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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I Was Delayed, I Was Waylaid

I've been having a mini nostalgia trip today. Once upon a time, I really looked like my mother. And I didn't fret about the perceived thickness of my neck. And I was really vain and referred to my stomach as perfect. And the night that picture was taken, I was wearing black satin, cut dangerously low in the back, and I made jaws drop. I also drank shitloads on an empty stomach and ended up doubled over and dryheaving in a heap. But, I still was pretty hot.

I still have that dress here in my closet, pushed back into the corner, sad and neglected. I could probably still get it on...a quarter way before the seams ripped. I won't even pretend that it'd still be able to zip. It fit like a second skin then, but draped flatteringly. I'd need a lot more material nowadays.

I've been feeling kinda hit or miss healthwise and I made the step of joining my closest Y last week. Swimming and steam rooms and all of that supposedly help me feel better. Buying a swimsuit wasn't the semi-traumatizing trip I expected it to be. I'm a lot more realistic about my body and its limitations nowadays. I think I panicked more at the gym when I realized I'd placed myself in the high traffic area of the locker room changing and then when I had to sneak into the aquacize class with my little towel barely acting as a shield and all eyes on me. It's one thing to be mentally comfortable in your skin and have other people see you in it in bad lighting. But the class was fun and I kicked ass, bad knee and shoulder be damned. Maybe there's hope for me yet.

Last Friday night, I wandered to Williamsburg for a show at a venue I've seen only good shows at and amuses me by changing the decor every time I go there. I tangentially knew that the show was put on by this kid I'm conflicted about on a few levels. And I strolled up and there he was. We met in one of the random ways I can meet people when I'm feeling deliberate and the episode itself was fun if a bit tame. Strolling about the Slope on one of the hottest days of the spring, chatting aimlessly, and watching tv is strange on the surface, yet it was also perfect in a way. I so rarely just chill with someone I don't know well. Underrated it is. I've seen him around since then, usually at shows, and he's disarmingly friendly, but the outside venue communications lines seem to have dried up. I don't really feel anything but kinda off-put. He's an interesting guy and has a lot of the things I said I was looking for on my post-boy list of Mr. Next attributes. He's got some of the too cool for school trappings, but I felt that he was a stand up non-pretentious sort of person. Maybe I was wrong and the vague shallow hipster impression is the real one. I'm suspicious of people who put up the fake front whether they like you or not. It veers too close to the Shady school of life. Then again, it seems to work for him, so what do I know?

I ended up in the balcony next to a guy being a "badass" and sprinkling beer on people. I may have pointed out the slope kid (and his stupid shirt) for a splashing. It was wrong. The devil made me do it. But, I was still surprised when dude got inspired and practically dumped the whole can on him. Sloper looked up all aggro style for a second, but the moment passed. I ran into him later and he was asking what the deal was with the beer thrower. I feigned confusion and wandered off.

I can't help myself from playing the what if game as far as he's concerned. Well, he's not the only one. Sometimes I look back on the old pictures and think that if that was me now, I'd never lose. And then I remember the circumstances around the night this picture was taken when I couldn't quite hold onto the attention of my spring semester focus at the time and senior year in general which was like one misadventure after another. The grass is always greener on the other side. But I think at the end of the day, I'd just like less rocks on my lawn.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Wake Up and Live Forever

Note: this post has been liberated from the unpublished archives and I was just too lazy to update most of it

August was a super strange month for me, with a lot of deja vu-inducing moments. Wacky neighbor friend who gets a little besides himself after some drinks? The DJ looking cute but ultimately ridiculous to me? A boy who should be in the past, but I'm having random hangouts with him where I just kinda shake my head and wonder why? What fucking year is this really? And I've been on my broke as a joke diet and looking downright early 2005 lately. Sayonara, chipmunk cheeks! Until the next round of cheeseburgers at least.

And me flitting about until real life ultimately comes slapping me in the face. Trying to be a grown up is really hard work. Sometimes I'm juggling like a pro, others things just get broken and I have to get out my superglue and try my best to fix it. I've spent a lot of time thinking about social superficiality and the few things and people that really have brought me joy in random, flighty ways. It's funny that I went in a week from saying that everyone's social MO is to greet drive-by style to wishing that I had broken myself from that pattern with the ones who were really special. Like the wonderful AG, gone now but briefly a bright light in the after dark world for me.

I've definitely seen more shows lately than I have in a while. PrincessNella and I went to Amsterjam thanks to a guy at work with connections. Busta: weird and leaning on the newer shitty material and not looking so hot. LL: the awesome! He did songs I forgot I knew from all through his career. But, he teased us by not going totally shirtless. He's looking less bullish lately. It would've been super hot. Foo Fighters: I really thought I sorta liked them until this show. They did the newer hits which blow and every song just ended up annoying. That might have been because the mosh pit erupted right next to me. Fuckers still do that shit? Christ on a cracker! We escaped to the lovely scene of a chick giving her pedophile boyfriend bus head in the corner of our eyes. As my dad used to say before he went all suburban, "you pay your fare, you get a show." Eww...I'll pass.

We wandered through Queens lamenting the utter lack of post-10pm eats and ended up in a spot familiar to me, near where Trendvickster lived before her big Chicago move. I marvelled at the time I used to spend in the area and how long ago the bulk of the '03 hijinks seem. Then off to Greenpoint where work and my life combined in fun ways. I felt really glad about how different everything is for me than it was six months ago. I don't regret the leap a single moment, even though many of these months have been painfully tight. The happiness will always win out.

In the past month, I've seen a few celebrations of love and commitment. I'm in a place where I'm happy to see really loving couples because I think "one day, that'll be me." I don't feel a rush, but in doing this ridiculous palling about with the boy, it makes me feel more acutely what I'm missing. There's not really anything I can actually do about it, but just sigh I guess.

You Don't Have To Dance For Me, I've Seen Your Dance Before

I have a hard time letting go sometimes. I'm a hard, self-possessed bitch who lives and dies on first impressions and if we start off on the wrong foot, it's never getting good. But the ones that pass and get through some of the layers, they gain a person who will be selfless to the point of ridiculousness and always care even when I shouldn't. It's not an eternal thing (e.g. Mr. Sailor), but sometimes even after falling out# 2,027681(e.g. Farmer), part of me still feels like I'm connected to them until one day it just finally sinks in to cut my losses.

It's more than partially me. I've got a million things going on and I like to be involved in a lot, weaving my way in and out of different areas. I like to know things, I like to learn about stuff that's new, I'm always open to share what I've gathered. But, I'm not an out there social animal and I'm usually low-key to a fault. And I like to get my kicks when I can. I like the guys with the big personalities that do "crazy" stuff or the ones so relaxed generally that I look manic in comparison. Usually some combo of the two.

Like the boy. When I first met him, I thought he wasn't like anyone I know. That, of course, was discovered not to be true as time passed. He and Farmer are two peas in a pod, with the extreme personality replaced by dogged intensity. There's something about the dynamic between us that bothers me in the same way. I'm always sitting back and playing the supportive audience, the second fiddle, the sounding board. I don't like myself when I'm with him. So, it's kinda strange that picture defacing aside, I've been wrangling with extracting myself. I tried the no contact thing fairly successfully for a while until the other week when I was feeling kicked puppyish and he made rare supportive noises that made me feel better temporarily. That lasted until about Thursday.

I'd been bored and feeling random after a semi-rough week and I reached out to him to hang. He was drunk and monologuing from the start about his new "friend" (he's so transparent) who makes so much money (we actually calculated it...and I'm not even shitting you) and supposedly has an awesome place in Midtown and had taken him out for drinks earlier and he was going out to the movies with the next day and walks on water in shoes lined with cash or whatever. OMG, someone who makes a lot of money and lives large and makes people jealous -- though not intentially because they're the most awesome person in the universe? Someone alert the press to that super special person! It was especially so fascinating when you're hearing about it for an hour or more. And his new job working in Manhattan. Dude, commuting is hard...apparently. Oh, how's my newish job? Who cares! How's my dad who just had neurosurgery less than two weeks ago? Eh...let's talk about that another time. Let's talk more about how you hate NYC fakers and the demands people make on your time....minus that awesome rich "friend!" Ladies and gentlemen, if like me you wondered back in junior high English class if a real-life Holden Caufieldesque person would be utterly insufferable, let me tell you: yes.

I was actually hating him more than a little bit and that was before we went to this random party and he disappeared on me and then got snippy when I got tired of sitting in one spot and wandered away on my own. But, this was the same guy who didn't want to date (officially) yet got mad at me because I wouldn't count the non-dating as dating anyway being a stickler for technicalities. Waiting for the train back to Brooklyn, he pushed me over the edge and I snapped "stop fucking talking, you're so annoying" and wandered away down the platform, wondering why I was just torturing myself by hanging out with him in the first place.

He's outlived his usefulness. I don't like him. He's not particularly nice or cool or insightful or interesting. He looks stupider than he acts. And there's not even the all those trumping factor of us hooking up counteract that. He's got zero that I want or need in my life. At this point, I should just never talk to him and/or kick him in the balls. But, I'm just irritating myself by turning back when I shouldn't. It's a disease really and knowing that it's wrong should count for something.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Like Sands Through The Hour Glass

I've apparently saved my birthday related freakout for the day before. I stumbled on some old pics when I was attempting to clean my room of some junk and was hit with this thought: "wow...that pic is from like 20 years ago. 20 fucking years! I'm conscious of shit I did 20 years ago! Goddamn, I'm fucking old."

It feels really funny to think of myself and my memories in terns of big old time blocks and stuff.
5 years ago, I was at Wes doing my spring semester sophomore year which would go on record as the best grades I ever got there.
10 years ago, I was in the 9th grade at Hunter, just finished up my first (and last) season of basketball, had a lot of upheaval in my home life.
15 years ago, I was in the tail end of 4th grade and I'm not sure if the episode where I rapped "Funky For You" to my whole class just before dismissal happened yet (yeah, it was that random).
20 years ago, I skipped pre-K that year and was kinda coasting until I started kindergarten, running around under my aunt and grandmother.

Part of me wants to do a down memory lane stroll tomorrow. Go back to all the places I grew up, my old schools, and stuff. Depends on how lazy I'm feeling. I've been trying to think if I'm where I imagined myself being at this age. I'm no world-famous writer or overly coupled or a world explorer, which were the only vague things I hoped that I as a grown-up would be like, but I think I grew up pretty damned cool just the same. The party Friday is gonna be ape. For every person who RSVPed, I added like another person to the guest list and invited damned near 60 people. If half of those come, I'll be more than satisfied. Yay for me and I'm looking forward to the next 25.

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!

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.

Resolutions

01. Stop holding myself back
02. Be more creative
03. See a big project through to the completion
04. Do at least one "scary" thing
05. Save money
06. Go overseas
07. Write more
08. Slay at least one past ghost
09. Put happiness first
10. Clamp down on the emo

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.

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.

Made To Fade

The best part about this present long weekend is that it's only Saturday! That's pretty great. It's been a little low-key. I didn't get to eat as much as I should've and got to skip the "you're looking a little chunky..hehe" family talk. But, I've been doing enough of that myself (not in an overly depressing way though). We're going back on our last year slim down plan. I stumbled onto a stash of old pics on the comp and it was just like "shit, I think that was my peak, but I'd like to get some of this fat off my ass regardless." I don't think I'll ever really look like that again though -- hat aside. I think I just had a lot of non-jaded hopeful freshness about me that being in NYC again these past 2.5 years has beaten out of me. Eh...kidding.

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.

I Won't Let You Fall Apart

My brain is currently holding me hostage. I've got mad posts sitting in draft mode because I can't think about anything that doesn't involve moping about the fucking boy for more than 5 minutes at a time. I've regressed to the angsty mess I thought I'd finally made peace with and I'm a bit unclear how to get out of that mode. It's rather irritating.

Somehow when I wasn't paying attention and/or thought I was okay about it, I got gobsmacked with all this despairing bullshit. I have no idea where it's coming from, but it's getting worse. And I'll tell you what, being on a concert-induced NIN kick isn't helping. I've pretty much lost all rational thought and I don't know what to do about it.

The really sickening part is though I like(d) him well enough, I don't really see what the big deal is. The first person I liked enough all year to actually tell people? No, not really. The first person in forever that I could really see myself starting something with? Nope. Some great ...something or another? Nyet. He's the one with the issues so this dissolution isn't even my fault. That it wasn't going to work out was fairly obvious and I was really good like last week at sucking it up and dealing. It's typical me really: I come out swinging like a hardman and then end up all pathetic and emo.

The stupidest thing of all the crazy thoughts surrounding him was that we look good together. I look good with some scruffy borderline hipster motherfucker? It makes me think I don't even know myself sometimes. But when we were surrounded on all sides by the young and drunken, I looked at him and smiled and for a brief second, it felt like the only place in the universe I was supposed to be. And that was really sweet if ultimately wrong. I need a lobotomy. But for now, going to the gym will have to do.

I Can't Get No Sleep

I greatly prefer the slow fizzle to the fast brakes, which would probably come as a surprise. I like to work things out in my head before accepting the inevitable, compared to blowouts where I'm sure to say something rash and then brood indefinitely afterwards. Besides, this is less messy now that I've had time to run the gamut from sad to pissed to *shrug*. Life goes on and that and it really wasn't that serious. Though I kinda wanted to be...I think.

This week's platter included Jamiroquai at the Nokia Theater on Monday. I was my typical intense obsessive self about them starting in '97 or so when I first saw that video (oh, you know which one), then bought the album, then watched the VMAs show, then saw them at the Garden, bought all the records, joined mailing lists, made up an IM name in tribute, and etc. The band hardly represents what it was back then and neither do I, but it didn't make it any less fantastic even if neither Jay nor I are as limber as we were all those years ago. Bill was the show companion, pinch-hitting for Trendvickster. We were late-ish (totally my fault) yet shoved our way to practically the front anyways. Cute was when this chick I had done my "excuse me" to before perching called herself getting argumentative with me. She was taller than me! She could've shut the fuck up and looked over my head! I blinked at her like "you're kidding, right?" and kept an even tone, though I wanted curse her out and beat her ass. I'm getting good at that in my old age. Because of Bill's encore speculations (it was Deeper Underground..pish), I've had "Mr Moon" and "Stillness In Time" stuck in my head all week. I've even gone as far as audibly singing to myself in public. Thanks, Bill. Where's that Jamiroquai post?!

I woke up Thursday hungover to the point of standing at 14th Street waiting for the local and thinking, "you know, we can just go behind that stairwell and vomit just a little. A little bit of vomiting might make us feel slightly better. It's worth a shot, right?" That was my whole day. With my appetite finally back, PrincessNella and I went to this show and I was way more interested in boxing out the grill than bands. We chatted with Ryan Man Man and got a new album sneak peek. Yay! (Even if I've seen so many shows that I hallucinated that some of those songs were already on the first one.) Sounds richer yet more restrained with a little death metal vocals action. Though I got a "you crazy?" look when I said "death metal sound." You can decide for yourself in '06.

I'm still trying to figure out a Halloween costume -- really, if I care enough to do something. (Last year: I was a tourist and the year before: disco diva, pronounced by everyone else Tina Turner.) We're thinking Medusa. I've got the hair for it no doubt.

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

So, if someone asked me if we were dating, I could say "no, of course not. We're seeing each other (I guess) and I'm playing it by ear." Farmer basically mocked me for having distinctions while he was playing "grouchy older brother"/sounding board this week, but yeah I don't really care. I mean, I like the new boy, but I'm in stage 2 and loose moralled enough where I can chill and feel him out and it's not a big deal.

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.

Drive By Dub

Good weekend all around. Except for the boat concert, I didn't especially do much of anything -- besides clean my house and entertain. Ever notice all I talk about is cleaning? Well, if you lived on auto-pilot like we do for most of the week, you notice on the weekends that you have to force a path out of the clutter.

Dear friend P. Diddy came down from New Haven to spend time with me and we had fun catching up. I dragged him to Soda like I take everyone (any excuse to go there is really A-OK with me) and we spotted the one person in the neighborhood I've got semi-ill will towards. Still a good time with cider/beer and the famous cheeseburger before meeting Faiks for a night of barhopping and shisha to cap off the night. We caught the 4 train pulling in the station and made it from Bleecker to Grand Army in 20 mins! That's really unheard of.

Like a good friend who knows me well, he met up with someone else for brunch and let me sleep. Circa 1pm though, I was up and got Ant up to for the bake sale. I got this sickeningly good apricot pound cake and he got the orange scone. We kicked it with the neighbors, including the hilarious Cupcake. In the "NYC must really only have about 300 people sometimes" files, she knows some people I know (vaguely) from Wes that are longtime friend A's other friends. She passed on a sighting of him singing "You Sexy Thing" at karaoke, which is so improbable that it made my brain hurt. I emailed him all "WTF?" and his reply subject line was: "Now I know how David Cross and Owen Wilson feel." My boy's making the blog gossip rounds! From there, brunch and hanging out again with P. Diddy and G before resting up for the boat show.

I trotted out to West Bumblefuck, Manhattan, a.k.a. the waterfront on the West Side, to meet up with The Director. The security line for the boat ride was a little excessive (patdowns, bag searches). The boat itself was decked out in a cross between a booze cruise and a junior prom. It seemed like floors of an NYU dorm had sponsored a trip or something because the kids were out in full force. The bars were committing highway (seaway?) robbery by charging $8 for well drinks. We just chilled and caught up. I like it when the conversations can be easy and actually an exchange. When I'm unsure, I tend to hold back and when I'm nervous, I babble, so it's comforting when I can talk to someone I like normally as I would anyone else I know. He's screening his last short, just finished writing a new one, and maybe about to work on another movie. I just find it interesting when talking to someone that's focused on what they do. Because I don't know what the fuck I could say that my direction/passion is now. Am I involved in music? A writer? In marketing/advertising? An event planner? Your guess is as good as mine. I'm a dabbler with too many unfinished things around me. I need a career coach.

The Director joked later that it was a no lyrics night. Lineup was Dub Trio, Nisennenmondai, Tyondai Braxton solo, and Prefuse 73 with DJ Nobody and that mystery (well, to me) drummer guy who was also on the last tour. I saw other Battles members walking around, as well as a chick with a Battles bag, and I wanted to run over and ask where I could get the damned "I Have Battles In My Life" bag I was so obsessed with at the other show. But, I didn't. I'm coldly serious about my new "Oh...helllll no" stance on tall assholes who like to prop themselves in front of shorties like me. At least 2 guys got the poke in the back and the nasty look at the show. And you know they moved. My screw face is not to be fucked with. Seriously, what's up with that? You can stand anywhere you want and see. Why do you have be muscling in right smack in front of somebody as if your view is obstructed. It's hard enough to be short and craning at weird angles to catch glimpses as is. I kept being distracted by two girls at the show who decided that the middle of the crowd was the perfect spot for their pseudo-performance art interpretive dancing. You know what? Cut that shit out. Enough of us just ignored them, so they just slinked away after a while. Sorry, attention whores! Get your own damned show because no one paid $30 to see you!

The royal we likes Dub Trio more and more each time we see them. I'd say they singlehandedly jumpstarted the current dub obsession, but in actuality, it's been gradual after spending a good portion of the year at The DJ's party. It wasn't until I saw them a few months back that I became totally obsessed though. Their general sound reminds me of my sentimental faves of Alex and the boys and dammit, they just seem cool. They're understated yet brilliant. Next up with Nisennenmondai, a noise trio. It took them forever to set up considering the set was like 10 minutes and I got really annoyed (for them) that they're setup was further impeded by guys a-fluttering around "helping." They're musicians! They can set up their own shit! The drummer was a monster. She was totally possessed beating the crap out of her kit. It was funny when they stopped because I was thinking they were just introducing another song. Nope finished.

In the intermission, we stood outside on the deck to watch the Statue of Liberty pass. The boat went so close and all of us standing out there were really awed. I haven't been that close since my trip there in 1989 or thereabouts and then all of sudden, there she was, way bigger than life. We strolled back in midway through the Tyondai set. And I can say it's pretty much everything I've ever heard about it: dude on the floor with his pedals and such. Sorta interesting, sorta not. The main event was Prefuse, DJ Nobody, and mysterious henchman/drummer dude. I was amused watching Scott Herren run around sticks in hand looking generally annoyed with the sound people until whatever was up was fixed. I had an obsessive's version of an existential crisis wondering why I felt like I was hearing the same song twice. Oh, it was a different song! But "Perverted Undertone" and "One Word Extinguisher" sound the same to me live. I squealed to The Director hearing "Suite For The Way Things Change": "that was totally my fave song forever!" Yeah, dude, forever! I found myself momentarily annoyed by this one dude who had to park himself right in the front of the crowd. Quick and easy way to tell music hack, erm, critic at a concert: they're the asshole blocking up your way and determined to be stone-faced and statue-like no matter how much fun everyone around them is having. This prick finally gave in two songs from the end, but he was just being a pest before then.

We docked before the last song was over and had a good 20 more minutes of music before it was all over. The two of us were bound to this 9th Avenue bar near Port Authority that looked like a hardcore sports bar, but was filled with the most random cross-section of drunkards I've probably ever seen. $3 well drinks on a Sunday night...hell fucking yes. My head wasn't too happy about it the next morning, but hey, what can you do? As strange as it sounds, The Director is someone I have too much fun with. We've known each other going on a year and a half and it's very comfortable. It's in some strange space between friends and not-so-platonic, but generally freeze-framed. I dunno. Weird how those things go. It was so great to connect that I was seriously wavering on the new boy for days, clutching at straws to stop my growing interest in its tracks. I'm a sick puppy, man. Which explains why it's been almost 3 years since I've been in a unit. I really dunno where my head is half the time. I'm resolving to pretty much wait and see on all fronts.

Bitter, Table For One

Oh, hi. Angst alert!

Instead of throwing myself back into the oven-like KF for Kano, I met Trendvickster way uptown for a going away party for some of her classmates. She had me expecting a rager, but it was definitely on the adult dinner party tip with homemade food all over. The hosts were a couple that met in the program and are now moving together to make a new life out of state. I'd met the guy before briefly and he seemed like the typical good-looking wild boy sort -- a dime a dozen here in town, so it was surprising to see the buttoned-up, respectable transformation. I almost didn't recognize him. The pair was like an old married couple yet are around my age. Things like that are frightening, fascinating, and melancholy inducing for me. Once upon a time, that was me and it feels like a lifetime ago.

This summer has me always thinking of my utter fuckups. 2005 has been like 50 car pile up on the highway. I need my pheromone receptors totally recalibrated because it's starting to seem like if there's some element of bad news involved, I'm led straight to it. In my world, there's apparently no one who isn't an asshole and/or cheater. Not even mentioning under 30 and a non-druggie. I might very well be an asshole, but I'm none of those other things, so do I need to go knit or something in order to apparently avoid every toxic person/place/thing I know?

I think the sorta sick thing is that every friend I have who like me isn't some globe-trotting, living their life by the seat of their pants, laissez-faire sort (I'm leaving out a pretty obvious descriptor, but they know what I mean) is in exactly the same boat as me. We've been running our little rat race and are all respectable and shit. Where's our goddamned cheese? I'm totally jealous of those who seems to just meet cool new prospects without any sort of hassle. How the fuck do they do it? I fucking hate the Farmers and Linas and Tinos and Alexs who can't go a second without someone new (just like the one before) waiting to snap them up every second. Apparently, it's too much for me to ask to have the liberty of meeting someone who is from where I'm from and likes the things I like and would like me. It's a catch-22 to know that you're not going to meet anyone waiting at home for them to knock on your door, but getting kicked around so much out there that you just want to hide out for a bit. I've had to be sorta irreverent my methodology to simply not shrivel up and die, so I have the distinction among those I know of getting most of the rewards and the penalties. You're really damned if you do, and damned if you don't.

I'm expecting a gift to fall from the sky any day now. I deserve it.

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.

Criminal

I sorta stepped into a bit of a trap over on ILE and it's only reminding me of what I already know about myself.

I might be cool and other good adjectives, but I'm not especially nice. I'm selfish, cynical, shallow, and self-centered. And flighty. And I don't particularly care if other people know it. Like I said, not nice.

There's a huge part of me that's like: yeah and so what? I've never really seen the point in pretending to be a Polyanna. At least I'm self-contained and don't go around flinging my shit around and screwing up others. For the most part. Sometimes I end up being a little too honest. I hurt people's feelings occasionally -- and you know, they hurt mine too. I've got enemies and it's just one of those things. I'm well aware of many of my flaws. No one's perfect. And I'm not an active fuckup or anything.

Besides, I'm sure I'll just end up laughing about what a silly I was now in 5 years or so. It always goes like that. And I've come up with another t-shirt idea: "I'm Not A Whore...I Just Play One On The Internet." Maybe I'll wear it and post a pic and they can deface it or something.

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.

Sentimental Mood

Life is currently this strange mix of busy and chilled to the point of comatose. The song of the long weekend is “Sentimental Mood” by St. Germain.

I went to The DJ’s party Thursday night. I’ve been running into him a lot randomly lately and I’ve been nice but cool. The boat has sailed big time on that one and he’s looking a little worse for wear right now. *cough*fuckingsniffer*cough* I floated, chatting with the usual suspects. I said to B, “I want to review your record!” and he was awfully excited. I tried to back pedal all “dude, I’ve never done a record review before” and shit, I can’t focus long enough to write a blog post…though these monsters are longer than any review might ever be, so that’s a bad comparison. I should look myself in my room today until I write something. Back in the day, that’s how I wrote my fucking senior essay and finished the damned yearbook: locked room, no food or distractions, worked until I felt faint. Desperate times and all that jazz.

There was the amusing interlude of sitting down on the couch minding my business when some random turned to me and was like “talk to me.” I gave him the patented “what, you fucking nutter?” look and replied “erm…why?” We ended up chatting about much of nothing, trading names and such on a low interest level on my part. Unless I’m pissed off, I’ll chat (most of the time). I’m usually solo and bored, so it passes the time. When he forgot my name, I sent him over to the one of the crew who I was certain didn’t know it (and he proved me right) and The DJ also fed misinformation. I was amused. Later on, I chatted with The Outer and he reminded me he is nice when he’s not making fun of me on GP. I popped off home and felt like a Mach truck had driven through my skull the next morning. I’m getting old. I can’t bounce back like I used to.

Friday, I felt achy and near vomit most of the day. Thank God for holiday half days! I had to go to a planning meeting for this party I’m throwing with the crew in less than two weeks. It’s got the potential to be awesome or a total disaster, but I’m erring on the side of awesome. All I’ve got to say is: art party with a band in a laundromat with free booze. Just on the randomness scale alone, it’s a winner!

Jay-V and I had our quarterly face-to-face meeting at this Cuban restaurant off Union Square. Cuban sandwich and a mojito…extra yum! In the first of many times that Mr. Sailor’s been mentioned this weekend (strange that…people don’t usually reenter the brain sphere as he has without some strange coincidence about to happen), I regretted the horrible breakup for a split second if only because I would’ve liked visitation rights with his mom and the occasional steak sandwich. I had it once on that Iowa visit, but Jesus, it might be the best sandwich I’ve ever had! His mom could cook her ass off and I felt connected with her being a New Yorker and a shortie with a shoe size that just does not compute. Too bad I can’t call all “hi, I dated your son almost three years ago and we hate each other, but I’d love to be friends with you!”

I gave Jay the shirt I procured for her with my hefty company discount, the rare perk. I’d be wearing it out if I was skin and bones like most of the other girls at my job. Teen catalogs don’t offer many options for someone with an adult body! Shocker! When I was an actual teen, I was all about their product though.

A mistimed nap later that night zapped whatever going out energy I would’ve had and I parked it, going to bed about 1am. Saturday had me up bright and early on some happy homemaker tip, doing laundry, sweeping, mopping, and whipping up meals all by lonesome. I raged against my neighbors who were blocking up the entrance because they had to lounge on the stoop and have their extended family for a cookout when I’m lugging a bag filled with what felt like every piece of clothing I owned up the stairs. Go to the park, assholes. It’s two blocks away. They refused to shift and I contemplating smacking them with the bag and/or cursing up a storm, but instead I seethed.

I watched TV for the first time in a long time while eating my dinner and caught the repackaged Live 8 show. How fucking disjointed that thing was! It was like American Bandstand (or Top of The Pops) for Africa! I’m pissed because I missed Pink Floyd while switching back and forth between that and Cry-Baby on Oxygen. Those Overstock.com commercials are bizarre (fucking Word keeps changing bizarre to bizarre. Spelling fascist program!), that woman acts like she’s shilling a Rabbit Pearl or something.

Later, I got into another convo about Mr. Sailor with my new friend from Canuckistan. We were playing the “Who’s Got The Shittier Ex?” game. Drudging up a heap of bitter feelings is definitely the way to start a night out! I guess all of that keeps coming up because I’ve been feeling like I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve burned off a lot of the really bad mental energy that was circling around afterwards. I made a bit of an unspoken note to do anything I could to avoid another relationship, from chasing after those I should’ve know better about to just destructively fucking with people because I could. I’m definitely not looking and I’m also not finding new and fucked up ways to fill an emotional hole. I’m just chilling’. It’s nice.

I finally left the house to do a drive-by hangout with Faiks before wandering the streets until I met up with C to see Adam F, our Miami obsession, spin. The first d’n’b party I’ve been to...since Miami probs. Our boy fell off big time! Back at the conference, he was tanned and fit, but last night, he looked like any old pale dude. I can only obsess over one pasty English dude at a time, so Fourtet is the one circa summer 05. We most missed his set, but ran into The Brit’s brother and his girl. (He’s another wasting away on the sniffer diet. Tsk, tsk.) He greeted me with this painful ass slap and I told him that just because his woman has no ass, doesn’t mean I’m up for abuse. I considered inquiring about the boy, but self-preservation (and pride) put a cap on that. Knowing the brother, he’ll hear about the sighting regardless and there is the chance for an actual awkward encounter at the big 4th party. I can’t say I feel one way or another about it, but I’ve got a soft spot for him, even if the reality is futile.

Some random who I saw looking on a room pan-scan popped up on me as I was strolling along. “What’s your name again,” he said and he got that look. Why do they do that?! Whoever put it in the flirting handbook that coming out with some non sequitur is a good look needs to revise…like post haste! I explained to him that it implied we’d spoken before and reminded him we had not, so what was his deal? God bless him though because he was cute, but I just didn’t feel like going there. He told me his name and after some hemming and hawing, I gave him mine, but killed the conversation to go back and dance. And yes, I’m well aware that it’s not the best tactic to meeting someone new and amazing being a difficult asshole, but hey, that’s me. Anything that’ll ever happen will probably be to spite myself and when I’m ready, it’ll happen. At the moment, I really just don’t care.

Even A Broken Clock

I think it is in the parents handbook how to be frustrating with a loving touch. The three 'rents are freaking out over the weight thing. Yes, I'm well aware I've gotten rounder, thanks for making me more self-conscious. "What happened to my slim daughter?" Mr. Daddy said yesterday at dinner, followed by his Eddie Murphyesque laugh that makes me want to punch something. He said the last time he saw me almost two weeks ago my face was all puffy and he decided then that I needed a talk. First of all, I've never been slim and it frustrates me that they can't see that I've realized that I let myself go and have been losing, only that I weigh "too much." I've deduced that their vision of an ideal me was when I was half-insane, stressed out, and wound up circa the emotionally disastrous DC semester when I was too depressed to eat and that yearbook summer after graduation when I was practically locked in a room working to finish and come home, bingeing on whole pizzas when I was too weak to focus any more. But, they wouldn't know that those times are nothing to emulate. Keeping secrets is the family way.

The dinner had been months in the making. It was supposed to be the joint birthday dinner from three months ago. But I'm busy and I live in the city and he's busy and he lives upstate, so it took a minute to get our schedules in sync. We went for duck in Chinatown as we just about always do and had the typical conversation. "What've you been up to?" "Nothing." "You still hanging out late and down there on the Lower East Side? For whatever reason. It's not too safe down there as I remember." "Not really. It's lame now. Nothing really goes on there." "You've been thinking of going back to school yet? Might as well do it now before you get tied up in stuff." "No. I still hate school plus I don't think they accept IOUs. And I still don't know what to study." "You could always get a master's in..." "Don't start with the teacher thing." "Well, what do you want to do anyway? "I don't know." "Maybe you should apply for a federal or state job." "Ugh...everyone I know with one hates it." "Depends on the one you get. They're not all bad." "I already hate my job. I don't want to get a worse one." "Everyone hates their job. Might as well make a lot of money." "I'd rather do something I want to do." "Like what?" "I dunno." I can't really think of how to say that I just want to take time off for myself to write that novel sitting in my head, but I feel trapped by worrying about money and staying afloat all the time. I also wish I could strike it rich in the lottery but can't afford to funnel money towards tickets.

And there was a black cloud hanging over our dinner because it's family death season again. My dad's cousin had a fatal heart attack at 40. In yesterday's conferring session between my dad and uncle, it was revealed that the guy had a heart condition, was working two jobs to keep up on child support payments, and checked into the hospital Saturday and didn't call his mother until Tuesday to lie that he was on vacation. He didn't want to worry her because his brother is fighting colon cancer and not looking too good. He was always the secretive loner type, my father says. The brother called around to alert everyone before they even told my aunt about it and she found out when a cousin fucked up and called her to offer his condolences. My uncle and father tutted that everyone knows that the last thing you would think to do is call her. I gravely said to Mr. Daddy that I hoped he'd never go off to do something like that without telling me first, but now I remember that unfortunately it's family protocol. When I was seven, I went to California for the first time for a week and change and when I came back, my grandmother was dead of liver cancer and buried. And I didn't even know she had been sick. Is that fucking depressing or what?

I'm sitting at work, thinking of how tired I am of being an automaton but feeling stuck on what to do. The other week, I liberated the bass from the upstate closet and it's sitting next to my bed, calling for me to be dedicated this time around. My notebook is the first thing I see when I rummage through my tote looking for things. My apartment walls are still bare after six months and I'm trying to visualize how I can make it more like a home. I've been listening to albums, thinking about how to twist those bite sized impressions into sentences. I need to spend less time considering and thinking and more time doing. It might be morbid (but understandable considering the surrounding events), but the only thing I fear right now is being dead tomorrow with nothing to show for 24 years but a messy room, broken relationships, and dark secrets waiting to be unearthed. I'd rather fail living my dreams than be a failure at life.

And I'll Give You Candy

To all those lovely people who say I look like I'm losing weight, I kiss you! (And the check is in the mail.) I actually am though. It's been too hot to stick to my winter/spring diet of cheeseburgers 24-7 and I've been wandering around town with a mega bottle of water trying to breaking in the flyest of the new sneaks. At the Tortured Soul show Saturday night, I almost delivered some beatdowns when drunkies were stepping on them. Dude, you can't fuck up my pristine sneakers! Give it a week and I won't care then!

Over the tail end of the weekend, I was telling everyone my epiphany: every guy I like (however briefly) falls into two categories. There's the "I'm an artist, I do all sorts of cool things that I don't like to brag about (but you can see it here). You know, you're kinda snarky. I think it's cute. Wanna get drunk/watch me brood?" (see: Farmer, K, The Director, The DJ). Or the "I enjoy the sound of my own voice to the exclusion of everything else. Aren't you fascinated by my neverending, so illuminating opinions? I'm so fucking brilliant! Well, what do you think? Er...hold up. Listen to this..." (see: Shady, Mr. Scenester, Crackhead) Apparently I pick guys like I'm still in HS. Damn that late bloomer thing! It's not a totally left field thing though. Is it wrong for me to like overblown, more focused versions of myself? They're at least interesting until I get bored with the whole episode.

Yeah. Is it not obvious that I won't be settling down until sometime around 2016?

Electra Made Me Blind

Your Seduction Style: The Coquette

You are a pro at playing the age old game of hard to get. Your flirting style runs hot and cold, giving just enough to keep them chasing you. Independent and self-sufficient, you don't need any one person to make you complete. And that independence is exactly what makes people pursue you.

Here we are again, back at the place where spring promise tapers out and we're left picking up pieces and wondering what's next. Believe it or not, I mean that a lot less depressingly than it sounds. The post-birthday season started off fairly rough. A lot of behind the scene things blew up in my face at once and I felt every second for my years dragging me down. It's hard to get some perspective when you feel like things are swirling out your control, but I did what I had to do and feel better now. I also made a pact to turn over a new leaf and see where it'd take me. The jury's still out.

The other week, I met up with The Director and brought him into my world a bit. It's funny that we've known each other over a year now since we have next to no face time, but somehow it suits our personalities and I don't sweat it. Besides that, at one point, I was supposedly working the criteria list pretty hard and he got "knocked out" of the running from the start. At 33, he's the oldest to date and the gap makes me uncomfortable. I'm sure I've said before that it is one of those mental block things because I still look at myself as only a few toes out of being a dumb kid. I'm trying to convince myself that I'm a real adult compared to the masquerading one like I feel on the inside. I'm just kinda fumbling along and I'd rather be with someone who is living through that too. Yet everyone laughs at me that I should just give up and admit I've got a preference for those around or above 30 and stop with the self-denying angst. But I don't! Most of the time... Anyways, strolling along with him that night only made me more obstinate. He called me a snob because I was raving about Prefuse before/after the show and corrected him (while worrying my tone would be misconstrued) when he said they instead of he. Then he said he could school me in film if he wanted to -- as if a) it's some sort of pissing match b) I'm 12 years old and need to be taught a lesson. And that I'm just a hipster because I spend a lot of time going to shows and events and that I've built up certain venue preferences. And besides that, what am I doing in NYC in the first place? I grew up here and should know better than to stick around indefinitely...since it's never going to be as good as it was in the '90s anyways! Fucking snore. Imagine my surprise to find myself at the receiving end of a lecture? I didn't know my youth left me open for that. I could've sworn I already had a father? And we're on great terms, so no Electra complex here. Jackhole.

On the other hand is The Brit, former dream come true turned eternal frustration. I've grown to remember why I avoid kids in grown up bodies just like me. We're wishy-washy assholes with arbitrary thought processes. The Brit and I like each other, we've got all these similarities, but what does that really mean for anything? Not much. It's a neverending circle going nowhere and I'm getting off that ride. Most annoying is that I'm doing everything technically "right" for a switch. I'm being a communicating grown up, but it's just not working. Apparently, I didn't start off sleazy enough, so I'm subject to whims and ridiculousness while he gets his head together. Erm...fuck off? Farmer strangely was the voice of reason with "he's not even that hot. He's really not worth the trouble." Indeed.

Back to the drawing board...or not. More writing, less stupidity.

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.

Showtime

The Dizzee show was as fun and crazy as I hoped it would be. The place was fucking packed to the gills. The crowd was awfully uniform. It's like an NYU dorm was giving away free tickets or something. DJ Wonder threw down some jungle in the preshow and you could almost see the collective "duh...how do we dance to that?" Dizzee started out in the dark with "Sittin Here" and I smirk-smiled all "isn't he all Mr. Fancypants Performer?!" I couldn't note the setlist as I would've wanted because things were slightly dramatic in the crowd between the folks I was with (The Brit, his brother, the brother's girl, and their friend) and this pack of punks, so much so that the show was halted momentarily for a kid to get carted away by security. He rocked "Jus A Rascal," "Everywhere," "Learn," "Respect Me," "Knock Knock," "Graftin," "Jezebel," "Dream" into "Juicy," and the two encores were "Fix Up, Look Sharp" and "Stand Up Tall." (I keep thinking "Showtime," "Vexed," and "Do It" also but that might be from listening to them to death at home.) The Brit grumbled that the newer stuff was lame because it was too Americanized and I grumbled to myself that I would've given money to have heard "Wot U On" (or did I hear it? I really don't know. I was distracted). The kids surrounding us varied between crazy spazz dancing and standing like stone. Get out the front if you're just gonna stand doing nothing, fuckers. Every single white girl in the front left section was having hormone fits over the hype man. He was no my husband Tyrese or anything, just alright looking in an average black dude on my block sort of way. But they were totally frenzied and I was amused.

I noticed this guy standing a few people over looking at me during the show. And because I'm vain and jaded, my reaction was "so what?" (The quickest way to get on my nerves: tell me I'm good looking. Pretty people are a dime a dozen, son. I could care less that you think so.) He said "hi" right before the encore, but I was too busy jumping up and down (I still have hops from basketball! Go me!) and going nuts to do more than shoot him a "back off" look. He looked like Paul Westerberg (and yes that age also) after he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. I ran into him again downstairs by the exit and he did some sort of awkward conversation asking for my number. Me being me, I was thinking "oh you're a bit of a clown" yet on a whim, gave it anyways. No rhyme or reason. He called this afternoon and that was a funny conversation.

Post-show, the hodgepodge group of me and the crew plus some random British girls they met at the show ran through the rain over to a restaurant basement party a few blocks away. Let me give you the nutshell specificless happenings that had things looking dicey for a while: 1) I have the capacity to be very jealous -- I'm not especially proud of it but hey, I'm no saint. 2) I'll front until the end if left unchecked if I feel it is the best policy for the situation. 3) If I'm pissed off, I'm likely to come out with some sweet-sounding sharp-tongued shit while smiling and fronting all the while. So, I was feeling like a bit of an unhappy camper and feeding the pro-me and The Brit camp (which I find astounding. The whole thing had a cute junior high "circle yes or no if you like him" aspect. I had spies and I didn't even know it!) some disinformation. Still, it was all smoothed over before the night was done. Have you ever gotten a pointed look with so much heat that you thought if you returned it, you'd burst into flames? I did and yeah...good thing I can't really blush.

ETA: Whoo...got my Prefuse at Northsix tix in the mail!

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.

Rolls and Waves

Now that the hissyfit/spazzing is behind me (savor that while you can, I think I plan to be making some snips here and there...self-censorship rules!), back to the blahs...

I've resigned myself to finally getting around to fully unpacking from the trip circa umm...June. Why unpack for real when it's so much more fun to do it leisurely, checking out everything I pull from the bag while dancing around to "Let's Get Blown" and "Fuck Me On The Dancefloor?" Meanwhile, anyone want a stupid tall collection of electronic music mags and a pair of Technics dogtags? I've already promised the CDs after I rip and load the songs I want. The current MusicMatch playlist is reminding me how much "Wait" still makes me want to pop a blood vessel. The "clean" version was inescapable in South Beach and I would grit my teeth thinking, "yeah right...you may insert all the bleeps and/or moans you want, but it's still the street rapist anthem of 2005!"

*ahem*

The rain threw a considerate shade over the weekend fun. Also a nice thing called utter poverty. The byproduct of paying rent upon arrival on an off week. Ah well. I got a million emails about this AMAZING PARTY deep in the heart of DUMBO and I was considering using the money that I should spend on sensible things like food in order to go when I got a phone call. It was a friend of The DJ who I guess I'm friends with now kinda by default like all the rest. This one and I had hung a few times down in Miami but I always assume everyone is flightly like me and forgets things like that once some time has passed. We chatted for a min and I said I'd definitely go. I got most of the way and said "fuck this, it's cold and my bubble vest just isn't cutting it!" so I went home. The next night, he called again to let me know about my fave friend of a friend band doing a show. I demurred because of the shit weather, but true to contrary form, I went.

What kind of fucking rock club doesn't even have a real bar? No, I don't want beer or wine. I'd like a whiskey and ginger, dammit! I drank red wine bitterly and ended up sharing a look with this chick. I vaguely thought she looked familiar, but then I thought it might just be the universal law of brown acknowledgement at work and went about my way. I sat down on a stool and looked up to see The DJ standing above me. Joy.

Now as typically when I run into him around town, it'd kinda slipped my mind that the possibility was there. But really, what should I expect going to a show of people I met through him? Ah well. In the week and a half since I saw him last, the longtime cooling ardor is hovering around subzero. He was a little peppy (drunk? high? all of the above?) while I was fighting back a "oh it's you" and a yawn. The tables do turn eventually. He was downright chirping and I was grunting monosyllabically and playing with texts as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. That girl came over and sat next to him and I finally placed her: she was this cock-blocking girl I'd almost had a Wild West standoff with at a spinning night of his that I believe it or not did not blog. Miracles do happen sometimes! I remember her having the patience of a saint and me knowing damned well that I really wasn't into him enough to pull a power play. With her there, I didn't feel so bad about ghosting him and eventually just walking away. I just didn't care enough.

And you thought I was kidding about the slash and burn? I've barely warmed up.

I Got No Time For Rearviews

It's that time of the year/quarter/month for the ultra serious, disclaimerrific type post. I'm sure it'll be of little interest to most.

I too often forget I'm not in a vacuum. I don't want to accept that it's not May '03 and no one that I haven't know forever/have never seen is reading this. I forget that everything I write has to be stripped of any resemblance/reference to people I actually interact with. (I can remember that in case of the job because it's as simple as I can't afford to be fired and I'm not trying to be assed out like that.) I let this place get a little ungauzy and then get all paranoid/annoyed checking out the traffic/activity log. Then comes the further stripping of meaning until I chafe and say "fuck it, it's mine! I'll write what I want!" More scrutiny and paranoia. Rinse and repeat.

I seriously don't get what strangers are interested in. The misadventures of an early 20something, foul-mouthed, narcissistic, self-important, self-deprecating, undermining, usually unhappy underachiever powered by booze, money, music, and NYC. (Actually, fuck that, I'd read that shit too!) I mean, it's me but it's not me at the same time. Words on a screen may be less than the sum of the parts -- or greater if a snapshot of the wrong time got thrown up there. I'm not completely mental because this is the wide open internet and all, but I do scratch my head looking at the super specific activity log results and wonder what the hell someone(s) are looking for. Is it sheer nosiness? Vanity searches perhaps? Here's the scoop: I fucked them all. Any further questions?

Writing like I do leaves me open to getting my feelings hurt a lot. I obviously take myself rather seriously (sometimes), so I was semi-traumatized by the outing because it's not like this is so high-profile that it gives me some sort of pleasure to be known as "that blog girl." I've killed a few budding things -- mostly inadvertantly, rarely passive-aggressively -- because they read something vaguely referencing them and it made them angry. I'm also not so far up my own ass that I can't tell when I'm being downright like a bull in the china shop but sometimes I just roll with it. Those situations in general make me sad, but I think somewhere deep down I knew this outlet/ego feeder would last longer for me than they did passing through. I think I've gotten a lot better at protecting identities but that's always up for interpretation.

As Bill and I were discussing the other day, bloggers are fucked up. We think we're all so important because strangers are constantly checking to see what new thing we have to say. I know a shrink would make a pretty penny just off my surface neuroses. Then again, everyone's fucked up. I think I dealt with more crazies pre-blog because at least now they know beforehand if they can deal with another drama queen in the relationship. The blame goes both ways usually, but I'm good for the "you read this, so you think you know me? Let me show you how you don't!" Luckily, this is totally a useful tool because I can crossreference dumbass mistakes I've made with a few keystrokes.

I'd say about 75% of the life passes through here but there's plenty of stuff that will never ever be referenced. It would probably explain a lot of the downright bipolar postings if I did, but that's neither here nor there. It is what is though and so am I, I suppose. But, this current incarnation of the blog is fucking weird and I think I'll be tinkering.

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.

CPT

I haven't been able to sustain a real interest in anyone for 2.5 years. I've always been too guarded and disassociated to really feel someone. The downside of that is by being a challenge (on purpose or otherwise), you attract a certain sort of dud. That ego-inflated, self-important blowhard forever trying to impress that always likes you more than you do them yet can't wait to tear you down. Shady, The Continental, Pseudo, The Scenester, the list goes on and on...it's not a New York specific type but they've been running back and forth through my return to the city life and they've left me weary. I was telling PrincessNella earlier how I fell out of fake like over the course of a conversation. Shit happens. Usually since everyone involved is an archetype, in those instances I've adapted the role of the jaded bitch. I'm tired of it all. Really, life is too short to always play.

Despite that, I've been gobsmacked by The Brit. Being in Miami was just a different sort of me and I met him when I had my armor off and my mind open. He left and I let some time pass, but fuck the rules, so I called when I wanted to. And he was right there with me. Ant and PrincessNella marvelled at me doing my little happy jumps across the living room and the strange squees I let escape. I ran the gambit from excitement and anticipation to fear and back and set off to meet.

But, we just couldn't connect. I met up with Faiks and had some fun doing my little dance to some drum n' bass. Then I was off to Sapph for the first time in a good while and shot the shit with my boys. I wished Petur McFizzie, former partner in crime, Cali dwelling but not forgotten, a wonderfully happy birthday. And then I took a plunge and went to where The Brit said he'd be, spending money I'd tucked away to get me through the long week between rent due and getting paid for a party that just wasn't popping.

"You're crazy late, girl," said his brother who I ran into just as I became frustrated.
"You're too late. I'm on my way home," said the boy himself when I got him on the phone.
"You're sorta late," said the brother's girl who I've known for more than a minute.
"Am I really? It's not that late. I really did try but the night's been hectic," I replied exasperated. Shit.

Tomorrow is another day and I actually care enough to follow through. Another crash and burn? Perhaps. A girl can't take the failures too seriously. It's better to have tried and failed than to have never tried at all. Or something.

Faraway, So Close

We've reached the quiet stage of the trip. Last night M3 ended in a big blast of a concert with Tortured Soul, Los Amigos Invisibles, Slam Dunk, Louie Vega, Eric Kupper, and Cirque de Soleil on some synchronized swimming tip. I floated around spinning with the ultra technicolor dress, working the strut, looking for something more than the crowd I was wandering with. I've been thinking to myself that I probably would've liked to have been one of the many catching their shuttles to the flights, sunglasses on and head slightly pounding from the hijinks. I got my headache yesterday from too much time in the sun and not enough sleep, but I had the energy on mid because it was only the halfway mark after all. I feel like I've been here for weeks, but I know the second I reach the NYC shores, it'll feel like I could've stayed so much longer. The grass is always greener and all that.

Last night, we spotted The DJ who we'd seen once so far, though he's running the same trip time we are. We got gobsmacked with why he's made himself scarce and we couldn't help but feel the sting. It's something I couldn't shake off and it's still bothering me. Hmm...could that be related to the present trip blahness? Might be. I confirm or deny nothing. Meanwhile, we need another beach trip because all dispatches from NYC has us believing the sun will never shine there.

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

Speak To Me/Breathe

I laid on the cool wood, marvelling at the ridiculousness of lounging on the floor simply because I ran out of options. I rested a foot on the stack of pillows crowding the living room and stretched. The door to my room opened behind me sent a shaft of light where I was, but the room was mostly dark. I thought to myself how I'd simply shrug if my roommate(s) came home to see me laying there so stupidly. And perhaps we'd laugh and they'd say "you're weird" and I'd reply "tell me something I don't know!" Through it all, he spoke and I listened.

He probably thought I wasn't listening, but I always do. I was thinking also about how many fake or would-be relationships had crashed and burned with me listening and them talking about something I'd rather not have heard. People like to talk to me. I like to listen. I guess. They feel comfortable with me and they tell me everything. I give the appropriate responses and they talk some more. Occasionally, I chime in for a second and then retreat. And then they talk some more. It's how it works. Surface things need surface chatter. I came up with that rule to be enigmatic. It's a relic from the days when I was too shy/uneasy to put myself out there with someone new. You know, the old days like an hour ago.

I'd rather listen and see what I'm getting myself into. False intimacy makes me unnerved. When I'm unnerved, I put the barricades up and the filters on. I always look the gift horse in the mouth. You can never say I don't learn my lessons. I obviously know how to talk. All these words on the web pages didn't appear from thin air even when they did.

I considered talking last night and also the night before. Instead, I listened and smiled and made response noises. And that was as far as I felt willing to go. I want my voice to have weight and I'm tired of wasting my breath.

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?

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.

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.

Roundup Part 4: Kitty List Power

The Most Cliched Parts Of My Year:
1. "Oh my God...not them too! Another fucking sniffer! They're everywhere!"
2. "Wow...I had no idea you were black on paper/the phone! And you're like super black...nappy hair and damn, you are really dark!"
3. "Oh hey, Candice. It's me, [insert punk here]. Just giving you a call to see how you're doing/what you're up to tomorrow. I'm/I'll be around in the city and I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out. Talk to you soon."
4. "No, he's very nice person. You guys only hate him because I told you all that bad stuff about him. If you'd got to know him, you'd like him. What if we got married or something, are y'all gonna disown me?"

Favorite Free Alcohol Fueled Adventures:
1. Film Fest Volunteers Party
2. Getting PrincessNella Involved In The Hijinks...Twice
3. Is That Scott Or The Doppleganger?
4. The Birthday Party, natch

Most Memorable Concerts of '04 (No Real Shockers):
1. Tortured Soul at Deep LA, Halloween.
The LA trip was pretty up and down. The weather was eh at first and there was drama with the host, but I got a kick out of the first trip checking out cool things and exploring. Halloween had been a glorious day -- going to the beach, snapping pics, getting baked in the sun, and really just having a blast on the last day in town. I had never heard a song of theirs prior to the show, but their grooves were so infectious that I became a diehard convert on first note.
2. Man Man/The Art of Shooting at Trash Bar, 6/19.
It was my first (and so far, only) visit to a place I'd heard more than a lot about in its previous existance as Luxx. I strolled in and liked TAOS because as stupid and base as it is, as a girl, I'll always give extra bonus points for a band of women playing and doing it well. I really thought their music was great heavy pop/punk and was excited to talk with Kelly and let her know that that. I remember that MM show as rather inspired and I've got a polaroid with Ryan as a memento.
3. Phoenix/Benzos at Bowery Ballroom, 12/2.
My post is one of the few that captures the thought process. I was super excited about getting the chance to see Benzos again and coming it towards the end bugged me. I only stayed for Phoenix out of curiosity, but the won me over with their breezy songs and charm. Every once in a while, the hardest cynical heart needs a good old pop show.
4. Man Man at Siberia, 4/28 or thereabouts.
Because really I've been getting mileage of "that's where I got trampled by a guy in a yeti suit!" all year. Plus that was probably the last time I was still pretty anonymous and talking to band people made me all nervous.
5. Erykah Badu at Chapelle's Block Party, 9/18
Yeah there were other people there and Fizzie and I left about midway, but I don't think any act would've compared to seeing her. I've got all her albums -- legally! -- and I've always been dying to see her in concert. And she didn't disappoint with that voice and talent jumping off the stage and her rolling with the punches as her giant afro wig was almost blown away by the wind. She is an amazing live performer and I want to see her in a proper setting in 05 for sure.

Wonderful Things That I Really Got A Kick Out Of This Year:
1. "You know, that was a good article/book/album. I wonder if they have a website/blog...oh, nice...they do!"
2. Strange encounters. If I wasn't getting surprising emails because of some thing I wrote rather flippantly on the blog (c.g. Fizzie), I was going somewhere and finding out that a person I just met was: in a group I liked, someone I should introduce people I knew in bands to, or had parallel interests to my own. Random magnet to the end!
3. Feeling like a real adult for a change. I feel like I definitely got my shit together in a lot of ways. It's been nice.

I Know You're Hot, But Won't You Please Be Cool

I think I've lost the urge to write a real structured post. I'm just going to be like Hani and throw whatever sticks down.

The longest work week ever stretched on and on and on. As quickly as Farmer reappeared, he vanished back to a leisurely life I can only wish for. He's good for shaking me up when I'm feeling hardcore and closed off. He's my boy and he tugs those heartstrings I forgot existed. But, we're getting better in our old age because we're leaving the drama by the wayside. All things pass.

I spent the weekdays all sleep deprived and grouchy, but emerged all butterfly-like Friday night. I sorta combed my hair! I wore something besides a big sweater/sweatshirt! I put on a belt! You know, all those things I don't do for the office. I felt like playing wino but wandered out the house too late to bottle it. The bus/train combo moved in slow motion and I found myself at Essex circa 1am, unable to decide if I already wanted to call it a night.

Instead, I bounced to Starfoods and marveled at what a difference a year makes. Woo...old school jams! "Candy Rain!" "Dope!" That'd be nice if those songs weren't played out and I actually wasn't sick of partying like it was the early/mid-90s. I'm over the nostaglia train. Where the fuck does a girl have to go to hear some modern house/glitch on a Friday night? Throw on some Tiga! Give me a Tiefschwarz remix! That's my new phase. I considered how I wanted a real electro party -- the music fused with a Francopolozza/Monday nights at Sapph/Shelter vibe, in other words, non-rhythm having, non-dancing fuckers crowding the space need not enter -- and then I remembered how this is NYC and people don't really dance, they just pretend to while making sure everyone else is watching. And then I was sad.

Cheap drinks at Sapph and then to my new Friday party...I guess. I was wandering about aimlessly until I wondered to myself, "is that the DJ guy I see over there? Is it? Oh, it is...nice." What I forgot to blog a month ago was Alex giving me a kick in the ass (through threats and potential embarassment) to stop being a punk and just talk to him. It was painless and I was newly excited afterwards. Alas, I stopped caring from a week after that until I saw him again Friday. Out of sight, out of mind. I truly don't care enough to keep the interest level going on no returns. In my mind, I was out of commission. Behind the scenes, minus the Farmer interlude, I'm pretty much got everything I want at this moment in time.

Still, he came over and we yammered. Have you ever just been fascinated by a person? All I could think was: "you're so cute yet so strange. I can't decide if it makes me like you more or want to make fun of you." Then again, I'm an asshole, so I always think that. His friend joined the party and I yammered with him. I tried to convert the friend to both the Zen and Unclassics. They jockeyed for position and I hoped they weren't going to come out with something ridiculous because my reply would've been: "honestly, neither of you have a chance in hell. Currently preoccupied. Thanks for playing though."

And the DJ played my most favorite song: Bugz In The Attic, "Booty (La La)" and I danced felt like maybe there was hope for going out after all. I hung with them from the Bowery to the road until I took my exit at 14th for the F. I had an erm, lively adventure with some teenage guys on the bus who took my tired curses as playing hard to get and wondered what kind of fucking pheremones I was sending out to get the stares/comments in full force. Disinterest. The hot new scent.

More of the same Saturday night. Bizarro male interactions and me wavering between bemused, disbelieving, and "if I ignore it, it'll go away" mode. Somewhere in there, caught Man Man show #5690 and wondered if there was some rule in effect last week that the pre-headliner acts at shows had to be utter shit. This group was like The Go-Go's minus that pesky instrument playing. They suck. Headliner was meh. I had more fun drinking. Woodpecker on tap rules! I can have the pretense of drinking piss like everyone else, but know that I'm not succumbing -- plus drinks that size are way more cost-effective than mixed drinks, even if they lack the kick. I strolled away from the madness early for me and went home blissfully alone.

I saved the fun for the Pseudo on the Sunday reunion. It's just better that way.

Interiors

I occupy myself at work by being flat and doing what I've got to do and thinking about what fun things I'm thereotically going to do afterwards. I like my job, just not this month. I also like maintaining dualities. Compartmentalizing has always been a fun pasttime of mine. Many here are on some "work should be like camp! woo!" thing, but I actually enjoy maintaining my distance and making my interior/post-work life a lot of more interesting than being with the herd could be. Then again, I've also been a loner and like being contrary, so YMMV on that one. My SAD is setting in and making my mind wander too much.

The out and about compartment is always pretty fluid thing. Simple is always the way to go. I like dark corners, randomness, silly adventures, good music, bass, room to move, and interior flavor. I'll go just about anywhere (minus Crobar where Lina tried to lure me with news of a 2-hour open bar. Sorry, not even if they're handing out bottles of Patron at the door), so that keeps life semi-interesting. I was so excited about the vacation because it was supposed to shake things up. I got back and the next couple of days I was bent out of shape about the election, then back to work and trying to dig myself out of the mess waiting for me. It wasn't long before I was freezing and back to wondering "is this all there is" as if I've never gone anywhere.

The Friday after I got back, when I had to be up to apartment hunt at 10am on a Saturday, I found myself traipsing to Chelsea Piers around midnight to catch a party I'd been on the mailing list and such for a good while. Party on a boat? "House party on a boat!" I screamed to me to convince myself to keep going on those long ass avenue blocks. Then I was still fresh off LA, needing to hear some serious bass and dance like I did so happily on the other coast.

It's no joke coming up on the piers at night. It's crazy dark over there! I almost jumped out of my skin when this water rat about 3/4 the size of my fat ass cat even hinted at running in my direction. But, I went in and wandered, hanging close to the corners and people watching. Eventually, I got tired of doing nothing and went upstairs to make a call when I found my phone ringing instead. A dispatch from The Director, out of the blue as they all are. I shrugged and agreed to traipse downtown to meet up with him and his friends. I made my way through the boat, coat in hand, and came face to face with the focus of my big stupid crush. "Oh shit," I screamed, far from quietly, and ran in the other direction. (Yes. I am 12 years old.) I thought of making a slight attempt of talking to him after I got over the shock, but I was then embarassed on top of being chickenshit, so I just left.

Off downtown, then on a search for The Director who was slightly confused of exactly where he was. Great. I finally walked into a cozy bar/lounge somewhere in the EVil and met cute with him. "You look strangely familiar. Kinda like this guy I used to know." "Are you sure? Do I know you?" "Shut up...how are you?" Hug. I was introduced to a girl friend of his and some other guy who standing with them. We broke off and started chatted briefly before I was off on a bathroom break. On my return, he handed me a G&T and turned towards his friend now alone. I stood along the wall, sipping and looking around taking in everything. The place was cool, somewhere I'd probably hang out in for kicks if I was in the area. After 10 mins or so, I was nearing the bottom of my glass and bored. I looked over at them, deep in the thick of a convo, boxing me out. My mind began to wander and I played around with my phone, sending a text to Jay-V. It was about 3am and my bed was calling me.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said I was heading out. Blah blah blah "yeah, I think so. I've got an early day tomorrow. I'll catch up with you sooner or later" blah blah peace out. And I wasn't even especially whiny/bitchy/snide/passive-aggressive about it, though it would've been easy to be. It was a hard situation to navigate, but fuck it, life is too short and I was practically asleep on my feet. On my walk to the train, I got a call asking me back, but I was pretty sure in my steps. "Another time maybe." The whole thing wasn't that serious really, but sometimes you just get tired of holding up walls.

I'm feeling beyond blah. I'd like to say this time last year, everything was better and different, but nope, November is notoriously a bad month for me. I'm really not kidding about the SAD. I need to shake shit up quick or maybe get one of those special lamps. I think I'm over vampire mode for now.

Kibbles and Bits

When I get something in my head, I'm dogged to the point of ridiculousness. Yet clueless at the same time. Something the friend units have been reminded of in the past 24 hours.

I think I may be crushing (read: god, I totally am!) on the DJ guy, but I've found myself faced with the task of building up some confidence to do a little chase. I'm so rusty. I don't have any recollection of how I got over before. Dumb luck? Good looks? Bold pursuers? Take your pick.

I've been driving everyone apeshit as I constructed a note on Friendster. It took me like a day to write four breezy lines with input from Jay, Steven, Bill, both Cs, and even Farmer. So bonkers. Hilarious was the battle of the sexes that developed where Steven and Farmer were all "be bold and say, 'the ball is in your court!'" where Jay and girl C vetoed that because there was no point in being too far out on that limb. The most interesting piece of advice was from Bill who said that saying "I'd like to chill" implied that "I'd like to erm, fuck." My response was "yeah...and?" but I cut it.

I think there's something to be said for just being really silly over people. Keeps life fresh. Yesterday, I was semi-depressed by a poston Jay's site about the damned book I'm intrigued with and think of as emotional krypotonite as the same time. Like we don't fucking know it when they're not into us! Come on! It's straight up common sense. But, sometimes you don't want to be all logical. If you did everything the way you're supposed to all the time, you wouldn't be living your life. And sometimes when you think he's just not that into you, maybe he's just busy (and so are you), so when he shows without a doubt that he is, it's a nice reward for holding out hope. The Director has proved me right on that front before. You've got to strike that balance between cautious and open.

But, I'm not hovering at my email box waiting for a reply. No...no, I'm not. I swear.

Fuck Yeah!

America, fuck yeah! Saw it Wednesday with Fizzie and a theater full of folks. We're still wearing our wristbands and Fizzie was slightly annoyed at me because my reply to his "go get them [being Trey and Matt] to sign the shirts" was: "But, they're standing right here. *blink* They just passed." Oops. And I discovered I'm an idiot because those "matchbooks" are actually filled with puppet-sized condoms...which is funny, but damn I wanted free matches.

The week was an alcohol and/or sleep deprived blur. I was never in bed before 3 am, so every day before noon at work was a total wash. Is it time for my vacation yet? But, I got a good night's sleep last night because I got up today at 3:30. Good times.

Monday, I spent QT with my dear Steven, even playing bystander to his relationship drama. Further proof that even "dating" is for the birds, kids. I also made the mistake of taking him out Tuesday night to meet up with Jenny, open bar, and new drinks in radioactively glowing green cups (Everglo, folks. It's aight.) and then forgot the cardinal rule of getting a heartbroken friend drunk: put their drunk ass to bed so they can't cause any more damage. Ah well.

Wednesday was the previously mentioned movie screening, followed by a trip downtown to a monthly party when I played mouse and mouse with the DJ/promoter I had met in Brooklyn the other week. It didn't take too long to realize the problem with going to a party to talk with someone while having another guy with you ambiguously. I was being a chickenshit natch, but he was kinda intimidated by Fizzie there. We really ran circles around the place with no connection. Hi, I'm 23 going on 11! I really needed someone like Alex or PrincessNella at that moment who would just shove me into him and/or bring him over to help out a hopeless cause. There's always next month I suppose...or around town. NYC is wonderfully big and socially tiny place. After getting that flyer from him, I heard about the party from no less than 4 other places on the net/mailing lists. I found out we were at the same Halloween party last year. He's a friend of a friend...and on Friendster. I could rock the hell out of this with only some nerve. Le sigh.

I've been doing CMJ stuff only tangentially. Thursday night, I went to two showcases for a min way late. Kitty Power says no to hipster art metal and empty dance floors, respectively! Life has mostly been wandering around with the kids and being happy that places are filled and strangely fun for a switch. And marvelling that just when I had forgotten about The Director again, there he was -- almost for real this time. Developing...

Nuggets

Been a min.

The Best of NY List from the Press is tops in my book. I've always had a soft spot for that paper because they've got a general "we don't give a fuck and it'll be raunchy and funny!" attitude (and one of fave weekly columns is Dategirl). Personal highlights:

BEST UNDERAPPRECIATED CONEY ISLAND RIDE: ELDORADO AUTO SKOOTER (the only cars I'm fully licensed to drive)
BEST TIME-KILLER: VIRGIN MEGASTORE, UNION SQUARE
BEST REASON TO GO OUT: OPEN BAR (a.k.a. why jobless losers are having so much more fun than you)
BEST REASON NOT TO NAME "BEST LOCAL BAND"
BEST SPAM HEADERS (SEX) (you can go read that yourself.
I'll save myself the spam, thanks)
BEST NEWSPAPER FOR KINDLING: THE NEW YORK TIMES
BEST REAL ESTATE TERM: EAST WILLIAMSBURG (preach it!)
BEST BLOG FOR REAL ESTATE WHORES: CURBED.COM (my work place crack. right, Jay?)

ETA: And also blog buddy, Jay Smooth's radio show was named one of the best. Holla!

In other news, I've been intrigued and appalled by this Observer article on this apparent best-seller. Though the title is golden with me. I abide by the 3 forms of contact rule for someone who looks like they're about to do the vanish trick: a week with one voicemail msg, an email, and one call but no VM. No response, fuck off. Keeps life simpler.

[side note: Amazon is offering a 2 for 1 special with this book. I sent Mr. KT the link to that over IM.
Mr. KT: oh please
Mr. KT: that's not true
Mr. KT: it's the reverse!
Jamirakid: bitches love men why? ;)
Jamirakid: i'd read that book
Mr. KT: no no i mean girls love assholes ;)
Mr. KT: men are simple folk
Jamirakid: heh
Mr. KT: we just like girls who are hot
Mr. KT: not our fault hot girls tend to be bitches
Jamirakid: uh yeah, i'd say it is
Jamirakid: you know that bit is going on the blog, right? LOL]

Such a loving and tender note (in that cruel and hilarious way) [via blog name of the century, Hookers On Stilts]

We can blame work for making me agree with SFJ's response:

What's the worst thing on the charts?

I am not terribly happy when I hear Alicia Keys sing.

At one point, the radios at work were constantly starting or ending "Diary" and "If Ain't Got You." You can't imagine how homicidal that'll make a person at a certain point. I strangely liked "My Boo" the two times I heard it (perhaps that's why). It's got a certain Stacy Lattislaw/Johnny Gill throwback feeling I appreciate.

I can thank Ant for providing me with the link most likely to get me fired. I need to brush up on my geometry.

What We Do Is Secret

The funny thing about the blog vacation was that it was fairly easy just to keep it going. I can understand the view "normal" people have of bloggers where they can't understand why we're so addicted to writing everything down. Not blogging saves some time for sure. At work, I worked. At home, I found instead of spending hours typing my hands off, I could just go to bed. I even lost weight because I was going to the gym and being active instead of sitting on my ass tied to my computer. Such a novel thing. But oh well, the addiction starts again.

I met up the Friday before last just past Union Square for dinner with TrendVickster and some of her new school friends. We found ourselves at the diner next to Irving Plaza where the performers that night were the Scissor Sisters. I felt very In Living Color because I was all "seen them and hated it." We were off to a net cafe on 13th to get the directions to the night's main event in Bushwick. We emerged from the L at Morgan and I was reminded why I just can't get down with that whole industrial living thing: I really keep way too late hours to be traipsing around vacant lots and streets with no lights on the regular. I've never been mugged, attacked, etc. and I just don't believe in tempting fate. Besides, nothing pisses me off than the two people walking towards each other on a dark street thing scenario where if one is me and the other one is white, they'll always move/panic/do something assy so that I want to scream "hello, you're a fucking 6'2" man, what could I do to you really? And if I could, you've got problems bigger than my barely 5'5" self." Makes me want to rob someone just out of spite. And that of course is irrational.

Anyways, we get there to find music and skating on the second floor of a converted warehouse. The decor was totally Fast Times At Ridgemont High/any 80s movie view of the suburban arcade where kids hung out. I felt like I was on a National Geographic expedition into a foreign land. I searched around looking for what I was there for and found out that I had missed them performing. Bummer. I did run into Kelly TAOS though, skating around in a purple dress and hotpants. So cute. I was about to get some skates of my own and kick up the fun a notch when I realized that I was without my ID. Turns out I'm a fucking idiot and had left it back in Manhattan at that net cafe. So genius.

I ran out of there and split up with TrendVickster at the train station, getting to the place just in time. It was only about 11 and I was restless as usual, so I decided to take a stroll to the next destination talking all the meanwhile with Lina on the cell.

I showed up at Siberia for the first time since my semi-traumatic yeti trampling to support K, the Wes head making moves, one of my original projected interviewees. I got my rock show courtesy of DONK and band with K on the upright bass. My instantaneous review was that it was what I imagined a Jeff Buckley show to have been like. It was really great. K and I spent a lot of time chatting as I tried to find out some info to base my questions because I don't know him half as well I should since I only see him about three times a year. But eventually, I had to accept that I was bone tired and succumb to the call of bed and home.

All day Saturday and Sunday I was making up interview questions and writing a cute little blurb (I hate that picture but not much as I do most of the ones taken in the year since). Some time Sunday night, I realized I was an idiot who had just about every day of my interviews covered but the first. Luckily, Steven popped up and we did his interview part 1.5 to get him up Monday.

At the office the next day, I found my work face temporarily pierced by a guy in another department that was all, "I saw you on Gothamist." Yeah, no shit? Get away from me. I was definitely worried about the blog becoming an office pastime, so that's another reason I kept the output nonexistent last week. If you have nothing there, they'll lost interest and stop coming. Though that hasn't seemed to stop random Wes people from popping through (Yeah, I see you).

Post-work, I met up with PrincessNella and TrendVickster for a mag party a few blocks away. Yay goodie bags! A slight pause on running into a girl from work (not so bad because she's one of the 3/4 I like) and a Wes girl (who chatted with about a mutual friend I lost touch with. It happens).

From there, downtown to meet up with Fizzie for Man Man Show # 875 (in actuality, 7 or 8). It was the first time I was bringing the kids to a show and I was a bit nervous. Worlds colliding and all that. They were simultaneously curious and frightened because I'm a weird girl, I like weird things, and them being introduced to those things can be a hit or miss situation. I made the mistake of going two levels down instead of one. Silly me not to intuitively know that they were moving up in the world. The place was on the crowded side, which was interesting. I sat with my friends all wide-eyed and "Do you like it? Do you like it?" referring at the moment to the stage setup looking straight out of The Birds. Their faces weren't looking so promising, so I went to the bar to get some cider and avoid the running commentary they had going as the band warmed up.

You know, it's good to be right. Earlier in the evening, I'd spoken to Ryan Man Man to ask what the projected starting time was if only because I was liking the mag party and hoping to get another comp drink before I had to bounce. He said 9:30 and I replied "okay, 9:45 when y'all finally finish setting up." The crew and I didn't even get there until 9:40 and they got started about 10 minutes after that. That story is relevant because while I was at the bar, with my back to the gang to avoid their guilt-inducing looks, the band was getting started. There were people at the show -- tons! That warmed my heart. They were even the "let's get up close to the stage and really watch" types. That can be a good or bad thing because most NYC crowds are of the "I'm going to stand here with my arms crossed as if I'm actually more than just a little punk bitch. Now, impress me" variety. (What kind of audience member am I? One who just kinda chills out on the sidelines. If I'm there, I just want to listen. And I hate being bumped, so I'd rather be off out of the way.) The warmup was amusing...I smiled at the bar until Fizzie rushed over with a "Trendvickster, just threw up!" She didn't really -- just almost choked on some water in shock -- but it was allegedly a funny ass spit take. Shit. I miss all the good stuff.

I rejoined the friends and pointed out the guy I believe was the former yeti suit clad trampling bandit. They were mostly dumbfounded at the music (demented carnival music was Fizzie's take), but they didn't outright hate it so that was a start. Post-show, I looked on amused that apparently the group has would-be groupies. This one was really noxious. Bad weave, looking like Robin Givens after a crack binge. I was not amused. I can't really wrap my head around a Man Man groupie. They're not like Velvet Revolver or something, but I suppose boys in a band attract that sort of element. The kids got an intro to Ryan and basically stared wordlessly at him after the pleasantries. We shot the shit, mostly consisting of "yes yes, I'm such a good shill. Heap praise on me!" and I got the album. Sweet! (It's been glued to the stereo for over a week now, y'all. October 5th. Buy that shit!) until some chick strolled up and he vanished like the wind. So then, they just switched to staring wordlessly at me. It was like the Inquisition.

I've been a little edgy the past couple of weeks. Actually, that's an understatement. I've been fucking insane the past month and change. The not so hidden secret of Candice is that I'm a control freak in disguise. I'm just about the worst handler of stress I know. I'm big on compartmentalizing to keep shit manageable, but naturally things spiral out of control and my little boxes overspill and what follows is that I lose my shit. Fizzie felt the brunt of the other week's meltdown and in general, I've been going around with the eyes narrowed and the potty mouth hitting landfill sewage levels. I went on a minor cursing jag from their pressure until I wound myself down. Another not so hidden secret: I've got a majorly short attention span.

I moved onto complaining about how this interview thing was driving me nuts heading into Day 2 and I half-heartedly searched around for someone to interview. Then, inspiration struck: Fizzie. I set off to make up some Qs and we experimented with candles in that dark ass room to get a decent pic before he and PrincessNella decided to go to the hall where the light was. The plan was to run an interview to play up his NYC hater status with a disclaimer at the end saying, "he doesn't really hate it, he's just lonely and bitter." His answer for "your greatest NYC moment:" "the day I went back home [the Bay] for four days." It was gonna be way over the top. We were cackling up a storm in the corner in anticipation. I know we looked insane...and we weren't even drinking. We blew out of there 11ish and I got straight on my computer after I walked through the door to transcribe. I had a change of heart about the interview we had done and tweaked questions and got new answers over IM from Fizzie as PrincessNella emailed me her pictures. That's teamwork in action. I was happy with how it actually turned out -- not that the process was any more on the fly as the week dragged on.

But, I think I've done more than enough peeling the curtain back for one blog post. Oh man...this is a monster. I really am back.

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.

She Wants To Move

Fuck I'm boring. I need a bender or something

That right there at the bottom my last post exemplifies famous last words. My head hurts more than you can imagine. Moving too much makes me feel ill. I'm gonna go back to boring and fucking love it once all light sources stop hurting my eyes. *whimper*

The high(/low)lights before I get into the thick of it: Femme Fatale is a great movie! * No Js across the Williamburg ruined my shortcut and almost my night * One day I'm just gonna flip and totally go Falling Down on public transportation. I can feel it * NBA Street 2 is damned entertaining but I suck at video games that aren't fighting ones * I left my wallet, ID, and (thankfully) ATM card at home. I'm so smart, it's scary * Pricks deserve to get cockblocked * When I said I don't pick up leftovers, I lied (and I knew I was at the time) * I had a total freshman year indoor beach party flashback, but this time I played Jay-V * For the first time ever, I vomited on someone. By accident. And yeah, eww. * New rule starting today: it might be crude and rude, but I'm no longer travelling outside Brooklyn-Queens-Manhattan with someone if I'm not getting laid * I actually waxed on the wonderfulness of Nerve Personals and Friendster before all the lamers got on. The ironic thing being I used to lie to everyone about where I'd meet these people. "Around" being the most common one.

I'll get around to the nitty gritty later. I need some aspirin first.

Aight. I slept it off. I'm good.

Friday -- minus a focus group where I got $40 for saying "your site sucks" and a dinner with Mr. Daddy where the convo basically went "Daddy, I'm so faaat!"/"No, you're not."/"Yes I am, I'm so faaat."/"No, you're not...okay, you got a little chubby."/"See...I'm faaat" -- was a bust and I stayed in to be obsessive in downloading music. Saturday dawned equally as low-key until I caught in the rain bringing home my clothes from the laundry and gave up my dream of a Central Park show. I sat down and watched some TV for a switch and came across Femme Fatale. So much fun. By then, it was time to head out. Let's note for later on that it was a good thing I wore my sneakers.

I set off to meet Fizzie to roll together. The quickest way (usually) to the LES from my way is the J, cutting across Queens and Brooklyn right over the Williamsburg. Everything was humming along until Hewes when they announced the shuttle bus and dumped us all out. I waited at Hooper with all the other rides and felt stoked that I landed one of the last seats. Until I got hit from all sides. The men sitting next to me and I were packed so close that my legs were sweating -- with the additional insult of the dick on the right sitting sideways and putting his ass on me. But really pissing me off was the utter inanity of the conversation going on over my head. There was this "artist" and this other guy I had eyed when we got on the train because he looked ultrasharp talking about how wonderful it was that the "artist" was rich (oh, excuse me that his folks were rich) and he could afford to bum around living in Malibu and traipse about the country just to hang out. Yeah, fuck that kid. Meanwhile, the bus was caught in traffic and moving slower than people walking across the bridge. I was heated by the time I got to Delancey and Essex.

I strolled over to Fizzie's place to find him dazed by video games in b-ball shorts, a.k.a. the usual. He used my answer of "I'm not sure yet" (the question being "so where are we going?") to ignore me and keeping playing while I made the drink. Major mistake. Jay-V and others can confirm that a drink made by my hand is gonna be pretty stiff since I lack the depth perception to agree on a reasonable amount of alcohol in a glass. Not quite "vodka with some coloring" but close. We had a bottle of Smirnoff in the fridge with about 1/4 left and I decided to split the difference...in two coffee cups. It was pretty strong, but we downed (well I sipped) it like pros. I nagged his ass to make it speedy on the game and he convinced me to play a round of Need for Speed. I began to rethink my PS2 in the bachelorette pad idea when it was revealed that I was too stupid to drive in a car game. See, that whole no license thing is about me protecting the little people. I gave up and went back to sipping as Fizzie played NBA Street 2. The announcing slayed me (Wes head represent!) and I speculated how exactly the recording session for that went on. Did he sit in a room just think of ball related disses or what? (Jay, got any insider scoop?) I was also thrilled to see Darryl Dawkins as one of the people Fizzie played because I met him at Newark Airport back in the day. That man was scarily huge.

At once, I got phone calls from my friend C and FFPGINOANP (soon to be renamed when I'm feeling creative cause it's a bitch to find and paste..erm, type). He had popped up again Thursday, surprising the hell out of me. What a sneaky move it is for a guy to pop up after you're basically written him off! Everyone was in Fizzie's neighborhood and wanting to hang out. It was really like summer for a change. I hurried Fizzie out the door and we went to where C was first. And when I got to bouncer, I looked in my bag and realized a big one: I had left my wallet at home. D'oh! But, it's good to be a girl sometimes cause he just quizzed me on my b-day and let me in regardless. We chilled for a sec and with a "we'll be right back" popped over to Orchard where FFPGINOANP was with his friends.

We stroll in and I plop next to him. Intros all around. I only partially cared to hear the names of the "friends" (in quotes because it was later revealed that they weren't really), so we'll call them German and Bitchface. Fizzie and I heard that it was last call (at only like 1:30) and hurried to order lemon drops since it was just about the only appealling thing we could find. The total of that was about $14. As the bill was being divvied up, Fizzie threw in a $20 and then Bitchface had the nerve to ask us if we were putting something towards the tip! Fucker. We convinced the three of them to abandon plans to go somewhere up in Gramercy and come with us back to the other place. (I could tell you the magic word that changed their set minds, but then I'd have to kill you.)

Back at the spot, we sipped on the house peach ice teas in a group. At the corner of my eye, I noticed strange body language going on between German and FFPGINOANP and Fizzie and I did the play by play. Head tilts, little smiles -- so flirting. And then bang, the kissing and disappearing. I raised an eyebrow, amused, and we traded laughs. Definitely not laughing was Bitchface who looked pissed enough to fry an egg on his face. Someone asked me about where the bathroom was and jumped up to "show" them because curiosity has always been my Achilles' heel. (It's a kitty thing.) I think it was around then that the night began to take on a vintage Wes days vibe. The fact we were all generally drunk off our faces only added to it. Alcohol: the great age equalizer.

When I came back, Bitchface was even pissier and making his way out. He wanted me to pass on a message he left. (Yeah, no one cared though.) A minute later, back came FFPGINOANP and German. He plopped next to me and she hung around for a few mins before leaving. I smiled at him as sweet as sugar. "How's your night going," I asked. "Alright," he replied. "Yeah, it looked like it. We saw you in the back, tsk, tsk" Banter, banter -- you know the deal. I obviously wasn't mad or anything. Like I said, all very collegesque -- not that the boys I kinda liked kissing other girls in front of me happened too much in my time. I was pretty unfazed but I did put it out there that I don't pick up other girls' leftovers. Soon after, the group of us were off to Sapph.

There, we kept drinking and I proved myself a liar. About the leftover thing. I was surprised but not very. I'm prone to whims. The frat house indoor beach party flashback came when one sec I was standing next to a pillar to the side of the room and the next I was on my ass on the floor. Thank God I wore my sneakers. FFPGINOANP said later that from his perspective, one sec I was there talking and the next I dropped out of sight. I have no idea how I got there. I was straight up perplexed as Fizzie and C rushed over to help me. "What are you doing on the floor?" Fizzie asked. I replied totally confused, "I really don't know" and they hoisted me up. Thus ended my drinking. Actually, the whole group of us got cut off. Good times.

So, it's stupid late and FFPGINOANP suggested that we all hang out at his house. Fizzie was really into it until he remembered "wait, he lives in Jersey and I live 4 blocks away. I think not. Laters." Smart boy, that Fizzie. Chugging my bottle of water (that mysteriously appeared) the whole time, I went in a cab to PA to get on the bus and stand. Somewhere on Blvd East, I felt the urge to vomit. And I sorta did. Lightly. But some spilled on the guy sitting down underneath me. And his facial expression was like "is that water dripping on me?" Yeah...some of it. So, I just walked straight off the bus like a fare beater and sat on the side of the road until I felt better. Wondering where the hell I was and what I was gonna do sorta passed through my head, but I was more into pulling myself together. Up strolled FFPGINOANP and luckily we were only about 3 blocks from his place. So, we get there, I go vomit some more in the bathroom, and pass out. Lovely, eh?

The next day, I felt fine lying down, except for the sun feeling like it was melting my eyes. We worked to piece together the night before and he made the funny comment about me falling out of sight. I reminded him that yes, he made out with German, and I got the story of Bitchface trying not so subtly to edge him out and have her all to himself the whole night. Pricks deserve to get cockblocked. Lovely conversation and everything. Somehow internet dating came up and I was all, "shit...I used to be a Friendster ho! But the golden days are over." (Second part's true, the first not quite.) I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that he reminds me of what I liked about Farmer before he reemerged as Sniffer Beast Mach 5. We went for some yummy Spanish food and made plans to catch a show in a few weeks. Then I went back to NYC on the most hellish slow ass bus ride and I made that never going outside of Brooklyn/Queens/Manhattan without a payoff promise. We'll see if I keep it. I'm quite prone to hyperbole. Because after all, wouldn't I be mad if someone had that rule about me? Eh...no, not really. I'd probably thank them for being honest.

In conclusion, a jammed packed fucking weekend. I no longer feel ill and I'll probably go another 6 months without vomiting (hopefully). I've also learned some lessons: Guys surprise you when you least expect it. If you're going to overindulge on the sauce, it'd better be early. If you've got a would-be rival, you've got to be all Survivor in that piece -- outwit, outfox, outlast. And try to keep it all down.

Take One

*An entry liberated from draft mode about events on or close to 8/05/04*

Instead of blogging, I've been chained to my desk and being a masochist. Farmer Attack has been in full effect much of the past two weeks. The symptoms included emotional rollercoasters, dramatics, self-hatred, moping, and occasionally moments of bliss. Life, however, moves on and I've been doing the pen and paper writing thing to process.

But what I'm really supposed to be doing is littering downtown with flyers for The Closet. A major hinderance to that has been a) I've been depressed b) I hate people, so going up to strangers and shilling up my event wasn't looking so promising. Last night though, I sucked it up and dealt (?dealed? My English major brain is failing me!) because it's my job.

The irony of last night was that yesterday at work, I had been working on a "men on the streets are shits!" post. I dragged my carcass out of my warm and comfy bed around 11 and really had to force myself to go forth and publicize. I felt miserable with so many I sat down in a corner seat on the J and took out my old black & white to pass the time during the ride. Since the MTA tends to be dicks after 10, that train was out of service and I sat on a platform bench to wait for the next one. Up walked a transit worker bursting out with game which put a smile on my face but left me cold because dude was like older than Ms. Mommy and stuff. I pleasantly chatted for a while, then the train pulled off and another one got on at the next time and picked up the mantle. I raised an eyebrow and noncommittedly chatted with him also. Was there something in the air? Were their latent animalistic senses picking up the "not fertile" pheromones? Who knows. I went back to writing.

I got off at Essex and strolled up Rivington with the thought of chatting people up and handing them flyers turning my blood cold. I beelined for Sapph and hung out with the folks. Everyone was clowning poor Fizzie for the week before. I chuckled and hung out for a while building up some liquid courage before going on flyer duty. I tested my nerve by sprinkling some around the bar and found myself casually and confidently responding to questions. So far, so good.

I went out into the big bad world and gave them to cool looking folks on Stanton. A group of 3 guys with vaguely Euro accents crossed my path and one took a flyer and asked if "I'd be there." I smiled patiently and replied in the affirmative. He was all "wonderful! I'll be there!" and gave me goodbye kisses on the cheek that were just a little too enthusiastic. Back up off me, stranger.

I wandered down Ludlow where I ran into two guys talking in front of some bar or another. One started chatting me up and I was neutral yet amused by him. Sometimes that's all it takes really. He was enthuasiastic about the event --and me -- and we exchanged numbers, somewhat unwillingly on my part.

I'm a big resistor which is why I end up having nothing happen or being in hot water. I've been trying to figure out for the past year or so where this pseudopassive thing developed. A byproduct of opting out of the game and being unsure of how to proceed outside of those boundaries I suppose. Underneath a fairly easy-going nature hides eyes that take everything in and a brain that hates to let go. I'm a type A- in disguise, the low-grade control freak.

But that night, I gave the number and I shut the probabilities and calculations off for a min. Even if I lost interest in him by call 1.5, there's nothing wrong with a little possibility now and again.

Re-rewind

I'm stuck in a time warp. I simulataneously feel 16, 19, and 23. I blame it on the sorry state of my life in Summer 2004.

I possess 4 main flaws: 1) flightiness 2) an obsessive memory 3) laziness and 4) a short attention span. All of them are highlighted unfavorably in the Farmer episodes. With him, I'm so stuck on some awesome moments from the 2003 era that I forget every rule/ill word I've made about him since and get temporarily sucked back into the maelstrom. Because he's kinda "bad" and that's a lot more exciting than me (my 16-year old self); he's so deep and sensitive, man and you just can't see it like I do (my 19-year self); and fuck it, if I'd rather make my dumbass mistakes now than in my 30s (my 23-year old self). What I have noticed is my progression in fallout reactions. I might've still obsessed for a day (or two or a couple of weeks. Who's really counting after all?), but I'm getting better at shrugging things off as time moves on. It really isn't that deep after all and nothing got hurt but a little ego. Luckily for us all, he's off again to flit about the east coast and midwest for some unspecified amount of time. Perhaps I should just find like a hobby or something before he pops up again. You know, to save Jay-V and Fizzie and PrincessNella and everyone else the grief. I was sure for a while there that they were gonna just take me out and shoot me if I kept mentioning his name.

The real problem is that I'm bored. Everything's so static. I feel like there's been zero haps in the past year and change I've been back in NYC full time (with the months after April being especially brutal) minus money in the back and about 15 extra pounds. Work is the biggest life killer in the fucking world. Though, I'm pretty awesome at it and don't hate it as much now that everything's picked up. (And if I may toot my own horn for a min -- guess who got a perfect score on her review and was basically told that she's top notch and headed for good things in the dept. Moi!) I've been researching the career trajectory and like what I see, but I've still got it in my head that I want to do the writer thing. Then again, what the fuck do I know? I'm the typical confused liberal arts grad.

The summer can be summed up in one word: disappointing. Everything that seemed sort of promising a few months ago either got the brakes thrown on or petered out. I'm still out here in the boons with Ms. Mommy and the cat (one still wandering the mean streets popping up occasionally). Being home has awaken some long buried teenage angst I forgot existed. And I don't only mean the return to grunge that's been going on musically. I've listened to Alice In Chains more in the past 2 months than I have since the '90s. We're still looking at apartments and I'm so utterly over the process. Isn't there some sort of magical genie that can get me a fly 2-br (+) in Long Island City, Fort Greene, Astoria, or "Clinton Hill" for under $1700 without wanting a fee for it also? I mean really!

The nightlife spark really just hasn't come back for me. I'm so glad that I became friends with Fizzie because even though together we only trade off being bad influences and spending up each other's money, neither of us would get out the house and be social otherwise. Plus when it's really terrible out there, nights in with vodka tonics and House Party do just fine. I'm bummed that stuff on the boy/whatever front hasn't panned out. FFPGINOANP and one where stuff was moving painfully slow and not alluded to (much) seem to have run its course. There was a guy I met in the course of running around with my flyers that seemed open and cool that just ended up a little too clingy and sad sackish with my negative reaction only magnified by the fact I had zero time to deal with drama where there should be none. I feel like I'm growing more and more cynical by the day.

I propose a rewind to coast for the next 4 months (jesus christ, why is Thanksgiving in plain sight right now???) of the fall/winter months. When I cut out the excess to give my all to the job hunt, I don't think most of my life really recovered. It's hard to go from hardcore hedonist to shut-in cold turkey. I propose checks and balances: the return of my intrepid spirit but not breaking the bank, healthy living but not totally cutting out the greasy goodness or killing all the curves that I've really grown to love, remembering to smile and be social but not leaving myself open for whatever snake that'll slither up to me. I need some fun dammit. That's my end of the year resolution.

He Hate Me

Mother Nature is doing me a favor today. Overcast and rain. I'm really loving it because I'm feeling a bit deranged...and very 1999 because I keep (and I'm about to again) putting song lyrics and shit. It's back to my OG Geocities type posting apparently.

What a fucking week! I've been through the ringer really. Bring on the Man Man show! I really need that boost right now. Meanwhile, the extended post is what's been playing around in my head besides "gotta finish my article and stop bullshitting like 15 mins ago!" If I break a glass on someone's face and/or start screaming uncontrollably, know that Orgy is the soundtrack.

And gotta love Quiz Diva giving me the scoop on what's painfully obvious:

There's No Way He'll Commit Maybe you haven't known each other long... And that's why he's acting a bit sketchy But if you've been together for a few months, Then you've got to let him go. Because he's not looking to put a ring on your finger - ever. This guy's not going to change for you, or any other woman.

Hi, my name is Candice and I'm an addict. I enjoy dysfunctional relationships with irredeemable characters. Screaming matches, cursing, and dramatic episodes really float my boat. But, actually it fucking doesn't and if I have to deal with another assclown, I'm gonna put myself out of my misery. One is too many and a thousand is never enough.

If it stayed, I'd never leave it
If that turned around
I'd grieve the special dirty things that we used to talk about
I mean that loving you is strange
And adored by me throughout
Oh no it's you again

Someday soon you'll find that someone
Waiting for the chance to beat you
Drooling on the set to feel you
Blessing you with every kiss

Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill

Such the patient one who needs me
The spoiled one who wins
So shocking where's your sense
Don't you know i hate you, oh
Unsatisfied, you little girl.

Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill

Rolling dice and seeming queer
Bastard love, a sick affair
Let's see what new disease you'll fetch
I mean that fucking you is strange
And adored by me throughout
Oh no it's you again
Blessing you with every kiss

So precious
You know this hate of mine exploded
I'm so deranged you know
I will never be the same

Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause your the death of me
So precious loving the thrill
Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause your the death of me
So precious loving the thrill

Donut

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

Whatever you do
Don't tell anyone

Love Is The Drug

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Golden

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

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

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

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

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

Until You Use Me Up

I love Sundays. It's the recovery day after a weekend of hijinks and/or the last day of peace before going out into the grind. I usually try to arrange my Sundays into waking up whenever and doing not a damned thing but putting on slouchy pants and lounging. I'm listening to a collection of old school R&B and have been singing along to this little gem.

In checking my email, I realize I forgot to call a newish Friendster who became one who he called me out for unbookmarking him, sending me a message to ask if I didn't think he was good enough for me anymore (in a funny way, natch). We graduated to emailing and were supposed to do the real talk and subsequent meeting thing, but I just...didn't. In my defense, I was unsure of the right time yadda yadda because he's coming off a birthday and I'm sure had his own weekend plans. Regardless, I'm starting to wonder about me.

I'm on some eyes on the prize shit because I'm really trying to do the straight and narrow thing, living escapade and drama-free until the stuff with the new place is settled. Oh, did you guys know that being only marginally employed for almost a year is pretty much like a wrecking ball to your finances? Well now you do. I'm trying out this adult thing for a switch. The costume might need a little alteration but I like the way it looks on me. I'm trying to be focused, focused, focused. I don't have time for bullshit.

Then again, I'm also feeling a little burned. The return of the prodigal Farmer episodes are still pissing me off. It would've been one thing if I had been holding out hopes of some sort of romantic reunion, but the fact that he came back and showed his ass as if we were barely even friends annoys me. I feel like I was played for a dick basically. "You keep up with me too much, so now I have nothing to talk about." Oh, that's a problem? I can fix that. Yet now that he's off wherever, we're supposed to be the best of IMing friends again. Hmm...I'm busy. I can't really talk right now. Maybe if I feel like typing even that. Bitchass.

Instead, I've been hanging with the friends. P. Fizzle in particular and I have been rolling deep, being stone cold alkies and spending up each other's money. Jay-V and I have plans to see an advance screening, courtesy of my lucky contest winning skills. I'd rather be with my people and chill out instead of having the aggravation. I can't be the only person who feels that way, right? I totally admit that I might be hiding out a little bit, but I feel getting out of the rat race can be good for your soul sometimes.

Meanwhile on Friday, I found myself with a phantom message. I had that tell tale grin ear to ear once I realized that it was the volunteer party guy. I replayed it like a girl once...okay, twice...and waited until I got home before I felt I could comfortably craft a message without sounding like an idiot. We're currently playing the dreaded phone tag, but his movie is just about wrapped up and he's reentering the world again soon. Hope springs eternal I suppose.

Historical Movements

This weekend, I had a massive cell phone purge. It was jammed packed with the numbers of shitheads I really don't ever plan to call again. Shady? Poof. Farmer? Poof. My old temp agency? Poof. There's something downright liberating about all that. I decided that it would be the best thing to do to stop brooding because I am good for that crap. Out of plain sight, out of mind is my motto which explains so much really.

Meanwhile, I think that I'm regressing. It's fitting because I'm fully settled at home, going to work, and living life not in my living room in a way that I haven't been since the summer before Wes....as sad as that sounds. All that's missing is a trip down South. (Oh wait, check.) I was bored at work last week and I Googled my focus boy. He has a blog-type deal (doesn't everyone?) which hasn't been updated in a while yet it is semi-interesting to read. He has a secret non-work life just like I could sense he did, making electronic stuff for fun. (We'll ignore the girlfriend I discovered on my Friendster search. It's not like I want more than to be all fashionable and dark together at work anyways.) I wish I could talk to him about it in a way that wasn't stalker sounding, but I'm at a loss. I need to step up my chatting at the copier game, pronto! Anyhoo, I realized that he reminds me of someone else I know who I've been becoming friends with recently, down to the cowboyish boots. After I hung out with that one for real the first time, all I could think was it was like being 17 again and so enthralled by this boy B in my class.

I'm a sucker for the dark-haired musicians a little too smart and mouthy for their own good. A little broody and complicated. B was the type of guy only a high school girl could love. We sat next to each other in calc and he complemented me on my The Colour and The Shape tape and always tried to cheat off me in tests. He had this stupid looking leather jacket and slightly too long hair, just a little curly. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere, he started going out with this superbland ultraWASP blonde girl. In my school, they always chose the blondes -- and if none were available, as close as you could get, with girls that looked like me (like the 10 of us) being the farthest from that and hence, invisible. At the time, I was devestated and began to hate him as I realized he was really just a prick who thought he was the only guy in the universe to like the Sex Pistols and Nirvana. He went off to Williams and proved himself to be even lamer. I heard a rumor later on that he broke up with Blandy over IM frosh year of college. Last fall, I was strolling down E 10th Street on my way to meet a friend when I noticed myself about to pass him. He gave me a quizzical "I know you" look waiting for me to say something, looking as if not a hair had changed since '99 and still wearing that stupid jacket. I feigned playing with my phone and walked right past him. Good riddance.

The problem with regressing to 17-year old likes is I'm back to my 17-year old initiative -- that is, none. At 17, I was all dreams and no action because I didn't have the first clue of how to be a girl chatting up a boy. That was the tailend of my tomboy phase when I was still extracting myself from the oversized clothes. I couldn't relate to guys except in playing sports or talking about music. Even at 23, I've really got no skills. I'm always amazed when I fall into something. I've gotten over the inner spazziness (for the most part), but first moves are not my bag. Life would be so much easier if you could just tackle them into falling for you. Or babble nervously and inanely to you but smartly cynical and funny to them until they jump you. (Oh wait...I do that second one already. Works like a charm.)

The real solution I suppose is embrace getting older and get some balls. Natch. If only it was that easy. Meanwhile, I'm off to write in my journal -- or actually IM Jay-V -- about how Focus Boy and I shared a moment passing in the kitchen -- and how he almost caught me looking at his site by appearing over my shoulder at the copier. Eek. A little silliness never killed anybody.

Tainted Love

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

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

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

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

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

The Long Goodbye

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

The Fit

The rain makes me melancholy. Not that it's a state I'm ever truly far away from.

What seems like forever ago, Farmer and I had this surprisingly frank yet chill conversation about what we wanted our dream person to be like -- the unsaid being "what I'll move on to when I'm finally done wasting time with you." I said that I wanted most of all a spark, someone to make me excited and intrigue me instead of just drifting towards them because the option was there. His response was so much simpler: "someone who just fits me." It says a lot about the differences between us. I've got control freak tendencies under a type B personality surface. I like to make lists, weigh options, plan. Where he just does what he wants on his own terms. He wanted to drop out and move to Florida and he did. Occasionally, I say that I want to do something similar, but I know I never will. I can't consciously live life in freefall mode. I have to be working towards something -- figuratively at least.

I've found myself starting to wonder if Farmer really has the right approach, especially since that's what always ends up happening to me anyways. To just go with what fits at the time instead of wanting every piece of the criteria to be met. To take the science out of it all and simply drift until I find something that just feels okay.

I'm too impatient to ever really commit myself doing that though. I want my fit on my terms because there's a voice in me that says when I left it all up to chance before, disaster struck. The Continental came along when I was so preoccupied with my article (and its relative thesis failure) that I was a bit more open than I should've been. Mr. Sailor when I tried to unsuccessfully transfer the fun of a NYC summer to the woods of CT. Farmer literally got the jump on me when I forgot that sometimes you have to be on the lookout for other people's motives. And what came of those? Shit, shit, and more shit. I think bitterness is creeping into my heart because I feel like so many shit people (one with the alias of S.C. comes to mind near the top that list) have their fit, so where is mine?

I'm too young to be so cynical. I blame the rain.

Quicksand

As a young singleton with a healthy libido and the honor of being a closet romantic, to say that I spend a fair amount of time thinking about relationships -- or lack thereof -- isn't especially surprising. In the eight months I've been back in town full-time, it's been all about trial and error. If a cute guy that you've had a nice rapport with gives you his number, don't be a dolt and call him. Or if you haven't gotten his number, what are you waiting for? Ask or give him yours. Time's a-wasting! Asking questions is usually a good idea. If you like them, tell them so! If they can't deal, it's their loss. Three things I really wouldn't be able to advise on are: how (umm, theoretically) a person who might consider themself a size queen can find that piece of info out before things escalate; how not to be blindsided by someone pole vaulting out of the friend zone; and the delicate situation of gauging someone's interest level before you potentially make an ass of yourself and get the "I think you're really cool but I just don't like you that way/have a girl-/boyfriend."

In honor of the new age, I'm avoiding many people, places and things that made the exploits of 22 so irritating after a while. Cooling down the hot pants, if you will. Fine tuning the radar, being firm but not too firm on the criteria. Of course, I got some shit on- and offline for putting the age thing first on "sick of" list. That is something that's important to me because I feel like it's an issue from keeping things from getting off the ground. For better or worse, when Farmer dominated the scene from August until December, it was something I could not get over because the life experiences he had packed into the 4 years between us had me constantly feeling like a kid. Of course, it was probably a problem invented in my head, but since most relationships are mental if I say it's a problem, it will be.

I'm beginning to think though that I'm constricted by rules and preferences. Friends are off-limits, even moreso because of Farmer aftermath. Most people I went to school with are persona non grata because honestly I'm sick of looking at them and/or would rather avoid that element. Guys at Sapph and 419 are off-limits because I know through experience who the types that run through there are. I'm over pale, skinny hipsters. No interest in the hyperthugs. No, no, no to whitebreads, status-obsessed, and crunchy hippies. Thumbs down to the humorless. So, what's left? In my mind, plenty. In actuality, apparently not much.

The preferences function as sort of a pop-up blocker. The other week, I met a cool guy who I nice vibe going with. We seemed to like the same things, occasionally hang out at the same places, have similar out and about styles, and have a bit of a weakness for the sauce. What functioned as the smackdown was that we might be working together on a project. PrincessNella in her devil on the shoulder role was all "who cares? Go for it!" and I considered it but had to ixnay that. So, the friend zone welcomes a new member. I mean, it's all trial and error, natch, but principles are there for a reason. If you don't have those, who do you have really?

Hitting The Wall

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

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

PrincessNella and I did the "beer" (actually, cider since we hate the piss) and convo thing here Saturday night and we both agreed that I've just got problems and should just quit since I apparently send out "seeking the damaged/undesirable" vibes. We decided that where I hang out is the problem: Sapph, that local hole in the wall with good atmosphere yet sketch and old regulars/clientele and 419, the super stylized, mood lighting filled debaucherous little den and its chameleon-like stable. Being there, what else would I get besides the shady and those with false fronts?

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

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

Conspiracy Theory

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

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

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

Baby Steps

I was amazed to find myself panicky and nervous. My heart was pounding a mile a minute, my head felt hot, my mouth dry, my hands cold. I stared at the number, trying to will myself into a Kill Bill situation. "Pick up the phone and dial."

I used to -- well, I still do -- spend a lot of time thinking about things like power dynamics. Saturday night on the way home, I stopped at the donut shop near the corner I catch the bus to talk with my friend there. He and I got into a convo about my cooking skills, or lack thereof. He was making the argument so many like to "you don't cook? What's your husband going to say about that? How are you going to find a husband if you don't cook?" I replied with a sardonic: "men know how to cook nowadays too. Being the house cook isn't really in the marriage contract or anything." I took it a step further and said that I wanted a house husband to cook, clean, and take care of the kids and home while I worked. I mean, why the fuck not? (But, in actuality, marriage should be partnership yadda yadda it's no one's job to do domestic stuff yadda yadda it's a household chore for everyone yadda yadda. Anyways...) I have little to no interest in those traditional type things right now anyways. A Rules girl I am most definitely not.

I've found it interesting lately the trend of guys giving me their numbers instead of vice versa. I suppose it follows though considering my "persona" is the enigmatic woman. As a random magnet, people feel comfortable talking to me and guys seem to volunteer info, so when we part ways, I know more about them than they do me. I suppose that throws me into the dominant role. If I actually was the type to get off on that shit. "Ooh...I have the power! Bow before me, you small man!" That's stupid. I don't really see how subverting the dominant narrative is doing anything but reinforcing it as a model of how things should be. I don't think that in relationships there necessarily has to be someone on top. Even in a sexual sense, there's no fun in one person always being the #1.

Besides, as the one with the number, it makes me feel semi-pressured. Sometimes I feel there's even rules involved to not following rules. Where does "too eager" stop and "apparently not interested enough" begin? There's always the fear that they won't remember you, that they're a two-timing sack of shit with a live-in girl who could answer the phone, that they never respond to your response, that they were really interested in the first place, that you didn't really like them at all in retropect, or that things go well until a disastrous meeting. Just pressure. You're making yourself so vulnerable through those wires. I believe the initial contact is more nerve shattering than actual dating can ever be.

But, I made the call and I was warmed by his surprise. A 45-minute call on the first try. It was totally comfortable and effortless. I do like a talker. It puts me in good company. What's next? Who knows? I'm taking the most careful little baby steps. Just trying to stay balanced.

99 Problems And A Bitch Ain't One

I've mentioned before the big technical problems induced post hiatus that I got the number of the guy that might as well have a "For Candice" sign around his neck. Did I call him? No. I was busy...doing shit, man, sleeping and stuff. Life was hectic last week. Now, of course, I know if the situation was reversed and I gave a guy my number and he didn't call after a week, I'd be totally heated. Oh wait, what am I saying? I probably wouldn't care at all. I've had them call me and never called back. Is there really any curiosity about why I'm single? The middle S is for Sabotage.

Calling me out of the blue Saturday night was Farmer. Ho hum. At least last week, I smiled like a maniac for a good 10 minutes after speaking to him. This time, I was just whatever. I'm so fickle. It really is a shame.

The mystery of the world has to be though, the guy who when I said I'm not a touchy person accepted that, but thought it was okay to try and shove his tongue down my throat. Does not compute, right? Or am I the crazy one in that episode?

Longest Day

50 Cent and some fuckers were filming something at the corner of my block Saturday. Bastards were screwing up traffic. Correction: Imagine my surprise when Bill said that he heard that 50 had apparently disrupted that video shoot and then me reading Gothamist to also the story with a link to the Post. You can take the boy out of Jamaica (yes, Jamaica, not St. Albans, fucking Post), but apparently can't take the Jamaica out the boy. Why the fuck do I live here again? Oh yes, I'm broke.

Anyways, over the weekend, I had the marathon days to end all marathon days...

I'll say that Thursday into Friday involved not much sleep and I started my day at 10am on the Upper West Side. (That's vague enough but not really.) I trotted home for a productive day of BS and surfing the web until it was time to make my way back to the Upper West Side (not a place Ms. Kitty likes to be) for a joint birthday party of school kids.

Sometime in the early evening, my phone rang. When Unknown comes up on the screen, I always wrestle with myself if I'm going to pick it up or not. I decided to answer and some woman introduced herself as a friend of a friend who wanted to know if I was interested in being an extra in a pilot shoot. I shrugged and said "why not?" and she explained it all to me. I figured I might as well since I could probably get a story out of it. It's all about the readers, man. I casually asked what time I had to be there and she replied 8am(!!!) to end about 1pm. I considered backing out, but I figured it would probably be an interesting little episode. Famous last words.

After a while, I was off to the party. Now, I'm sure I've mentioned before the fact that so many kids from school have moved here and they make me sick with their great jobs and money. If not, I just did. Still, they're nice kids and I've been getting to know them better over the past 6 months or so since they were only peripheral acquaintances there. These great job having folks are all bankers and such, so it's sometimes like a sociological outing when I'm thrown into the middle of this environment. Candice in her Kangol and jeans thrown in the mix with those in chinos and button downs and little cocktail dresses. I hung close to my guest, Trendvickster and we ran into a girl we went to HS with purely by chance. It's a curse I tell you. My party highlight was drinking smuggled Bacardi Gold with Lina, an kindred spirit in that crowd, and also assuring people that I'd be having a party of my own in a month or so. Good times. Eventually, the birthday shindig broke down and I led Lina and her friend E to 419.

I suppose the theme for the night was letting other people experience my world for a while. Where Trendvickster saw a school acquaintance is just around the corner, Lina and E saw the literal man parade at 419. We were standing at the secondary bar in the basement, I on a stoll slightly away from them. Lina and I discussed later that the guys must've figured that I was indicating my singleness (instead of you know, laziness) by setting myself apart, so I was fair game. I was a chatterbox taking it in stride.

In addition to the parade, two notables from the past month or so were in the building. The first who I haven't mentioned (imagine that, not everything is blogged) is someone who is recognizably The Type of me, the typeless. Lina practically encouraged me to jump him just because he was that much so. Not my style though. I've been spoiled by that place. I hang back, I respond, I've become a reactor in there. Still, I got his number, but I haven't called yet. In my defense, I thought about it but figured calling someone on Super Bowl night was pretty much a no-go. The second was Mr. Frenchman from last week -- and I have to admit that I was really stoked by that. Mr. Type and his friend left and I was left with Mr. F, closing down the joint again. For a person I barely know, we've got good banter. The topics of choice were how I who admittedly go out so much have no clue about after hours places, how he doesn't either considering he puts himself across as so "cool," and what a jackass I was for still being out around 4:30 when I had to go home and be back in town by 8. We went off in search of an after hours again and landed at this place that was like $30. Fuck that. I don't pay more than $10 ever to go to anything. I obviously need to start asking around. His cab dropped me off at the F and he made this big show of kissing me on the cheek -- "4 times is the French way." I just felt kinda red-faced (by expression if not coloring) and trotted off slightly smiling.

I walked in my house at 6:30 and had to fight every impulse in my body not to collapse into my bed and hibernate. I showered and dressed and turned right back around out into the world to make that shoot. I got there and everyone was just kinda sitting around. Hurry up and wait in full effect. I ate some breakfast, drank some tea and tried to focus on an object across the room so I didn't fall asleep and fall face first. The plot for the pilot was revealed to be a "male Sex And The Cityesque buddy sitcom." Read as Between Brothers redux but not as funny. Take that as you will. I played a girl enjoying cocktails and pastries with friends. I hope I'm not on TV, but I kinda do. I'm contrary like that. The other extras were a trip. A nagging from Bayside would-be actress...or gemologist...or nurse's aide and her mortage broker Brit husband who asking everyone if they were in the market to buy a house or an apartment. The stereotypical actors including one reading an Uta Hagen book. And another random like me. It apparently was shocking that I had stayed up so late. Who the heck parties all night? I mean, c'mon! I did have to take a little powernap in the corner though. We were there for a long ass time doing nothing.

Around 1:30, we were let out and I dragged myself home. Can you believe I was actually considering still trying to make my 4pm appointment at the gym? When you're awake too long, you become delirious. This was when I ran into the video mess near my block. Traffic on the street was a fucking nightmare. I noticed I had a voicemail from the trainer saying that he couldn't make it, but encouraged me to go in and do cardio or whatever. As I waited about 20 minutes or so for the bus, I decided to call up Farmer. Lovely lovely conversation and he convinced me to stop being a crackhead and go to bed. I was momentarily annoyed when he tried to play me dick by asking where I was planning to stay down there which later fueled that post. You would think that once you're past 25 or so that you stop playing games, but apparently I know every immature "adult" in existence. Ah well. Out of sight, out of mind. That's who he is and that's why I'm not even sweating it.

In the house, I hung up with him, put myself to bed and woke up around 10pm and going out didn't even cross my mind momentarily. But, now my sleep schedule is all screwed up. You win some, you lose some I suppose.

Standing On The Sidelines

The cold has been doing interesting things to me.

I go through events like a ghost. Holding up the wall, observing the scene, drinking my drink, munching on the ice and making my exit. People are starting wonder whether I was there or not...or perhaps it's their alcohol talking. I've been trying to keep myself on the straight and narrow after my Christmas time revelation. I hardly drink when out, which leads me to be that much more reserved and also that less tolerant for the bullshit that drunkards tend to spew. A few days after the train incident, I further rolled towards man-hating when this pompous boorish bastard gave me the finger on his way out of 419 because I called bullshit on him and made it clear I wasn't interested in talking to him. I'm beginning to wonder why I bother going out.

If it hasn't been obvious, my brain is going through a slight Farmer renaissance. We've been talking and it's been strangely comforting. The upcoming visit has only been further pressing that along. But, the main thing derailing that is my utter disinterest and disdain towards LDRs. Been there, done that, experienced the heartache, isn't worth the pain. Besides, it's clear as day to me that I'm idealizing him since he's 1200 miles away plus there are several elephants I'm tired of ignoring when it comes to him. Too much Sex And The City watching has me placing him into the Mr. Big 2003 edition catefory and frankly, I'm no Carrie. I always thought of myself as Miranda with a Samantha attitude.

In 2004, I'm wary of entanglement. I've stopped believing that relationships have to be dramatic with a constant yo-yo effect. I'm tired of the whiplash. My attitude is wait and see, my stance is non-actively looking. I've removed dating from my Friendster profile. The Dating Scene is a game I lack all energy to play. That's not to say I don't have prospects...I just refuse to put all my eggs into one basket. I'm loving the ability to say I enjoy being single and truly mean it.

The Hottest Ice Skating Rink

Something in Hell must've frozen over because I actually had an nice IM conversation with Shady where we commiserated over stupid would-be employers and lack of writing motivation. Imagine that shit. Then again, he's not a completely bad guy -- we do have commonalities and have known each other for almost two years now. And that's a period of time with such transformations that I can'f even recognize myself sometimes. He can say he knew me way back when on a certain level for sure.

Scaring the shit out of me at this place and time is that my birthday is 6 weeks from today. 23 isn't even necessarily a big year, but I have a list of things I wanted to have accomplished by the time that day rolled around and I have to say that I'm currently disappointed that it's looking ever so unlikely. There's a story from last week waiting to be filled in -- I just can't focus on that. The wonderful alignment that brought it all about faded soon after. Everything's been from blah to horrible since then.

I'm trying to focus on what's good, but I'm caught up in some serious tunnel vision. Even the thing I'd say I'm most excited about (namely the Miami trip) is being thrown into disarray because I was struck with the thought that staying with Farmer is just about the worst idea I've ever had. To bring it all full circle, it would be like trying to translate this small piece of goodwill towards Shady into believing that we're friends. It just isn't the way it is. Before he left, Farmer and I had some nice genuine moments, but how does that translate to it being a good idea to spending 3 days with him on a boat? Picture me still skating. I just had a nice convo with Farmer too and I feel somewhat better unexpectedly for the second time today. Perhaps if I stopped smoking crack, things would fall into place.

Totally Unrelated

Every once in a while, I get completely blindsided with wanting to call people up and say "I just blah blah and thought of you so I called." But, of course, I don't because those are the bridges that have been razed with the locations burned and surrounding areas inhospitable.

Tonight, after stewing that I hadn't spotted myself in the Chappelle's Show audience (grr...), I was watching VH1 Classics and "C'est La Vie" came on. I was struck by a sudden surprising impulse to go to IM and say, "hey, Woof, fucking C'est La Vie! Is that the shit or what?" Woof, would be Woofie, former best of friends from high school. The pop culture connoisseur -- bordering on obsessive -- with whom I have many warm and fond memories of being a smart-ass and critic, tough girl, marshmellow, and always myself with over many years. But, we grew apart and different as years past and that relationship litters my past. Perhaps it sounds callous, but just because you miss someone and know you'll always have a lot of love for them in your heart doesn't mean they should be a part of your life.

I am constantly surprising myself by thinking of Mr. Sailor in strange times. For a long time, it hurt to do that. More than a year later, I have a lot of relics of him. Some of the pictures hang on my wall because I, usually averse to pictures, have so few with those kind of intensely radiant happy smiles. There's albums I loved when he was around that are forever linked to him: Mama's Gun, Hood Rich, In Search Of. For better or worse, that was the last time I put myself out there like that, so Saturday when I had that uncharacteristic heart to heart with Moon, he came up.

Then again, I think I'd be worried if I didn't have these memory flashes. I think it'd be on the scary side if I shut off the memory banks and pretended that people who were in my life for years or months or however long just ceased to matter once they are no longer actively in your life. Life definitely goes on, but your past is your foundation. As long as you're building on it and not letting it weigh you down, everyone has their place.

Loss of Interest

On my quest to be a Nerve blogger, I've realized a few things: a) I don't date and presently lack the initiative to do so. b) The pickings, despite spanning just about every read site out there, are slim as fuck. So, ixnay on that idea after I made a good honest effort before realizing that I just can't bring myself to do it. Besides, I'm getting a heap of annoying winks and my worst case scenario future vision is imagining that it would get a lot worse if I was especially visible on there.

I also kinda hate guys right now. Well, to clarify, I hate the guys that apparently are interested in me. Previously when I mentioned this, I was stoked because I'd received two responses before I barely finished reactivating my profile. Fast forward almost three weeks later, one of those is a flake (who I've since discovered is no more than 2 degrees away from me on Friendster. That fucking site makes my world smaller and smaller every day) and the other was slightly obsessive calling me all the time. I hate that shit...referring to both.

I think all of this goes back to spending so much time with Farmer lately. That wild and crazy rollercoaster ride evolved into something warm and comfortable. He's like a neo-Tino or something, also just about as far as you can get from NYC right now. It all changed partly because of a secret New Year's resolution I told him and because sometimes kids just want to sit down and chill.

2004 is all about streamlining. I don't need no dead weight.

Roundup Part 2

2003 was a very good year. I can say that with strong feeling. I mean, natch, there was bad shit sprinkled here and there, but I feel more often than not happy, proud, fulfilled, hopeful, and light.

I had two main goals this time last year: the yearbook and leaving Middletown with my piece of paper (which included doing my senior essay). I didn't have to leave NYC over four years ago at all. I could've been at Hunter College with my full ride, maybe striking out and getting a place, working and being close to home. It's not like Connecticut was even that far. I originally wanted to go to Chicago or California or Minnesota. But, I felt an instant connection to Wes on my visit and I was determined to go. My years there, I doubted myself almost all the time. I felt disconnected, burned out, unhappy, and depressed a little too often. Then, I took on that yearbook knowing that I had unhealthy control freak tendencies and my folks looked on with mostly silent worry. Over the months, there were mild panic attacks, tears, too many days of burying myself under the covers, hiding in the office or my room, not going to classes, not doing anything. The yearbook was in disarray. I had 40 books for my essay but no words. I wasn't doing my work. In April, I was out of energy, ready to pack up and leave with everything just dangling. But, I stayed. I reached out. I got the support I needed. I owe that last month and a half to my friends and family. They pushed, pulled, walked me towards the finish line. They infused me with so much energy and reminded me that I, the procrastinator, the avoider, the slacker, was more than that. It all boiled to me having gone too far mentally and spiritually to give up. So I didn't and nothing will ever take that great feeling of coming out on the other side away from me.

I rang in 2003 in a strange way, surrounded by blasts from the pasts and one great friend who I hadn't seen for way too long. I was having a lot of problems letting go of Mr. Sailor yet I threw myself into mindless diversions for the sake of progress. I spent the first half of the year taking two steps forward and three steps back, getting crushed under the weight of my baggage. I wouldn't have said this at the time, but those extra months up in Middletown finishing the book was a good time for me. I did a lot of transitioning up there in between the hardcore bullshitting and creating something great. I got to take last looks at many of the places that had been backgrounds for so many stories and episodes. I could appreciate the beauty of the place and reconcile myself with the setting. I made my peace with Wes and Middletown. I settled the nostaglia that would've probably eaten me alive otherwise. I gave myself a clean break.

This year, I retrieved my poor little heart, wrapped it up tight, gave it some medicine, and it healed and feels better than ever. There was a time not so long ago when I thought on a daily basis that maybe I wasn't meant to be happy. I felt like I was under a curse last year with things I threw myself into turning into shit before my eyes. I grew up and learned how to stop taking myself so fucking seriously this year. I've tried to let a certain sense of lightheartedness power most of my relationships. If I would've met Farmer in what seems like my other life, I would've obsessed about him to death, wrote bad poetry, spent hours and hours writing pages about him in my journal. I would've convinced myself I was in love with him and our back and forth drama was too much to bear and driving me insane!!! Please. If I'm gonna be with a bad boy nowadays, at least I'm not going to get all overwrought about it. But, I think I'm enjoying nowadays not being with anyone. As easily as this might be to misinterpret, I love me. I'm over selling myself short because I'm in love with being in love/like. I like to think of myself as blissfully single, awaiting a surprising jolt and possibilities.

I also love NYC. I love the brashness, energy, mixtures, concrete, movements, and people. This is a city that can eat you alive if you let it. There's always someone offering something with the price and consequences to be revealed later. It's been so exhilarating for me to be in the place I grew up, this mad sprawling metropolis, with my perspective and positioning so different. You've gotta have heart for this city. An iron will. Belief in yourself. A loose plan. A collection of goals. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. I'm just getting started. I feel fresh and new here. My head is screwed on straight, my eyes are clear. I'm going to make it. That's the mode I'm in for the New Year.

Ugh

I am exhausted from the top of my head to the bottom of my soul. Yet I still have to go out and face the holiday monster. I'm rolling with the anti-cheer from a shitty shitty day. Bah humbug. *whimper*

More to come once the stress level comes back to normal ranges.

Bah. The irony of my longwinded actual posting being erased by a bastard computer does not escape me.

Checks and Balances

This has been a series of days where just about every event had a countereffect I suppose to balance out the results out. Not all excellent though. It's all about luck. *knock on wood* Here's to hoping that the rest of the year plays out well.

After Thursday's ending to my stint as a fashion slave, I woke up eventually Friday with my poor head pounding and called the agency to get some more assignments stat. Candicissima has got student loans and credit card balances to pay down, nah mean? Tomorrow I get to get up obscenely early and be a corporate drone in another part of the same building. Damn, no jeans and sneaks. Gotta drag out the real clothes and shoes. Ah well. All about the money though. And then I got a call back on this ad agency job I had applied for. Did the whole phone interview thing and I've got the formal one set up for January 5th. It's strange how that feels like really far away but in actuality is only 2 weeks. March 9th will be here before I know it. No word back from the internship. To call or not to call? I'm always unsure about those things.

No word from T. *shrug* Had an excellent time doing the lower key hanging out with friends thing this weekend. Friday night was meeting up with Rissa at her job and then persuading Grandmastah H to come join us at the evil 419. While Rissa and I were waiting, who happened to walk by but Shady? This is becoming a pattern I highly dislike. He blah blahed on something as his girl stared passive aggressively before running off to wherever pompous pricks go. Yeah, I've noted my tone becoming more and more hostile when I mention him. I already owned up to my irrational hatred, so I'm well aware.

Anyhoo, I was experimenting with martinis Thursday and Friday. Whew. I need to back away from those. I drink too much to be having things that are straight up alcohol more or less. The mixers keep me from ending up face down. GH even ran a tab so he picked up all the rounds. That's my boy! Poor thing though was a victim to a strange freak accident the next day. He slipped in his bathroom and broke his jaw, ruptured something in his ear, and I think ended up with a mild concussion. I felt more than a little responsible for having him out so late the night before and I've got to admit that's a fear I always have in the back of my mind. That shit is serious, but I spoke to him last night and he should recover soon. He was in the hospital just for the day and is all morphined up. My heart's going out to him.

I ended up hanging with Farmer last night. He was a little too happy to see me which had me defensive at first. I met him and a friend in Astoria at this great dark wood bar. I'm slowly but surely exploring in Queens. I'm liking what I find so far even if I don't if that's where I'll be ending up. Nothing wrong with knowing where you could go in various neighborhoods. I'm building a mental list. They were trashed, I not so much...at first. God save me from whiskey! It's fast becoming the theme of the month. It was one of those nights where our personalities blended well and the atmosphere only helped the good times. The friend and I traded numbers too. Farmer's in town only for a limited time, blowing back off soon after New Year's. It's nice to see him all sunny and relaxed. I wish I was spending my winter days where 60 is "cold." We went off for a middle of the night breakfast next door to this restaurant/club. Packs of guys roamed and my companions asked these dudes at the table near us how the place was. A guy responded: "Great, if you like being surrounded by gross cows and pigs all night." Damn. The snob in me naturally thought, "what the hell do you expect going to a club on Queens Blvd?" but I held it back. I crashed out that way for whatever reason. It's all still too fresh, but no doubt I'll hate myself tomorrow. My favorite part this morning had to be the hangover helping cheeseburger and fries diner delivery. Nothing clears your fuzzy mind like fat and grease. You can quote me on that one.

Holiday Pasttimes

I'll stand by all this drinking if it helps me through these days
(take my love in these small doses)
It takes a long time just to get this all straight
(take my love in these small doses)
I'll showcase on route 7 when i find the right place
(take my love in these small doses)
It takes a long time just to get this all straight
(take my love in these small doses)
In my mind
This is my free time

End of the Week

This has been a long ass week. Probably because I've been averaging about 4 hours of sleep a night. I'm beat, super beat...so beat I might stay in for the weekend. Haha. Yeah right!

I've officially tired of shopping. Especially since I seem to be an asshole about it. I go into these blackouts and buy all this shit that I just have to return a few days later. Those 3 1/2 inch pumps that I will kill my simple self trying to walk in? Gone. That blazer that just isn't made for a girl with a substantial ass? Gone. Fucking pleated skirt like I even wear fucking pleats. What was I thinking? Gone. My fly ass coat can stay. I made out like a bandit on that one for cheaper than Bluefly. It makes me feel like a grown-up.

I felt not so much like a grownup sending an email to myself with the subject line "Squee!" and writing inside a number I got with another "squee."

I Will Not Get Another Hopeless Crush. I Will Not Get Another Hopeless Crush. I Will Not Get Another Hopeless Crush.

But, at least those are fun. All the excitement with none of the responsibilities and potential fallout. It also lead me to realize that I'm a sucker for a good phone voice. The person whose number I got off the caller ID got me with that low "what's up with you, girl" type inflection. Farmer was good for that too. Good phone gets you everywhere, as does a little bit of mystery. I'm a real big sucker for the reserved yet sharp ones. I just end up being a sucker a lot, despite always knowing better. Live and learn I suppose.

PrincessNella and I went to the Chappelle's Show taping last night. He's one funny fucker. I should be all in the camera laughing myself stupid with the Kangol cocked to the side as usual. Sometimes I do almost sleep in that thing because I forget it's on. I'd make a change but I haven't been grabbed by anything. Those engineer caps don't really fit me -- probably the one fucking hat that doesn't. Maybe I'll recycle the fedora or rather, since it's cold, invest in another brightly colored hat I can pull down. People used to be able to spot me all the way across a field with my electric blue hat. I miss it.

Dating Tangent

A nice piece of advice from Abstract Dynamics. I'll add if you're 5'6" or below, wear the high shoes so they can see you because those shows also seem to be populated by giants. (That reminds me of my early Friday adventure trying to see Battle Graphs. Memo to all show organizers: if you've got something that you know everybody's gonna want to see/free booze to draw people, maybe you should get a bigger space because the sardines in a can shtick is getting old, nah mean? Or perhaps it's just me. I hate crowds and being jostled and all that shit. Quickest way to ruin a venture for me is too many mofos in my personal space. Strange for New Yorker, eh? I don't care. I need room for my well-being.) Reading this week's Life As A Loser and talking to Hani reminded me of thoughts that have been floating around in my head since Thursday or thereabouts.

A while ago I said something about wanting to settle down...it's not worth linking since I make many conflicting proclamations about that sort of thing. Basically, the impulse has passed. Guys are currently in the "too distracting" category and besides my track record is way more hit than miss. It'd be nice don't get me wrong, but I don't have it in me to make the effort. Seriously, dating in this city is fucking tiring. I was saying to Hani that this being NYC, world crossroads and all that, you've got millions of people milling about knowing damned well that the best, the brightest, the ______est are everywhere. In the same way that people have to have the latest shit or go to the coolest parties, even when they decide to take the plunge to be actively interested in finding their person, they're still thinking, "Eh...they're alright I guess, but I'm sure there's someone _____er waiting for me if I just keep trying." Or else they settle. I'm sick of settling. I settled with Farmer because the opportunity presented itself and what a fiasco that ended up being.

There's also a certain extent of laziness and conceit involved. I was telling Hani about my passive Friendster techniques and truthfully, I don't do much different in real life. I've grown accustomed to a stream of passes while out and about and it barely registers with me anymore. My stance with someone I'm interested in me not returning the favor: "yeah whatever, there'll be another one coming around the bend any second." It's not even a game, it's more general disinterest. I'm beginning to feel like I've got the permanent "impress me" face. It's interesting to note that I went from feeling like an ugly duckling...or rather, hyperinvisible to this. I'm exactly not sure when the transformation took place, but I suppose surviving a semester of crazy ex-friends and abandonment can change your perspective on a lot of things.

But, to prove I'm not as jaded and cynical as the words I'm putting out there: Thursday night, typical setting. I was hanging around, dancing, chilling, being merry when my Friendster introduced me to a friend of hers. He and I shook hands and he was all "very nice to meet you blah blah" and surprised me with a sudden kissing of my hand. Jolt. If I could blush, I would have. I always surprise myself by being a sucker for a grand gesture. There's a wide-eyed romantic in here somewhere. I guess my pose isn't really "impress me" as much as "surprise me." Is that a little better?

(And as for that guy, we hung out that night and ended up kinda star-crossed. His friend with him was making major plays for me and he backed off considerably as I was torn between making a serious move or sticking to my resolve. It's pointless to sweat things like that really. Situations like that pop up every couple of months or so to tantalize me.)

Long Weekend Plus Sunday Night Alcohol Equals....

It's been a long weekend. My computer was in the shop and though now I can watch my brand spanking new I'm Gonna Git You Sucka and From Hell DVDs on Helga, I'm also mindful that I spent a grand total of $120 for the pleasure because I'm too dumb to not go around unplugging random things I don't know how to fix. *sigh*

I had a totally Bill moment followed by the bombshells that make those situations uniquely Candicesque. Whenever I'm all "swoon," that means that the other shoe is gonna drop any second or some time will pass before I get an outside wake up call. "Oh, Candice, not another drug addict!" "Damn, Candice, not him! He's a misogynist pig!" "Geez, Candice, not a closet Republican!" It's like a rule: If I've made up my mind to preempitively like him, he's defective...or rather, otherwise engaged. Tonight was the semi-reunion of the international strangers brought together by a city disaster that most people missed in Astoria. I walked through the door and met the older brother of one of my cabmates and I was totally "swoon!" Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. Taken, taken, taken. But then again, I'm resilient and that's cool. He, the group, and I got along on a nice hanging out and chilling level. Besides, I need more guy friends that I haven't slept with and/or witnessed/heard from my stupid mouth about me in compromising positions. Totally great episode. I loved reconnecting with the kids, especially since I felt like we've been playing email tag in limbo since then. We've even made a tentative group date to see Bad Santa. Yay!

New favorite drinks: Bacardi Vanilla and Pineapple Juice and a G&T with a splash of Peach Schnapps. Like heaven, baby. The sours period is over. And I should mention for a (in the capitalist sense) loser, I'm pretty fucking cool: Jay and I are going to a Chappelle's Show taping Saturday. A night when I'll also be enjoying Man Man and Bling Kong with Jenny and perhaps checking out Hollertronix again if I'm up for it. And I so spent too much money during this big sales weekend, but on the good side, I'm set until at least birthday time. I'm still in the 4 digits regardless, so it's all good!

Moving Thoughts

Yo, this is a lesson in friendship
The depths of a kinship
What women and men begin with, and then slip
My pen drips
As I scribble my thoughts on thin strips
Of emotion
A fraction, seduction, attraction
Eruption of passion
Corrupts if a lasted friendship's involved

Night Interludes

"When I first met my SpottieOttieDopalicious Angel/I can remember that damn thing like yesterday"

Saturday night brought me to Williamsburg to attend Farmer's going away gathering. As I've said before, our relationship has been up and down, but a lot of my post-school episodes have been due to him. He's only gone for a month or so before coming back to regroup, but he's as good as done with New York after the New Year. I haven't decided exactly how I feel about that yet, but I'll miss him for sure. Also in attendance was Grandmastah H and his roomie, B. The three of us bonded in the corner away from the cokeheads strangers and because they can't help themselves, pics were taken. I'll post some when they post them up. Just checking them out to give my save approval, it really struck me how ubitiquous the Kangol is. They've got a million pics of me and I'm always in it. Poor B doesn't even know what I look without it and I'm sure GH doesn't remember. Ah well. I've only got a few more weeks of this hat before I have to find something to cover my poor freezing ears. GH remarked at how "hip" the party was and how all it was missing was a fleet of trucker hats. He even accused me of having one. The horror! I didn't kill him for the insult and we coopted the couch before getting bored and blowing the place. The three of us took the L into Manhattan together before they succumbed to the lure of the bed, the net, and digital cable and I, ever intrepid, was off to my Friendster's afterhours party.

See every episode remains in this mode/Very cool, very calm, there's no sweat in my palm

I got there just before 4am right before they started charging. *whew* It was a good time, a strange yet mostly not unfamiliar mix of nightlife people about town. I saw the random girl I met at Sapph forever ago and I finally got the name gaps of the regulars filled in. I also realized why I keep getting offered bumps and such -- I have very druggie behaviors. Namely the circuiting and general party antsiness with constant trips to the bathroom. It's because despite how lively a place is, I have to move around and get a change of scenery. I just walk in the bathroom and wash my hands or do nothing more than take a mirror glance, then walk out. I'm also sure that I periodically touch my defective nose doesn't really help matters much. And because my general party mode is in the mix yet outside of it, so people probably just figure that I'm on something. Then again, people on shit always want to believe that everyone else is too. Oh fuck it, I'm obviously protesting too much, so I've obviously got a slight cocaine problem. Except I really don't. I have no idea why I end up talking about it so much. I guess it's the damned sociologist in me trying to figure it all out. I'm always being constantly surprised by people with that. It's always the ones you don't suspect.

In other news, I'm still tired of being hit on. Scratch that, I'm still tired of being hit on badly. This one guy who said he recognized me from 419 (which isn't so far-fetched, especially since he named Sunday night in particular) kept periodly coming up to me saying something more idiotic than his comments before. Like while I was standing in line with my hoodie on: "You look strong, girl, like you would beat a man." Uh...thanks? Because I was cool towards him, he accused me of misjudging him by the way he looked (he reminded me of Mr. Cheeks kinda, just a lot less attractive) and I decided to bite me tongue instead of saying I judged him by his annoying persistence, touchiness, and how he insisted I really, really looked like I needed a bump or at least had to give him the opportunity to pile me with drinks, so he could wear me down being the unspoken part. As appealing as that was, I think it's easy to understand why I was majorly underwhelmed.

It all had to do with mood really. I just wanted to dance and take the atmosphere in. The music was dope. DJs were bringing their vinyl and doing little sets. I had to have heard about 10 different ones in the 3 hours I hung around. My Friendsters were introducing me around and it was nice to be more than just that invisible kid on the sidelines. But, I think the scene is one of those where they can smell fresh meat a mile away. I could see that I generated interest, but really it doesn't phase me. It's good to be friends with those that have been around longer. As at Sapph where my bartender friend basically told me flat out that some of the promoters no matter how cute or slick they might be are bad news, a girl I know from there intervened when some new guy (who truthfully didn't even rate for me) tried to step. You've got to have comraderie in the trenches and always keep your wits about you as a general rule. Some areas in New York will always be as seedy as they used to be. Luckily, this girl wasn't born yesterday. So, that night I was guarded after the night before's lack of impulse control when it really mattered. I do often what's the point of integrating myself into all of that so heavily when I know that ultimately I doubt that what's for me is in there. I guess it's the optimist in me hoping that I can find the exception to the rule.

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

The days have been getting weirder and weirder lately. I've been swept up in stuff that would rival those crazy summer days. I'm currently trying to coast and enjoy this, but I'm also in a constant state of disorientation. I don't give a crap how many people are in NYC. It might as well be the smallest city in the world.

Thursday, PrincessNella and I went to a whiskey tasting, though we both hate whiskey. Q: Why the hell did we go then? A: 'Cause that shit was free, man! Act like you know. It was actually a good time minus all that whiskey we had to drink. Ugh. Then to Sapph, where I took a plunge and asked my Friendster friends about promoting and such. They were pretty into it and said that they had already discussed amongst themselves asking me if I wanted to. Nice. I have yet to figure out which party of they have that I want to tackle, but it's gonna be dope for sure. On the way home, I did my typical "Wes person alert" thing. I swear, it's like spidey sense or something. That night's encounter was with K, who graduated when I was still a bushy-tailed youngster. It was cool running into him and we discussed the "to acknowledge or not" dilemma that pops up before he switched trains. It's rare to run to cool people from school.

Friday, I ventured out to super downtown Manhattan for Hollertronix. It was like an NYU reunion! Oh wait, I didn't go to NYU...it was still fun though. When I realized where it was, I had a crazy sense of deja vu because I rang in 2003 at this triplex across the street. Ah, the last New Year's Eve. I must post that. I should really make a category called "Stories From The Candicissima Archives" or something, so I can put a lot of the funny pre-blog stories. In a nutshell, it was an unexpected HS reunion, ill-advised phone call to Hawaii, Filter 14, Austrians and at one point, having drinks in each hand that I alternated. Aren't you dying to hear that one? Anyhoo, I spotted Nick immediately, but he was schmoozing and being the consummate host, so I made some circuits and was chilling out. Standing on the crazy bar line, I looked to my right and thought to myself that the guy standing next to me was Mr. Shady...surely impossible because he was supposed to be in school overseas and all. I laughed at myself for being silly and went about my business. Later on, I was standing minding my business and again ended up next to this kid. But, this time I could see him full on and I knew 150% that it indeed was him. WTF? I tapped him as he was walking past, all "I know you." He blah blahed and said basically he had dropped out and had just gotten back before running off. He was with his girl and I observed that someone looked a little whipped. *bitchy side comment* About what I expected. She isn't even that cute. *bitchy side comment* That amused me and eventually I formally introduced myself to Nick. He was totally cool and it was funny getting introduced to his friends from home.

Nick: This is Candice.
Friend after Friend: Who?
Nick: Candice! You know...Candice!

They'd look at me like "WTF?" and I shook hands and shrugged in a "go with it" way. Total comedy. He took pictures of me that are so horrible that he might be able to blackmail me if he was so inclined. I'm prone to bad pics, so I'm always making bad faces when a camera comes out. Vicious cycle. After they left, I found myself on a circuit when I ran into K from Thursday. We both agreed it was type weird, but had fun just chatting and doing a bit of dancing before I made tracks around 3am.

I found a voicemail on my phone from Farmer who I had been trying to lure out all night. Our plans to check out Hop Fu had fallen through and then he had a friend visiting blah blah crossed wires and such. They had perked up for a minute when I said that it was a party mostly filled with 22s and younger, but were too lazy to venture from Sunnyside said the message. I had figured as much being that it was 3am and all. I'm perceptive like that. Still, I called over there and was given the invite to come hang if I wanted. I was torn between that and closing out Sapph or just feeling lazy/sleepy when I got on the train and heading home. Sapph died as a thought quickly as I had to endure the slow ass late night train service and home was looking like a possibility until I heard an announcement over the loud speakers in the train car at 14th Street. "Due to a gas leak near the Queens Plaza station, there is no E, F, G, or 7 train service to Queens. For service to Queens, transfer here for the L to the J train or at 34th Street, go upstairs for Q32 service."

Shit. My night wasn't over yet.

Part of me almost felt like it was my redo for the blackout since I didn't do shit of interest for that. In my car was this guy who looked completely thrown and confused by this event. He does as most do: ask me directions. Perhaps I give off a vibe as child of a former MTA employee, but more that I know what the fuck I'm doing. He was trying to get to Kew Gardens and had totally missed everything she had just said. I explained that basically we were fucked, but that at 34th, we could take a bus and get into Queens. I encouraged him to stick close to me and we were off. In talking, I discovered he was a German intern for an airline and had only been in town for a few months. Outside was total chaos, a hundred or so people standing across from Macy's without any transit people around to help. I don't even think the bus we were supposed to take stops there and the service that time of night was basically guaranteed to be shit anyways. I called Farmer and said, "I'm coming by after all, but not why you think" and explained the whole situation. We were just standing around when two girls behind us asked if anyone wanted to split a cab. One was headed to near I needed to go in Sunnyside and another was off to Rego Park. The four of us decided to go in together and we walked down 34th to find a cab. Only in New York would a German, an Isreali, a Brazilian, and the appointed group leader, a kid from Brooklyn, bond with each other and their Turkish taxi driver over the randomness and confusion that the slightest of "disasters" can bring to the city. We traded email addys and decided to plan a meetup in Queens for the near future to celebrate surviving the whole ordeal.

At Farmer's, they were wide awake and being "computer nerds" despite it being almost 5am. That's what drugs does to you, man. I got the bombshell dropped on me that Farmer's upcoming trip Monday was going to be extended for a month or so and then on his return, moving was pretty much inevitable, though where wasn't decided. Talk about unexpected. I'm processing. Even if they weren't tired, I was approaching finished for the night since my adrenaline was running out after the getting to Queens adventure. Lack of stimulation made them give up and go to sleep also. Despite me being the one actually encouraging the whole sleep thing, I was the one suddenly wide awake. I hate it when that shit happens. Boredom led me to a lapse in impulse control. A night like that it was almost inevitable and bringing back the NYE comparisons that much more. A night like that can't go out on low note.

Good Boy Drought

I spoke to Farmer last night for the first time in a while. It's funny when you're momentarily preoccupied with whatever and people/things that were so prominent fade away with barely a passing thought. That's the way I can be sometimes, believing both "out of sight, out of mind" and "absence makes the heart grow fonder" with different degrees depending on the people. It was a nice hint of the way we used to chat.

It brought to mind two things that have been starting to bug me. I miss having boy friends like Alex, Tino, and P.Diddy because so much of my school time was spent rolling and keeping each other out of trouble. I've been hanging a bit with Hani and Ant and Grandmaster H and Farmer since being back, but the impatience is making me forget that it took years to get things right with the boys. And I hate to say it, but a steady would be nice. It's getting too cold to be going out all the time and I'd like to have someone to bring the option of staying in and chilling out to the table, you know? Having spent the better of a year nurturing that wild oats crop, a kid's ready to settle down. That doesn't always have to be boring…or so I hear. But even boring might be nice about now. Boring still keeps you toasty.

Did I Really?

So. I was supposed to be a posting fool. Oops. I got preoccupied. I'm quite flighty and occasionally scatterbrained, I've got to say. Sometimes life keeps moving when you would rather remain static.

I'm currently amused at how people try to jump back into your life just when you've written them off. My time is a precious commodity. I don't waste it so easily anymore. As my song of the week says: "If there ain't nuthin' that we can do it's cool/I'd rather be alone and onto something new"

And still despite all that, my mood is peachy. And I really promise to be an updating machine ass tomorrow. If only because I have nothing else better to do.

Marshmellow Girl

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." -- someone who is way smarter than me presently. *sigh*

Sleep To Dream

Song of the week:

Don't make it a big deal, don't be so sensitive
We're not playing a game anymore; you don't have to be so defensive

Don't you plead me your case, don't bother to explain
Don't even show me your face, 'cuz it's a crying shame
Just go back to the rock from under which you came
Take the sorrow you gave and all the stakes you claim
And don't forget the blame

I got my feet on the ground and I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds and you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you, don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

What a strange weekend it's been! I've spent most of the days working on code to whip this place into shape and the nights out and about with friends yet here it is Sunday and I'm just blah.

I'm feeling more muddled than usual if that's possible. Tomorrow is Day 1 of that project I've been waiting all month to work on and that's going to be killer for the next couple of weeks. The hardcore day in and day out. I've been trying to regain my carefree early summer self for a little while, but it's not working so far. I'm kinda confused how I can really be making the conscious effort to be out there but not feeling it at all. I'm distracted by some total bullshit and it's pissing me off more every time I think about it. I presently need to be disentangled from my disentangling. Yeah, it doesn't make sense to me either. I'm on the verge of making some major decisions soon and I need all my wits about me.

Pick-Up Game

Apparently the Friendster "it" pickup line for a Candice is referencing Prefuse 73. Not that I'm complaining...I guess. I am single after all -- not that I wasn't before -- but single and looking again, compared to the single yet tempestuously involved with someone of the past month or so.

But, I've realized (as conceited as it might sound) that I'm tired of guys hitting on me. Not altogether, just the shameless, lame lines having, leering, obnoxious ones. It's driving me nuts. They won't leave me alone, whether the bus, the train, the streets, in stores, in the building at work. It's like fuck, I don't care if you find me attractive, step off! Then again, I just might be experiencing a bit of "grass is always greener on the other side" because I spent years of complaining that no one ever noticed me.

The problem I think is that I'm the sort of person who likes to be proactive more times than not. If I like you or find you attractive, you'll know it because I've gotten pretty good at flirting (sometimes) over the years. Besides, it's just no fun waiting for someone to come to you. Sometimes it can be advantageous, like when I'm sitting at my bar, chilling and feeling cheap (or broke) and minding my business when some guy wants to step up and chat and offers me a drink (or 3). I don't discourage it yet I'm not doing anything but sitting in the corner most of the time so I'm not encouraging it either. I'll take the drinks, we'll chat, end of episode. But, the reason I embraced things like Nerve and Friendster so is that I get to be choosy and go after someone without the immediacy of a potential hit and miss at a bar/club. When you're talking back and forth online, you can develop a preliminary rapport and it's kinda playful and fun. The ultimate in no pressure. You can meet and even if nothing romantic happens, you can still be cool because you've developed a nice sort of friendship. Win-win all around. And of course, the occasional something else might happen and that's always excellent unless he's annoyingly bipolar and starts to make me crazy. That gets evened out because I'm kinda bipolar too and I'm sure I've dished out plenty of that. Ah well. Here's to a tentative reintroduction to the "dating" world.

Scene: Family Gathering

Scene: Family gathering. My aunt's new fiancee's birthday party. Long Island. Bored to tears with PrincessNella, a cousin, and his friend in the back of the room with booze to keep ourselves occupied. I'm called over by other cousins, sisters 1 and 2, a little older yet cool.

Moi: Hey, what's up?
1: Where's your boyfriend?
Moi: Huh?
1: Is he here?
Moi: (thinking that perhaps she was late to the end of Mr. Sailor even though that was all last year andeverything) I don't have one.
1: Oh okay. Are you looking? There's some guys over there (gesturing towards the table of teenage bummy-looking non-prospects)
Moi: Uh...I think they're kinda young.
1: You're right.
2. So, you didn't get a perm, huh?
1: What kind of guys do you like?
2: You ever think of twists? That would look nice.
Moi: That's how it was earlier but I tried to do the crinkly thing and it didn't work. Uh...I dunno I don't have a type.
1: Leave her alone, she's been growing it natural for a while. You date white boys?
Moi: Uh...
1: That's a yes.
Moi: Not exclusively
1: Okay...(wheels visibly turning)
Moi: (panicking) You're not going to fix me up or something, are you?
1: (unconvincing) No...
2: You gained a little weight, huh?
1: No makeup either?
Moi whimpers.
1: You have to come over my house one Friday night. I'll fix you up.
Moi: Okay...umm, I'll be right back.
Moi runs to the "bar" and downs a massive vodka and cranberry.

Favorite Things

Today's favorite things include Interpol tickets (mine tomorrow) and sales listings courtesy of New York Metro, my new fave online reading material. Tomorrow's favorite thing will probably be Prefuse 73/Dabrye tickets twice over. Maybe some Turin Brakes too. I need some concerts in my life.

I've realized I've almost skimped on a song of the week. Can't have that.

I'm so hot for him, I'm so hot for him
I'm so hot for him and he's so cold

Yeah, I tried re-wiring him, tried re-firing him
I think his engine is permanently stalled
He's so cold he's so cold
Hhe's so cold cold cold
Like a tombstone
He's so cold, he's so cold
He's so cold cold cold like an ice cream cone
He's so cold he's so cold
I dare not touch him my hand just froze

Just for kicks, natch. Definitely not based on real life. Not. At. All.

stephen malkmus (pavement): he is clever, and you
are hot shit. go find a shady lane and fuck
off!


who's your indie rock boyfriend?
brought to you by Quizilla [via Coolfer]

Taking it back...

Taking it back straight old school, I'm 51.8% pure. I chuckle back on the days where I thought I'd be 92% forever.

As quick as he reentered NY, Alex has jetted back off across the ocean. He gave me some wonderful sage advice that helped me make up my mind. If Alex says someone is too sketch for me to be involved with, that's enough for me to listen. Not like that wasn't what I was thinking already.

All summer I've been experiencing writer's block. Mostly because once I gave every once of blood, sweat and tears I could muster to the yearbook, I had no desire to create anything. You might think, how can you write so much in this blog and be having writer's block? Well, this is different. It doesn't take much effort for me to yammer on and on about myself. People have been helping me keep the past couple of months crazy interesting. But I've regained that urge that's always propelled me to just write something. I dunno. We'll see how it turns out.

Alex's guerilla visit was great for me because it inspired me to again reassess what's going on with me. I want money to pay the approaching loans, a place of my own, to settle down into some sort of romantic bliss for a min (I'm such a softy underneath), and a way to combine my interests into something that's not completely draining. Sunday, we met up with other Wes kids who are now across country doing their own thing. I felt kinda stifled that I haven't done anything but rush from CT to here. Yeah, I had a good time for a while now, but I haven't had a real vacation in ages...minus that ill-fated 21st birthday trip to Miami and a visit to the Midwest. I've got invitations extended from France, Belgium, Portugal, New Mexico, and California. Fear of not being able to pay what I need to has me running to a "real" job, but truthfully, I don't mind the temp stuff, just the hours right now. What's to stop me really from working enough to pay stuff off and do some traveling? I think I'll hold off mentioning it to my parents just yet because they already attribute my general lack of "get up and go" to all the damned hippie schools I went to. Still I'm considering it.

Too little sleep...

Too little sleep makes a girl grumpy. I'm hating in a big way today. But it didn't take too much to cheer me up.

Offline, the past month or so has been filled with all sorts of funny yet sketchy situations. The Randoms and I had more fun than anyone ought to in Central Park last week, but previous to that was the night that I glossed over oh-so-nicely here on the blog. No details shall be forthcoming, so don't even ask, but an exchange about it is amusing the hell out of me.

Jamirakid: yeah well. drunkenness attracts me to sketchiness. good for stories, with certain parts censored, natch.
Jamirakid: like i can tell about that drunken night with your shoes getting messed up, but i have no role in that story.
Grandmastah H: no role? ha!
Jamirakid: ha what? i was minding my own business sleeping like a peaceful youngster that night...at least as i tell it.
GH: just don't tell it like that within earshot of me and you'll be fine...

Jamirakid: how different can your version be? after all, you're the one who said you didn't see a thing...
GH : i think i can describe things by sound and elbows/knees in my side quite well
Jamirakid: haha
Jamirakid: yeah. i don't really tell it that way. i've just been trying to figure out what exactly you know.
GH : have you seen Enemy at the Gates?
Jamirakid: nope
GH : the stalingrad movie
Jamirakid: i know what it is. just haven't seen it
GH : well, there's this sex scene that takes place in a full barracks, with everyone sleeping except for the couple, who are trying to be as quiet and subtle as possible...
GH: you guys were not them.
GH: ;-)
Jamirakid:haha

Temporary Return of The Intrepid

My boy, my brother from other parents, my window into the crazy rock star life, my cheerleader, my well of good vibes and fun has reentered the building. Alex is in NYC for a limited time only. I'm so happy that I could scream. All is right with the world.

Why Blog?

Stupid Blogger lost yesterday's hurried post. Grr. Coming soon after I marinate on it a little bit more, The Interview Game.

Strange week this has been. Being busy is a great cure for driving silliness out of your head. I'm becoming a phone interviewing BS master. I've got two go-tos set up for next week plus a briefing meeting for that project that's going to have me living it up in October. I was telling PrincessNella that despite essentially wanting a full-time thing (I suppose, I'm becoming wishy-washy on that even. I'm such a slacker), what I have going right now is the best of both worlds. I've got plenty of time sitting home, watching TV, taunting people at work over IM that I'm doing nothing yet a few times a week, I put on my responsible face, go off to work, and most importantly get a paycheck. Work, being highly overrated, sucks and I can't say I'm really looking forward to the "9-5" (which really is so much than that in most industries I'm interested in) except for the more money part. Then again, who cares if I have more money when I'm worn out from the week? More money means more things, more responsibilities. Between paying off my student loans, moving out and then paying rent, internet, utilities, etc, the long overdue presents to myself, and trying to save a little something, I'll be just as broke as I was a month ago but in a different venue. Screw the rat race.

Amusing me the past month or so is the reemergence of the "girly" side. I suppose I'm typically a no-nonsense, cynical, universally underwhelmed sort of person, but when I like someone, it's different. It opens up all sorts of psychological cans of worms, mostly because I like being able to plan and proceed based on an arbitrary yet semi-logical Candice system, but dealing with romantic repercussions usually throws that out the window. I find myself thrown so far off balance, everything like a rollercoaster. Simultaneously tired and exhilarated. It's kinda fascinating once it's passed and I can process, but in the mix it scares me shitless. My "girly" side isn't about me wanting to dress up and be pretty or that stuff, it's a mental thing. Me trying to fit myself into a the paradigm of being a woman dealing with a man in the relationship sense on a "I'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her" tip (hopefully without having to ask), while trying to work out ways to incorporate my philosophies and history without bumping up against a wall. Trying to navigate that treacherous path has me super edgy and that's why I've been spouting out strange self-doubting stuff in the middle of everything else because I'm constantly thinking and rethinking what to do or not to, as the case may be. What I've been devoting a personally sickening amount of time turning over in my head is: why do some guys just drop off the face of the earth for a couple of days, then reappear like it's nothing? It drives me completely insane. Mr. Sailor got dumped for that -- among a heap of other reasons, but that amplified everything else. Surprisingly, I'm not a needy sort of person. I'm all about doing my own thing and having a separate life, but I just need the check-in. Just my quirk. Jay and I were talking about the rules I should put in place for a him and myself. Way up there has to be not mentioning the blog for at least a month. She was completely against it, but the blog is pretty big part of knowing me. All my friends read it and if I'm spending some serious time with someone, they're missing a major part of me. But the main thing is I spend a fair amount of time referring to it, so after a month it's gonna be way too glaring for me not to have shown it to him already. I started it for the laziness factor. I just got sick of telling people the same story over and over again or back when I told people selective things for whatever reason, not remember who was what and not wanting to have to backtrack. So, the blog's a basic Candice reference. The really juicy stuff is for offline or at least IM.

Thoughts

There's a major part of me that spends a lot of time second-guessing myself, especially in the context of my blog. Am I too personal? Am I rambling too much? Is there any focus? Just about everyone I know and like reads it because it is an extension of me. It is my thoughts, my words, my feelings. I suspect it has caused some problems in my non-relationship, but fuck, what am I going to do really? This is me. If you don't like it, then there's nothing more to say. Despite my wishy-washiness, that's my final word.

Mood Lift

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I've kicked the blahs to the curb.

Today was pretty much as bad as it could get. Transportation sucked. The job people I was supposed to call were all MIA. I was completely drenched on my way to the Central Park light show (which I basically missed) and didn't meet up with Farmer and crew like I had planned. I sulkily found myself getting pushed along like cattle amongst everyone else that was leaving into Columbus Circle. I dragged my wet rat self to an overly expensive McDs and inhaled a Double Cheeseburger meal on the way home, standing on the stupid crowded for after 8pm train to Queens. I miserably contemplated coming home to post on my blog I was going on hiatus because I hated the world and everyone in it and that's just not good reading. I was envisioning a night in bed stuffing my face, so I got a Popeye's 3 Piece (because I wanted a biscuit) and some ice cream on the way home. I took a shower, washed my hair, put on my fuzzy sweats, killed the chicken, and suddenly felt better. (And stupid full...ugh).

I'm just bipolar like that. I even arranged a non-date with a new Friendster. New blood always spices stuff up. The current undefined complicated whatever can be forgotten about for a couple of days. That's always the inherent problem with me -- even in a non-serious mood, I dedicate too much thought to things that should be nice and easy. I'm sure he doesn't sit up and obsess about it, so why should I? Exactly.

Now if this off and on rain garbage would stop, I could be the happiest camper in NYC! For a minute at least.

Ongoing Blahness

A thing I do that annoys me is obsess about my age. I'm 22. So what? I've been thinking about a lot of things this weekend cruising to a close, especially how I like to hide behind things. I hide behind the blog, my age, my pride, my memories, my fear, the Ex and those that once a held a piece of me.

In feeling stuck in limbo, I've felt inept. I hate feeling that I just can't do things -- it shakes something in me. Helplessness breeds dismay which brings overcompensation. If I can't have that perfect situation I hoped would fall into place by now, I'll be damned if I won't exert control over one aspect of my life. So you like me and you want to be with me? I'll make you wish you never met me because I'd rather have us both miserable now than have you pull the rug out from under me later on like they always do.

How fucked up am I? I'm tempted to run away from myself about now. I definitely need a break from this. It's getting a little too raw.

Curiosity Killed The Cat

Ever tried to stop yourself from looking at what you shouldn't and not been able to? Curiosity killed a kitty, but satisfaction brought her clarity. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then looking at so many that my vision started to blur has to be more than I could ever write. If I can't deal with my own baggage, how can I be expected to take on someone else's? I truly consider my losses cut.

In A State

I've been in a shit mood all weekend. It just kinda snuck up on me sometime after waking up Friday -- the shrillest alarm in history damaging your eardrum would probably do that I guess. I've been trying to fight it, being social all weekend, but between the rain and the fucked up journey to and from anywhere, I've been worn down. I'm unhappy. I feel like I'm in limbo. A lot of stuff has shaped up for me nicely, but I'm not satisfied. I want that permanent job. I want my own place. I want to nest. But, I'm also avoiding a Conversation and surprising myself by being pulled towards all sorts of fucked up things that would ruin something that feels nice a lot more than it doesn't. I'm doing that push-pull thing I've always despised in others. I don't make any sense. In my defense, I put that out there beforehand as a disclaimer, but that's no excuse to be a fuckup.

Walking to the bus stop earlier tonight, a guy across the street was doing that annoying hiss thing. That's gotta be one of my top pet peeves for sure. What would make a guy think by doing that he would be getting anything more than a dirty look (or a middle finger)? I mean, I know damned well he's skeezy and not thinking: "Wow, look at her big brain! She looks like she'll have crazy witty observations on life. I should ask her to recommend a book to me." Fuckwad. A look is too much to give a guy like that.

I hung out with Wes kids tonight. It's been a while. I've been in my own little world for a heap of weeks now. It ultimately made me more melancholy because it feels like everyone has their shit together but me -- though even thinking it, I know it's not true. I suck at keeping in touch. I've been trying to think all week what that's about. I've been searching for something all summer, bouncing from place to place, group to group. I need a routine. I need a foundation. I want someone to ground me, not push me to crazy heights I'm not ready for. I want that nice wholesome relationship, but I also want a mind reader.

I need to stop using this an emotional crutch. Sometimes I feel like I've lost my ability to speak with real words and breath and that is the root of most of my problems. I need to unplug for a while, but right now, I'm just reading and thinking..

Uh Oh

Uh oh...I'm getting back into that "while I make my way home and I'm stuck with my own crazy thoughts, get ridiculously bent out of shape because the negativity flooding my brain" mode. I was good for that in the beginning of my summer. Crap. At least I didn't blog about it like I was planning to as I waited almost a half hour for my bus in the rain in the wee hours of the morning. That post as I had worked it out was gonna be a doozy. I need to take my own advice about honesty occasionally being too much. I would've been way out there in a way that would've made the other week's outpouring of crazy woman despair/self-loathing look like a picnic.

I'm getting swept up again in a way I shouldn't be. Ever hear that the definition of insanity is making the same mistakes over and over again and expecting different results? I'm such a slave to patterns even when I see red flags, feel that sinking feeling in my gut and tell myself not to do it because I should just know better already. Ah well.

Onto breezy subject matter, my cats crack me up. They have this patented mood that my mom calls the Fainting Goat. One walks up to you and you make indications to pet her. Then, she kinda tips over and then rolls to expose her belly, but in the most dramatic way possible. You know, like those goats that faint when they're scared to confuse attackers or something. It's hilarious. Even better is when they roll around together having cute-offs. "Pet me! She can't even roll for real because she's too fat!" "Pet me! I've got softer fur!" Crazy animals.

I'm wondering...

I'm wondering how I ever got that strange compulsion for total truthfulness. I mean, in theory, it's not a bad thing. You play straight with someone and they play straight with you. Everything's on the table, the world should be fabulous. Back in the day when I actually was in possession of that youthful naivete and I began to think I actually sought out shady characters, the truth was elusive and necessary but hardly ever present. After that, I got on that damned truth kick. It made life with Mr. Sailor interesting. Always blabbing about my feelings, being so fucking open, ultimately doing the mental anguish to myself. The relentlessness of giving up the deep truth is tiring. I'm trying to get with being satisfied being a naturally curious person that will ask if I desperately want know something. The spontaneous offering of information that is ultimately going to drive me mad with my thoughts is getting the gasface today. Isn't there another option besides lies and too much honesty?

Big Spender

I've got money! I've got money!...that I spent a crazy chunk of carousing last night. I hung out with Ant, my kindred spirit from the DC days. We were the slacker sociologists among the uptight future lawyers of America on our study not-abroad program. We went to my favorite chill bar and were totally gobsmacked by 9:30. Yay happy hour! We stumbled off to Katz', giggling like fools, before heading off here to meet with Farmer and friends where we continued to rage and took some really good pics:

Excellent time had by all.

Things making me laugh today:

Him: Come on, cat, you've got to move! You're messing up my steez!

An unsolicited Friendster message: Candice, where did you go to school? what did you major in...how to increase my heart rate? if that's the case then you're hired.

Once Upon A Time (Perhaps Last Week)

Once upon a time (perhaps last week), I was crazily bent out of shape over some garbage. Then again, when am I not bent out of shape? I was a wreck in May, June, July, August...it's par for the course around here. So what I crossed out some text in my posts and it was hard to read or something? I could sum up all of that for you pretty easily: "blah blah I need to stop liking bad boys blah blah and while I'm at it, I need to stop being crazy blah blah it sucks to me blah blah I want a relationship...oh, wait I don't blah blah I like feeling sorry for myself blah blah I need to shut the fuck up because this whiny crap is really annoying blah blah." I blame it on those pesky hormones. This week, however, I think if I was any more chilled out, you'd swear I'm high on the regular. I'm not, natch. Strangely, getting tortured by a 4-year old and holing myself in a basement on DSL did wonders for my disposition.

Sunday, I made the Wes visit I've been putting off for about a month. We went there all guerilla style and I went to the office and gathered up my stuff. It was totally bittersweet -- downloading pics (though crackhead I am, I forgot most of what I wanted. Ugh...brains. So underrated Nevermind. I did get it.), straightening up, erasing my chalkboard, throwing things out, talking to P. Diddy (or for the cuteness factor) on the phone like I had done so much of the spring and summer. And then I gathered up this crap I had borrowed from a professor back in April that I had left sitting around in the office all summer (oops!) and trekked to PAC. I ran into a few people I knew, dropped in the mail box and I was done. I can't describe how it felt. I never have to go back. Never if I don't want to. I feel fucking amazing. Sunday felt better than graduation for my soul -- plus I didn't get choked up like a baby this time. Freedom is a beautiful thing. And the yearbook is getting shipped out in a little under 2 weeks. I should plan a viewing party since most of my friends are wack and didn't buy one. *ahem* The best part is that I've moved on so much mentally that I don't give a fuck if it's wack. Not that it will. And of course, I say that now but I'll be nitpicking on that bitch for the next 20 years. Watch.

It's nice to be settled for a change. Now my only pursuits are dancing to southern booty music for the cats ("Get low, get low, get low, get low"), mentally counting my money and thinking of the crazy adventures that are going to make the fall bananas. And being happy that I have friends in high places as well as mid-range fun ones. I've also reversed my position on what I did last week. Is it just me or is the crop shaping up nicely lately? I've changed my gallery age range, so that might have something to do with it. Something about the 23s and the 26s spicing up the playing field.

The Definitive Post On Me and The Inevitable Romantic and Emotional Problems

In a way, I wonder why I'm letting this whole thing with him bother me. I mean, there's more fish in the sea, I probably fucked up, shit happens, all those things. That doesn't change the fact that there were warning signs going off a mile a minute. I didn't mean what I said how it came out, but I was inherently saying "where this is headed with you, I don't like it and I'd rather just nip it before it spins out of control." Maybe that's not how it was on his end, but I know me and I was beginning to see "Goner" written on my forehead in blood.

I'm a laid-back person -- despite how it may appear here because this blog is a little too far in my head for comfort occasionally really. There's a lot that goes on that I don't write about because a girl needs secrets and breaking everything of myself down into some words on a computer screen makes me feel like my life isn't my own. I made that mistake with the other site where someone who liked me thought that describing what went wrong in a lot of situations gave him some sort of special in to pigeon hole me. Everything I write is like a brain capsule. What I might be feeling now at 12:40pm may not be what's up with me tomorrow at 2pm. That's my prerogative, that's why it's Kitty Power subtitled "disjointed dispatches," not "definitive manifesto."

It's hard for me to like someone. At the root, I'm a control freak, it's a defense mechanism. I'm also an open person which makes me practically bipolar. I liked him and I accepted all these things he was throwing at me (figuratively) that were making me completely scared shitless. I do like the guys that ultimately not for me, but there comes a time in your life when you gotta let go of that "it'll never be boring" mentality and save the fucking heartache that is coming. I'm tired of being wrecked. I spent the better part of a year thinking that I was fucked up and I didn't deserve to be happy and he moved on and left because that's what's supposed to happen to me. I don't think that anymore. Shit is too important for me right now and I don't want to waste any more time stupidly unhappy. And that's it. I chalk it up as a failure and I'm moving on. The End.

I'm getting tired of my need to qualify myself. Fuck it all. Life's too short.

Red Red Wine

Red, red wine Goes to my head Make me forget that i Still need her so

Red, red wine
It`s up to you
All I can do, i`ve done
But mem`ries won`t go
No, mem`ries won`t go

I'd have thought
That with time
Thoughts of her
Would leave my head
I was wrong
And I find
Just one thing makes me forget

Red, red wine
Stay close to me
Don`t let me be alone
It's tearin' apart
My blue, blue heart

And no, I'm not still wallowing. Who doesn't love "Red Red Wine?" That song is the shit. But, with this crap ass weather, who would blame me? How the hell did it jump from August to October? It's cold as hell.

In other news, I did what I was thinking about. It takes some of the pressure off. I am all about no pressure after all...except when I lose my cool and end up looking like a stupid stupid kid! *ahem* Random was reading the blog and said that I've got a "Seinfeldian" thing going here. Yes indeed, I'm a New Yorker and neurotic as fuck, but neither a man nor Jewish, so I can be a black Elaine. I'm short (though not that short really, about average height) with mostly crazy hair and nice breasts -- or so I was told the other day, but that point's up for debate. Since I'm oversharing, I noticed that his profile thingy is currently changed to "Just Here to Help." Hmm. I really need to shut up about this shit. I'm making myself look worse. Plus he reads it like everyone else I know. Candice is a jackass, la la la.

A Little Break From The Matters At Hand

In a break from lame ass no-longer-a-teen melodrama (because in the long run, it's really not that serious. I've got the tools to hold it down all over and 2003 is all about stopping trouble before it starts, you know?), I've added a new link to the sidebar because who am I to deny a request? :)

Song for the new week

Song for the new week:

We got just one shot of life, let's take it while we're still not afraid.
Because life is so brief and time is a thief when you're undecided.
And like a fistful of sand, it can slip right through your hands.

I've been on a 80s kick since Sunday afternoon. The cats got a kick of me dancing around to "Party All The Time." I love that song. Did you ever see the Mad TV skit where they dramatized the writing sessions for that with Eddie Murphy (Aries Spears) and Rick James (Phil LaMarr)? Hilarious. Beyond, just beyond.

Ever noticed how the universe seems to mock you if you're remotely feeling down? I heard Eric Carmen, "All By Myself" in a deli. I haven't heard that song in years. It could've been worse -- I could've caught the Celine version. Ugh. And then my comp's playing Steve Perry, "Foolish Heart." Okay, now I've got to get "Time (Clock Of My Heart" out of my brain. It's making me feel worse. No more sappy 80s stuff. Craptastic wallowing music. Time to bust out the upbeat stuff.

I also realized today that I'm completely overreacting, but that's my nature. I think I was more embarrassed by revealing myself to be both non-chill and young all at once and watching it dawn on him also, especially since I didn't say what I meant to. Funny how "I just want to make sure we're on the same page" turns into "I don't even like you" when you're on panic mode...and yes, straight sober. Now I get to watch him retreat from the immature kid, but for real this time. I don't really know how I feel about it. He's not who I want him to be, he said that himself. And it's rare for me to kill stuff before it has the chance to reveal itself as bad for me as I knew from the start. Fuck it. Closed topic.

The Madness Begins

For a minute, I actually wondered why Sixteen Candles was one of my favorite movies. And then I remembered that when I watched it when I was a high schooler, I wholly identified because I was a spazz and always hoped I would be lucky enough to have some super cool guy see beyond that. Years later, I'm still a fucking spazz and I'm beginning to think I have a better chance being struck by lightning than making something work. Just an inkling of a fuzzy and I'm all "oh shit, was that a feeling?! Self-destruct mode, on. Deny, deny, deny! Spazz, spazz, spazz! Run, run, run! Start the annihilation process." I'm a stupid jerk.

Sex makes me stupid. Lack of sex makes me stupid. Guys make me stupid. But I was just stupid from the start. I'm just gonna find a hole and hope it caves in. Pity party, table for one.

ETA: This why I don't date (or not, as the case may be) even put out myself out there. Fucking melodramatic nature rearing its ugly head. Who has time for this shit?

Weekend In A Nutshell

An exchange that in no way reflects the esteem with which we regard felines:

Moi: I'm gonna go, but you should feed your cats before they riot.
Him: Ah fuck 'em.

These past couple of days has involved me getting pissed off by the subway system -- or rather, having the misfortune of living somewhere that makes getting a lot of places mad fucking inconvienent. Well on the weekends, getting everywhere is inconvienent. Stupid MTA...yeah, it's totally a great idea to have 25 of 30whatever lines all fucked up to work on them all at once. I should be a bureaucrat. I can make dumb ass decisions and get paid for it easily. I was supposed meet Mr. Daddy up in Inwood and midway I just gave up because not only was I still a half hour from where I had to be, but my head felt like it was about to explode from the frustration. I was heated. Imagine his surprise when I called and he was gearing up to yell at me for being late and I was all "screw it. I'm going home. Leave. I don't care." Shut him up quick. Hehe.

Friday was the one night I stayed in for what feels like forever. I was in bed at 10:30, straight up lights out in PJs and under covers. Natch, that had to be the night for one of my Wes friends to be making a guerilla visit to town. I was like "yeah, that's nice. I'm asleep" *click* but a lot nicer. That was the first call at 11something. At 1:30, I wasn't so nice especially when he told me there was this party in the Bronx I had to go to. Only my eyes being closed and me not wanting to make the effort to ruin my zen state but cursing him out stopped the "you've got to be fucking kidding me. Didn't I tell you I was asleep, mofo? That's twice you woke me up. Jackass!" from spilling out. I definitely thought it though and translated those words into something fit for a pleasant tone before hanging up and rolling back over to not be able to fall back asleep. Grr. After an hour or so, I was back in Sleepland.

Another Saturday, another house party. I met up with Farmer and friends and recruited Trendvickster to join us. Ever had a vodka shot with a pickle chaser? I hadn't until last night. I had two, in fact. My liver really liked that, especially since I only got her to stop bitching just the day before. The trust is gone from our relationship. You know what else was gone? My cookies. Yuck. Also some episodes. Color me surprised that I called Trendvickster at 3:30 or my house at 5:30. I spoke to my mom at 10:30 before passing out again, playing it so not slick that I had no idea what she was talking about when she said I already left a "not coming home, see you in the morning" message. At 5:30, natch. Ah well. Ever been woken up by a kitten using your calf as a chew toy? That sucks. But what was excellent was White Castle cheeseburgers as a return to the land of the living meal. Yum.

Friend Speak

In continuing with the "I'm a random magnet" train of thought, I've realized that no matter what stage of my life I'm in (or something), the friends I have are essential archetypes in my life. I used to say that they're all nothing alike to each other, but they've all got a piece of the pathwork that makes up me. Trendvickster and I were/are wide-eyed and optimistic together when I'm not letting whatever beat me down. Jay, PrincessNella, and I are charismatic cynical bitches with sharp tongues and big laughs. Tino, Alex and I are the adventure seekers -- up for whatever, down for whatever with those glints in our eyes while looking deceptively fresh-faced. Mr. KT and I have vibrant personalities and dirty minds/mouths that you would never guess looking at our sweet little faces. Every once in a while, I get latched onto by a Dancing Queen or my ex-housemate and we share that reckless, hypersexual, fun-loving nature. But, that part has been toned down in my old age. It's an intensity that I can't keep up. All kinds of shit ensues that'll drain the hell out of you. The guys that pass through are all the same too. Wolves in sheep's clothing, occasionally just a bad sheep mask. I think I'm officially over it. For the 8,000,000th time. Doubt it'll stick.

"Misadventure is all around."

"Misadventure is all around." An email quote from Mr. Scenester earlier in the summer.

Being that it's August 29th and all, for all intents and purposes the summer is over. It's been good -- despite the extended Middletown residency and the lack of a job/funds and various things I bent myself out of shape about over the course. Truthfully, I'm easy to please about now. I enjoy random episodes, good company, strong drinks and interesting music. I'm so wonderfully glad to be out of school that the world is totally fine with me. Hopefully the fall will be equally as fun but different. I've got to admit that I'm on the flighty side, new things are needed to keep me amused.

Last night was rolling with Random, a new friend I met where I tend to meet everyone (besides the net, natch). He's funny and crazy and we met in what has to be the ultimate of randomness, hence the pseudonym. I've been drafted into the subversive randoms coalition. That's right up my alley. We went back to the scene of Wednesday's jump off and the bartender there is my new friend. She's a little bitchy in that good way yet completely chill with the coolest hoodie:

Wednesday she gave us stickers! Yay! From there, we went here where I got to practice my belly dancing skills. Bet you didn't know I used to do that shit for a min, eh? Indian dance for a min back in high school too. How ya like me now? Hehe. From there to another place where it was so empty that the highlight was surfing the net and being squicked by this guy unashamedly looking at straight up porn. It's was like "you do realize this is a club, right? Get up and drink and dance. Go home to look at that." Not that there's anything wrong with porn. Porn is good, fantastic even. Total endorsement from the Kitty Power corner.

Random left at this point because he indeed in that working world I happen to know nothing about. I strolled over to my place and was at first surprised because some of the usual suspects weren't in attendance. Strange, I noted, but I made a new instafriend. I totally attract the randoms I swear. I must give off "seek me out for chill conversation and acceptance of your randomness" vibes. Then again, I'm random as hell, so it must be a birds of a feather type deal. She's a crazy dancing completely in the mix sort. We were chatting about something strange and having one of those instafriend episodes. In walks Mr. Man, drunk as hell and telling me that he just ran back from "Puffy's VMA party." I gave my typical "whatever" look and perhaps even a shrug. You don't impress me, you name-dropping SOB! I mean, hey, I totally believe it, but he threw that in as bait. In case you haven't noticed, I'm hypercynical, but besides that I grew up with boys and my best friends are guys, so I know all the games when I hear them. Never let them get a rise out of you. Ms. Dancing Queen decided though that he was next on her conquest list. Their little pre-running off dance was kinda pathetic, especially at the same time, she's just finished saying what a player and woman hater he is but that she'll "fuck him" instead of the other way around. Right. Have I mentioned that I'm glad that I've kept myself to only going there to chill? Well I am. I felt like I was watching a cliche play out in front of my eyes. You know the surefure way to get over a pre-crush? Watch him embroiled in all sorts of grimeyness.

Ask Men Okay

Mr. KT and I get a kick out of surfing Ask Men. Him for obvious reasons and me because I tend to "think like a guy" about most relating things. I was reading it tonight and was kinda taken by their version of a surefire way to segue a conversation into something else. I gotta admit that it's shit simple. Imagine that -- getting a person into you by talking to them, listening to what they have to say and responding accordingly. Mind-blowing.

Thursday I was like a poster child for what not to do. Need I say where I was? Do I really go much of anywhere else? Besides, the Thursday party is thrown by my Friendsters, so I can get hooked up -- more than usual -- like a mofo. One of the things I love about the place is that most of the people rolling through are connected to the place, i.e. other night promoters, DJs, bartenders, etc just hanging out and kicking it. Despite the other day's assertion that platonic is ideal, there is one dude who I see there all the time and just kinda trade looks with, but nothing's ever come of it -- not that I'm necessarily trying or not one way or another. So, the typical was occuring and I was chatting with my boys and not really thinking much about it. At one point, I'm waiting for the bathroom, contemplating that the bitch ahead of me must've fallen in the toilet or something. Stupid heffa. The guy himself stands next to me and we start chatting:

Mr. Man: You waiting?
Moi: Yep.
Mr. Man: You know if someone's in this one? (gesturing towards the men's room)
Moi: No clue.
The door swings open on the men's and Mr. Man grabs it as a guy walks past
Mr. Man: Do you mind if I go? I have to go up and DJ in a min.
Moi: *shrug* It's all you.
Mr. Man goes in the bathroom and I raise my palm in a "WTF was that about?" sign.

It's a good thing I don't actually wonder why there's nothing happening romantically with me. My middle name is Self-Sabotage. Like I said though, it's no biggie. He might be fine (and indeed he is), but in my indifferent state, unless he steps up his 3:30am drunken chatter/game or I become less indifferent, it doesn't really matter.

Conundrum

Last night was one of those where I spent a lot of time feeling weird. Actually, the last couple of days have been like that. Spending 25 hours with no electricity brought it home my general lingering thought of feeling overstimulated. I'm in a mood to weed out the unnecessary clogging of my space. The strangest thought that hit me was to take the "dating" part off my Friendster profile. I only put that in there in the first place to imply that though I wasn't looking for a "serious relationship," I wanted something besides "friends" which is what I suppose "dating" means. I hate "dating." I don't do it well -- in fact, I don't know how -- and I'd rather avoid it whenever possible. It's like a neverending series of interviews and you have to maintain that sunny false front. There should be a category that envelopes "chilling just for kicks -- no pressure -- and if I decide I like you (or just get the urge), I might have sex with you. Again, no pressure." or is that dating and I never got the memo? (Oops, mentioned the "s" word. Silly me, I keep doing that.)

But what does it matter anyway because I don't want to do it in any of its forms. On my train ride home last night, I was just struck with how utterly bored I am with that stuff. I ended up there where I had more chance of being struck by lightning in the basement than getting a second look and I just loved being out of the game from the door -- though the novelty of that will wear off soon enough. I had enough of that every year of school but the last one, thanks. I chilled, was left alone, and just had a good time, not disappointed because I had no hopes out there. Not that I do anyways. I've realized that I'm indifferent, stuck on neutral. I don't like anyone, I don't want to like anyone and anyone that crossed my path, I've feigned the motions but I don't really care. I can't remember the last time I've been really excited about someone -- wanting to hear their voice, talking about them all the time, just feeling smiley and fuzzy when I'm with them. Perhaps that's a silly standard to have of what's good, but I'll stick with it until I know better.

Besides on a practical sense, I'm jobless and broke, working on a master plan and feeling a bit of pressure right now. Why the fuck would I try to further complicate the issues by having to worry about someone else and/or lose energy to tackle that by focusing time on them? I'm being selfish to get my shit together. I can almost guarantee I'll be a better person to be around once this crap has passed. I also realized last night that I've been single for about nine months now. It's been rough through a lot of patches, but I've earned my security. If it's not something that I think is going to make me feel the way I did the day this picture was taken, I really don't know if I can bother. To be clear, it isn't even about him -- after all, when I was crazy, I thought he was great, but I'm not so crazy anymore -- it's about regulating that youthful exuberance and the inevitable fallout because disasters are just tiring after a while, you know?

Oh, and what does this have to do with anything? Nothing. Just saying.

Bitches Ain't Shit But Hoes And Tricks

Now a queen's a queen and a stunt is a stunt/You can tell who's who by the things they want

I'm remotely holding court with Trendvickster over the assholeness of the male specimens that we keep encountering. She liked this guy who liked her back, but he jumped for the first girl to pass by with a loose snatch and some weed -- and a fiancee and stories about cheating with dudes up and down the eastern seaboard. The kicker is that all of this interoffice. Ugh...drama. I think it's reminding me of why I'm choosing to remain blissfully unattached right now -- too many encounters with fuck-ups. There's The Continental who was dating 4 girls at once (including moi) -- no small feat in the middle of nowhere Connecticut and years later doesn't understand why it might make someone angry. Beats me... There's Mr. Sailor, for whom I'm the first and last person over the age of 18, he's been involved with since he passed that age that didn't understand why his ass got dumped when he disappeared for two weeks and changed his cell phone number -- and passed that along to a mutual friend, instead of you know, telling me himself. That was sure the mystery of the ages... Or my "friend," who I didn't want to slander so I blogged about the encounter tamely, that lost out on a sure thing because he didn't understand why I wasn't particularly impressed by: "you know, I came to Wes because I was sick of dating white girls, but as soon as I got here, I just got snapped up again. I'm sad I never got my chance." Because after all, what is a liberal arts education for but giving little suburban white boys all the colored ass they can handle. Fucking jerk.

So, I'm raging. Just because I can.

A Little Yearning

Isn't it kinda sickening how what's simplest is really so true? My dear Trendvickster is all bubbly and excited about this guy she's cruising towards something with in Beantown. I dished sage words, advised her not to put the cart before the horse, and grinned to myself at her smilies after every sentence. Despite a case of extreme jadedness and the general disgust with the males of the species that NYC will invoke, I remember what it's like to be warm and fuzzy about somebody...kinda. It's been a while, always complicated by some unresolved something or another. Sometimes I miss that, constantly talking about someone, always anticipating seeing them. Just that new stuff feeling. But then, I think of the distractions and miscommunications and how shitty it feels when stuff just gets jumbled and I don't miss any of it at all.

I'm torn. The hopeful kid full of verve and pep wants a little amusement to pass the time with. Something bright and shiny to go with the summer weather. The still wincing kitty with an elephant memory wants to be left alone. The position changes daily. That's why I dealt with C: all the perks, none of the liabilities. That's how it should be...for now at least. Perfectly nice kids that I might like if I weren't just...indifferent have been crossing my path. That's been the enigma of the summer: I give off an air of being totally disinterested and closed. As I said to one, "I don't play hard to get. I'm telling you I'm impossible to get." Assured words, but as always, I reserve the right to be flighty and I'm a sucker for a grand gesture or bold words. Occasionally.

Potential

Sometimes I just amuse myself. Every once in a while, I regress to ninth grade. I find it endearing. Though I talk a good game, I definitely have the tendency to be awkward around the male sort. That was formed mostly because when kids that went somewhere besides my high school were branching off into dating or at least had friends that were, my rag tag bunch of friends and I were stuck in the "dirty minded but clean behavior" category. In ninth grade, we would always cry "nasty double meaning!" but we'd be more willing to kiss the floor than another person.

So, while stuck up here and perusing the summer directory, I came across the name of one of my end of the year friends. He and I had worked together the whole year but became really close as he finished up his thesis and came back on the social scene with a vengeance and I was out and about because that's what I do instead something useful like what I'm supposed to. I found him super amusing and he fit the mold of my guy friend. I tend to befriend the boys who have sex appeal in spades and are always out pleasing their female fans. I, being that cool dude in a girl's body, tend to get the salacious details and some insight into the inner workings of boys -- along with bad influences plus tips/tricks/habits that get tested out on unsuspecting males, but that's another story. There's a line between confidante and potential that I'm always careful to observe. That pesky curiosity buoyed temptation will fuck stuff up if given the chance, but I'm good about following my self imposed rules.

Until now maybe. I'm tempted. We haven't seen each other yet, but who knows? Life is indeed a lot easier when school isn't in session (though the conversion of Wes into a pseudosummer camp is kind of frightening. Too many little kids running around here) because the grapevine matters a whole lot less. Naturally of course, nothing's probably going to happen. I tend to be upright and noble in the most inopportune moments.

ETA: When I'm right, I'm right. I know myself and I kept it platonic as fuck. I think at times I actually made myself shift so I wouldn't be so close on purpose and had closed body language all over the place. A rule is a rule. *sigh*

An Interlude

Who'd have thought that time in Middletown would be kicking up all the shit I thought I had buried somewhere behind me? I'm beginning to think there's something about this town which spells drama. The part that's annoying is that it isn't even mine, but trying to be helpful has opened some sort of emotional floodgates. Fantastic.

I am a good listener. It's a skill I honed because I yammer and I feel bad for talking someone's ear off and not giving them the chance to return the favor. I also observe because a writer always pays attention to details. Somehow I got mixed up in interpersonal shit because people like to talk and talk and talk and I blend into the woodwork watching the shit they do. One situation in general really bugs me because I hate seeing people walk into traps. Really liking someone can make you so damned clueless. It's kinda painful to see the side of the girl who is building it up to be some great love affair and the guy who would really fuck anything that moves and has no shame about being a dog. Sigh. It reminds me of how stupid I was -- and probably will be again because I'm not so untouchably evolved or anything. That point where you compromise yourself and ignore all those voices inside screaming at you to open your ears. I remember too well the fear of thinking that it's better to be with someone good or bad and feeling something than alone and miserably thinking of what you'd do if you if only someone would be with you. I don't know what it even means that I'm friends with a person that would have no regard for someone's feelings. There's no excuse to be cruel.

Karma's a real bitch. Lately because of a chance viewing on Nerve, I've been thinking about the mess I made of a lot of things last fall. I came back to school really happy, with my attentions towards this kid J overseas. The way we existed was kind of ambiguous but there's something to be said for having care or faith in someone no matter how far they are. A chance arrangement in Middletown blindsided the hell out of me and I became conflicted (and the writer of some bad poetry, but that's neither here nor there). I ended up starting the trend of bowing to agressively applied pressure no matter what I felt. I'm no innocent and I have to admit I was exhilarated by the rush of someone like the Ex who was forceful and wanted the whole world -- or specifically, J halfway around the world -- to know we were together. I botched my relationship with J who I really liked for that heady rollercoaster that I grinded to a stop three months later, worn out and sick of feeling like being with the Ex meant that I had to spend all of my time on emotional overload. And still hurt me (though I was glad it was over) that while I was thousands of miles away driving myself insane, someone put the moves on the Ex as he did me. But nothing was as fucked up to me as knowing that I broke J's heart over a guy not half the person he was. I wonder about J sometimes. I wonder if he still hates me. I wonder if he's happy. I don't believe in going backwards, i.e. trying to pick up old relationships, but I feel like he deserves some sort of an apology from me.

Sometimes I hate being young. You have to make mistakes in order to become stronger and build character and all that shit, but in retrospect, I feel like I've spent so much time working through the stress that I've missed out on things. Despite being in Middletown and not having a job yet and a laundry's list worth of present complaints, I feel happy. But, there's a sad aftertaste because I've spent 10 months -- or more if we wanna go through some more history -- being as miserable as I could be because of fuckups that keeping my wits about me would've made nonexistant. I've finally gotten to a place where I feel like I've shed all the dead weight that kept me down. School, failures, issues, relationships. It's all over. If I could just leave this town, the visual cues can go the way of the memories -- harmlessly behind me.

If You Wanna Ride, Then Ride The White Horse

That damn Jazzy. He put "White Horse" in my head. "If you wanna be rich/You gotta be a bitch." I'm a sucker for some 80s electro, let me tell you. Somebody out there download that shit so I don't have to sing it alone. And speaking of downloading, trying to get music on a 56K is enough to drive someone to bang their head against the wall. Everything was running about twenty times slower than usual. *whine* I want DSL! *whine*

To amuse myself and put off sleep, I've been writing testimonials on Friendster. Since they're subject to approval, I want to preserve them for posterity in case folks are lame. For Jay:

She's been my partner in crime for going on 4 years now. Until I met her, I never knew the sweet feeling of having another girl out there like me who loved drinking, making fun of people, music, the internet, soaps and strange episodes. If you need a loud-mouthed smart ass with a high alcohol tolerance and I'm unavailable, she is always the next best thing -- with a porn star voice as a bonus.

I'm still formulating one for P. Diddy, but naturally it'll allude to him having a hand in my every instance of Boys-Who-Since-They-Are-Such-Fuckwads-Can-No-Longer-Be-Named. One of those being Mr. Sailor. The other being The Continental who has a whole WLB dedicated to his stupid ass on the other site. Oh wait, I just named them. Code names don't count though. Mr. Sailor gets named all the time unfortunately actually. I hate that I still bring him up in conversation. Though lately it's all, "yeah, I'm over him. You know I realized what really broke us up: him calling me a "communist." What the fuck? He said it like a curse too. Is this the 50s or something? Lame ass." I guess that can no longer be named goes from now. But, back to P.D., perhaps I'll also allude to Will and Grace. We're both kinda kooky and I seem to be wasting away (you know, in that not really sort of way), so perfect. I do have crazy hair most of the time and he gives off the impression of being chaste, but his love life's a lot more interesting than mine right now. I naturally need to do something about that. I wrote Alex about the episode with the Brazilian and he's going to be pretty disappointed that I squandered the knowledge he gifted on us kids, as well as me falling off from being She of the Crazy Stories. I spent too much time as a wallflower back in the day and everyone was so proud that I broke out in such a big way. Between spending so much time in transit and using C as a crutch, I haven't had the time to recreate last summer yet. But, next week once the book is put to bed and I'll have no real reason to leave the city for a while, my summer officially starts...practically August. How weak is that? But, will I make for lost time with a gusto? You bet your ass. I'm gonna go out and learn come ons in all kinds of languages, start really dancing again and do up Happy Hours real big with Jay. She and I will be celebrating some jobs soon. I can feel it. Until a M-F 9-5 cramps my style though, I'll be living those vampire hours with exceptions made for soaps and afternoon shows. And boys bearing caipirinhas...or not. I'm picky but not about things like that.

Weekend Roundup

So, I didn't make it to Louie Vega/Robert Owens show at Shelter. I did give it a good honest try though. The lure of Wes friends and karaoke proved too much for me. P. Diddy came to town and I met up with him at the place these kids I've only gotten to know and adore in the past few months are subletting. They've got a freaking piano in that place. It's sooo nice. Pre-war Upper West Side. I was dripping with jealousy until the downstairs old shrew came up and went on a 15-minute tirade about the noise, threatening that she would get them and the actual tenants kicked out because her place is rent-controlled and basically, she's a bitch. I wanted to jump in and say, "blow it out your hole, biddy. My mommy works for housing court and you're talking out of your ass!" but I felt bad because she sprung on them from the elevator I rode up in and she reminded me the lady I ran into on the street a few years ago that ruined my Thanksgiving. I had been walking down 6th Avenue in the Village minding my business when I passed this nondescript old lady heading in the opposite direction. As she passed she said to me, "don't go causing any trouble. You'll ruin this nice day for all the good people" or something to that effect like I was a crackhead stealing someone's TV. Little old asshole white women trigger all sorts of repressed rage.

We rolled downtown to this bar that normally I wouldn't be caught dead in. The first thing I said before I even entered the dorr was: "is that country music I hear?" Indeed it was. The vibe was definitely fratboyish. We joked that it was a Beta party smack in the middle of NYC. But, hey, the drinks were cheap -- $3 tequila shots! That's what's up -- and the beer drinking boys got the cheapest pitcher they might find out of Middletown. Then we were on to karaoke. Who was that girl rolling on the table a la Madonna singing to "Like A Virgin?" I dunno. I was surprised I knew all the words to "Iris" and the rap part of "In The End" actually. The whole thing was stupid fun.

Next day, the 4th. No annual BBQ. I was pissed but not really then again. I only missed the ham. As my mom likes to say, we come from a long line of pig farmers, so bring on the other white meat! That night, Trendvickster and I rolled to that loft party. It was mad fun. Bands, fire jugglers, a DJ, a momentary interlude of foosball where I was kicking everyone's ass and heaps and heaps of cool people made my night. We had a nice view of the fireworks too. I never realized until that night how long that whole thing is. Gah. My legs got tired, then my ass fell asleep, and then my legs got tired again before it was over. Mr. Scenester was the consummate host. I found it kinda strange that he took so much time out to talk to me, but whatevs. If he would've been doing something extreme a la obviously trying to kick it to me or ignoring/avoiding me, that would've pissed me off.

Saturday was spent trying to get my tail into gear. I meant to get up early for the Summerstage show but it just wasn't working out. I got there about 5 when it was hopeless to get in. I heard Chaka Khan loud and clear. She was fabulous. She's got some killer lungs, man. I want to sing like that but my voice control is all nonexistant. Perhps voice lessons can be my post-book summer project. From there, I strolled across town to Midsummer Night's Swing, meeting P.D. and others on the way. At this point, we had a crew of 7 Wes kids and went uptown. After dinner and cocktails, we swooped down to the new place of more Wes kids on the Midtown West/Clinton/Hell's Kitchen border. They're renting and that place was so hot. They've got a view on Times Square! I wanted to lay down and cry because I wasn't smart enough to have been an Econ major, then forgot about that once I remembered that they'll be working 18-hour days to pay for that shit. We picked up 3 more kids and went off downtown. I felt like the freaking pied piper or something.

I was the most popular girl in NYC last weekend I'm sure. My phone was ringing off the damn hook. It was mad annoying. Especially since I didn't talk to the one person I really wanted to reach: Alex. Since he was heading off to Portugal for the rest of the summer Monday. I think I showed everyone a good time though. We haunted a lot of my hot spots Saturday and everyone seemed to get a kick out of it. We lost one of our party since he wandered off and called back in a panic. Drunkards. But, mostly it was chill. They definitely tired me out. I spent all Sunday crashing like a mofo. That's it until Labor Day I guess.

P.D. and I were discussing "to prowl or not to prowl" at various times. I was telling him that I'm so out of the market that it's not even funny. I've realized that inherently I'm just lazy right now. That's why I was bothering with C in the first place. It was already established and I didn't have to bother with meet-greet-flirt-buildup that someone new would involve. I'm just taking a sabbatical. I'm all about friends who are boys, but I think I'm in the most non-sexual, non-romantic mood I've been in since I was a tomboy in HS (and by that, I mean like senior year) and thought even a "boyfriend" was just a guy you hung around, watch movies and talked on the phone with if you felt like it but inherently had cooties and weren't as fun as regular friends. Does it reveal how much of a dater I'm not that I still pretty much feel like that's the general description of one? Except for the whole sex aspect. I was a late bloomer, I didn't think about that until later. And since it's in the middle of the night and I'm rambling (as usual) -- though this actually relates to other things P.D. and I talked about, I'll throw out some rules I live by that make a lot of situations less complicated. I don't even consider getting involved with 1) friends 2) exes of friends 3) friends of exes 4) significant others of people I know --whether I like them or not. As I said to PD, "isn't that just a little dramatic?" Cheating fucking sucks having been through that shit more times than I like to think about and a good friend beats a cheap trick anyday. You know?

Testing My Patience...

The mystery of the Shady solved: he's got a new girlfriend. He pissed me off last week in NYC by being generally evasive and wasting my time and then being all sketchy on AIM all this week. Being the tenacious sort, I just straight out confronted him earlier:

Moi: so what's your story?
Shady: hm
M: you're acting stranger than usual...or perhaps it's just me
SC: im sorry- im dating a girl now.
SC: which might explain the strangeness
M: boys are so strange. why didn't you just come out and say that before?
SC: i dont know.
SC: boys are strange.
M: obviously
M: well, that's good.
M: girl from school?
SC: nah, shes 25
SC: really nice girl
M: uh oh, older woman. go, mr. player.
SC: nahh. sorry ive been strange
M: it's cool. it wasn't really a big thing
M: i was just curious
M: it was a familiar evasiveness
SC: he he he.
SC: you are a perceptive broad
M: it's a scenario that's played out more than once
M: you should tell your girl i think you're a silly but generally chill
SC: i am a bit silly
SC: at times

That was simple enough. But,

sing it for me, Mary!

*rant on* Why are dudes so fucking tired? The dilemma of the year is how to not let my cynicism and irritation get in my way of idealistic hope that there is a decent guy out there for me. My resolve to stay positive is chipped away every time when the second I feel that a non-relationship is so wonderfully loose and clear that I can feel comfortable, the other shoe's gotta drop and the "oh, I didn't tell you I have a girl now" card has got to be pulled. Geez. What bugs me is not a case of a secret batch of romantic feelings I didn't know I had getting crushed. The emotional input plug-in may be disabled, but shit, I've got feelings. Why do I have to be jerked around? It's that I hate that instead of honoring the honesty I've always extended, they've got to be all evasive and secretive. That stupid "have your cake and eat it too" crap. Fuck that, especially since it's so transparent. That's why I'm perceptive. You have to develop a bullshit detector as part of the armor. *rant off*

I'm just annoyed because I hate the waste of even the most minimal of invested time. I think the one thing I am crystal clear is on is how much I don't want a boyfriend because I'm still infinitely sore from spending most of the past year being dragged through the emotional wringer by two cases of LDRs when I've always known that I'm the most anti-LDR person there is. I fear sometimes that my total disillusionment will overtake me and I'll be an empty predator doing my thing. Been there, done that in the much alluded to January stuff (yeah, yeah, I'll get to telling that story) and at the end of it all, I felt like shit because every feeling I'd been running from was still there...but now mixed up with some latent Catholic Madonna/Whore guilt. Fuck the exes because it isn't about any of them. It's about me wanting my rally but no one coming to the organizational meeting.

Boys, Boys Everywhere...

The Liminal Liberal in my brain...or is it me in hers? I am younger after all:

Deep down, I'm what you call a severely sexually aggressive female. When I behave otherwise, I don't do so well. Not so good with coy. Not so good with hard to get. I'm much better with the obvious. I think. I dunno. Maybe that's something I made up.

I feel her immensely since I'm in the middle of a funk. Well, that's not true. The real problem is I can't keep my ass in NYC long enough to feel settled, so I'm presently disoriented. A thing previously mentioned is no longer a problem (for the record, this phrase was an euphemism), but the past weekend has me feeling disgruntled.

In the midst of jerks, losers and would-be players who got walked away from, (internally) laughed at, shot dirty looks, or generally dissed, I met guys that were cool. Two, in fact. On the same night. Great, Candicissima, you might be thinking, so what happened then? Not a freaking thing. Hence, why I'm disgruntled. Let me set the scene for you...

Friday night. My joint, my not-my-neighborhood hangout for over a year now. I was considering weaning away because the crowd is getting a little too post-frat for my tastes, but the music has been coming back in a big way so I'm torn. Anyhoo, while doing my typical easing my way into being social through surveying the scene, I get captured by this crazy drunken guy who, despite not being able to dance and is cruising on getting hit due to some grabbiness, amuses me and those around us that I shoot looks to over his head. I gave him about 20 minutes or so and the novelty began to wear off. Surveying as I do, I notice a guy standing near us. Much more my type than crazy short drunken loud homeboy. What is my type, you ask? *clearing my throat* Welll...between 5'9" and 6'2", dark hair, dark eyes (though I make exceptions for especially striking light-colored ones), athletically slim but not bony, social, a dancer, and radiating confidence. Of course, there's always room for exceptions, but Jay and others can assure that there is a definite Candice template...and will probably mention untrue other criteria in the comments. Punks.

Anyways, I could see he was Candice material just by the way he was dancing by himself close to the crowd but more in the corner. Plus he had a cool newsboy cap on. Another Candice criterium: he owns hats in which he looks good but I would look even better in. Crazy Drunk Guy was really trying my patience and I'm dancing in front of the new guy. I turn to him and whisper at him, "Save me from this fool before I have to hurt him." We lock eyes for a sec and I step away. He proceeds to do nothing, though I'm now dancing closer to him and soon Crazy Drunk Guy just wanders off. I whisper to the guy something along the lines of, "hey, I asked you to help me. Good job...not." and he replies, "oh...that's what you said? I thought you were trying to show your man off to me or something." We laugh, we dance, we talk. Quite special. It comes out that he's a Red Hook dweller, there with old friends who are spending more time scattered about the place than hanging, lover of hip hop/R&B/reggae, worker bee, 26, and getting a kick out of my name being "secret." He did the thing that pissed me off: "Oh, 22...I remember that. Enjoy those days yadda yadda I'm gonna patronize the young'un" yet I still liked him through all that. He asked me if I had a boyfriend, but self-censored himself with an "I guess not since you're here" immediately afterwords. I replied to him in the negative and assured him that "nobody puts Baby in a corner." He went off to talk to his friends for a sec and asked me to wait there, but I went off for water (no, really) and when I got back, he was gone. I went off dancing about my business for a few mins before there he was where his friends were parked...dancing with another lady. I say lady because she was older...than me for sure. I couldn't really read the situation because she and her friends were sitting with him and his friends and I being slow didn't get the chance to ask him if he had a girlfriend or not. I have a history of getting mixed up with boys that leave that type of information until they finally feel the situation calls for revealing that piece of info. Grr... Anyhoo, I was thrown off, so I danced with his friends, with random folks, around him, but not with him as before. He made moves to call it a night after a while and I whispered with a joking tone, "it was nice to meet you, though you ended up running away from me." He replied that he hadn't and I walked off kinda frustrated, before grabbing my stuff and heading out before they did.

I strolled off to the 2nd Avenue stop irritated. Over what? Nothing really. I overthink. That's who I am, that's what I do. The Uptown/Queens platform was mad crowded. Then again, it usually is on a weekend night. I'm walking towards the center when I notice this guy standing by a beam, just looking hipster cool. My hipster vitrol most often than not comes from the fact that I'm just not into the fads, but I'll be damned if most of the boys aren't fine as hell if too skinny and vaguely unwashed looking in their designer gear. We do the movie lock eyes thing as I get near, then pass him to go sit down on the bench. He looks at me, I look back, and he sits on the bench next to me. I turn to him and ask if he was planning to sit where I was before I ended up there. He responds in the negative, adding that he's ridiculously drunk. "Oh okay, you were just not trying to fall into the tracks then." We laugh. There's this old man sitting on the otherside of him that's amused as he and I banter. He's probably amazed that I strolled up in there and am working so masterfully. That's right. I got skills. But, actually NYC's cool that way. It's pretty easy to chat with folks. People do it to me -- in the daytime, platonically -- all the time.

Bachelor # 2 is from Barcelona, living in Astoria and a chef who is the bizarro taller, better looking version of Gael Garcia Bernal of Amores Perros and Y Tu Mama Tambien fame. We rode the F train to Roosevelt together just chilling. I was amused that every story he told practically revolved around sex, but not so much with the "I'm experimenting" line. You could've knocked me over with a feather when he said that he was 27. He looked younger than me, and considering that I look about 19 they say, that's something. At Roosevelt, he split to go catch his train home and I stood there on the platform waiting for an E wanting to kick myself.

The point of this neverending story? I can get an in, chat, and be all wonderful and alluring to an artform but I can't close a deal to save my freaking life. What did I want from those encounters? Nothing, everything...something more than the feeling I screwed off. I spent at least a half hour really vibing with Bachelor # 1, practically getting to know everything about him but job, blood type, and exact address, but do I have his phone number? No. Bachelor # 2 made no secret of the fact that he would've liked to have known me a lot better...not necessarily for my mind, though really he was too drunk (if perfectly composed) to have bothered talking to me if he wasn't interested in it. He showed me his passport but do I remember his name? Kinda...not really. Do I have his number? No. I do know where he works because he told me. That is because he was possibly looking out on a way to see my simple ass again because I have no closing skills whatsoever. Blah. Perhaps I should get a P.Diddyesque wingperson to whisper as he did back in the day to get me with Mr. Sailor that I like "aggressive guys." Then again, no. I have enough trouble with overly aggressive fools as is. I just need to learn the art of following through.

Grrr

Current pet peeve: boys who are shady for no real reason.

Slight story time...there's this kid C who I have an...arrangement with. He just graduated also. and we met last summer at the beginning of my "wild and legal in the city" period. I actually resented the hell out of him then because he can get so pointlessly stupid and evasive, but when he returned from Prague and we reconnected back in January, I also reconfigured my shitty opinion of him. Things have been humming along since then when I'm in NYC until recently. Maybe there's something about summer that just makes him dumb. I hate being left hanging and having to play games with an evasive person that I'm not really sure I care that much about. Perhaps I was internally warm and fuzzy for a min a couple months ago, but so what? It passed.

My least favorite guy behavior has to be the "uh oh...we've been talking deep...and stuff. She must want to be my girlfriend or something. Eek!" mode. Spare me the bullshit. To have known someone for a year and made no efforts to go beyond the same level in all this time would've been a clue to me that I'm obviously not interested in anything more than what's already on the table...if I even want to keep that going. He's heading off to Brussels and school soon enough anyways, but he's currently on my shit list.

A Small World and Other Late Night Thoughts

Here it is past 3am and I was meaning to blog about it being stupid late and me being a slacker as usual. I've really spent about 3 1/2 hours aimlessly surfing the net after finishing checking the proofs and put it in the basket for mailing. I still have 2 1/2 sigs to do by Friday when I plan to be the freak out of here. I log onto Blogger and curiosity strikes as I see the recently updated sites list.

I'm clicking just for kicks and I see that one site belongs to this kid who just graduated with me. We used to have our radio shows back to back before I did my time in DC and had inconsequential conversations that usually boiled down to "have a good show. See you next week." And then when I came back to visit in my semester away, he was a surprisingly kicked up a notch friendly and he boggled my mind ever since. Sure, I had a crush on him from the first day I realized he was my station mate, but I'm the type of person that thinks a certain type of good-looking guy, i.e. stupendously so, wouldn't be interested in me...or least I used to. My self-esteem has greatly improved over the years and so has my ego...take the good with the bad I suppose. I always found him frustratingly elusive because nothing ever progressed...not that I was taking charge or anything...beyond innocent flirting.

After one Senior Cocktails -- the infamous Valentine's Day one I think, I can't really remember -- I was in a really shitty mood at this house party. It was because of my upcoming singing debut stress plus that I'd lost Alex...or rather, he had wandered off in that reckless way he can when drunk. He's like a big little brother/puppy to me, despite having done things I can't even imagine, and I can be overprotective, sometimes to a fault. Tino (who deserves a post all of his own because our ever-evolving friendship has been some shit over the years...oh wait, he has pages all about him on the other site...never mind) was being typically blase and prickish as he can be, increasing my edge. This house party was garbage...or at least felt like it. I didn't want to be there, I didn't know or like anyone in attendance, and I wasn't in the mood for a senior party (a.k.a. standing around and gabbing with no music and a big ass keg...for the record, I don't drink piss and it's not an alcoholic beverage to me.) when my mood was in the toilet. Along comes The Kid, doing his usual "hey" low-grade flirtation thing. My exhaustion was so great that I pretty much turned on him with "what's the point of this really? You always say the same thing, as do I and nothing ever comes of it. Why bother?" or something to that effect. Every once in a while I go into train wreck mode where I'm doing something really wrong and feel bad but can't stop it either. He was not surprisingly flustered and said that he thought I was a "cool person." Being on a roll, I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, you're a cool person too" in the most sarcastic way possible. I don't remember what he said next, but it involved him still being nice before backing away slowly from the bitch. Tino, watching the whole thing but pretending not to, got his next before I dragged my miserable ass home. Left-field emotional fluctuations are havoc on the nerves, so I went home and cried. Pathetic, huh? At least life turned around for the better the next day. I don't handle stress well and I'm a strong believer that crying is essential to picking your sorry ass up because sobbing personally makes me feel like it's the lowest I can go and just feel better when I let it out.

But, this isn't the Candice is a manic-depressive story (yet). To stop my digression, despite my horrible behavior towards him that night -- not that he probably remembered, it was a Senior Cocktails night, he was probably too drunk to remember -- stuff continued in the same harmless vein between me and The Kid until...well, now. It was really bizarre seeing that site because I'd pretty much forgotten about that story until now. That's the problem with Wes: stories of stupid situations/episodes are always chasing me around like ghosts, especially at almost 4am when I'm feeling exhausted. That's why Mr. Sailor has lingered so long in my consciousness, this school has too many bad memories associated with it for my well-being right now. This was hell year. I'm emotionally drained. I need to finish my book and just go home and not look back. It's time for bed.

To wrap up this incredibly disjointed post: Sorry for yelling at you, Josh. Congrats on your fellowship. Have a wonderful time travelling the world. I wish we would've been friends. I used to put down your radio show as my favorite on my time slot application but I think I told you that before.

I'm off to trot down the hill and pass out. Perhaps a good night's sleep will make me productive again.

Odds and Ends

I'm back in CT. I've barely been here a day and am strangely productive right now, so I feel pretty okay about it so far. The weather is beautiful and the campus is empty of all those annoying folks that would piss me off. There is no getting better than this really...minus being back in NYC, natch.

My week home was both full of action and not so much. I just realized that I didn't see a single friend while I was there, perhaps that's why it dragged sometimes. Sunday I decided I wanted to come back here ASAP just to be done already. I'm also planning to go to this party Friday -- I got an invite to a genuine hipster loft party in LIC (Long Island City, that is) by the most pretentious one I know, a January "buddy" of mine, hereby christened Mr. Scenester...okay, he's not the most pretentious, but definitely up there...then again, it could've just been my general guy hating mood back then. He's actually a nice enough guy and is like many of those scenesters, a dork in hip clothing. I grudgingly admire him though, because when he was my age (you know, 2 whole years ago), he'd taken NYC by storm and even gotten a page to himself in Paper's annual 100 Beautiful People issue. And he's making mad money, does cool things like throws parties and does really interesting political stuff and goes on really nice vacations. Meanwhile, I'm watching my bank account dwindle and am hoping some publishing company will make me their underpaid underling. Yet I'm talking shit about him? I'm wack. I need to ask him to hook me up with a job. Too bad I'm not a graphic designer like he is, but I know he has connections.

Anyhoo, I actually really liked him back in January (as much as I could have liked anyone being my crazy on the rebound self)...I thought he was so cool. He is cool but I have this bad habit of liking the boys I feel are too cool for me. That's definitely passing as I grow older thankfully. But, he was really pretentious and kinda condescending and annoying in that ultra-hipster way, all "I've done such wild and crazy things and I'm so out there. What have you done that's so out there? It's your turn to impress me now." Me being me, I didn't give a shit. It's not my job to prove my coolness to anyone and someone who has to flaunt their cred so hardcore is obviously overcompensating, you know? So, my feelings towards him are muddled, but I wrote a feeler email a few days before heading back to the city because let's face it, I have plenty of HS and Wes friends to hang out with, but I don't really know anyone else, so it's in my best interest to meet people early.

He replied practically the next day and I got a little jolt from that, but in my laziness, didn't get around to dropping a reply note. Color me surprised Friday night on Avenue A when I ran into him. It was a really funny thing because I’d just been strolling along minding my business, waiting for sidewalk congestion to clear up so I could go about my business and there he was passing me. I called out his name and we had a nice hug off to the side. We chatted for a min and he kinda called me out on the email. If I was the type to let things like that bother me, I would’ve been embarrassed, but umm…not really. He seemed really excited to see me which was kinda strange. And then he whipped out the invite and gave me one before heading off. Chill...I guess. I have zero expectations and I'm intrigued but not so interested. Back in January, he said that I reminded him of his sister (kiss of death as far as I'm concerned...not that it made a difference really) and I remember him as cheesy when it mattered. We'll see how it goes.

My friend Jay has a blog too. Biter...and she set up after slyly bleeding me for info. She's gangsta -- that's why we're friends. : ) All she needs now is a comments space and she'll be as cool as me...when enetation isn't being a pain in my ass. Que sera, sera. I'm off to be a layout machine and enjoy some nice web radio house music and a nice summerish breeze.

Bottoming Out

I don't feel especially head in the clouds this week. The book is just...annoying. I suppose this can be blamed on -- besides the obvious: taking this freaking project on -- not planning ahead as I should've. Then again, when was I supposed to do that? I guess while I wasn't working in between feeling depressed and cheering up. Umm...not really.

Adding to my fun is this month's stroll down memory lane being "All Ex, All The Time." I need to get over it already. It's been 6 months. I hate it when I'm suddenly blindsided (again) with the bitterness that as he's frolicking in the tropics with his jailbait rebound (though being that they've been together since we've broken up, she's not technically. A rebound, that is. She is indeed barely, if even, 18.), I'm pining, alone, and miserable more often than not. I can't even take any consolation in having walked away from him because though I felt like I was heading to some sort of breakdown with the combination of him being so ridiculously far and all the general crap going on here, the last thing I am is satisfied. I can't even imagine thinking of simply finding a replacement. The whole episode has turned me so far off to the concept of relationships, being emotionally open, or just being out there. But, I want to. The stupid episode from earlier in the semester was my tentative reentry into the dating world -- besides my January fit of debauchery, but that's a totally different story for a real site post perhaps. The thing with that kid was that I could never be sure if I really liked him. I even I confused myself on that matter. I just loved the attention and having someone crazy over me for a change and the fact he was shit hot and the grapevine fallout was like a constant ego boost didn't hurt. But then, wackness. I totally let my ego get too wrapped up in him because when everything went sour and stupid, I lashed out in a big way. I was mad pissed off that I was going to be cast aside it was with someone that isn't really that cute and besides that, has been passed around more times than a dollar bill. (Why yes, I am a bitch. Thanks for asking.) Seeing them near constantly and him still sniffing around like a pathetic dog was like salt in my wounds.

Aurgh...I need to stop dwelling. I won't see them again -- if I'm lucky -- besides reunions. Though she is moving to NYC. I do actually know how to avoid Wes people, but fate might bring us together out of spite. The ex and I have most of the continent plus a chunk of the Pacific between us. Deep in my heart, I know he's not worth the angst. He's immature and full of macho bullshit which is why I broke up with him in the first place. I went to Iowa for him. I've been tortured enough. It's time for more work and less drama. Once I go back to NYC, I have a clean slate. I always thrive at home.

Personally speaking...

The most amusing thing about the past couple of weeks was finding out that I was in the other week's Time Out NY. It made my finals crunching time, when Hani, the coolest guy I haven't officially met yet, broke the news. I squealed for a sec (on the inside, natch) and told everyone online at like 3am before heading back into the work abyss. In the midst of all of last week's silliness, I had forgotten about it.

Two nights ago at a party this kid comes up to me. I've been increasingly friendly with him as school drew to a close. That's the way stuff always goes. There's something about leaving for good/going away for a semester that had Wes boys all up in my face suddenly when I could've been a pothole in the ground any other time. Absence makes the heart grow fonder -- or rather, the lust swell. Like everything, I was playing the whole thing neutral. I've said before that I'm pretty much over the guys here, for reasons that leave neither side without some blame. I saw his interest and I chose to do nothing because deep down, I didn't actually care. And like every punk ass Wes boy, he couldn't get past the initial chatting stage. Screw him. My helping out the gameless days are waaay over.

Anyhoo, a friend of his had come up here for graduation with a copy of the magazine. He's an ex-Wes kid, so he thought I had looked familiar and told my boy so. He naturally recognized me and was shocked/surprised/curious to find that I was in the Personals section as apparently the Hot Personal of the Week or whatever and he decided to ask me about it. What did I do? Shrug it off, natch. Oooh, I'm busted...I don't give a fuck, man. Everyone, their mama, and their hot friends should go join up. Why? Because not only is it a fun way to meet people that you've already established you've got things in common with -- or at least interest in -- but it works. Last summer's fun and debauchery owes everything to Spring Street via Nerve (or you can go via TWoP if being in the company of those self-proclaimed hypersexual folks freaks you out). Personal track record: an ex, a fling, an in-town "friend," 3 real buddies, and countless others who I chat with even nothing ever got off the ground. The internet...not just for deranged sociopaths anymore. Young, single, fun, and urban people can get down with that too. Thus ends my plug...except to tell you to join Friendster. I want more friends and testimonials.

Crazy thought of the day

Crazy thought of the day: Maybe I should get a boyfriend so I can be irresistible to every guy that crosses my path. That seems to be a method working for a lot of people. Gah.

On the TMI side of life...

On the TMI side of life, I need to get laid. As in post-haste. As in I'm hurting on the inside. As in the next guy is going to be the happiest guy on the East Coast for a few days.

But because this is Wes, I might as well put it as far out of my mind as possible. The way things work in this alternate universe -- despite it being Senior Week when the general rule is that at every event with booze, there is so much pulling of ass that it turns into a near orgy without fail -- I'm just not destined to win. Believe me, I've tried everything but clubbing of guys and dragging them home and natch, blowjobs at the Semi Formal. I've embarrassed myself for a date -- and didn't even get one. I'll admit I have been in situations where I've found success with my predisposed "who gives a fuck" attitude but that rate is about once a year. That leaves mad days of total misery.

I think the one thing I've learned over the years finally is to not take it personally. Wes boys generally suck. They are wishy-washy and interested only in the cache of getting with certain people, but have no substance beneath their not especially slick veneers. Nor any game