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.

Fuck you

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...

The resentment returns

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...
        

Random thoughts

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.  

Focus

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

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

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.

Victory?

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?

I don't understand

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?

Neurotic? Just a little...

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...

Toxic soup

So the top-kill thing is working... sort of... which means that oil isn't hemorrhaging into the Gulf anymore, or at the very least it's slowed down considerably.  That's good, right?

Yeah, sure.  I guess.

Now we just have to figure out what to do with the untold millions of gallons of oil and fuel swirling around.  It's already washing up on the beaches at Grand Isle.  The Chandeleur Islands have been fucked for weeks now.  Everywhere I look I see images of pelicans covered in crude.

Everyone has lots of Very Serious things to say regarding this oil spill/leak/gusher.  Lots of talk about what a tragedy it is, an environmental disaster.  Lots of hand-wringing and pontificating about the poor fishermen whose industry is about to be wiped out for who knows how many years.  How long did it take the Prince William Sound to come back after the Exxon Valdez?  Exactly.

Yes, lots of talking.  Not much action, though, even right here on the frontlines.  I'm not saying you have to go down to the Louisiana coastline with a scrub brush.  But have you maybe started turning the lights off when you leave the room?  Using your air-conditioner less?  Stop leaving it blasting when you leave the house?  "But I want the house to be cool when I get home from work."

Maybe you could take the bus to work, or ride your bicycle.  Maybe you could walk the two blocks to bar down the street, instead of drive.  Yes J, I'm looking at you here.  "But it's hot out.  I don't want to walk.  I need the AC."  To drive to the pool?  Are you fucking kidding me?

Little things, people.  They make a difference...

No, you won't

        

For some reason, I took great offense to that sign.  I saw it at a gas station somewhere along I-40, I think in North Carolina.  I found it to be entirely too presumptuous.  I won't be back tomorrow.  Man, I don't even fucking LIVE in this state.  I'm just passing through.  Even if I DID live here, why would you automatically assume I would be coming back tomorrow?  Maybe I won't need to buy gas tomorrow.  Or maybe I'll find somewhere cheaper down the street.  Maybe I didn't much care for your selection of soft drinks and iced tea.  Maybe your cashier was rude to me and I'll never come back.  Actually, that's not true.  The cashier was really nice.  The bathrooms were clean.  Everything was fine, to be honest.

Maybe I just think too much.  I guess that's what happens when you're in a car with twelve more hours to go and no one to talk to.  Maybe that double latte in Asheville wasn't such a good idea...

Bad reputation

This week finds me in New York City.  In response to Patti's comment last Sunday, it's true girl, I do like to wander!  I'm staying in my mother's apartment, finally getting a chance to go through it and see what needs to go and what I want to keep.  It's not as heart-wrenching as I had feared.  Last night was my first night here, and I avoided going to bed as long as possible.  I was afraid to sleep in her bed.  I thought it would be... I don't know.  I wasn't sure if I 'd be able to sleep.  Finally I put on her soft, pretty nightgown and climbed in.  I was out the minute my head hit the pillow, and I slept better than I have in months.  Go figure.

Going through her shit is actually kind of fun, although frustrating at times.  Damn you woman, why did you have to be so skinny?  Those are Gucci pants I can't fit into!  Why couldn't you have eaten more fried chicken?  Oh, and that Karl Lagerfeld dress is breaking my heart.  How the fuck did she manage to stay so thin with Zabar's two blocks away?

I love Zabar's.  Zabar's is my new best friend.  They will know me by name when I live here.

In any case, being here has got me thinking too much again.  If you died right now, what would people say about you?  Turns out my mother had a bad reputation... for being too nice.  Everyone said she was generous and sweet, much too kind-hearted for Manhattan.  From what I can remember of her, I believe it to be true.

So it got me to thinking, what would people say about me if I got hit by a bus or jumped off the roof of this building?

My friends in San Francisco would probably say, "She loved New Orleans.  That's all she ever talked about."

My friends in New Orleans would probably say, "She loved it here, but couldn't make her mind up about where she wanted to be.  She kept leaving, but could never stay away for very long."

My friends in Alaska would say, "She loved nature and wild animals.  She loved to hike and fish and go on adventures and talk to people and make new friends."

Everyone would say, "She loved to travel, all she wanted to do was wander the world and write postcards.  She liked to socialize.  She loved her friends and made sure they knew it.  She liked to drink and dance and carry on.  She loved food and wine and a well-made cocktail.  She liked men, a lot, and occasionally women.  Sex, drugs and rock and roll, with some jazz and funk thrown in there as well."

Of course, that's what I THINK they would say.  To be honest, they might say, "She was a cranky, slutty bitch who drank too much and spent all her money on plane tickets."

Who knows what people would say if I kicked the bucket.  I'm in no hurry to find out...

I'm really not a whore

But right now, it seems that I am.

I can't seem to commit to a city.  I haven't even left San Francisco yet and I'm already saying things like, "Well, next time I live here, I think I might try living in the East Bay."  What the fuck is wrong with me?  I can change my mind about where I think I belong five times in the course of eight hours.  It's ridiculous.

Anchorage?  Of course!  I would do GREAT there!  Rent is cheap, wilderness is amazing, plenty of bar work.  The men...  Oh.  The men.

New Orleans?  Absolutely!  It's home!  Work? No problem!  Places to live?  Easy!  The food, the music, the Mardi Gras, the crawfish.  The costumes, the dinner parties.  The family.  The Love.  Jazz Fest, Decadence.  All of it.  Every bit.  And again, the men.  Oh, the fucking men.

Honolulu?  Oh yeah.  The beach.  Bar work?  Oh yeah.  I'm thinking tiki bar.  On the beach.  The men?  Seriously though.  Surfers.  Enough said.

New York?  A serious possibility.  That would be amazing.  If all goes well...  Let's all put our thoughts and energy into hoping that happens.  I'll find out about the men and report back.

Oh, and have we even gone into foreign countries?  Let's not.  We don't have time.

San Francisco?  It took a while to be able to say it, but yes.  Oh yes.  But not now.  As they say, I'm about one Muni ride away from landing my ass in jail for assault.  These people.  Oh, these fucking people sometimes.  I can't take it.  Not right now.  Better to love it from afar.  Come visit,  Hurricane Wanderlust blows into town for a week, Love Love Love, eat, drink, be merry, then OUT.  Bye bye.  See you soon.

I will really miss it here.  The food. The wine.  The cocktails.  The farmer's market.  The neighborhood, not just mine, all of them.  The nature.  The hiking.  The beach.  The oysters.  The North Bay, the South Bay, the East Bay.  The Peninsula.  Big Sur.  The stunning, mind-blowing, jaw-dropping natural beauty that is EVERY FUCKING WHERE.  My friends.  My wonderful, beautiful, incredible family of friends.

The men?  Not so much.  Four and a half years, and I only found three people worth my time.  Only one made it to round two, and he didn't even make round three.  I had to leave town to get laid.  What the fuck is that all about?  Good thing I like to travel a lot.

There's a lot to not miss about this place, actually.  Just like anywhere.  We'll get into all that another time.  Right now I'm in Deep Love with San Francisco, mainly because I'm leaving town in a matter of hours now.  But do remind me to tell you The Story About The Jumper Cables one day...

Careful what you leave on your coffee table...

So I was just sitting around here, looking at my apartment, which is a mess because I'm in the middle of moving, and a thought occurred.  If I died today, right now even, what would people going through my apartment think?  Especially people who didn't know me very well, maybe even people who were trying to learn a little bit about me through my belongings.  How accurate would their conclusions be?

They would correctly assume that I like to wear wigs and dress up in costumes.  They would wonder who that guy is in all those pictures, probably figure it's my boyfriend.  Not really.  It's Janson.  Remember Janson?

Would they understand that the Sizzler thing is an inside joke between me and Adriana and Alika and that the last time I was in Hawaii Alika gave me those coupons to bring back to Adriana as a "present" and I keep forgetting to give them to her?  No, they would probably just think I was broke and really liked Sizzler.

They'd say, "Well, we should throw out this dingy old hair tie" not realizing that Laurette left it at my house last time she was in from Ireland and I've carried it with me to three different apartments because when I see it on the table I think of her and smile.

They would realize I love New Orleans.  A lot.  If they weren't from New Orleans, they would wonder why the fuck I have a coconut, all decorated and painted with the words "Zulu 1998" on my table.

They would definitely know a Saints fan lived here.  A New York Rangers hockey fan, too.

They would incorrectly assume I was a musician, from all the instruments and sheet music in the corner.  They would correctly assume that I go to a lot of live shows, from all the concert posters on my wall.

The photos and browser history on this computer would make my life more or less an open book.  I would hope they wouldn't go to the trouble of hacking my password on my other laptop so they could see all my fucked up stories and mean shit I've written about other people.  Not to mention all the nasty porn that's on there. Speaking of which...

That little, ahh... bag of tricks, shall we say, that's under my bed?  Please don't go in there.  I know that you will, though.  You won't be able to help yourself.  Hopefully it's all stuff you've seen before.  Although let me just say right now, for the record:  That girl in that picture whose face you can't see?  It's not me.  I was, however, the person holding the camera...