hand, is just playing contrary. She can't acknowledge me as darker because she can't acknowledge me as around 10 lbs lighter because then she'd have to give me a point or something. The woman is obstinate beyond belief, folks. One person who had no problem noticing was PrincessNella who broke into the convo I was having at the maybe place with the broker with "my God, you're so dark!" I gave her a "WTF?" glance and the man wondered if we doing some sort of private blackspeak, so I translated that she thinks I'm really tanned. Because I am. A lot. Nothing wrong with the brown.

(Administrative note: The above has nothing to do with anything. And there's gonna be at least 3 posts about the damned trip. The sightings, the crazy/typical KP shit, and an all pics post. Just letting you know. Jay-V made me promise to split it up into morsels to protect everyone's eyesight.)

Los Angeles has always sorta called me. (And yes with that, I start off the first of who knows how many posts with utter cheesiness. Can we tell I haven't been writing a damned thing of substance lately? Yeah, thought you could. Moving along...) I felt about LA the way people envision New York City: I wanted to see if the hills were as high, beach was as golden, people were as gorgeous, weather was as beautiful as they made it out to be on TV. I wanted to experience the Walk of Fame, see movie stars, get some sun, and maybe pull a Lana Turner in a soda shop. I'm a person prone to immersion so as the real estate hunt turned me into a Curbed fanatic, thinking of LA got me practically breathing LA.Comfidental, LAist, and naturally Defamer. I was so very ready when I got there.

I started off staying with old friend C and experienced enough of the Metro train system to last me a lifetime. I didn't come to town with a plan per se. I wanted to see as much as I could, focusing on leisure activities: beach, night travels, shopping, touristy shit. Am I an uncultured clod because I vetoed museums with hardly a pause? No, but I might be if I say "fuck that shit because I can see it at home?" Perhaps. The way I explore a town is to experience it on the ground, hoofing it up. LA was like an extended suburb, almost impossible to do anything without a car. Thursday we rented one and were off and running, but I still had the most fun strolling around Hollywood Blvd (in the reminiscent of Times Square without so many sheep Walk of Fame area), the boutiques on Melrose (I heart Sportie LA, even if I hemmed and hawed and ultimately left the sneaks I had my eye on. Kitty Power always gives it up to good service. Oh, and fine salesguys.), and The Grove. Midway through the trip, I moved over to The Roosevelt to get a new start on my vacation and fed off the energy of being in the center of Hollywood. I played solo explorer and was off to Santa Monica and Venice to stroll the beaches Halloween Day before spending the night aimlessly walking down the Walk of Fame and snapping pics before going to the Tortured Soul show.

Wednesday night, I rested, but Thursday I was determined to do better. Before I got out there, I had discovered the ArcLight online and read about their 12:01 am showing of Ray. I went in person to get my ticket and in the travels of the day, also saw that Raphael Saddiq was doing an in-store performance and signing at Ameoba. The show was great as usual and I got flyer signed. As I got up to him, this guy came from behind the stage and started talking to him. A store employee was heated and revealed that they had kicked that guy out earlier for whatever reason and that he had apparently worn a costume(!) to get back in. My only question was: "Uh, I can still get my thing signed, right?" All about the priorities. I went back to the homestead briefly before heading out. Star Shoes: cool concept/space, blah "early" crowd. The Room: my, what scary entrance alley you have! I braved it and the place was nice. Solo me stuck out like a sore thumb, so I moved onto my movie. Jamie Foxx and his leading ladies were really great. The actress who played the mother was beyond awesome. But, I thought the movie itself was kinda tv movie clunky...and that ending, please. Still good though.

To add some variety into the mix, I prowled LA Craig's List and found an activity partner to go out with Friday. We met up at this place in Los Feliz and I was really blown away by it. My new pal S was super chill also. I didn't even mind hearing those dreaded words: "So, I read your blog." I just laughed and laughed. Things like that aren't really bothersome to me as much anymore: 1) hello, it's the internet. 2) when I have my personal domain as my email domain, I'd be surprised if someone wasn't curious. 3) it's not like I write anything especially revealing on here anymore. I've got another one for that. So, we chilled and drank before I made a Man Man convert out of him (shouldn't I negotiate a commission for bicoastal shilling?) heading down to Hollywood for a party I'd heard of online. A Bushwick...excuse me, East Williamsburg warehouse art party was airlifted to California for the night! I noted amused that if Fizzie was there, he'd just say "you've got to be fucking kidding me." Actually, it was like a Delancey party in a Knitting Factory Main Space room. The night's performers were Dance Disaster Movement. S and I conferred that it was cool that two guys were the whole band and stuff, but fuck, get another guy so the spazzy singer/keyboardist/drum machine manner can be as spazzy as he wants to be without worrying about changing the beat. Plus, it's just visually boring to just have two guys sorta jerking around but really too busy multitasking. From there, pizza and random conversations with drunkards. Definitely the most NY night ever outside of NYC.

Saturday night, I entertained myself by laying my massive fluffy king sized hotel room bed and resting my nerves. Yeah, that's really it. The daytime was just a lot, but there's a fire hydrant in Silverlake that won't be giving anyone nasty looks again. I spent a long time at a gas station waiting for a cab and a Mexican Boss Hog took it upon himself to holler as I spoke with Jay-V on the phone. "My truck is turquoise," he said. I stared at him quizzically and relayed the words to Jay. "And your earrings are turquoise too. Look, we've got something in common!" "Uh...that's great. Did you hear that shit?"

Sunday, I was up bright and early to go to the Grove and return an impulse buy from two days earlier. I'd gone into Lucky Brand on a whim and been so excited that something fit in the palace of the no ass and hips allowed that I bought it on the spot. $100 for a pair of jeans? Ixnay big time. From there, I took a leisurely bus ride to Santa Monica and then Venice. I had a massive sun headache on my return trip, but I was happy because I haven't been to a beach in years. I did a little wading in the water and was just happy to walk on the sand. I got plenty pf pictures of Santa Monica Pier, Arlington West, and other beachfront sights.

Back in Hollywood, I napped before the night's activities. I vetoed a Halloween costume and strolled the streets in the unearthed white blazer, camera in hand. I caught up in the creeping herd on Hollywood Blvd and was amused by the cops' weary: "there's no parade over here and nothing to see, people. The parade is in West Hollwood. Just. Keep. Moving." The point of the night for me was a pilgrimage. I was off to Deep. When I first got back home post-Wes, all I ever wanted to do was dance. That's something that's ingrained me. Much of this year has been hard because one day the spark just ran away. I'd been hearing about Tortured Soul for a long time but something always came up when they were playing a show around town. I figured the combo of some hardcore house music and good band would have to light a fire under my ass.

And of course, I was right. I was all over the place. Most awesome party. Fucking kickass band! (So much so that now I kinda find myself disappointed to listen to their studio tracks. The live spark is totally missing from these recordings. They sound sorta sterile in comparison. Which sucks.) The crowd's energy was crazy. On Sunday night (though everything ending at 2 makes things way easier to go nuts on a pre-work night), the place was packed and going strong. The DJ was great also and I was all in the middle of it, dancing, taking pics, meeting randoms. You know how I do. I even got a t-shirt.

I really got a kick out of LA overall. I spent too much money and I didn't see half of the place, but it was crazy fun. It was nice to get some sun before coming back here and to today's 30mph winds (what the fuck, man?). I'll be going back there sooner or later. Maybe I'll escape a NYC summer of frying like an egg on the sidewalk for a min. We'll see.

Stating The Obvious

Well, I'm mad as shit. I actually had to stop checking the results last night because I was getting so pissed off that veins were throbbing and I feared a stroke coming on. Fuck a goddamned Bush.

For the intrepid ones amongst us, here's a helpful tidbit from that CNN article making the rounds:

Those wishing to move to Canada could always take a risk and claim refugee status -- the path chosen earlier this year by two U.S. deserters who opposed the Iraq war.

"Anybody who enters Canada who claims refugee status will be provided with a work permit...it doesn't matter what country they're from," said an immigration ministry spokeswoman.

And a nice lovely transcript to make me feel safe. We're so fucked.

But, did anyone hear about the lovely snowstorm in Texas? Hell has done frozen over. Let's hope we live to see 4 more years.

The Departure

Before I spend the next god-knows-how-many posts doing a post-mortem on the LA trip, I should mention that my dear friend Fizzie, partner-in crime, interviewee, and drinking buddy extraordinaire, has finally stopped resisting the call of The Bay and is out as of this weekend. I'm channelling my extreme sadness into a party Thursday night at Sapph. Come one, come all, drink with us!

(I suppose I should say where Sapph is and all that, but as much as I talk about it, if you don't know, I don't know what to tell you!)

The Return

I'm baaaaack.

I touched down circa midnight and I'm exhausted. I'm browner and have a strange desire to wear my cool new sunglasses everywhere though it'd be a real waste of time here. The grand plan for Tuesday, the last day before I go back to the grind, is sleep and apartment browsing. And voting, natch.

I see y'all were here looking at something or another for the past week and change, but did anyone actually miss me while I was gone, goddamit? Sheesh.

LA Story

To say that L.A. has been an experience is the ultimate understatement of the year. Trip highlights: The Grove. Seeing the famous sights. Bad drivers. A Man Man convert. Seeing famous folks. El Pollo Loco. Seeing the hotel room for the first time. Pounding the pavement. The "subway." Old ladies at bus stops. Being hollered at by a Mexican Boss Hog. Cabs. Unknowns on the walk of fame. Ameoba. The Sunset and Vine sign. Seeing Ray. And meeting Ray-Ray.

But there's two more days. Tomorrow, Tortured Soul and Halloween Fest. Tonight, I just want to rest my nerves.

Welcome To La La Land

The one thing I really forgot about getting myself all worked up about this vacation is that it probably helps not to really hate flying when you're expected to um, fly across the country. I always find the planes are never big enough when the lovely tin can being smacked across the skies scenarios start. I sat in my seat, eyes closed and hand squeezing a water bottle into an unrecognizable shape. The plane bobbed, weaved, and dropped and passengers around giggled in that hysterical way people do to keep from crying. I fucking hate flying. I also hate that lady who was sitting behind me and having a running commentary on everything from take off. "whoa...look at that cloud...that looks like Ontario Mills Mall...blah blah Bush...blah blah someone punch me in the face because I don't have an off button." Her comment on the big drop that made me and the girl next to me feel really ill: "well...that was a big one." Sheesh. I really had to stop myself from climbing over the seat and throttling her.

Then again, I got no sleep and I'm still tired. But, I'm in LA. Tell me why it feels like NYC fall day here? I want some beach gazing weather! On the agenda is a fast food tour and doing my best to recreate my NYC party life. And hopefully meeting new folks. Do Angelenos bite? Are drinks cheap? Does everything really shut down at 2am? I'll find out that and more in between now and Monday.

Is This Thing On?

Hey, do you remember when this was actually a real blog with more than daily writing and stuff? Eh...I don't either really. It's been a while.

Life has been a blur.

Work is work. Apartment hunting is apartment hunting. I never get enough sleep. I spend too much money. Vacation is imminent. The Zen is still the most awesome thing I've ever bought. I wonder if I've been replaced with a pod person because half of the shirts I just bought are pink. My #1 favorite boy in the whole world, Alex, has returned to these shores and I'm over the moon. I'm bummed that 2004 partner-in-crime extraordinaire Fizzie will be returning to the West Side mere days after I return from the LA trip. I suck at pool. I'm good at diffusing drunken bar fights. I need a Halloween costume. I've got 3 days to pack and clean. My hair is a fried out mess. The weight fluctuates. I still don't write enough. I've lost interest in all the fall prospects. I've got a lot to do before jetting off.

Life plods on. But, I promise to update more often.

The World Keeps Turnin

It's my blog and I'll not blog if I want to. Don't worry, I haven't actually been up to much of anything anyways.

This was a big drift weekend. The theme of the weekend was college, wandering with kids, doing up the house party thing. I got lovingly yelled at Friday for being MIA from that branch of Wes friends and enjoyed seeing everyone after such a while. Saturday was off uptown with Trendvickster and her school friends, trying not to sneer at the ghetto fabulous party theme. No, don't ask me for approval on your costume, you shit. But, it is amusing to know that ghetto fabulous in that universe means bandanas, track pants, and sweat bands. Oh yeah, they roll mad deep in Scarsdale, yo.

Sunday night I decided to say the hell with being in bed the day before a holiday work day (grrr) like a good worker bee and ventured out to a happening. Hung with Jenny and friend and was horrified/amused by the freaky dancer guy trying to get all up in my space. We taunted Bill by calling him a party killer and I found myself strangely in a dance off. I lost -- but only because I was wearing 3-inch boots and backed into a corner. I call rematch! Was good times though.

Work has been eating my time and attention this week. I may *jinx* be in line for a promotion after only a little over 5 months. *jinx* The whole thing has been random and fast and I've been trying to put on my good face yet be me at the same time. I can think of an equal amount of pluses and minuses for getting or losing out. A few for new position are: more money than I can shake a stick at (+) and the satisfaction of being really successful doing shit my own way (+), but also if you think I've disappeared in the past couple of months, you haven't seen anything yet (-) and I'd be losing the account variety for one massive one with a self-identifying micromanager. Joy. (-) I'm waiting and seeing what happens now. ETA: I jinxed myself just like I knew I would. Didn't get it. I'm sorta disappointed, but ah well. Life goes on.

Regardless, I plan on coasting through the rest of the month -- though this week has the possibility to be a little hectic. (Woo...CMJ and other music related stuff!) At the end of the month, I'm finally finally going on vacation. My last real one was the Florida trip from hell with the psychotic French and this one is going to La La Land to visit recent transplant and pal C. Interpol at The Wiltern...yes please. I was telling PrincessNella about my aspirations to get a Defamer sighting trifecta of Twitney, Lohan, and Paris and she worried about my sanity. That'd be the shit, y'all. I'd be a god on the Fametracker boards! I also aspire to meet Jason Negro Please...or at least get his recs on some hot spots in town. Actually, any- and everyone with a rec should give a shout.

Excelsior

Everything's been turning around slowly but surely.

I really can't even describe the new lease on life my Zen has given me. (Sorta sad? Perhaps.) I'm a big believer in deprivation as a means to an end. I've wanted (in no particular order) the Zen, a digicam, and a vacation more or less since I plopped back into town last July. I kept putting them off until I got a job (check), moved (working on it) and lost some of that pesky extra weight (mostly done). No point in having spare money if I can't at least do something to make myself happy for a change. So, I took the plunge and got it and I'm glad for it. Post-apartment pinning down is the LA trip to roll around town with C. Nothing wrong with doing stuff for kicks every now and again.

I was pretty hype as the week passed. Music makes my time at work pass so much faster. The only problem with that being if nothing much is going on, I zone out on the music and lose all pretense of "working." I need to work on that. Even the gym breezed by. I'm not at obnoxious iPod user codependency yet, but it's definitely omnipresent. Especially now that I figured out how to completely work it. What's really up with complicated electronics not coming with an instruction manual? For over $250, you can do a little more than give me a damned manual file on the CD.

Adding to that is that I've been on a serious healthy kick over the past month that's been paying off big time lately. Weeks of eating salads (with meat sides because I am me) before easing back into regular stuff in moderation plus quality time at the gym means I've gone down about a size and am back to pre-job weight at least. I feel great and I'm not even done. Who'd have thought I'd actually learn to like the gym? I'm thinking of trying to get down to the start of senior year single digit size. We'll see. I hate it when I'm too skinny.

It's all coming together now.

Sunny Side Up

Believe or not, people, I'm actually walking around the world smiling today. Why you ask?

I've discovered something better than angst. Better than work. Better than a double cheeseburger. Better than America's Next Top Model. Better than friends. Better than sex. Better than you.

Semi-expensive electronics. My baby is home. I'll be the one with the dreamy expression.

Just Luck

It figures that just when I felt the need to reenter the blogging ring, the net in my house was down. All weekend, I died a little on the inside and amused myself by listening to music and watching regular TV when I wasn't traipsing about town. It was nice to relax after the super stressful days of the interviewing. I think I'll stick to fiction from now on, thanks.

Special Kitty Power shouts to my interview subjects: Steven, Fizzie, Ms. Mommy, and Hani who came through late at night when I was tearing my hair out -- or in Fizzie's case, in the middle of the Knitting Factory Tap Bar post-Man Man show when we were bullshitting to pass the time. And Lindsey, one of the four I actually planned beforehand that followed through. The one thing I learned from this process was always take more than you need. The scrambling is what killed me. Next time when someone like Hashim offers to volunteer, I'll say "how quick can you get it back" instead of "I dunno if there's room." That definitely was my bad.

So, the blog is back slowly but surely. I'm bursting with things to write. Like why you so need to be on the Man Man album when it drops (October 5, people) -- it's awesome and you can see my liner notes shoutout. (Yeah baby, it pays to be a shill!) And my jammed packed Saturday which included that Dave Chappelle show in Brooklyn and dinner with Lina and randoms and a blast from the past sighting at APT. Also why L.I.C. is the best neighborhood and PrincessNella and I are gonna slide in there soon (*knock on wood*). And you know other shit. Keep watch.

Testing The Waters

What I Did On My Blog Vacation:

1. Smiled
2. Socialized
3. Spent few late nights and an early morning at work, being chained to my desk and phone
4. Still spent a lot of time aimlessly on the net
5. Discovered the good pain of the leg machine at the gym
6. Saw some shows
7. Tried a hand at writing something besides stupid blog posts
8. Kicked the apartment hunt into a higher gear
9. Played out of sight, out of mind and accepted my irrationality
10. Found myself looking forward to a heap of NYC returns.
11. Tried not to go about my days thinking about how I was going to blog it later -- and was mostly successful.

The Minor Fall

I plan to take another blogging hiatus because I have nothing good to say about anything...except that in theory 3.5 days away from the soul-sucking dungeon also known as work was glorious and my 7-min phone convo with Tino made everything about 1/3 better. Still in general, this past week and change has been the pits. (Disclaimer: Gratuitous self-flagellation and mega-sized pity party to follow. Yeah, you can skip this one)

My job is literally making me sick. Because the space is all loft-like and I sit between two vents, I get industrial strength AC and it's causing havoc on me. I literally went in with a sniffle and came out hacking and sneezing and I'm still fucked up. I also can't see the top of my desks most days and I'm abusing the "Send All Calls To Voicemail" button because I just get sick of talking to people after a certain point. And Thursday is our company picnic somewhere in Bumfuck, NJ (to be reached by a bus trip) and I'd rather jump in front of a car.

In social terms, the long weekend was an absolute bust. Jack and cokes combined with the deadly sweet mystery drinks at Sapph Thursday night had me not even contemplating doing anything Friday night. But, I couldn't get a decent night's sleep because I got about 10 calls and 3 messages from the last fool before I got tired of the 419 scene and hung up my hot pants. I haven't even seen him since March and I hope after getting no response he just loses my number. Gah. Saturday had me still kinda shaky, but getting it together to go with PrincessNella to apartment hunt in Astoria. We signed up with a broker and might get the chance to pay the equivalent of 1 month's rent to see a place we would've gotten a week ago if the present tenant wasn't a flake. Joy. The original plan was to check out a film fest I was given the heads up for by The Director (the artist formerly known as FFPGINOANP). Between checking an email from him that said he was out of town for the next month or so (killing that hope of running into him) plus the fact I couldn't get a single soul to return my call and had a depressing look at my ATM balance, I changed my mind.

I ended up back home wondering when I started hemorraging money so and observing that everything I have apparently goes to Ms. Mommy, drinks, and Whole Foods. And replacement clothes because I've finally accepted the fact that I've grown beyond the size plateau I was chilling at for a while. I got a call from Mr. Daddy letting me know that my aunt was having a holiday cookout and I decided to tag. He said he'd be by to pick me up and about 2 hours later he finally was. He's a firm believer in CPT.

We (being he, Mrs. Daddy, the little brother and I) were cruising down the Southern State in family Honda when Mr. Daddy switches lanes fast and pulls up behind this Jeep that he realized had stopped when he kinda bumped it. Then suddenly, it's rolling in reverse on top of our hood, where it ends up resting. A Jeep on a Honda. Imagine that shit. We get out quick smelling something strange and stand there and marvel at the fact an SUV is on our sedan and that we were pretty lucky that the tire stopped right before the windshield. We chat with the witnesses and look at the fools just sitting there in the Jeep (they were especially dumbass because their ruptured gas tank was sitting on our car). I call 911 and all that and an hour and a change later, after traffic is totally fucked up, the state troopers fill out their reports, and the tow trucks pull the cars apart, we continue to the aunt's house...

...where the first thing out of an older cousin's mouth is "Hey there, you look like you put on some weight." Yeah? Fuck you. Today I'm a fat cow with shot fucking nerves. Can I have some fucking food please? Oh wait, no food for me because everyone has eaten it all. The hazard when you get to even a function in my family after 10. So, I got to hear everyone tell me how fat I look since June and ask me what I've (or rather what I haven't) been eating. I swallowed the indignity of pig feet and gizzards eating folks that are twice my size calling me fat. I might be chubbier than before and it's not like I haven't noticed. I have them to blame for my subsequent diet pill/anorexia problems and I'll be sure to tell my future therapists so.

Back to the city I went after a while. I called Farmer (in town until Thursday) to see what was up. We're in a friend stage presently, only because he's playing drifter and he can't manipulate me into crashing at my house. If I was already moved, it might've played out a little differently, so let's be happy about that for a switch. He was doing something or another with his friends and I passed. I called around to my friends searching for someone to tell about the accident and my family trauma, but everyone was MIA. I travelled to Brooklyn to Jenny's party to get a little drink and give my birthday respects before going to rest my nerves at home.

Sunday was at least sedate. Another day of no one returning my phone calls and/or just blowing me off had me thinking "well fuck it, I used to do whatever by myself for so long. What's the difference now?" It just is. Every once in a while I need people. (It's a secret. Don't tell anybody.) I made a good attempt, getting food in Chinatown and wandering the LES before I began to see myself going on a bender because I was depressed and that I'd be better off just going home and to bed and saving myself the money and the calories. I also started to feel kinda bitter because it just reaffirmed this feeling I've always had in the back of my mind of being too available for people because when I need them, I'm like a ghost. It's sometimes a disadvantage to play strong and no nonsense because you're always like a social director/sounding board emotional/social prop for others. You become some mama bear nuturer type creature and you find that people are never really as open to giving back what you give. One of my fave song lines that I remember in times like this is: be a little more selfish, it might do you some good. I might try that. I'm due for an island phase. Saves a lot of time when you're only accountable for yourself.

I cruised on the bitterness parade all the way back to Queens where finally there were messages waiting. Did I care? No, not really...except for Lina's. I walked around freezing and chatting with her (strangely because it's not like I don't get reception on the bus or at home), feeling slightly better and was prompted to call Tino. I've missed the hell out of that kid and it's a shame we're both to lazy to visit...though he's trying to make it out here to coincide with the supposed upcoming Alex. The three of them are just people that I can just chat with and be buoyed just by the sounds of their voices. Though Lina's here in town, work and different schedules have had us falling off slightly. The thought of a mini-68 High reunion is a hopeful thing for me. That's about all there is.

I plan to spend my blog hiatus only mildly sulking, exercising like a fiend, and just trying to clean up house. And chill out for a change. Maybe I'll even like the world again when I come back. Doubt it.

From The Sad But True Files

Jamirakid: i made the mistake of drinking a red bull type of thing so now i'm all hyped
Farmer: yeah, I just got back from a liquid lunch
Jamirakid: lucky you
Farmer: now I want a nap but have no bed
Farmer: lol
Jamirakid: ugh...my energy just crashed big time
Jamirakid: screw the gym. i'm running straight home after this
Farmer: good plan
Jamirakid: but i won't. i need the gym i'm getting chubby in my old age
Farmer: yeah, I get lazy.. wait scratch that I have always been lazy
Jamirakid: you've got the advantage of being slim
Jamirakid: i've got bad southern genes working against me
Jamirakid: i'm about 10 hams away from lane bryant at any moment

Fit And You Know It

This is my second fall of not having to go to school -- and I'm still not missing it. As always, I miss having my friends all in one place, but school as an institution still has me burned out. At work, Jay-V and I were listing Wes food we strangely miss (mine was everything here -- mmm wings and turkey clubs, grilled chicken with cheese sandwiches, strawberry smoothees, and carrot cake slices). I spend way too much time thinking about food nowadays. Having the stress of school out of my life has packed pounds on me. How come no one warns you about the post-college 15+? Everyone I know has gained weight. Sitting on your ass all day will do that to you I guess. The real world sucks. What's up with body maintenance and all that shit?

Where I fucked up was the month or so leading up to The Closet when I just kinda stopped going to the gym. Hi, 5 extra pounds! I kinda looked at myself from the neck down in the mirror one day and screamed. My eating habits suck. I strangely don't eat much candy, cake, sweets, salty crap, and other bad things much, but I'm all about the pastas, breads, cheeses, and the like...and going back for seconds because I love them so much. And obvs, I spend too much time in front of the computer.

I've been hitting the gym with a vengeance. What pisses me off is that I'm as fit as I ever was, just carrying a little extra weight around. I want visible results! Immediately! And that's just not going to happen. In just a week or so of laying off the sandwiches and chicken and pastas from Ranch 1, the pants are loosening and I'm not so quick to hide my stomach. Keeping myself in check will be the hardest part. Must. Resist. The. Double. Cheeseburgers. I like to eat. I just need to make sure I'm sticking with the right things. It's like a process and stuff. I just want to keep the breasts. Is there some sort of non-chest working exercise I can do? Gotta keep some fat after all.

A Little Like Normal

Minus a heapload of work on my desk at the office, things are back to normal in Kitty Powerville. I've had a few good nights of sleep, I've returned to the gym, I'm back to enjoying going out -- things are looking up. Now I can move on to masterplanning the Kitty Power/Extra Medium Nightlife Collabo and adding another band to my shill list -- though I didn't even know it until today. Kitty Power loves The Art of Shooting, especially since they're the only ones who comment besides Jay-V.

I'm strangely fascinated at how this "if you mention them, they will come" aspect of blogs works. If someone can get Scott Herren around these parts (and move along destiny a little bit...woo hoo...just a little joke there), you might get firstborn naming rights.

And to be random, Since We Last Spoke has really grown on me, but the hate I feel for track 11 is blinding. The brilliance of the last one almost makes up for it. Almost.

Welcome To The 21st Century

I'm what is known as a night owl. My mother has countless stories of me acting like a vampire baby, waking up as the sun went down and closing my eyes as the pesky thing came back again. I think my brain actually kicks into gear around 10pm. But I have yet to find a career path that befits my liberal arts office lackey training that would have me keeping me own crazy ass hours, so I've got to be chained to a desk during the daytime from 9amish to 6/7pm...and god, do I love it so (in that not sort of way)!

On the last Monday in July, I had a Farmer reunion involving 3Bs I love and one I tried to avoid like the plague (for the record: burgers, booze, banter, and blow) that got me about 2 hours of sleep and home in just enough time to take a shower and go to work. The to-work train nap did not cut it and I was sitting at my desk with a massive cup of coffee really wondering if I crawled under my desk and just disappeared for a few hours, if anyone would actually notice as long as I didn't snore. I was doing my daily "yeah, I'm not working today"/"Me neither, but here's something funny online" IM chat with Jay-V and I cried out that if I had a fucking nap, I might be able to get on with the rest of the day without falling face down and drooling.

Then a light shined down on me from the heavens and I remembered this place I had read about and at the time tucked away for future reference: Metronaps. Hallelujah! I was saved! I told Jay about it and we both made appointments for that afternoon. I had brought my lunch, so I heated it up and ate it real quick so the -itis would make the nap that much better before traipsing the 7 blocks over to the Empire State Building.

The Metronaps office is all futuristic looking. I felt like I had stepped into Total Recall or something. The cute little too skinny (but aren't they all?) desk guy welcomed me with the most beatific smile I've ever seen. I was tempted to say, "is there enough room in the whatever for you to sleep with me. I like to cuddle when I sleep" (which is a big lie, btw). He led me to my Jetson pod that looked like a Lay-Z-Boy outfitted with a roof with lights and handed me my blanket. I put on the headphones at first before I realized that those "relaxing" sea sounds were giving me the creeps and took them off. I turned onto my side, thinking that the white noise machine was kinda loud and I'd never get to slee...

And the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and looking at him again, ultra disoriented. I blinked a few times and got up. I had apparently been sleeping so hard that I had ignored the lights and/or vibrating chair wakeup mechanism, so I got the walk up shake. I got up and took a stretch, walked over to the Wake Station and spritzed myself and then amazed at how fucking great I felt. I was like a whole new person. Jay was coming in as I was leaving and I babbled something or another about how wonderful it was before strolling back to work. I felt so nice that the slow moving cows on 6th Avenue didn't even bother me for a change.

Of course, work sucked the life back out of me in no time, but I at least wasn't yawning as much. Always nice to have a magic trick to make the work day a little bit easier.

(And for further reading, Jay's experience. And no, this isn't an infomercial.)

Back To Regularly Scheduled Programming

Whew...I'm back. Over the alternate schmoopiness and fit of pique (I blame the hormones) and returning to the lovable little cynic you seem to enjoy popping in on. It's gonna be touch and go on the post front because I'll barely have enough time to think over this next rollercoaster week leading up to my first paid day off ever (unless they hate me and won't let me take it).

Still, on deck are: last weekend's hijinks including the Scissor Scissors at PS 1 (in a nutshell: Elton John circa 1974 fronting Wham circa 1983 with a junior Bette Midler circa the Bathhouse days...wasn't impressed), Man Man show #874 (birthday shout to Ryan!), and sharing with you the most interesting craziest theory about musicians I've ever heard on Saturday night plus a Nuggets post and some other stuff. Cause I love y'all for reading when I don't even got shit to say...you know which is like all the time.

Notes From An Offline Life

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.

In A Few Words

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.

A Bit Gray

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.

The Sickness

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.

Girl, You Need a Change of Mind

I'm so bored with NYC.

I think I have some sort of seasonal affectation. The bright summer sun is inspiring me to be active, stay out of the house, soak up the warmth, walk and explore again. But, I'm bored as shit. I feel like I've seen everything there is to see and having my week gobbled up by sitting in a chair doing boring ass shit or alternately, being really bored because there's nothing to do, just pisses me off.

I'm ready for a vacation. I'm ready to blow town. I'm ready for something. I dunno. All suggestions are welcome.

And since I'm getting a heap of traffic lately (thank you MM and Bill), I'll use this as a forum: so PrincessNella, my dear longtime friend, and I are planning to move in together and it's looking like we'll set down stakes in Queens because of her extreme (and ridiculous) Brooklyn bias. So, if anyone knows of a nice 2 bedroom apartment up for grabs in Astoria/Long Island City/Jackson Heights/one of those nabes along the R/G/V/F/E or a "so dope she'll change her mind" Brooklyn spot or a miracle of miracles spot in Manhattan (under 72nd Street) for under $1600, give a shout. Thank you and good night.

You're Just A Squirrel Trying To Get A Nut

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa to all those who've checked in to see only quiz results and the sidebar taking over. Inertia's a bitch, man. I can't promise I'll dump a big post anytime soon, but I'll at least finish those up on deck. Work's definitely boring enough today. So, what's up with me, you ask?

I've found days and then weeks fly by in a blur while running in the rat race. I always feel like I've forgotten how to relax until Sunday when I'm chilling yet dreading another work week. As soon as I feel it, it's over. I'm losing the urge to do more than wake up, go to work, go home, stare at the glowing box (computer or TV -- either applies) until my eyes start to droop, go to bed, rinse and repeat. I'm boring and many of the things I've found myself liking to do over the past year have become boring. I've retired from 419, rarely pop into Sapph, am over shitty DJs, and bad shows, and all the trappings of being a pseudoscenester. Isn't life supposed to get more exciting as summer approaches?

In the spirit of that, I'm trying to jumpstart the social life in a big way. I'm actually going to the gym now...starting tomorrow. Actual pumping iron exercise isn't my thing (because frankly, it's boring. And I'm already diesel. Grr), so I'm all about the fun little classes. For real this time. Summerstage is starting this weekend and I plan to be a jolly volunteer. (Give a shout if you see me.) I've got to get out out out and find new spots/people/adventures. Life has been cruising around 5 lately and I need to crank it up to 11 post haste. The nest egg is still building yet we're being more realistic about the move. August 1st seems more like a plan. Now I just have to remember not to spend too much on shiny new toys.

In my old age, I've thankfully learned that people in your past need to stay there. (Excelsior, baby!) I'm also trying to step up the game a bit on things that have been dragging. Flirting on the phone and vague planning is cute, but inaction is still inaction. I always forget I've got an arsenal of grown woman weapons to play around with. Oh, Jason is my hero. I need to import his master plan to this coast.

I've got 4 days to get my shit together and commit myself to some summer fun. Should be a good one.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Group Intrepidity

Apparently for spring, I've decided to jump into group activities -- if only because I'm excited that people are finally willing to leave their house again. Hanging out also has this addition urgency of probably being the last time I can keep my crazy late schedule before entering the grind. The next couple of weeks are going to be the pits because in addition to starting the job on Monday, I'm also going to be a volunteer. Then again, don't cry too much for me. Free movie screenings, ho!

PrincessNella has been using her new gym membership to also spur me into being a gym bunny. That's a type of thing unlikely to happen because though I don't actually mind exercise and I'm not that out of shape really, getting there is truly the hardest part for me. Besides, I'm still bitter about my relationship with the devil, so gyms are kinda on my shit list. Last Wednesday though, we went to this fun little reggae workout class where I amused myself learning the video dances and having deja vu to West African Dance class without the teacher yelling at me.

From there, across town to Chelsea Piers where J. Monkey was throwing a shindig for work. God, we love free drinks! Especially when it comes with a show and a good cause behind it. We added Lina to the group and trekked through Chelsea in search of food before settling on burgers at a deli on 8th Avenue and some quiet chill time at 419.

Friday, Lina and I were off to some sort of art collective party that friends from work invited her too. The party consisted of people that were just about sick of seeing each other, so we were popular. Though more interested in staking out the food table. Good dumplings! We took our leave after a while though everyone stood in the same places they had been when we had arrived with no sign of leaving. They made us promise to check the next "party." Umm...we'll consider it. Then, we were off downtown to meet with school kids her year. I wondered if I can be considered classist because I straight up rolled my eyes when this kid who had been talking forever about how downtrodden he was all of a sudden started invited people to the opening of his summer home. Wes kid, through and through. I invited Grandmastah H and B down to where we were so I wouldn't stab myself with my keys. The boys were entertaining as always and I've forgiven GH for his birthday party mistake. In form, he scoped out my friends and encouraged me to be proactive in securing a cute one for him.

"I'm not a pimp, you know," I said. To which he replied, "I'm not really asking you to pimp. Just be helpful." And I explained to him that beyond introducing and giving space if they hit it off, I take a hands-off approach. No point in getting someone pissed off if they're not interested, you know?

Saturday found PrincessNella and I at a party at a place I've been meaning to get to for a minute. On our way there through the darkness, I've remembered why Williamsburg never really caught on with me. 1) They're not big on street lights considering you're traipsing through gloomy, abandoned-looking industrial areas, which is connected to 2) the place isn't very "I'm just gonna trek alone" activities which is the base for most of my intrepid activities. And 3) the whole neighborhood seems to travel in packs which reminds me of college, that therefore annoys me, and makes me stand out more when I'm flying solo. But, we found ourselves amused by the place since it reminded us of our HS gym, complete with mattresses covered to resemble mats and bleachers. It was like the 9th grade dance with more people, better music, and alcohol drinks you didn't have to hide from teachers (not that I did that sort of thing. I was a saint back in the day, let me tell you.).

Taking a phone call ended up being a momentous event. I had Dodgeballed my location to jog the memory of the MIA P. Friendster who I was supposed to hang with and he gave a ring like I knew he would. I escaped from the noisy gym floor to chat where it was quieter near the entrance. A kid passing by did a double take and stood near my left as if he had something to say. I looked at him quizzically to see if I could place him, but no dice. Then coming up on my right was someone I did recognize. It was the villian from a movie I'm ashamed to have seen in the theater (well, not really. It was free!) -- and current Paper most beautiful person listee among other movies I know him for. So, I'm struck with the urge to say the line (they're all comedic really, but this one was beyond the pale in that moment) that had Ant and I dying in the theater. In case you haven't seen it (you poor thing), he's playing a Dave Meyers-type video director who pushes up on Honey a little too much before he gets the 5 across the face. His reply to that is: "Bitch, how you gonna play me like that?" but in this funny pseudothug voice. I almost laughed until I cried. So, I'm talking to P all "oh shit, he's standing right next to me and he's short like all actors are in real life, but yo, I'm dying to say that line or at least say I like his stuff" and P's all "do it! do it!" Strangely, at that moment, who walks by but Abe. We chat for a min and he says he's on a recon mission for the still open bar and I ask him to pick up a vodka cranberry for me if he finds it (but I never see him again. He drank my drink!).

Eventually, I get off the phone and don't say anything to David, though I run into him about 4 more times all over the place. PrincessNella and I get stopped by the guy from my left at the door who did think he knew me, but I definitely didn't. He and I chat in highly excitable tones and I make a new friend. Always fun. We switched numbers and have plans to find each other on Friendster and eventually see New York Minute (hopefully altered) in the theater. Plus he complimented my Blacula shirt. How could we not be friends?! PN and I amused ourselves as the party continued by dancing until we would realize that somehow we'd become the center of a circle that would form around us and have to move three times over. They were trying to steal our moves. People are messed up.

Eventually, the party became less interesting and we made our way out of Brooklyn with an incredibly short visit to 419 before heading home. Me in the house before 3am on a Saturday night? Imagine that shit?! But, it was a long night and I didn't care. One more week of late nights complete with a Man Man show on Wednesday. It's gonna have to be something to top last week.

Can't Win For Losing

The other day, I entered contests on Flavorpill as I do every week. Mostly because their contests are the only thing I can (occasionally) win. I was pleasantly surprised to win again -- this time an autographed poster from Tortoise -- but found that there was a catch: I actually had to go to the show to retrieve it and I was without a ticket. I weighed the good show + new poster - $18 vs. more money for train fare and galivanting, and the wanderings won out. So, I lost my prize. Wackness.

Then yesterday, I was googling people for some reason or another (don't ask, I don't really know myself) when I decided to google myself. And I found that I had won a contest at Prefix a few months back. That was some news to me. I emailed them to say: "Hi there. I won? Did I win a prize too? Because I never got it." The response was: "yeah, we sent it to you forever ago. Is this your address?" And it was. I'm thinking due to lack of a current response, their stance is: "Sounds like a person problem to us."

Sheesh. A kid could start to take this shit personally.

Future's So Bright...I Gotta Wear Shades

If you could see my grin! It's all about the ear to ear nowadays. I feel like a happy new person and I'm really enjoying my last two weeks of jack before the job starts. I got my official "we want you!" letter and I'm even making more than I thought. Yay! Meanwhile, I'm back to dancing, lounging, partying and being social like a mofo and might even be taking a trip out of town. For a switch, it's good to be me.

Now if I could just break that pesky habit of looking at job listings all the time.

Figures Part Deux: Rain, Rain Go Away

What's up with the mega rain forecast? Especially since folks are so tempermental about being out and about in the rain and such. If I didn't know better, I'd think cosmic forces are conspiring to make my party a bust. And that would suck. Candice = highly disgruntled. Moreso than usual.

A Little Comedy With A Side of Bitter

Yesterday, my week was torpedoed even further with a newsflash from Shady. He got a cushy ass job in one of my targeted industries (which he admittedly could not give two shits about) at a higher salary than I've resigned myself to expect. The friendship? Is over. Back to hatred as usual. Bitterness has been radiating off me like waves ever since. Fucker. And for the record, I told him that I hated him, but he didn't believe me. Apparently my sarcastic voice is easily mistaken for my serious one. That's not my fault though.

In trying to redirect those feelings, I found myself on an exercise kick. Instead of punching the wall and screaming, I did some pushups and lunges. PrincessNella dragged me out the house for complaining and a walk around the park and the greater Jamaica area. My fat ass thanked me for the movement. She and I are brainstorming the summer move, but thinking of new ways to get my ass employed beforehand.

The best part of yesterday was the TV. A little South Park, some Chappelle's Show and Sopranos encore before be