Wander. Lust.

Children at play

2011-03-02T14:45:00.004-05:00

There's a preschool, complete with playground, behind my apartment building. My apartment faces the back of the building, which is usually a blessing because it's nice and dark and quiet back here. Except when the children are at play.

It's not a problem on the weekends, when the school is closed. It's not a problem on holidays, or when it's snowing or there's an ice storm. It's not a problem on days I have to be at work early. But on days that I'm trying to sleep in, it's very much a problem.

Have I ever mentioned that I hate children? I think I have.

It's a never-ending fucking cacophony of screaming, shrieking and laughter. It echoes off the sides of the buildings and makes you want to kill yourself. Lately they start around 10:15, two separate groups, ending around noon with a ten minute break in between. This is when I lie desperately in bed with a pair of useless earplugs, constructing elaborate murder fantasies in my head.

Some days I imagine a six-ton anvil dropping from the sky directly onto the playground, instantly killing all stray children and bringing immediate peace and silence to the neighborhood. These are the days I'm really tired and just want to get the fuck back to sleep.

Other days I imagine going down to the playground with a scythe and swinging it wildly about, terrifying the children and causing them to run about in circles, crying in terror. The gate will be locked though, and there will be nowhere for them to go. One by one, their heads will be chopped off, and I will stack them in a neat pile next to the swings. Then I will go back upstairs and go back to sleep.

I also imagine tying all the children together with fishing line and forcing them to lie on the ground in a straight line. I will then, one by one, go down the line with an aluminum baseball bat, smashing their skulls in until the ground is pink with blood and brains. This would be messy, yet extremely satisfying.

In today's fantasy, a group of invisible goblins came to slowly strangle the children while they played. Their wails of agony and fear were extremely satisfying, as they could not see their attackers and therefore had no idea why it was suddenly so difficult to breathe. I imagined their faces, twisted in horror and pain, their bodies flailing helplessly about. This made me happy and I drifted back into a pleasant sleep, visions of invisible-goblin-assassins dancing in my head.

Why yes, as a matter of fact I have...

2010-12-21T00:52:00.001-05:00

I got another message from Cassie the other day. Hi Cassie! It was a really nice message. All the messages she sends me are really nice.

I don't really know Cassie. I've never met her. Cassie might not even be her real name. I know her only through the internet, through this weird little blog-world that fascinates and terrifies me all at once. We are aware of each other because we both like to take pictures of shadows. You can see hers here. She also has a thing for Norwegian singers, apparently, which means she's a dirty, lusty lady just like me so no wonder we get along so well. I would love to steal her URL fifty years from now, although I think she's using it unfairly. It's way too early for that. Old lady? Really? I don't think so, Cassie...

Anyway, she asked if I had burnt out on blogging since my thirty day marathon last month, and my only reply was well, yes I have, as a matter of fact, I've burnt out on life COMPLETELY over the past month and a half and I'm wondering if it isn't time to go find a job pitting olives or labeling cheese somewhere, somewhere where I'LL NEVER HAVE TO SPEAK TO ANOTHER HUMAN BEING AGAIN, something, you know, away from the general public, just so I don't spend the rest of my days locked up for mass murder or something crazy (yet completely logical) like that.

Yet I'm stuck behind a bar, where my very livelihood depends on pretending to be nice to people. Kill me now. I beg you.

The other night, over fancy beer and trail mix, I expressed to D.G. my desire to go "Down the Line" with a baseball bat and he slowly backed away with a pleasant, yet terrified look on his face.

"Another beer, wanderlust? Or three?"

Absolutely.

Anyway.

Yes, I'm still here, but you really don't want to hear from me right now. Really. Trust me. It's best for everyone. There's no telling what might come out of my mouth right now. Next thing you know I'll be strung up by my earlobes in some whacked-out republic no one's ever heard of for insulting their version of Allah and I'll end up holding all of YOU responsible for it, because I'm rational like that.

Give me a minute to stop hating everyone and everything and I'll be back with random, senseless photos and postings any day now, thank you very much. (most likely when motherfucking Chri$tma$ is over) Also, if I'm feeling nice in the upcoming day or two, (that means don't piss me off, people) I'll tell you about my dinner at Dovetail. Now THAT gives you a reason to wake up tomorrow, doesn't it? Mmm, Dovetail...

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-12-05T22:15:00.000-05:00

New York, NY
Lincoln Center

Visit Shadow Shot Sunday here.

Game over

2010-12-05T22:01:00.000-05:00

I fucking win. In your face, bitches.

Although I don't actually *win* anything at all, so... I don't really know why I'm celebrating...

I managed to find my way onto the Internet and say something every day for an entire month, no matter how pissy of a mood I was in, no matter how difficult it was to find a wi-fi hot-fucking-spot, no matter how little I had to say, no matter how tired I was. I fucking did it, I made it happen, so fuck you K.M. for saying "man, I know you. You'll get distracted by a shiny object and lose interest ten days in."

Again, it really is kind of an empty victory because I get, what now? What? The knowledge that I can manage to talk shit about nothing every day if I want to? That's nothing new. I do that every fucking day at work. It's the life of a bartender. You wouldn't BELIEVE the conversations I pretend to be interested in day in and day out. It's exhausting. Because I work in the financial district, I now know more than I ever wanted to about the world of finance, which is quite possibly THE most boring industry on the fucking planet. I have to love Asheesh, who said it best when I asked him why he went into finance. "Honestly?" he said, "Because I needed to pay off my student loans."

And how can you argue with that?

My new thing at work is to pretend my customers are alien species and I'm doing social and cultural research. "So, tell me again about the frat that you belonged to in college? Because really, I find it fascinating. Truly."

Anywaaay.

I have to go. I have to watch my honey finish putting these fucking shelves together, and when he's done I'm SURE we have much better things we could be doing besides fucking around on the internet. Thanks for tuning in, and now that my month is up you can expect to go back to the random, sporadic, inconsistent, pointless posting that was going on before this ridiculous game started four long ass fucking weeks ago.

Sunshine and skittles

2010-12-04T03:20:00.004-05:00

Once again, I bring you sunshine and fucking skittles early in the morning.

I'm still bitter about the bicycle. I fantasize revenge on an hourly basis. I'm not good at letting things go. It's probably something I should work on. I should be more forgiving.

Nah. Fuck that shit.

Regardless, I'm feeling a great sense of loss and anger here. I wasn't half this upset when my fucking car got stolen ten years ago, also from the French Quarter. I had no physical or emotional attachment to the car, it was just a car. It was more of an inconvenience than anything else. I was more pissed off at the dumb bitch who was with me that night, who was whining and complaining about the fact that "my baaaag was in theeeere! With all my make-uuuuuup!!" She had left her fucking bag in my trunk, against my recommendation (because she was a dumb bitch) and was seriously distraught that her make-up and the fucking PEN she bought for her husband were gone. Meanwhile my CAR was gone. It was unfuckingbelievable. I wanted to smash her teeth in.

Anyway, taking my motherfucking bicycle is much more personal and even though I'm not even there and it's not really a direct inconvenience, at least not right now, I'm hugely angry and I'm feeling ready to smash some teeth in again. FUUUCK.

Well. That's all I really have to say about that right now. On a happier note, I have to go now because I have to get dressed and look pretty to meet the boyfriend at the airport so he can come and put together this shelf I bought for the bathroom and help me hang these pictures which will hopefully improve my mood enough to enjoy the four days off in a row that I have. Let's keep our fingers crossed here, people.

Yes please

2010-12-03T09:06:00.001-05:00

I don't know what on earth could make a copper pot worth six hundred dollars, but I know that I want one...

I love walking around the housewares department at Zabar's and fantasizing about all the things I will buy when I am incredibly wealthy and money is no object and presumably I have a larger apartment so I have room for it all. A full set of Mauviel Copper Cookware is obviously on the list now, along with that fancy wine chiller thing. And all the pretty plates and fabulous appliances, an awesome juicer that realistically I would probably use once then it would collect dust on a shelf until I gave it away or moved out.

The food and deli department downstairs is even better, I imagine it's how an Amish teenager might feel on his first visit to a porno shop. Do they even have porno shops anymore? Why would anyone rent porn videos when they can get it for free on the internet? Anyway, you get what I mean. If I could I would buy the entire Zabar's cheese department and put it in my basement. I would also hire one of the bread-makers to live in the basement too and bake me fresh rye bread every morning. My refrigerator would be stocked with caviar and truffle butter.

I fucking love Zabar's. It's like a magical fantasyland of kitchenwares and deliciousness. Good shit.

This is not a kitchen sink

2010-12-02T15:25:00.001-05:00

So why is it in my fucking kitchen? It doesn't even belong in a bathroom. It doesn't belong anywhere.

This place drives me crazy sometimes. I can cook, but I can't do dishes. It's hard to wash pots and pans in a sink the size of a serving bowl. It's hard to wash a plate in that fucking thing. So if I have anything larger than a glass to wash I end up doing it in the bathtub. Fun!

I need a new fucking kitchen but I have no money so I have to wait. Light fixtures are my new obsession right now. Every single one that's here has to go. They're all awful. We're talking chandeliers here, people. Lots of brass. I dressed them up with Mardi Gras beads and it still hasn't helped. I don't know what to do, except leave the house as much as possible.

But the internet people came and woke me up at 8am today so now I have internet at home which means I don't really want to leave the house much. Hmm. Maybe I should look on the internet for new light fixtures. Brilliant.

Because new light fixtures will improve my life, I am certain of this. New light fixtures and new window coverings. And a ceiling fan. Definitely a ceiling fan.

Day 25

2010-12-01T14:12:00.001-05:00

We're on Day 25 and I've really got nothing here. Sure, there's plenty going on, and I have to work later and let's not even talk about the bathroom floor. But I'm tired and I don't want to talk about it and I'm at the library because I couldn't do the Christmas music today, I really couldn't, and it was everywhere, literally everywhere, every coffee shop, everywhere with internet, so I had to come over here to get some peace and fucking quiet and internet.

FUCK, it sucks not having internet at home. Of COURSE it had to cut out a week after I literally committed to being on the internet at least once a day for an entire fucking month. Of course of course of course, blah blah blah. I'm really wishing I had made it a bet instead of just accepting the challenge like a dumbass. I really wish I was better at thinking things through. I'm pretty sure I've already said that here before. Oh well.

On a different subject entirely. I noticed something kind of interesting today. The battery in my camera is almost completely drained, which usually wouldn't be all that interesting. The battery in my camera drains all the time, especially when my boyfriend has his shirt off. What's interesting about it is that the battery is drained because I haven't used it. At all. I've had my camera out maybe twice in the past two weeks.

That's odd. That's not like me. Usually my battery drains once a week from overuse. Lately I've been completely uninspired. I feel like I should do something about that. What exactly? Fuck. Who knows. I wish recharging my inspiration were as easy as plugging in my battery.

Nope, not yet

2010-11-30T08:53:00.001-05:00

I thought I might wake up feeling better about things today, but no. Not even close. I'm still bitter about the bicycle. Still bitter that I have to wake up at 8am five days in a row. Still bitter that I don't have Internet. Still bitter that the job that promised me health insurance has arbitrarily decided they can't afford it now and aren't going to give it to me. Motherfuckers, don't they know that that's the only reason I even TOOK that fucking job? Now I have to go look for another one. I HATE looking for work.

I also hate that I'm going to be without a bathroom for two days again, provided the motherfuckers show up like they're supposed to tomorrow. I'd like to go stay with a friend, but the Internet assholes are coming Thursday morning and I need to be here to let them in.

From what I hear, certain people regret challenging me to post something everyday for a month. From what I hear, certain people didn't realize I was so angry and hateful right now. I tried to warn certain people about this in the first place, I distinctly remember saying, "I really don't want to talk about things right now, I have nothing to say," but certain people didn't want to listen. Too late now, oh fucking well. Everyday for a month. You got it. Happy now?

More fuel for the fire

2010-11-29T21:39:00.000-05:00

Things were looking up for a minute there. It was a good weekend, I got lots of sleep. I made an appointment for someone to come finish my bathroom floor Wednesday morning. (they'd better fucking show up) I went and bought lots of happy, clothes and a wine rack. All kinds of shit, crazy on sale. All over the neighborhood.

So yeah, I thought things might be on an upswing, I thought my mood might be about to improve, then I got a phone call last night informing me that the bicycle I left in New Orleans had been stolen.

Moth-er-FUCK-er.

I LOVED that fucking bicycle. We went everywhere together. FUUUCK.

This is the only picture I have. I took it with my phone when I brought it home:

Now I have no fucking transportation when I visit. Fantastic. This is getting better and better.

It's quite a feeling, being fucked over in absentia. I wasn't in the same zip-code, wasn't even in the same TIME ZONE. And still?

I don't even know what else to say anymore.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-11-28T20:22:00.002-05:00

Brooklyn, New York
at dba after the Saints game last week

dba is the best place to watch a Saints game around here. Bar None is too intense, East Village Tavern is too disconnected. dba is like home, especially when Simon is there with his Tchoup Shop, can you say crawfish macque choux, seafood gumbo and short-rib pies? Best bar food ever. Simon and Jack were sitting next to me on the plane back to NY when I went to New Orleans for Halloween, but I was too whacked out on Valium to hold a coherent conversation. We exchanged Halloween stories and I passed out, that was pretty much the extent of our interaction until we landed.

I took this photo out back smoking and drinking with the boys after the game. It was an easy win, a boring game, and we had already moved on to plotting world domination...

dba is one of my favorite bars on the planet. I spent way too much time and money at their Frenchmen St. location when I lived in New Orleans. They have live music every night down there. My friend Julia works the door and has saved me a small fortune in cover charges over the past couple of years.

I left a ridiculously expensive pair of sunglasses at the bar after I took that picture that night. My mission to retrieve them was quite the emotional roller coaster. When I called the next day I was shocked and thrilled to hear that they had them. Then the L train fucked me and I couldn't make it down. I called back and they promised to hold them until the following day. I made it down, ordered a drink and waited for the bartender to go look for them. After looking everywhere, she couldn't find them. Shit.

So I ordered another drink while she texted the bartenders from the previous evening to ask where they had left them. As I finished my drink she came over to say, "Sorry, they said they were by the cash register, but I don't see them. I've looked EVERYWHERE, even the office. Maybe the clean up people took them, I don't know..." Shit. Depressing.

So, I ordered another drink to help with the train ride home. And the barback started chatting me up. I told him the tale and he said, "Oh man. That sucks. Whattaya gonna do though, huh?"

No shit. Whattaya gonna do? As we continued to chat and I finished my drink, the bartender came over. She said, "Hey, give me your phone number, just in case we find them somewhere." And the barback said, "Where were they supposed to be?" And she said, "By the register" and he went to look and found them in about two seconds.

dba. Best. Bar. Ever.

vist Shadow Shot Sunday here.

That might help

2010-11-27T17:29:00.003-05:00

It certainly couldn't hurt. Wine shipment from Longboard came in. Wine is always good for improving my mood. It's always fun when the doorman has a package for me, this one was the most timely I could think of. It won't last long. I'd like to say I'm going to save some for when the boyfriend comes to town next week, but I really can't make any promises. I'm off until Tuesday. Look out.

It's actually the first time I've had wine in the house since I moved in. I don't have a wine rack, which is on my list of things I need to get this weekend. I didn't even have any wine glasses in the house, all my nice ones broke and I left my crappy ones in New Orleans, figuring I would get nicer ones when I got here, but I forgot. So I went to the housewares department at Zabar's and bought eight of the nicest wine glasses I've ever had:

I believe this is the phenomenon that Janson refers to as "going to buy some happy." It worked, having them in the house and knowing that they're mine makes me pretty fucking happy. I've never had wine glasses this nice before. Although, I haven't even taken them out of the box yet, which means I haven't opened any of the wine yet, which is obviously a problem that needs to be fixed, along with my internet, but that's another story, maybe for tomorrow, maybe not. Depends how much liquid happy I get through tonight.

One down, two to go

2010-11-26T13:51:00.000-05:00

Well, that's over with. Thanksgiving really is an awful holiday. What exactly are we celebrating again? The fact that a bunch of white people came over in boats, raped and pillaged the natives and stole their land? Right. Somehow, I'm less than thankful.

Yesterday was a good day though, the Saints won, the curry was delicious, and the rum was aged. Best of all, we didn't have to see or talk to anyone else. Her neighbor tried to get us to come over to "celebrate" but we hid downstairs with the lights out.

So now there's only Christmas and New Year's to get through and I'm in the clear. This is absolutely the worst time of year. It's nauseating, all that forced cheer and insincerity. Endless marketing and consumerism. Complete stangers admonishing me to "have a happy holidaaaaay!!" Christmas decorations. Christmas music. I'm going to smack somebody.

Thanksgiving is easier to avoid than Christmas. People are much more insistent about Christmas for some reason. They're all in your face and very forceful. What really kills me is how crazy people get every year when they ask what I'm doing for the holiday and I say "Nothing." They go absolutely insane.

"WHAT? OH, NOOO!! That's AWWWFUUUL! You CAN'T be alone on CHRIIIISSTMAAASS!!"

Really? That's funny. I think I can, actually.

It never ceases to amaze me that these same people couldn't give a fuck less that I'm alone on the other 364 days out of the year, but all of a sudden on Christmas it's a federal fucking emergency. Seriously, people? Go fuck yourselves.

Balloons

2010-11-25T15:00:00.000-05:00

It's a miserably cold and shitty day in New York today. It's Thanksgiving and that fucking parade starts two blocks from where I live so instead of being able to sleep in peacefully this morning, I was woken up at 8am by news helicopters whirling around overhead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I should have worn earplugs to sleep, I was given fair warning last night. I left work early and wanted a nice quiet night at the cafe on my corner with my computer. Instead I came home to mayhem in the neighborhood. There were people everywhere, streets were blocked off. The Jews for Jesus were giving away free hot chocolate. I questioned their motives, then I questioned if they had put drugs in the hot chocolate. I was disappointed when they said, "No, that would be too expensive."

Anyway, I went to go investigate the commotion, turns out the balloons were around the corner from my building. A few were tied down and uncovered, but most were squashed and strangled under nets, which was bizarre and slightly depressing.

Some of the balloons looked like they'd had a bit too much to drink, especially these guys...

Bizarre for sure.

There's a Saints game to watch. Me and Jenelle are cooking Indian food and drinking rum. I don't have to wake up early tomorrow, and there aren't any parades that I am aware of. Things are looking up.

Very funny, Jonny

2010-11-24T23:10:00.001-05:00

Yeah. This guy is HILARIOUS.

Thanks, man. That might be the first (genuine) smile I've had on my face since I saw Kirsten and David last week.

Better your wall than mine

2010-11-24T14:32:00.001-05:00

That's that horrible painting that was in my mother's apartment when I got it. Remember that fucking thing? It's hanging on a wall at an Asian restaurant in Flushing now. I went to take a look a while back, I don't even remember the name of the place or where it is, to be honest. All I know is that it looks much better on their wall than it did on mine. Good fucking riddance.

Fuck this Christmas music is killing me. I'm at the deli on the corner because I still have no internet. They're playing non-stop Christmas music and it's making me want to break things.

But anyway, I came across that picture and had to laugh. I gave the painting to some dude on craigslist. I gave most of her shit to him, lamps and couches and chairs and more awful paintings. He got all kinds of crap out of my hair. The house looks so much better now.

Except the fucking bathroom floor. If something isn't done about it soon I don't know what's going to happen. I can't look at it anymore, much the same way I felt about the painting. But I have a plan. It's all coming together.

Sorry for the unfocused randomness here. Actually, no. I'm not sorry.

The music, I can't take it anymore. I have to go, I have to leave. Can't do it. Tomorrow will be better, I swear...

What else?

2010-11-23T09:11:00.001-05:00

My journey to Brooklyn to retrieve my sunglasses last night was a complete failure. The L train wasn't running which of course no one mentioned until after everyone had been waiting for a half an hour. Fantastic. So I didn't get back to the house until almost 2 in the morning and I still had piles of laundry all over the bed that needed to be put away. Then I passed out and had to be up a few hours later. I'm exhausted. I have to be at work in an hour, and there's no telling when I'll be done. I'm excited to see what else might go wrong today. Perhaps the train will get stuck in the tunnel for three hours on the way to work. Maybe once I get to work the computers will crash (again!) and they won't be fixed until the end of my shift. Maybe when I get home from work the pipes will have burst in the apartment next door and my closets will be flooded. Maybe I'll come home to find that zombies have broken into my apartment and stolen my microwave.

Who knows. Anything is possible. But I'm ready. I've given up hoping things will get better, I've accepted my new reality of hellfire and damnation, mayhem and misery. Just going with the flow, sailing the seas of destruction, waiting for the winds to change. It's a hell of a ride, people...

Something good happened today

2010-11-22T21:24:00.001-05:00

Actually, two good things happened today. One was that the $250.00 sunglasses I thought I lost were found. I called the bar I was at last night and lo and behold, miracle of miracles, the bartender had them. Holy shit. Now I have to go all the way to Brooklyn and back tonight to retrieve them. Boo.

The other good thing was that I tried to go shopping for a pair of boots because it's starting to get cold here but they were all too expensive so I didn't get any, BUT when I got home Cesar said, "Oh, I have a package for you!" And lo and behold, miracle of miracles, it was a beautiful pair of leather boots, a gift from my friends in Palm Beach. Amazing when life literally hands you exactly what you need.

Otherwise, everything is still fucked. I heard Christmas music today for the first time while I was shopping and it made me want to strangle someone. Oh, here's a picture of the monstrosity that is now in the lobby of our building at work:

I took that picture Saturday when I walked in and saw them putting it up. I was horrified. I wanted to post it yesterday, but I was writing from my phone and I couldn't get the picture thing to work. I've been trying to post by text but that shit doesn't work. I can't get them to come do my internet at home until December 2nd. Fuck fuck fuck.

I told the bathroom guys to go fuck themselves and give me my money back for the damn floor. Someone else can do that shit.

I'm tired. I'm tired of looking at this computer screen. I'm tired of talking to you right now. I have piles and piles of laundry to do and it HAS to be done tonight and I have to go all the way out to Brooklyn and back. I have to wake up early and work a long ass today tomorrow. I have nothing else to say. Goodnight.

Bah humbug

2010-11-21T11:40:00.001-05:00

Are you fucking kidding me? I went to to work yesterday and walked into the building and this is what I saw. They're putting a Christmas tree up. A fucking CHRISTMAS tree. It's not even fucking Thanksgiving yet! What the fuck! Now I have to look at that shit every fucking day? Fan-fucking-tastic.

I hate Christmas. I'm not sure if you knew that already, but now you do. The entire six week period from Thanksgiving to New Year's makes me want to vomit. I haven't heard any Christmas music yet, I have a feeling I'm going to break someone's face when I do.

Speaking of breaking people's faces, when I got home from work last night and took the paper off the bathroom, I discovered that those assholes didn't do the floor. So now I'm going to have to get these cocksuckers back over here AGAIN to do the fucking floor like I fucking paid them to do, which means I'm going to be out of a bathroom AGAIN for two fucking days.

Fuck this shit. No, really. Fuck this shit.

Fuck you

2010-11-20T11:50:00.001-05:00

Yeah, pretty much.

That's really all I have to say today. Fuck you, fuck my job, fuck my boyfriend, fuck my so-called friends, fuck my neighbors, and fuck the people down the street. You're all a bunch of piece of shit assholes and I really don't have the time or inclination to deal with this bullshit anymore. The whole world, yes, including you, can go fuck off and die and go straight to hell right now. I would love to physically hurt people right now, I really would. Stay the fuck out of my way. It looks like some people are too fucking stupid to figure that out.

My Internet still isn't working. I'm still typing this shit in the browser of my phone because I'm too pissed off to try to figure out that text thing. My job royally fucked me and I really don't even want to talk about it right now. I don't have a bathroom and I have my period and FUCK THAT SHIT because I got on a plane and left town so I wouldn't have to deal with that problem and those people FUCKED ME. I have friends in town I'm dying to spend time with and I have no time to spend.

There's a million other things going on that suck right now and I really don't want to talk about it. Yes, Jonny, I'm feeling very stabby today...

Sunshine and skittles

2010-11-19T08:30:00.000-05:00

Of course my Internet isn't working at home. Of course I have no time to go take my computer anywhere because I will literally be at work all day and night. So I have to try to do this on my phone. I have no idea how well it's going to work. I think I'm supposed to be able to text pictures and whatever to some number and it will automatically post here, but I haven't really spent too much time experimenting with that shit yet and I sure as fuck don't feel like doing it now. I don't have time anyway.

FUUUCK. Reason number 4,793 to hate everything in the universe right now.

Oh, sorry. Did you think I had something nice to say? No. Not today, I'm afraid. Not yet. I still hate everyone. I'm waiting for these fucking people to get here to do my bathroom, I don't want to leave until they get here, even if it makes me late for work. I have had very little sleep, I have to work a very lucrative but very LONG day today, come home to no bathroom, and on the next day to still no bathroom and plenty more work. Certain people in my life really suck right now which doesn't help matters and the worst thing of all is that they're talking about needing to get the holiday decorations up at work and I'm like WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! Can't you please just let me linger in my bubble of denial just a little while longer? Can you let me pretend the holidays aren't coming just for a few more days?

Fuck. I want to stab someone.

Yes, sunshine and skittles, people. That's what I'm here to bring you. Sunshine and fucking skittles, bright and early on a Friday morning.

The resentment returns

2010-11-18T12:56:00.001-05:00

I don't really have anything nice to say today. Those assholes were supposed to re-finish my bathroom while I was out of town and they didn't. I was told that the guy got into a car accident on the way to my apartment and what the fuck kind of shit is that? How fucking stupid do people take me for? I HATE BEING lied to. Seriously. Ask my therapist, she'll tell you...

So now they're going to do it tomorrow, which is all fine and good except for that fact that I SPECIFICALLY scheduled it to be done while I was out of town because I didn't want to deal with the inconvenience of not having a bathroom for two fucking days. Fucking cocksuckers.

Great. Now I hate everyone and everything and I want the whole world to fuck off and die. I hate the fact that I have to work every night while I have friends in town, I hate the fact that I have to wake up early and work a double tomorrow. I hate that I have so many days off next week, I hate even more that I have no money to go anywhere with all that time off.

I hate that I agreed to post something on this stupid blog every day for a month, especially on days like today when I have nothing to offer but venom and misery. I hate that I lost a MetroCard with thirty-something dollars on it at the fucking airport yesterday.

Hmm, what else? I'm on a roll here...

San Francisco... oh, we don't have time for that today...

I hate that summer is gone and I can't wear sundresses anymore. I hate that so many of my friends are so far away. I hate that my honey won't be here until December 5th, which, incidentally, is also the same day my current challenge ends and I don't have to come up with some inane bullshit to post on this ridiculous blog every day and I win.

You know, what else I hate? I hate that I left it as only a challenge and didn't make it a bet. I totally should have pushed for dinner at Morimoto, or a new pair of Manolo's or some shit like that. I hate the fact that I don't think sometimes...

Exhausted

2010-11-17T12:13:00.000-05:00

I had no idea 44 hours could go by so fast. I could have sworn I just got to Sweetheart's house a minute ago.

I left in the middle of the night last night. We never really went to sleep, just sort of dozed in and out of sleep on the couch until 4am, when I had to start scrambling around and throwing things in my suitcase. Get it together, call a taxi, hurry to the airport, where I would be even less happy with my food choices than I was at JFK two days ago. I still have not eaten today and I'm trying to see how long I can last. I'm starting to get dizzy, so forgive me if this post goes nowhere.

The plane was freezing cold, but I was too tired to complain, so I wrapped my scarf around my knees and tried to sleep. The people sitting in front of me must have had too much coffee, because they wouldn't shut the fuck up. So I wrapped the scarf around my ears and passed out.

I've made it home and now... Now I have to be at work in three hours? Fuuuck...

Once again, I need to get my ass off the internet. I need to take a nap, I need to take a shower, I need to go to work. I'm sure I need to put food into the equation at some point, but that's a lesser priority right now. Sleep. Sleep is the number one word on my mind right now...

Busted

2010-11-16T15:54:00.000-05:00

I guess some people are paying more attention than I thought. I got a text from Janson this morning:

"Surprise! I just landed at JFK to surprise you! Call me."

Hmm.

A few seconds later:

"LOL just kidding, I know u are here u crazy bitch!"

Ha ha. Very funny.

So now he knows I'm here, God knows who else he's told. Everyone's going to hate me. Oh well. So much for sneaking in and out of town under cover of night.

Janson's supposed to come to Mandina's for turtle soup with us tonight. Seafood and turtle soup. Lots of turtle soup. I really don't care about the seafood. I can take it or leave it. The turtle soup I can't live without. I'm wondering if I should say fuck it, damn the torpedoes, call every-fucking-body, tell them I'm here and they should come to Mandina's tonight. Thirteen hours and counting, people, get it while you can.

Thirteen hours and counting! Holy shit, what the fuck am I doing lazing around on the motherfucking internet! Excuse me. Sorry people. Gotta go...

First flight out

2010-11-15T19:42:00.001-05:00

Queens, New York

JFK International Airport

6:30am

I took Jet Blue's first flight out this morning. The sky was pretty at 6:30 in the morning. I left my apartment in the middle of the night, journeyed down to JFK, and was highly disappointed to discover that I was unable to get a cheeseburger before my flight. The food places at the airport were only serving breakfast. What the fuck kind of shit is that? This is supposed to be New York, right? I'm supposed to be able to get anything I want, anytime I want. It was six in the morning and I wanted a cheeseburger and I couldn't get one. Fucking BS, man. Had to settle for a crappy ass slice of pizza because I'm sick of eggs in the morning.

I got up at four in the morning and got on a plane so I could spend 44 hours in New Orleans. Nobody knows I'm here. I'm not going to tell them, either. By the time they read this and figure it out, I'll be gone. I had no real reason to come down. Just bored. Had a couple of days off, missed my Sweetheart and decided to sneak away. It's a routine by now. Getting on a plane and coming down here is no different to me than getting on the subway and going to work. I could get to the Jet Blue terminal in my sleep. I almost did this morning, I didn't truly wake up until I started getting pissed off about the cheeseburger thing.

I hate to write and run, but I'm down to 36 hours now. I didn't come down here to sit in a coffee shop. I'm really not exactly sure what I DID come down here to do, (get laid) but sitting in a coffee shop definitely isn't it. Until tomorrow...

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-11-14T01:38:00.005-05:00

New York, NY

Coney Island

I took that picture back in the beginning of September. It was a sunny day, obviously. Hot. Lots of people wandering around on the boardwalk.

It's not so hot anymore. I haven't been down to Coney Island for a while. I don't know how many people are wandering around the boardwalk at this time of year. It's not really cold yet. But it's definitely not hot.

I like Coney Island. Every time I go down there alone I wind up talking to the most random and interesting people on the fishing pier. And we all know how much I love bizarre conversations with random and interesting people. When Jenn Farmer came to town, we went down there with Amber and wandered around all day. We ate hot dogs and drank beer. We saw the freak show. We rode the Wonder Wheel. We talked to random and interesting people. As days go, it was a complete success, as far as I'm concerned.

Visit Shadow Shot Sunday here.

Oh, you're damn right it counts...

2010-11-13T09:38:00.002-05:00

There has been question from someone out there about whether or not my previous post counts in regards to my current challenge. You're motherfucking right it counts! First of all, the rules specifically state that I must post something, even something about nothing, every day for a month. Posting only a picture does not count, OK, fine. A story and explanation will accompany all photos until December 5th, when I win, I mean when the four weeks is up. But nowhere did anyone say anything about the length or word count of posts. So yes, hell yes, even though my previous post was about nothing and pretty short at that, it still counts. This one does too.

Let's face it, folks, in this day and age, the day of twitter and facebook, tumblr and microwave meals, brevity is where is at. There's too much going on, too much information to absorb. Who has time to sit still? Who has time to listen to me drivel on for more than a paragraph or two?

Besides, much can be said with few words. Don't we all remember the famous story where Hemingway (although that it was actually him is still undetermined) makes a bet that he could write a dramatic (or maybe not dramatic, maybe just short) short story using only six words, a short story that had a beginning, a middle, and an end? And everyone takes the bet and what he comes up with is this:

For sale, baby shoes, never worn.

And of course he wins the bet and everyone thinks he's brilliant. He really was brilliant, regardless of whether that story can accurately be attributed to him or not.

Are you still listening to me? Paying attention? No. I've lost you. I don't blame you. I'm going on about nothing. See, it goes back to what I was saying before. Any more than a paragraph or two and people are going to tune out. Brevity. Good stuff.

Random thoughts

2010-11-12T09:13:00.000-05:00

I need to paint these fucking cabinets in the kitchen. They're on their way out anyway, the entire kitchen is eventually going to be overhauled into a properly functioning kitchen that a human being who cooks and eats actual food can live with. It's going to be fucking ~~expensive~~ SPECTACULAR when it's done, people.

But in the meantime, until that becomes a reality, I may as well make the cabinets fun to look at instead of insane asylum white. And since the cabinets aren't staying, (no way in hell are they staying) I can fuck around and paint them any way I damn well please. Blue with yellow and pink polka dots? Why not? I can paint them every week if I feel like it. One week they can be sponge-painted silver, next week, orange and forest-green plaid. Maybe I'll get someone who's skilled with a spray can to come in and tag that shit up. Or I can cover them with Minnie Mouse stickers!

No. Not Minnie Mouse stickers.

But something. Anything but insane asylum white. Plum crazy purple, perhaps. But the insane asylum white has got to do.

Dining!

2010-11-11T12:42:00.000-05:00

Ducale
79th and Columbus, New York, NY

Octopus and fennel salad

You've got to be careful about ordering octopus. When it's good, it's good. But when it's bad, it's just all wrong. It's so easy to overcook it, then you've just got chunks of flavorless bicycle tire. Not what you want to be chewing on. If I'm the least bit skeptical of a restaurant I won't bother to even try it.

But I had ultimate faith in Ducale, a restaurant on my corner that also happens to serve an outstanding Bolognese sauce. They did a great job with the octopus, light and fresh and perfectly cooked, tender and flavorful. I approve!

Focus

2010-11-10T17:09:00.000-05:00

I don't have it. I can't keep it. One minute I'm here, one minute I'm there. I want this, I want that. One day I'm obsessed with finding someone to reupholster my chair, the next day I'm off that and suddenly figuring out my Mardi Gras costume for next year seems of utmost importance. I'm thinking ahead to where I might be living in the next year or two, I'm wondering when I'm going to have time to get to a hockey game. (let's go Rangers!) I'm hoping I'll have time to take a trip out of the country this year, or at least to Palm Beach. I'm hoping I'll make enough money to tip the doormen nicely during the holidays. I'm making myself dizzy. I can't keep up. Slow down!

I wonder what I'm trying to distract myself from. Because it seems I have lots to think about, but nothing really important on my mind...

Kid unfriendly

2010-11-09T21:29:00.003-05:00

I am dismayed to find myself living in a city that now likes to bill itself as "kid-friendly."

Kid-friendly? Since when is NYC kid-friendly? Oh yeah, since they turned Times Square into Disney-fucking-land. I liked Times Square SO much better when it was all hookers and hustlers and drug addicts. You know, my people...

There were a lot of things I hated about San Francisco, San Franciscans themselves were at the top of the list. (NO, not ALL of them. Stop yelling at me) But one of the things I truly loved about the beautiful City by the Bay was how decidedly UN-kid-friendly it was. There are more dogs than children in San Francisco, a statistic that always brought me untold joy. It's not an urban legend, you can read the article right here. Of course, the main reason there are more pooches than pre-pubescents is because San Francisco is so motherfucking expensive that anyone who makes less than half a mil' a year can't AFFORD to have children, but that is neither here nor there. The important thing is, I didn't have to dodge baby strollers and whiny little brats screaming for soda at the grocery store every fucking day.

Here, they're everywhere. There's a playground down the street, it might be attached to a school, I'm not really sure, but every day around 11am there's a cacophony of laughter and screaming and I swear one day I'm going to firebomb the place. My apartment faces the back of the building, so there's no street noise, it's usually quiet and peaceful. Except for that one hour or so a day when I think my head is going to explode.

I don't hate all children, I'm not a monster. Nor do I blame them for their misbehavior, their screaming bloody murder on the subway, their howling in line at the bank, (the fucking bank!) their temper tantrums in the aisles of Duane Reade. I blame THEIR PARENTS for allowing that shit to go on.

Parents! Control your motherfucking children! Have some respect for the people around you, especially people who had the goddamned sense to use birth control! When your Satan's spawn starts screaming uncontrollably, TAKE IT THE FUCK OUTSIDE!! I don't care that you don't want to lose your place in line and have somewhere to go and if you take your kid outside it's going to hold up your whole day, guess what, shit like that happens when you have a kid. That's what you signed up for when you decided to breed. I have a friend who once ate her entire meal in the bathroom of a Mexican restaurant because her infant son was screaming like a banshee and wouldn't shut the fuck up and she had the DECENCY to not want to subject innocent diners to that bullshit. Take a cue, people. When an entire roomful of people are staring at you and your offspring with daggers in their eyes because they can't hear themselves think, GO THE FUCK OUTSIDE. Or to the bathroom. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just fucking GO.

This has been a public service announcement from someone who is ready to smack the fuck out of you. Oh yeah, one last thing. Congrats to Hans and Moni! They will be wonderful parents. Close to perfect, of this I am sure...

Busy doing nothing

2010-11-08T15:01:00.000-05:00

I'm glad it's raining today. It makes me not feel so bad about not wanting to leave the house. I've been feeling guilty about that lately, not wanting to leave the house. I feel like I should be out exploring and doing and seeing and enjoying. Instead I mostly feel like staying home, re-reading Kurt Vonnegut books and fucking around on the internet. My mind is turning to mush and I'm in danger of losing my social skills.

That's entirely untrue, by the way. My mind is overloaded with thoughts and information and I think a mile a minute and it drives me insane. My social skills are better than ever, as I have constant interaction with clever, interesting people all the time. At work, on the subway, in the bagel shop. Everywhere. I had a bunch of friends already here when I moved, and I've made a bunch of new ones too, I'm certainly not lacking in the socialization department.

But more often than not lately, I can't be bothered to leave the building, preferring to sequester myself away up here on the sixth floor and stare out the window. Lately I've been needing to take a break from the world. Days like today are great, because I feel validated. Who the hell wants to go wandering around when it's shitty and wet and cold outside?

Actually, you know what? I do. I'm bored. I feel like I'm wasting time. I want to go wander around my neighborhood. Or some other random neighborhood. I want to go to the library and try to find a Kurt Vonnegut book I haven't read yet, or maybe someone entirely new I've never read before. I want to take a break from taking a break from the world.

Leave it to me to finally get motivated in a fucking rainstorm.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-11-07T18:01:00.001-05:00

New York, NY
At the deli down the street from work

Because I like to make up rules as I go along, I've decided that regarding my current challenge, (see previous post here) photos count as long as I write something to accompany the photo.

So I took this photo after work the other night. To be honest, I can't even tell you the name of the place. I just stop in from time to time because it's open late and it's on the way to the train and they have good paninis and snacks and I can sit in the window and stare outside and people watch and wonder how long it's going to take to get home. My kitchen is still somewhat dysfunctional, so I don't cook at home too much right now, and who needs to anyway in NY, what with all this great food everywhere. The guys who work here have heard the whole story about my kitchen. They're always trying to get me to take something home for breakfast the next morning, but I can't find it in my heart to tell them that I'm cheating on them in the mornings with the deli on my corner, where the guys can tell how much I've had to drink the night before by what I choose for a morning beverage. Ginger ale for a hangover. Fresh squeezed orange juice when I'm healthy...

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Game on

2010-11-06T19:56:00.000-04:00

This is how the conversation went, more or less:

Her: What's going on with your blog? You haven't posted anything in like three weeks, and before that you were getting sporadic at best. I check that damn thing every day, and I'm continually disappointed lately. I rely on you to entertain me and you're letting me down.

Me: You rely on ME to entertain you? Wow. You need to get a life...

Her: It's true. Seriously though, what the fuck?

Me: I don't know. There's not a lot going on right now. I don't really have anything to say.

Her: Bullshit. I've known you way too long. You've always got something to say. I think there's too much going on right now. I think you have too much to say.

Me: It's true. Seriously though? I don't really feel like it right now.

Her: Fuck you.

So basically the conversation continued on a downward spiral until I was challenged to post something, even something about nothing, every fucking day for a solid month, and apparently just posting a really cool photo doesn't count, which I think is total bullshit because sometimes you can tell an entire story with just a photo or two, but what-the-fuck-ever. You got it. Four weeks, starting tomorrow, which means I win on December 5th. Game on, bitches...

A reasonable request...

2010-11-06T01:53:00.000-04:00

I saw this in the bathroom at my favorite pizza place in my work neighborhood. I'm working on finding a favorite pizza place in every neighborhood I frequent in the five boroughs. Four, really, because who the hell ever goes to Staten Island? (apologies to my friends and co-workers who live on Staten Island) My very favorite pizza place of all is literally around the corner from where I live, lucky fucking me.

So anyway, Palermo Pizza is a few blocks away from where I work, and I'm guessing they were having problems with people urinating on their bathroom floor, because otherwise, you know, why put up the sign? It's not something I want to think too hard about, because it's not going to stop me from going in there. At all.

Palermo Pizza. West Broadway and Murray. Really good fucking pizza. Use the bathroom at the Whole Foods around the corner.

Victory?

2010-10-16T03:34:00.002-04:00

I'm really not sure how to feel here.

On the one hand, I'm thrilled that it looks like the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" military crap is finally going to go away. I know that it would be a huge step forward in the struggle for gay rights, and it would be absolutely wonderful for all the gays and lesbians currently enlisted or aspiring to enlist, but there's something I've always wondered.

My beloved gays and lesbians, why are you so eager to join an organization that clearly doesn't want you as a member? Why so gung-ho to defend a country that only 17 lousy years ago, under public pressure, finally started to warm up to the idea of even allowing you to join its military? Even still, it was under some bullshit, homophobic clause of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," or in other words, "We're Going To Stick Our Heads In The Sand And Pretend Gays Don't Exist And Force You To Lie About Who You Are On a Daily And Consistent Basis Otherwise Your Ass Is Fired." Basically, having your fundamental human (and don't forget Constitutional) rights trampled to death like that poor fucker on Black Friday a couple of years ago.

I say fuck 'em. You deserve better. And how well do we really think this is going to work here, people? Women STILL put up with truckloads of bullshit (and violence) in the military from these dumb fucks, a quick Google search just brought up hundreds of recent articles and websites. Does anyone really think it's going to be any better or safer for a gay man? Or a lesbian? Yeah, I can't wait for some fucking drunk, dumb-ass jarhead to get pissed off when some hot dyke refuses to fuck him. That's going to turn out really well, don't you think?

Yet, at the same time, I desperately, passionately want for all of my fellow human to be given complete and one hundred percent full and equal rights in the eyes of the law, and in the eyes of our hearts if at all possible. I feel this way, and I don't even fucking LIKE most of my fellow human beings. But as you know I love my gays and lesbians, very much, and I want what's best for them. I'm just not sure if the military is it. Although I'm not sure if the military is what's best for ANYONE, but we can get into that some other time.

Yes, I know this is about a fight for human rights, and it's about more than just joining the military. It's about acceptance and equality and fighting for gay rights, the only group left that it's still "OK" to discriminate against. And it's not exactly like there's a tidal wave of gays and lesbians breaking down the door to enlist.

But I kind of wish my gay boys would just stick to being design and theater majors, that way I can keep wearing nice clothes and enjoying Broadway shows. Is that wrong of me? Or am I just being selfish here?

For those who are curious...

2010-10-14T12:49:00.000-04:00

...and apparently some of you are, the photo in my previous post was taken looking down the stairwell in my building from the sixth floor, which is the floor I live on. Good thing I've got an elevator!

Going down

2010-10-13T00:55:00.000-04:00

Change of scenery

2010-10-04T21:27:00.000-04:00

It's nice being back in New Orleans. Things are reassuringly the same. Same beautiful houses, same daily gun violence that never fails to blow my mind when I think about how few people live here and how many die each year. The beignets are the same, the French Quarter hasn't changed. Our football team will still give you heart failure down to the very last play of the game. The streets are the same. The city is the same. The government is still hopelessly broken, and we still have the best musicians the country has to offer.

The only thing I found that was different was the Mississippi river. I can't remember the last time I saw it so low. A couple of months back it looked like this:

It's always been my favorite place to sit. Of course it was one of my first stops when I got here Thursday. Right now it looks like this:

Really trying to remember the last time I saw it like that. Not quite sure what to make of it. I kind of like it though.

wandering

2010-10-04T21:08:00.000-04:00

I'm in New Orleans right now. I came in for a family wedding, to visit Sweetheart before I snap in half from lack of sex, and to take a break from the apartment from hell. It's been great being able to shower without a wall full of peeling plaster staring me in the face. It's been especially great having a kitchen (and a honey who makes me duck paninis for breakfast). I had forgotten the simple pleasures of a stove upon which to cook. I had also forgotten that apartments usually have kitchen sinks and people aren't supposed to be doing their dishes in the bathroom. So I'm really enjoying a comfortable place to crash.

The wedding was lovely, as far as weddings go. As you may know, I'm not the biggest fan of weddings, especially after what happened last time. But this one was painless, a beautiful ceremony in Jackson Square followed by a second-line through the French Quarter ending with a great reception overlooking the river. Food, booze, family. Very nice.

Aside from all that though, I really fucking miss New York. I'm getting spoiled as shit up there and I hate myself for it. I hate it because it's going to make it impossible to leave, and I'm going to have to leave because I can't stay in one place for too long and I miss the West Coast and I kind of have a plan to move back there, maybe Seattle or back to (shudder) the Bay Area, but the plan requires me to stay in New York for a while longer, like at least a year or two and by that time I'll be so used 3am sushi deliveries and a 24 hour Duane Reade half a block away that I will be hopelessly stuck there for all eternity. Or at least until I can figure out how to open a bar somewhere in South America.

Brazil. It should be in Brazil.

Lazy evening

2010-10-04T20:03:00.000-04:00

New York, NY
Hudson River

WHO DAT!!

2010-09-20T19:15:00.001-04:00

I would be remiss if I didn't make mention of the fact that my (Superbowl champions) New Orleans Saints are squaring off tonight against the San Francisco 49ers, the city I formerly (and often begrudgingly) called home. I had to laugh at the people who actually asked who I would be rooting for. Seriously? Is that even a question?

Oh, I forgot to tell you what happened at last week's game! Jenelle and I decided to forgo Bar None, as it was disgustingly crowded three hours before the game and was only going to get worse. We decided to go to dba in Brooklyn, another Saints outpost in NYC. My friend James (also from New Orleans) met us down there as well. We get there and I notice a guy running around who looks really familiar. It took a little while, but I finally realized, holy shit, that's Jack. He used to come into a bar I worked at ten fucking years ago. I made a mental note to say hello when I got a minute.

Next thing I know, James is next to me saying, "Hey, wanderlust, have you met Jack?"

And I said, "As a matter of fact, I have. I used to get Jack drunk ten years ago. Shot of Jim Beam and a Budweiser, right Jack?"

The look on his face was priceless.

Of course he remembered me and of course we had lots of catching up to do. Turns out he moved to San Francisco for a while and hated it too! (OK, I'm being dramatic. I didn't HATE living in SF. Not all the time, anyway. I just complained a lot) He's much happier in NY, as am I.

That's the thing about New Orleans. Once you've lived there a little while, it doesn't matter where you go. If there's any sort of gathering involving New Orleans in any way, be it a Saints game, a crawfish boil, or oil-spill fundraiser, you WILL run into someone you know. You just will. Like it or not. I once ran into a guy I used to HATE at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge in San Francisco. Fortunately for all involved, he was way too drunk to remember who I was.

But it's a beautiful thing, and I love it. Anyway, I've got to go. I have a date with James and Jack and the rest of the Who Dat nation. Bar None has no idea what it's in for.

GEAUX SAINTS!!

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-09-19T01:51:00.001-04:00

Brooklyn, New York
Coney Island
Jenn Farmer on the Wonder Wheel

Jenn was in town visiting from San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. I was so happy to have her here. She herself is an extremely talented artist and photographer. She's trying to convince me to let her paint a mural on my walls. Actually, it didn't take much convincing. I was like, when can you come back? Check out her work here: http://jennfarmer.org/ Shamelessly promoting my friend, I know. What can I say? She deserves it.

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Weekend Reflections

2010-09-18T00:52:00.001-04:00

Brooklyn, New York
Brighton Beach

Weekend Reflections http://newtowndailyphoto.blogspot.com/

I don't understand

2010-09-17T23:51:00.002-04:00

OK, I know this story is kind of old news, but I don't have a TV and I don't read the paper or magazines, I really just kind of exist in my own weird little world, so I was vaguely aware about Lady Gaga wearing a dress made of meat and I was like oh, whatever. No big deal. I once saw a chick sew a bikini out of flank steak as a performance art piece during White Linen Night in New Orleans. The whole thing was quite tedious, and it was kind of stinky once it was finally finished, most likely due to the middle-of-summer-in-New-Orleans heat. It wasn't very flattering, either, once she put it on.

Well, I thought, if Lady Gaga wants to wear a stinky, unflattering dress or bikini to an award show or whatever it was, that's fine with me. I don't really care what she does to be honest.

But then I read today that she did it to support gay rights and the repeal of the "don't ask, don't tell" policy, some crazy shit about if we don't fight for our rights we'll have as much rights as the meat on our bones, whatever the fuck THAT means and I was like what? WHAT? What the FUCK?

I'm one hundred percent behind gay rights, believe me, but I'm terribly, terribly confused here. I'm trying my hardest to understand how a dress made of meat has ANYTHING to with gay rights, but I'm failing miserably. Can anybody help me out here?

Way up high

2010-09-17T01:35:00.002-04:00

Brooklyn, New York

Coney Island

From the top of the Wonder Wheel

randomness

2010-09-16T23:31:00.001-04:00

New York, NY
Brooklyn Bridge

Neurotic? Just a little...

2010-09-16T23:20:00.001-04:00

It's ten-thirty at night and I just got back from the gym and I had it in my mind to go upstairs, eat a sandwich and go back out for a drink (or three), but apparently the doorman thinks I'm in for the night because when I came in he said, "OK, goodnight wanderlust! See you tomorrow!" And I said, "OK, goodnight Cesar! See you tomorrow!" So now I'm trapped in the apartment until after midnight when he leaves because I want him to think I'm a nice, respectable girl who gets home from the gym and goes to bed, not the kind of sleazy, alcoholic girl who goes out to bars at eleven o'clock at night on a Thursday. You know, the kind of girl that I actually am.

I'm starting to think maybe I'm not cut out for having a doorman. I might be just a wee bit too neurotic for that shit. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. More than once I have waited until after five o'clock (when the night shift guy comes on) to leave the house because I had some crazy idea in my mind that the day shift guy had seen me coming and going too many times. Especially when I was running around job interviewing, I would leave the house all dressed up, come back a couple of hours later, leave again, come back. I was like jeez, this guy probably thinks I'm a fucking hooker.

So because I'm crazy and I think too fucking much, I'm trapped inside for a little while tonight. With nothing to do but think. And look at the ugly carpet. Which can't be good. Because that's why I'm stuck inside in the first place. The thinking part. Not the ugly carpet. The ugly carpet was what made me want to LEAVE tonight in the first place.

I know. I need to get out more. But it's hard. You know, with all the doormen and all the thinking...

The resentment begins

2010-09-15T13:27:00.000-04:00

You're probably going to want to smack me for what I'm about to say. I would want to smack me for what I'm about to say. But whatever, it's on my mind, so I'm just going to say it.

At first I was excited about fixing up this apartment. I ran around saying, it's going to be so great! It's going to be so much fun! I get to fix it up however I want, paint it any colors I want, put in a new kitchen and new light fixtures and it's going to be SO MUCH FUN!!

You know what? This shit isn't fun. At all.

As a matter of fact, it's so not fun that I really haven't even started yet. I put a rug over the huge stain on the ugly carpet, replaced the sheets and pillowcases on the sofabed, got a new tablecloth and threw a blanket over the ugly-as-shit-but-comfortable-as-fuck chair. I hung a few random pictures in spots that already had hooks in the wall. After that, the home-improvement project came to a screeching halt.

I look at the carpet and it depresses me and I think, oh, I should go to the hardware store and get a big knife and a pair of hedge clippers and tear that shit up and throw it away. Then I could at least sweep and polish the lovely hardwood floor underneath, and eventually have someone re-sand and re-finish it for me. But then the thought of actually DOING that depresses me even more and I want to go back to bed.

I should remind you here that I'm really lazy, people. Really, really lazy. I hate doing shit that requires me to, you know, move, unless it's something I personally find enjoyable and rewarding, like riding my bike or climbing around on mountains and shit like that. Tearing up a carpet and painting my apartment don't qualify.

I need to call a fucking painter to come over here before I rip out the carpet though, because there's no way in hell I'm painting it myself, and picking colors gives me a headache. Once they start painting my life will be thrown into upheaval until they are done, and I'm sick of my life being in fucking upheaval. I've been living in a state of upheaval since JANUARY when this whole mess started.

But I can't stand the way it looks for much longer, so there you go. I'm kind of fucked for a while, no matter what.

We're not even going to talk about the kitchen right now.

One of my biggest problems is that I can clearly see the finished result in my head, and I really can't seem to wrap my head around the concept that it's a "process" as they say, and that it will "take time and patience (and lots of fucking money, of course) to complete but will be so rewarding once it's finished!" Yeah, I know it will be rewarding. But if I know what I want it to look like, why can't it be done tomorrow? Why can't I just leave town for a couple of days and get a team in here and have it be magically and beautifully finished upon my return? Isn't that how it works on all those TV shows?

So yeah, I'm feeling resentful over having to direct my time, money and energy towards all this crap right now when I have better things to do with my time, money and energy. Much better things. Like, you know... write this blog, or see what people are doing on facebook. Or ride my bike around the park, or sleep. Or eat pizza, or sit in bars and talk to strangers...

Yeah, I know. I'm an asshole, aren't I?

The Dude abides

2010-09-10T23:59:00.003-04:00

New York, NY
215 Thompson, between Bleecker and 3rd.

My friend told me about this store and how bad ass it was. So I went, and yeah. It was pretty bad ass. The Dude who owns it even wears a bathrobe all day. Seriously. You should go check it out.

WHO DAT!!

2010-09-09T13:44:00.005-04:00

Oh yeah baby. It's that time of year again. It begins tonight.

Some might say it began a few weeks ago, but I say pre-season, shmee-season. I believe pre-season exists solely to make me paranoid about injuring our starters. I was especially concerned about Drew, what with that whole Madden curse thing. But I have faith in our boy. I mean, this is the same quarterback who led us to the Superbowl. The Saints. To the Superbowl. I still can't believe it...

Jenelle and I have a date tonight with the rest of the Who Dat Nation down at Bar None, a Saints stronghold in NYC. I've heard that Vikings fans like to hang out there too, so tonight should be especially fun. I am so excited my stomach is turning upside down. Or maybe I'm just hungover. Either way, I'm ready to STAND UP AND GET CRUNK!! WHO DAT!! WE DAT!! YEAH YOU RIGHT!!

Well said

2010-09-09T13:23:00.001-04:00

"Now look, baby. I don't never wanna see you cryin' behind no man, ya heard me? Lissen-ta-me, now. A man is like a bus, OK? There's another one comin' along every fifteen minutes."

~Dolores Bourgeois, 1998

She definitely had a way with words. I didn't want to hear it at the time, but I never forgot those words. I've repeated them to myself countless times over the years, and I've discovered she was right, as usual. Life goes on. Next!

Randomness

2010-09-07T16:31:00.001-04:00

New York, NY
Iron Worker's Lunch Break

Night and day

2010-09-07T16:27:00.001-04:00

This is what it looked like before:

I only lasted a week looking at that shit. I said to myself, well who can blame the woman. I would have killed myself too if I had to look at that shit day in and day out. At first I was going to wait, I said, well, it might be ugly, but you just got here and you don't have a job so you really shouldn't go spending money on sheets and pillowcases until you have a job and have some money coming in. Then I said, OK, if I have to look at that shit for one more day I am going to climb onto the roof of this building and jump off. So I went down to Laytner's Linens to rectify the situation.

The painting had to go as soon as humanly possible. I couldn't look at it anymore without wanting to stab myself in the eye. I gave it away, to that dude from craigslist who has been so helpful, the one who helped me move my shit in. I was foaming at the mouth to get it out, and the minute I did I was overcome with a hugely depressing and horrible feeling of guilt. I have a feeling that she loved that painting and it meant a lot to her for some reason (because she was out of her mind and bat-shit crazy) and I'm sure she would have been extremely hurt and depressed to know that I was so eager to get it out of my house. Because it was fucking hideous.

But I got over it rather quickly, and was grateful for the plain white wall underneath. It's going to be forever before the place looks the way I want it to. It needs to be painted, I need to tear up the carpet and refinish the floor. I need this, that, the other. Whatever. It's getting there. This is what it looks like now:

At least we're moving in the right direction.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-09-05T02:26:00.002-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana
Down by the river

Play me something...

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Nice

2010-09-04T15:09:00.000-04:00

New York, NY

I really like this building. I'm not sure why I like it so much. I just do. I wish I could remember exactly where I saw it. I think it was Broadway and Howard. Maybe Broadway and Grand. Somewhere around there.

Nothing good can come from this...

2010-09-03T00:21:00.001-04:00

It's a movie now.

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I remember when the book came out. Every woman you saw had a copy of that book glued to her hand for a while there. They all tried to get me to read it. "It's so inspiring," they would say. "It's so brave, and honest. You absolutely have to read it. It's, it's... it's life-changing!!"

Needless to say, I was skeptical.

I went to a bookstore, flipped through a few pages, and was unimpressed. Seemed like a bunch a self-indulgent, new-age nonsense. I put the book back on the shelf and forgot about it.

Last year when I went to Peru, I befriended a lovely mother and daughter from Washington, DC while traveling in the Amazon jungle. We became quite close, and when we parted ways in Cusco the night before I was heading to Machu Picchu, the mother pressed a book into my hand. "Here," she said, "Take this. I'm finished with it and I would like you to have it." It was a copy of Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I smiled, put it in my bag, and forgot about it.

A couple of days later, I broke my knee, you probably know the story, and I was in the hospital and in serious pain with nothing to do. All the books and magazines were in Spanish, and I'm much too lazy to learn Spanish, regardless of how much I enjoy traveling in Spanish-speaking countries. Same with the flat-screen TV I had in the room, all Spanish. I don't watch TV anyway. So I decided to pull out my copy of Eat, Pray, Love and see what Miss Elizabeth Gilbert had to say.

I read the entire book during my two-night stay, and in retrospect it was probably the perfect book to read under such circumstances because halfway through the first chapter I completely forgot about how much pain I was in because I wanted to smack the fuck out of Elizabeth Gilbert.

For those who have been under a rock and are unfamiliar with the book, let me sum it up:

It's a book about this stupid, whiny, petulant bitch crying and moaning about being thrown into an emotional tailspin and crippling depression all because she had to make the hugely selfish decision to leave her husband for no good reason other than he wanted to have kids and she didn't, preferring to pursue her own career and her own happiness, living a life of pure self-indulgence. So she leaves her husband, who has been a perfect husband and hasn't fucked her over at all, and the emotional ramifications of this selfish decision were so great that Miss Gilbert, after fucking some hot, young actor for a while, is forced to take a year off to spend four months in Italy eating, four months in India praying, and four months in Indonesia "loving," whatever the fuck that means, because Miss Gilbert makes a huge declaration in the beginning of this adventure that SHE'S NOT GOING TO HAVE SEX AT ALL FOR THE WHOLE ENTIRE YEAR, so of course, she has sex with some guy she meets in Indonesia. She also shrewdly convinces some publishing company to fund this little sabbatical for her, so she can write a book for them about it later.

Incidentally, Miss Gilbert also makes a huge declaration at the end of the book that SHE'S NEVER GETTING MARRIED AGAIN EVER. She now has another book out about how, surprise surprise, she's married. Hmm. I'm sensing a pattern here. Next will be her huge declaration that SHE'S NEVER, NEVER HAVING KIDS, EVER.

It was one of the worst books I'd read in a long time. I considered writing my own version, entitled Eat, Drink, Fuck, but it looks like someone beat me to it. Fucker.

So now they've made it into a movie, and women across the country will be leaving their husbands for no good reason and trying to go find themselves in foreign countries. And people will again say how brave she was to make that painful decision, and how amazing and strong she is for getting past that debilitating depression and I will want to smack the fuck out of them.

I would love to see what would happen to Miss Gilbert if life tossed some real problems her way. Because there are far worse things that could happen to a person besides leaving your husband for a young, hot actor who's awesome in bed. Trust me on this one.

Unexpected

2010-09-01T17:47:00.001-04:00

New York, NY

JFK International Airport

Last Friday I threw on a dress and got all gussied up at nine in the morning to go meet Sweetheart at the airport. We met up at the terminal and headed back to the train. As we were coming down the steps, he looked out the window and said, "Hey, look at that. I thought you said there was no nature out here?"

Hmm. Guess I was wrong.

The hotel around the corner

2010-08-31T00:39:00.002-04:00

It's a really nice hotel. Beautiful rooms with really cool photographs on the wall. Comfortable bed with a big, luxurious comforter. Gorgeous bathroom with a ledge cut into the shower wall for kinky sexual adventures. It's unfortunate that I know all this, really. How do I know all this? Funny story...

It was a family wedding, way out on Long fucking Island. As you might know, I hate weddings. I really do. I've got my reasons, I could probably write a book. I really hate spending a shit-ton of money buying plane tickets and new dresses to attend a wedding and watching the marriage end in divorce, sometimes less than three years later. But as much as anything, I don't think such a personal, spiritual moment in a couple's life needs to be on display. If I ever make the biggest mistake of my life (oops, I mean, if I ever get married) I certainly wouldn't want a hundred some-odd people, friends, family or otherwise, around watching me share such an intimate, life-changing moment with my partner. I would find it distracting. I'd be more willing to show you the video we make on our wedding night.

Yes, weddings. They're awful in every way, except the free booze. I find myself forced to endure at least two or three weddings a year. This one was especially fun, because it involved spending all day with people who swim in my immediate gene pool. As you might know, I don't get the family thing so well either. I understand that there are people out there who share my last name and DNA, but I'm not really sure how the concept applies to me. I find it's best if I restrict these gatherings to every ten years or so.

Right on cue, it's been eleven years since I've seen most of these people. Sweetheart kept poking me in the ribs and saying, "Who's that?" and I kept saying, "I don't know. I think we might be related. I know I'm related to those other guys over there, and that their names are Tony, Rick and Jim, but I don't know who's who. Go find out."

I've found that Maker's Mark works well in such situations, and the whiskey was flowing and we had a great time. The party continued at the groom's house, and we got back to Manhattan a little later than expected, drunk, tired and happy.

Skanky sluts that we are, Sweetheart and I had a little fun on the deserted train ride home and we were looking forward to clean towels and a toothbrush. Also, we both had to pee. After what seemed like forever, we got to my building.

And the key wouldn't work.

What? Are you fucking kidding me?

No. The fucking lock was broken.

Complicating matters, I had left my phone in my father's car when he dropped us off at the train station. Not that I had the super's cell phone number anyway. And Sweetheart's battery was almost dead. Not that we really had anyone to call, or even anyone's number, anyway.

So we weren't getting in that fucking building.

Now we were wandering the streets of New York at fuck knows what hour on a Saturday night looking for a hotel room, drunk, tired, and not so happy anymore.

Four hotels and two hundred dollars later we finally found a room. A beautiful room. We started cracking up because obviously, this was the funniest thing that had happened to either one of us in a long time. Sweetheart filled the bathtub with hot water and threw me in it and went out in search of food and Aleve for my aching back and knee.

After he left, I realized, HEY! I'm finally getting to take that bath I've been wanting to take! My last post regarding the subject was grievously incorrect, my bathtub faucet at home is still fucked.

I enjoyed my bath thoroughly, and when Sweetheart got back I forced myself to get out of the tub and we ate and laughed and talked shit and were drunk, tired and happy again. In a hotel room. Three and a half blocks from my apartment. Fucking ridiculous. But fucking hilarious.

The hotel is called On the Avenue. Their website is here. I highly recommend them for the next time you're locked out of your own motherfucking building in the middle of the night in New York City.

Break time

2010-08-26T12:50:00.000-04:00

New York, NY
Central Park

Baseball fans

2010-08-26T12:46:00.000-04:00

Baseball fans are funny. I'm not a baseball fan, regardless of how long I worked down at the ballpark in San Francisco. I'm not a Giants fan, a Yankees fan, or even a Zephyrs fan. But I like baseball fans nonetheless. They amuse me.

I saw this the other day, and it amused me as well. I'm putting it up here strictly to annoy all the baseball fans I know and love in San Francisco. Miss you guys, go Gigantes, huh?

Frank's house

2010-08-24T12:20:00.000-04:00

Palm Beach, Florida
March 2010

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-08-22T00:40:00.002-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana
Behind Jackson Square, again

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Sticker shock

2010-08-21T02:02:00.000-04:00

My mother had so much crap it was unbelievable. I kept what was usable or worth selling, but the rest of it... Man, that shit had to go. My friend Jenelle helped me unload most of it. The rest I carried to the Goodwill up the street, one box here, another there. Most of it was garbage, some of it was decent but ugly as sin, and some of it was stuff I figured I might be able to sell, but it would be a pain in the ass and take a long time and a lot of effort for only a little cash. I needed space in the apartment more than I needed cash in my wallet, so off to the Goodwill it went.

I walked by today and saw some familiar china in the window. Lenox, nothing special. Horrible lamb and flower pattern. Eleven plates, eight coffee cups, one pair of salt and pepper shakers. I remember them well. I remember being extremely grateful to have them out of my kitchen cabinets. Imagine my surprise when I saw the price tag...

Hah. Good luck, Goodwill. Better your shelf space than mine.

Up on the roof

2010-08-21T01:39:00.000-04:00

New York, NY
Metropolitan Museum of Art
up on the roof, overlooking Central Park

Just when I thought I was going to kill everyone...

2010-08-19T22:16:00.000-04:00

New York, NY

I saw this rainbow outside my window yesterday.

Plumbing update

2010-08-19T20:43:00.001-04:00

For those of you just tuning in, I was having a little trouble with my plumbing last weekend.

As far as the rusty bathwater is concerned, the problem seems to be under control after much patience and a shameful amount of water down the drain. It was literally painful for the tree-hugging, dirt-worshipping, nature-loving hippie in me to watch. I'm betting I single-handedly tripled the building's water bill this month.

The bathroom sink and I quickly came to an understanding, which was more or less, "You WILL drain, motherfucker, otherwise I will continue to pour caustic chemicals down your throat and attack you with a coat hanger." The bathroom sink got the message after a couple of hours and has been draining peacefully ever since.

The kitchen sink was a bit more obstinate.

As I mentioned, the drain was completely stopped, so when I poured the super-duper psycho industrial-strength drain opener in, all it did was collect in the sink basin, filling the sink with a noxious, greenish-colored liquid, which stayed there for three days. The first two days I stomped around all pissed off, constantly checking to see if it had moved at all and wondering what my next course of action would be, because at this point I didn't want to involve the building maintenance guy, figuring he would probably tell me that I'm not supposed to pour chemicals like that down their pipes. By the third day I had sort of forgotten about it, and I was surprised to glance in the sink that evening and see it empty. So I poured the rest of the super-duper psycho drain opener in, waited two hours, and flushed it with hot water. I haven't used it much, so far it's been draining obediently, but I still don't trust it.

*author's note* FORGET WHAT I JUST SAID. In the name of honesty and accurate storytelling, I just went to go verify that what I told you was true and the sink really was still draining. I looked down the drain and all seemed clear, so I opened the faucet and let it run for a few minutes... AND THE BITCH FILLED UP WITH WATER. It's not draining. Or maybe it is. If it is, it's draining so slowly I'll be able to pack up and move out by the time it's finished. To an apartment that has a functioning kitchen sink.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-08-15T00:31:00.000-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana
Behind Jackson Square

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

I know you don't really care but...

2010-08-14T22:34:00.000-04:00

I'm ready to fucking scream right now.

My kitchen and bathroom sink are both clogged, so I have to brush my teeth and do my dishes in the bathtub. I tried Drano, that didn't work, and getting the super to fix it seems to be a lost cause, he's not here on the weekends anyway. I went to the hardware store today and asked the guy to sell me a sewer snake so I could try to fix it myself and he said oh no, you don't need that, just use a wire hanger, that'll work fine. So I tried shoving a wire hanger down there and it didn't work. At all. Cocksucker.

So I went to the other hardware store and that guy wouldn't sell me a snake either. I don't know what the fucking problem is. Apparently, something about me just screams out, THIS GIRL CANNOT BE TRUSTED WITH BASIC PLUMBING TOOLS, NOT EVEN A SIMPLE DRAIN SNAKE. Well, fuck you guys, is all I have to say about that.

Instead of a snake, the guy at the other hardware store sold me some industrial strength drain cleaner:

It smells like death, and the back of the bottle is covered with skull and crossbones and terribly frightening warnings in three different languages, so I figure it will probably work, although I don't know how because when I poured it down the drain it just filled the sink up, so now my sinks are both filled with nasty, foul-smelling, greenish-colored water.

But whatever, OK, fine, I'll wait two hours like the guy at the hardware store said to do, then I'll flush it with hot water and if that doesn't work, I'll just go back to the hardware store tomorrow and smack the guy in the face. In the meantime, I'll just take a long, hot bath. Won't that be nice? Won't that be relaxing?

I've got one of those old bathtubs, the kind with two faucets, one for the shower nozzle and one to fill the tub. Nice long tub, I've been looking forward to taking a bath in it ever since I moved in. So I broke out some candles and lavender bath beads and started to fill the tub.

With nasty, sludgy, rusty, brick-red water.

I'm not even going to speculate on how long it's been since that faucet has been turned on. Those pipes have probably been rusting for ten fucking years. I let it run for fifteen minutes, full blast. The water was still brick-red. Moth-er-fuck-er.

I'm really going to fucking scream.

I know, I know. You're thinking, "Uh, it's Saturday night in New York City. Don't you have something better to do than sit home and worry about your clogged drains?"

No, I don't. Not tonight. Tonight, I want to take a hot bath with my vanilla candles and lavender bath beads, and then I want to brush my teeth in the bathroom sink, then I would like to eat some ice cream and wash the dish out in my kitchen sink. Is that too much to ask? Is it really?

It seems so. Tonight, at least.

Can someone please send me a plumber?

*author's note* Sorry to bore you with all that, but I had to rant to someone, and Sweetheart is still at work and all the rest of my friends have lives apparently, because no one would answer the phone except my ex-boyfriend from NINE YEARS AGO, and he was only home because his daughter was having a slumber party and he was supervising. Do you know what he had to say? "Wow, that sucks. You should call a plumber. Hey, did I tell you about the trip me and Lisa just went on?"

Fuck you, K. Fuck you and your goddamned vacation. We're talking about ME here, remember?

I hate my life right now.

Hope

2010-08-13T22:37:00.000-04:00

Just when I thought it was all doom and gloom and depression, I came across this article. Resiliency. Better than strength. More important than anything I can imagine.

Sing for me

2010-08-13T21:24:00.000-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana

Mississippi River

yeah...

2010-08-10T20:59:00.000-04:00

The short version of the long story

2010-08-04T01:07:00.002-04:00

There have been requests from the blogosphere (Hi, Cassie!) and other random sources for me to please explain the story of how and why I moved from San Francisco to New York with a six-month layover in New Orleans in between.

OK. No problem. For those who know me personally and are familiar with the story, feel free to move along. You're probably sick of hearing it by now. For those who don't know me personally and are unfamiliar with the story, buckle in. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

So. Here we go.

After a complicated and convoluted initial twenty years of existence (another story for another time) I moved from Long Island, NY to New Orleans, Louisiana in 1996, found my Shangri-La, and remained there in a state of delirious bliss, my days and nights filled with music and dancing, great booze and even better food, family and friends, love and laughter.

After nine-ish years or so, I began to grow weary of my familiar bliss, car-jackings on my corner, murders twenty feet from my front door. Yes, quite literally. Twenty feet from my front doorstep.

So I began a search for a new home.

I wandered, as I always had, but this time with a purpose in mind. Trying to find the next stop. Quite frankly, the rest of the country left me cold. Nothing seemed right. Until I went to San Francisco.

Oh, San Francisco! She was so sexy, so smart. Gorgeous, truly stunning, natural beauty everywhere. She really had her shit together, too. I heard that all of the restaurants offered health insurance, and then someone mentioned medical marijuana delivery and I was sold.

So I moved there, got the best job I have ever had, and unfortunately discovered that the douchebag-to-cool-person ratio is painfully skewed in the wrong direction. Again, remind me to tell you the story about The Incident With The Jumper Cables someday. Please let me say, however, that what I miss the most about San Francisco is without a doubt the amazing, incredible, brilliant, talented, generous and beautiful friends I made there. But in general, San Francisco and I, we just didn't see eye to eye.

So for four and a half years I struggled and tried to be happy in a city I really wasn't happy in and went to visit New Orleans on a constant basis and did my best to enjoy living in San Francisco and tried to make a square peg fit in a round hole and then I broke my knee in Peru. This was about a year ago. I was down for the count, out of work for several months. While I was recovering, I had all the time in the world to think and travel and visit home (New Orleans) and realize WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?!?! I miss New Orleans, my family, my friends, my life, my joy, it's all there, what the fuck am I doing in San Francisco, living half a life, laughing only half my laughter, crying way too many tears?

So, while on a knee recovery visit to my beloved New Orleans, I made the decision that I would move back. I tied up my loose ends, made some calls to San Francisco, told my job I wasn't coming back. Gave notice to my apartment manager and room mate. The decision was made, the deal was done.

Three days later, I got a phone call saying that my mother was dead. Seems she jumped off the roof of an apartment building in Manhattan on Christmas Eve. As a matter of fact, I was sitting right here when I got the call.

By the way, here I should probably mention that until that day, I had no idea where my mother was or what she was doing with her life. For twenty-three years, I had only a vague clue where the woman was. Suspected she was in Manhattan. Didn't know for sure. Again, another story for another time.

Turns out Mom owned an apartment in a co-op building in New York City. Turns out she did pretty well for herself, in a round-about way. Turns out the apartment was paid for, cash. No mortgage due. Lucky me.

There was no will, I'm the only heir, by default it goes to me. Maintenance fees are due each month, at what amounts to a very affordable price, by NY standards. So logically, it made sense for me to move in.

Regardless of the fact that I was in the middle of moving back to my beloved Nouvelle Orléans. Nevermind that I was about to go to lots of trouble and spend a bunch of money dragging all my shit halfway across the country. Forget that New Orleans was welcoming me home with arms wide open.

I had some things to think about.

Like I said, my move from SF to New Orleans was already in motion when I got the news, and initially it was all such a mess that I needed a minute to figure things out. Where better than home, surrounded by friends and family, loved ones? I packed up my shit, drove across the country, went to New Orleans, went to work, and starting thinking.

I decided to move to New York.

Regardless of how happy I was. Nevermind that my day to day life was so fulfilling I really thought I was crazy for leaving. Forget the fact that I had just (finally) met an amazing Sweetheart that put me on a pedestal, treated me like a queen and made me scream so loud in the sack I forgot other men even existed.

New York just seemed like the right thing to do.

So I packed up my shit, (again) and drove across the country (again) and moved my ass up to New York.

Here I am. I just got here. Don't even have a job yet. We'll see what happens. I'm sure it will all be fine. I'm actually getting on a plane to New Orleans tomorrow morning. Just a visit. Only a week. Had a ticket with Southwest I had to use up before the tenth. I figured, where else but home? Go dancing, visit Sweetheart. Eat some gumbo. Ride down by the river one last heartbreaking time.

Hmm. That makes, what? I've been gone eighteen days? Eighteen days and I'm already salivating, scratching, clawing, foaming at the mouth, chomping at the bit, dying to get home? How long will I make it in New York? A year? Two, three, five? Who's taking bets?

Sorry. I know I promised you a short story. But it was, really. It could have been much longer. Trust me. You want the long version? Really? Send me an email. Make sure you've got time to spare...

Always

2010-08-02T23:15:00.000-04:00

New York, NY
In the kitchen at Per Se

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-08-01T01:40:00.000-04:00

New York, NY
Museum of Natural History

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Welcome

2010-07-31T18:48:00.002-04:00

A few days ago I got home and there were a dozen roses in the lobby. Wally, my favorite of all the doormen, handed them to me and said, "These came for you a little while ago."

I was puzzled, because I knew they weren't from Sweetheart because he doesn't actually have the address of where I'm staying right now, which is ridiculous, now that I think about it. I couldn't think of anyone who had my address and might be inclined to send me flowers, so it was quite a mystery, until I looked at the card.

Of course. Christopher. I should have guessed. I've told you about Christopher before, remember?

We got to spend some time together Wednesday. We went to look at the Nobel Monument. We wandered around. We had a drink. Christopher is lots of fun to wander around with. He's a NYC historian, so you say things like "Wow, that's a cool building" and he says things like "Oh yes, that's the blah-bidee-blah building, built in such-and-such year by so-and-so. It was done in blah-blah-blah style, which was quite common at that time." Then he'll rattle off what the building was used for in the past, what it's being used for now, if it's an apartment building, he knows who lived there, who still lives there, and probably even who WILL live there. I showed him a picture I found in my mother's drawer and asked if he knew where it was taken. He took one look and immediately said "Oh yes, of course, that's the so-and-so building and that's the such-and-such building, so this must be the NW corner of 83rd and Columbus." Oh, right. Of course. The NW corner of 83rd and Columbus.

I think he said 83rd and Columbus. I'm pretty sure. I could be wrong. I'm not quite as smart as he is. Obviously.

Dining!

2010-07-31T17:17:00.003-04:00

New York, NY
Per Se

What we ate:

What we drank:

Live a little, lady!

2010-07-29T05:41:00.000-04:00

I've got a friend from New Orleans in town, visiting New York for the first time. We've been be-bopping all over town, dining and cocktailing. Drank a nice bottle of Gigondas the other night. Saw that street pianos thing thing in Washington Square Park. Nice.

So Sweetheart says, "You should take your friend out and get her laid while she's in town. I don't mind if you go out and flirt a little bit, be a wingwoman, lead a motherfucker on for her benefit. There's a line, I know you know where it is. Take her out, show her a good time!" (Yes, "Lead a motherfucker on for her benefit." Seriously? Where does he get this shit from?)

Now going to strange cities and fucking the locals is definitely my thing. In fact, before I met Sweetheart, traveling to exotic places and judging the local talent was high up there on my "Favorite Things To Do" list. But visiting strange towns and sleeping with even stranger men isn't really Lorie's thing. In fact, it isn't Lorie's thing in any way, shape, or form.

But I think it's time for a new chapter in The Life Story of the Fabulous Miss L. She needs to shake things up. Do something different. Live a little.

She's sleeping right now, all passed out on the air mattress on the floor. I'll discuss it with her in the morning. I'll have to turn my powers of persuasion on full blast. Wouldn't be the first time. How do you think I lured all those sexy strangers back to my hotel room?

Guessing game

2010-07-27T13:17:00.000-04:00

One of the pillows on the bed is mine. Can you tell which one?

Moving day

2010-07-26T13:21:00.000-04:00

Hi! I'm back! Did you miss me? Yes, you did. Don't lie to me...

I've been busy. Wandering the country, near and far, far and near. Went to visit Leigh in North Carolina again, had way too much fun again. I moved to New York in the meantime, too. As far as moves go, it might have been the easiest transition I have ever made, even easier than when I left San Francisco. Because I can't seem to keep still for more than six months at a time lately, I have managed to pare down my personal belongings to the point where they fit into the back of a Jeep Grand Cherokee, more or less:

Which is great, because that's about as much space as I have in this apartment, more or less.

Loading the truck was easy, mainly because I didn't have to do it. Mainly I stood around saying, "I don't think everything's going to fit" while Sweetheart loaded the car and said, "That's everything. What else did you want to take?"

When I got up here, things were just as easy. Remember the dude from craigslist I told you about, the one who took all the crap from this apartment that I didn't want? He had said to call him if I needed help unloading the truck when I got back, he said he'd be happy to help me, seeing as how I had given him so much stuff and he really appreciated it and blah blah blah. So I called him the day before I got here. Do you know what he said? "Absolutely, I'll be over at noon tomorrow, you just hold the elevator door open and I'll do all the heavy lifting."

Wow. Welcome to New York City...

This, by the way, is a completely different version, in fact, a completely OPPOSITE version, of the story about my first day in San Francisco, my "welcome" to San Francisco, if you will. Remind me to tell you that little gem someday. Advance apologies to my friends and former co-workers in the Beautiful Bay Area, who are entirely sick to death of hearing that story by now...

Back atcha...

2010-07-20T23:52:00.000-04:00

Lazy day

2010-07-18T23:50:00.000-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana
City Park

See you soon...

2010-07-18T22:53:00.002-04:00

Well, that was a lazy exit. To be honest, it wasn't much of an exit at all.

When I was preparing to leave San Francisco six months ago, it was a "hurry up, get this shit done, everything must go, say a million tearful good-byes, holy shit I'm really leaving" sort of situation.

When I was preparing to leave New Orleans these past few weeks, it was more of a "it's a nice day, let's go to the pool, I can just leave this stuff here, I'll miss you, but I'll be back in two and a half weeks and then again in late September so I'll see you soon" sort of situation.

It doesn't even really feel like I've left. I'm just taking an extended vacation, or working offshore for a while, as Sweetheart likes to say. My friends aren't all that concerned, they know I can never stay gone very long. Besides, half of them are storing shit for me, knowing full well that they'll be getting their closet space back sooner rather than later.

So yeah, no problem, no big deal. See you soon. Down by the river, or maybe poolside, mimosa in hand, like I never missed a day.

Getting ready

2010-07-10T00:58:00.002-04:00

Last time I was in New York I rented this bicycle:

I spent four solid hours riding around my neighborhood. Up and down the same streets. Over and over. Figuring out which gym I should join and where the 24-hour drugstores are. I found a jazz club on Broadway that will probably get me into a lot of trouble. I discovered that the Hudson River can be just as meditative as the Mississippi.

In other words, I finally spent a day slowing down a little bit, and learning to love my new home.

Every time I've come to New York the past six months I've been running around at breakneck speed, Doing and Doing and Doing. Visit this person, see that person. Dinner here, drinks there. Sign papers, meet people, clean out an apartment, haul a dead woman's shit away. Busy Busy Busy. But every time I go it gets easier and there's less work to do.

So it was nice to finally have time to be lazy and ride around and see what was going on. It turns out my mother picked a nice neighborhood. I liked what I saw.

I liked the bicycle, too. At the end of the day, when my four hours were up, I bought it from the guy who rented it to me. There's room for it in the apartment now that all that shit's cleaned out of there. It's in the hallway, waiting for me to get back so we can go to that jazz club together...

Snoballs on Piety

2010-07-07T23:38:00.003-04:00

I know I've said in the past that Hansen's was the only snoball stand I would ever go to, but I lied, OK? Sorry about that. Hansen's is still the best as far as taste, no question. Snoballs on Piety is perfectly acceptable taste-wise, but has won my heart for different reasons. It's on Piety, (no shit, huh?) right off of Chartres. They've been there about a month. Go. And when you do, make sure you say hello to this little girl:

Actually, she'll probably say hello to you first. She's not shy. Trust me. She's quite a remarkable little girl. She managed to make a really shitty day completely disappear, at least for a couple of hours.

I was having a shitty day. From the minute I opened my eyes. Literally. Shitty enough that on my way home from work I turned around on my bicycle to try to chase down my best friend's ex-boyfriend, after first texting and getting permission from my best friend, of course. I was fully intending on starting a verbal altercation with him. Oh, don't look at me like that. He has it coming. Trust me.

Anyway, once my shitty day was over, I decided to go for a long, angry bike ride, at the end of which I was hot and sweaty and still in a pretty shitty mood. I figured it was a perfect time for a snoball, and Piety is only two blocks away and I'd been meaning to check it out because it was so close and blah blah blah so I stopped and meant to just get a snoball and eat it and go home, but I ended up staying for over two hours.

Because of Ava, of course.

Her parents own Snoballs on Piety, and she hangs out there with her mom all day when she's not in school. She started talking to me before I even had a chance to order.

"Have we met before?"

"Um, I don't think so. This is my first time here."

But she didn't give up.

"Where do you live? Where do you work? Have we met in the French Quarter?"

She sat down and talked to me while I ate my snoball. We ended up looking at Youtube videos on my phone until the battery died. Then she noticed the make-up in my bag. She asked if she could wear some. I said she should ask her mom. Mom said sure. So I painted her face up. Then she busted out some nail polish.

"Can I paint your nails?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

I swear. Something about letting her paint my nails completely defused whatever time bomb had been ticking inside me since I opened my eyes that morning. Of course, my fuse ended up being relit a few hours later, but that's another story. For a couple of hours, I was free. She let me paint her nails, too. We joked and laughed and took pictures of each other. We jumped up and down on an old mattress in the back that she used as a trampoline. She jumped on my back and made me run back and forth until my fucked up knee was begging for mercy. I was free and I was happy and it was just me and Ava hanging out and life was good for a while.

I think I need to go to Snoballs on Piety more often. I think you do, too.

P.S. yes, Ava made the sign she's standing next to. Not bad for an eight year old, huh?

My neighborhood

2010-07-06T22:39:00.001-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana

I love my neighborhood because there are colorful houses everywhere and Bacchanal is right down the street. I love it because most of my family and friends live within a five block radius of where I live. I love it because of stuff like this. I love it because whenever you're running late you have a built-in excuse. "Sorry. The train was passing, I was stuck on the other side." Those of you who live here know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

I love the random and bizarre coffee shops, I love the fact that Elizabeth's, where I once had the most incredible paneed rabbit my taste buds have ever experienced, is only six blocks away. I love riding my bike behind the floodwall down by the river, hoping not to get harassed by the harbor police. I love the fact that my two favorite street names in the city of New Orleans, Piety and Desire, run parallel, and a block apart. One right after the next.

Which makes perfect sense, when you think about it...

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-07-04T03:59:00.000-04:00

New Orleans, LA
Bored at work one night

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

The time my neighbor got into a fight with the pool guy... naked

2010-07-03T21:23:00.005-04:00

The following story is entirely true. I am neither talented nor creative enough to come up with something that good. Trust me.

This story goes back to when I was living at the Compound in New Orleans. We had a nice pool back there, secluded enough that the more bohemian members of the Compound (myself included) were able to frolic in the nude on quiet days.

It was a quiet day, and my neighbor and I were enjoying some adult beverages and a bright, sunny, clothing-free day out by the pool. My neighbor (who I shall refer to as Crazy Dude, or C.D. from here on out) had the entire day off, so he had a bit of a jump on me regarding the adult beverages. I was running errands in the morning, so my party was just getting started.

Now, we'd been having some problems with neighborhood kids jumping the fence and "stealing" our pool, making a mess and leaving trash everywhere. Most of us were pretty good about chasing them away. C.D. was especially good about it. So when three kids we didn't recognize came down the back driveway and started to get in the pool, C.D. was right on top of it.

"Hey! HEY!! GET OUT OF HERE! You don't live here! You don't belong here! Unless you live here, you can't come in this pool. You need to get out of here RIGHT NOW!! Did you hear me? Get out of here! NOW!!"

At this point, the pool guy shows up behind them, all attitude.

"HEY! Who do you think you are? You can't talk to my kids like that!"

Damn. Wasn't expecting that. So I jumped out of the pool and wrapped a towel around myself. I considered going inside, but curiosity compelled me to stay. You know, to see what was going to happen next. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Now, C.D. was kind of a hotheaded dude, and had a bit of a temper. With as much attitude as the pool guy was dishing out, I was genuinely surprised to see C.D. fall straight into apology mode.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry, bro. I didn't realize those were your kids, man. We've been having the kids in the neighborhood jump the fence lately... I'm sorry, man, really..."

C.D. was still in the pool (naked) at this point, and the pool guy was pacing up and down the edge, posturing and fuming over the fact that C.D. disrespected his kids.

C.D. said, "Hey man, look. I'm really sorry, OK?" He extended his arm towards the pool guy, in an effort to make peace and shake hands.

The pool guy said, "FUCK THAT" and smacked C.D.'s hand away.

Oh, pool guy. Bad idea.

Remember that temper I told you about? Yeah...

C.D. was up, out of the pool and in the guy's face before I had time to blink, or at least go get some popcorn for the show. "You got a problem? YOU GOT A FUCKING PROBLEM?"

As it turned out, the pool guy did indeed have a problem and was quite eager to settle it. Whether his kids were watching or not, and whether C.D. had clothing on... or not.

Ladies and gentlemen. You truly have not lived until you have witnessed a grown man get his ass kicked by a drunken, scrappy-ass, naked-ass hippie. In front of his kids. Truly. I should have sold tickets. I could've been a millionaire.

Ahh, the Compound. Never a dull moment...

Randomness

2010-07-03T20:34:00.001-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana

One of the things I love the most about my neighborhood is that sometimes you'll just be sitting in your car at a stop sign minding your own business and some random shit like this walks by...

The best part is that it doesn't even faze you. You just snap a few pictures and think, "Hmm. He's probably headed to Jackson Square. Maybe Frenchmen."

Dining!

2010-07-03T20:20:00.000-04:00

I was trying to tell Sweetheart yesterday about those delicious donut things that I ate in Hawaii when I was visiting Alika.

Me: "They were called, uh, cassas, or casadas. Or cass, something. I can't really remember."

Him: "Um, casadas doesn't really sound very Hawaiian."

Which was true. So I went home and looked through my pictures to find the name of the damned things. Because apparently I'm incapable of remembering anything anymore, unless I take a picture of it. Or tattoo it on my forehead.

Right. Malasadas. Which, actually, doesn't sound very Hawaiian either, now that I think about it. Hmmm...

Oh, yeah. Right. They're Portuguese. I had forgotten that part. Good thing I took a picture.

Good stuff.

Bad taste

2010-07-02T23:18:00.001-04:00

I was in New York last week, trying to hurry up and get things done and move shit out and get rid of what I don't need and make room for the things I do need. Figuring out where I'm going to put all the shit I'm bringing up from New Orleans. Wondering how it was possible that my mother had such inexcusably poor taste in furniture. Fuck, that shit was ugly. Do you want to see how atrociously ugly it was?

Seriously. That fucking carpet, too. Holy shit. Easy to replace, but holy shit. Really?

The couch and hideous chair are gone, thanks to an angel from Craigslist, along with a bunch of other unnecessary crap I wanted to get rid of. It took the dude three trips in his Grand Marquis, but ultimately he went home with a glass coffee table, an ugly couch with a matching chair and ottoman, a blender, two ugly lamps, a huge glass water pitcher with matching bowl, and a well-executed but ridiculously stupid oil painting. There's another offensively stupid painting that's taking up entirely too much space on my wall that I think I've convinced him to take, he told me to call him when I get back next month. He's going to help me figure out what to do with the damn kitchen, too. Have I ever mentioned how much I adore Craigslist? The amazing, wonderful, magical power of Craigslist? No? Remind me to tell you about it someday.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-06-27T01:13:00.000-04:00

New York, NY
The dresser next to my bed

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Anarchy number three

2010-06-27T01:08:00.000-04:00

More fun with signs in the kitchen at work. This is the latest addition to the gallery:

Here we go again

2010-06-26T03:55:00.000-04:00

It's happening again. I hear it everywhere I go. An entire country has developed a fetish for a sport that in reality, they know or care nothing about. It's like the fucking Olympics all over again.

Really people? Soccer? You're trying to make me believe you give a flying fuck about soccer? Before June 11th, you couldn't name a single player on the American team, could you? No, you couldn't. Don't lie to me.

The last time most of these people watched a soccer game was during the last World Cup four fucking years ago. Now everyone's running around, gravely concerned about whether or not the U.S. will advance to the next round. Again, I'm really not sure how winning a soccer game makes one country superior to another, but I guess that's the world we're living in now. Nice to know we've got our priorities in order.

Although I have to admit, I can appreciate Kimi's reasons for watching. As she likes to say, basically, the World Cup is a collection of the most beautiful men on the planet running around all sweaty and delicious on TV for four weeks. I can get behind that. Today at work, when Chile and Spain were about to play, she grabbed me and positioned me in front of the TV as the camera slowly panned across the players close-up as they stood for the national anthem.

Ah. Yes. I think I'm starting to see what the fuss is all about...

Well said... again...

2010-06-26T03:29:00.000-04:00

I know I just posted this a few days ago. But the other night I was, uhhh, let's call it tired, and I decided to edit it for some reason and then I fucked it up even worse and then somehow I deleted it completely. How? I have no idea. Why? Because I'm an idiot, I guess. So here it is, Banksy revisited...

"1.7 billion people have no access to clean drinking water. 20 billion people live below the poverty line. Every day hundreds of people are made to feel physically sick by morons at art shows telling them how bad the world is but never actually doing anything about it. Anybody want a free glass of wine?"

~Banksy

As I said before, Banksy kicks ass, without a doubt. This is a piece he did in New Orleans a while ago, on Kerlerec and Rampart. The covered it with plexiglass to protect it from that Gray Ghost bag o'douche.

Unnecessary piles of paper

2010-06-24T03:41:00.001-04:00

For a dead lady, my mother is pretty popular. See that down below? That's a coffee table damn near five feet long, covered in a month's worth of junk mail.

Cable companies, phone companies, maid services, all begging for business. Every charitable organization under the sun begging for a handout. Coupons for this. Coupons for that. All in all, a bunch of dead trees for absolutely no fucking reason. It has to stop. If she keeps getting this much garbage, there will be no room for MY mail when I move in next month.

I'm in NY this week, busy again Getting Shit Done. The doormen have been holding her mail for me while I was gone for the past month. When I got here Monday, he handed me two huge piles of crap. It's startling to see it in one big bulk like that. Day to day a piece here, two or three there, doesn't seem like that much. But try saving all that crap for a month. Seriously. See how big the pile gets.

I hate it. I truly do. I want it to stop. But I don't know what to do about it, really. Any ideas?

Thoughts on Treme

2010-06-23T18:48:00.004-04:00

I've held back my thoughts on Treme so far, because I wanted to see the entire season before I made any judgements. The season finale was Sunday, so now I feel comfortable sharing my opinions with you. For those who haven't seen the show yet, don't worry. I won't ruin any storylines for you.

First of all, it's a great show. Well presented, extremely well written. My hat is definitely off to the writers, I can understand why everyone was so nuts for The Wire, although I still have no interest in seeing that show. I'm only interested in Treme because it's so desperately, painfully, close and personal to me.

A little too close. A little too personal.

It is, without a doubt, the most accurate portrayal of the city I love the world has ever seen It's on the same level as Confederacy of Dunces, which is quite possibly the Greatest Book of All Time.

But what's difficult for me about seeing my city and my people so accurately portrayed is that now the air is ripe for misinterpretation. People have always been sadly misinformed about New Orleans, so many people have a vision in their minds that's so far off it's depressing. It got worse after Katrina. Much worse. I had just gotten to San Francisco, and I can't tell you how many times I had to walk away because some yuppie douchebag fuck who had never even BEEN to New Orleans was telling me "facts" about my hometown and I wanted to smack the fuck out of him.

Oh, sorry. Did I just go off on a little rant there? Oops. That's not what this post is about...

Anyway, I'm afraid the same thing might happen with Treme. Now people all over the country are going think they know all about New Orleans because they watched a stupid fucking TV show a few times. They'll half understand or half remember what they saw, then run around talking shit, getting everything all misconstrued. And then they'll start talking shit to me, and I'll want to smack the fuck out of them.

I was talking about it with my father, who has been to New Orleans many times to visit me and knows the city and her people well. He said, "Man, if I had never been there, or only been once and didn't know what that place was all about, I don't know what the fuck I would think after watching that show."

"I know. They're making us look like... like..."

"Losers. They're making you guys look like a bunch of losers."

Ouch. Thanks, Dad...

It's kind of true though, I can't lie.

But fuck it. They're also making us look like a bunch of people who know how to drink, dance, enjoy life, play music, and have a good time better than anyone else on the planet. Period. And it's great seeing all the musicians I know and love so well finally getting a little recognition.

So yeah, overall, I give the show two thumbs up. It's not perfect, but nothing is. There are a few things that aren't quite right, mostly minor. My biggest qualm? That fucking street musician couple. Seriously? When have you EVER seen street musicians so well dressed and gorgeous all the time, and able to afford nice apartments in the Marigny, especially in New Orleans? I can't even afford such nice clothes, and I have a fucking JOB. Come on now, guys. I thought we were going for accuracy here...

But I forgive you. Can't wait for season two.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-06-20T14:27:00.000-04:00

New Orleans, Louisiana
June 13th, 2010

Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral on my birthday.

http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

facebook sucks...

2010-06-19T02:35:00.000-04:00

...because if it weren't for facebook, I wouldn't have had to have this conversation today:

(both of us sitting in the kitchen on our laptops)

Me: "Hey, you changed your relationship status to 'in a relationship and it's complicated'. How are we complicated? As a matter of fact, weren't we saying JUST YESTERDAY how glad we were that our relationship is so uncomplicated and drama-free? What the fuck?"

Him: "Well, it IS complicated. Your status says 'single'. If your status says 'single' and mine says 'in a relationship', you don't think that's complicated?"

Me: "What? What the fuck are you talking about? Are you serious? Besides, I AM single, technically. We're not married."

Him: "Not the point. Don't you want people to know that someone's hittin' it every night?"

Me: "I'm sure you could have found a better way to phrase that, Sweetheart. Anyway, the people who need to know that information know already. Does EVERYONE on facebook have to know EVERY tiny little detail of my personal life at every moment?"

Him: "Fine, I'll change it. What should I put? That we're in an open relationship?"

Me: "No!"

Him: "Why not? We ARE in an open relationship! We're totally open with each other! We talk about everything!"

Me: "Oh, fuck you. That's not what that means and you know it."

Him: "So you're saying that people might get the wrong idea?"

Me: "Exactly."

Him: "And you keeping your relationship status as 'single' won't give people the wrong idea about what's actually going on with your relationship status?"

Me: (long pause) "Oh, fuck you..."

He won, in the end. I changed my damned status to 'in a damned relationship'. Seriously though? Is this how it works now? Is this how relationships are defined? According to facebook status?

"Hey, what's happening with that girl you were seeing?"

"I think that's done. Last week her status said we were complicated, but now it says she's single."

I give up. I'm waving a white flag. I hereby relinquish the remaining shreds of my privacy. Anything you want to know, I'll tell you. What color are my panties right now? Black. When was the last time I took a shit? About two hours ago. Who do I secretly wish I could fuck? My boss.

Seriously. Whatever you want to know. Just check my status...

Corporate art

2010-06-18T00:01:00.000-04:00

The hotel was hosting some yearly conference for some big company. Anne and I had the dubious honor of providing them breakfast, lunch, snacks and beverage service as they sat through their God-awful, boring-ass, ridiculous meetings for the past two days. We got to watch as they tried to keep their eyes open, most likely wishing they could put them out with ice-picks. We got to run back into the kitchen, eat leftover cantaloupe, and discuss how grateful we were that we didn't have to sit through such meetings.

Some people looked like they were diligently taking notes. But when everyone got up and left and we cleared their shit away, this is mostly what we found...