Children at play

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...

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

 New York, NY
Lincoln Center

Visit Shadow Shot Sunday here.   

Game over

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.