How Can This Be?

Yesterday, I finally received my three-month performance appraisal. Yes, I am still employed. And will continue to be employed, at least for the forseeable future.

The review is really just a series of categories, all based upon a complex ratings scale:

1 = Poor

2 = Needs Improvement

3 = Average

4 = Above Average

5 = Excellent

I'm reading through the paperwork...blah, blah, blah...I scored 5's in critical thinking, teamwork, communication skills, adherence to Code of Ethics (what? really?), and program development...when I catch something that gives me pause.

[Pause.]

Category 21 - Appearance (Dress Code)
Rating = 3

Um, are you kidding? I am AVERAGE in appearance? This contradicts everything that I had previously understood about myself. (This is almost as earth-shattering as when I found out that 'Arby's' does not stand for 'America's Roast Beef, Yes Siree!' - a very dark day. Very dark.)

Ok, so AVERAGE???? I thought I was rocking my appearance here.

Take today, for example. I mean, sure, I got up late, so I didn't have time to dry my hair or apply make-up. But I think that only serves to highlight my natural beauty. And the outfit? Slammin'. How else would you describe a pair of brown Oxford Mary-Jane Dr. Martens, brown plaid work pants, topped off by a pink cashmere hoodie?

I'd describe it as Very Professional. And most certainly as Above Average.

PS: *And* during my recent trip to the bathroom, I discovered a piece of blueberry stuck in my teeth from breakfast. C'mon. I'm friggin' gorgeous over here, people!

A Little Worshiping Of Me Might Be...Nice

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Reverend Lady J_______ the Insouciant of Walk upon Water Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Singleton

So, I decided to attend church on Christmas Eve with my parents. (And already, you know that this story can't end well.)

Round 1: As we are leaving our pew at the end of the service, we are literally chased down by the Pastor's Wife. Actually, I am literally chased down, and then hugged by the Pastor's Wife. This is extremely strange because a) I haven't seen her in at least 5 years; b) I've never had a close relationship with her; c) she's not, to my knowledge, a warm and huggy person; and d) the church is not aflame, and I've been inside for about an hour.

After an extremely awkward hug (picture me, extending my hand in greeting, and her, oblivious, going in for full contact), she asks if I will be attending the 5:30 service. I tell her, with feigned regret, that we will be at my brother's house. Which is absolutely true.

She then says that she is hugely disappointed, not because she's trying to save my soul or anything, but because her son, B, is driving up as we speak, and wouldn't it be great if we could reconnect.

[Some history here: B and I attended church, senior high youth fellowship, and high school together. Our previous 'relationship' consisted of months of note writing and flirting during 10th grade geometry and church youth group activities, culminating in one afternoon of hanging out after school and kissing, followed by the mutual ignoring of each other the next day. So very high school. ]

While Pastor's Wife is still talking about B, I steal a glance at my parents. With relief, I note that they look as confused as I feel.

Round 2: In order to exit the church, we must greet the Pastor. He too enfolds me in an inappropriate hug, and asks if I'll be returning for the evening service, I supply my same response, adding feigned regret, he conveys disappointment, blah, blah, blah...and then goes even further. About how he and Wife have long felt that B and I would be perfect for one another, having been through similar "situations", both being of a certain age and still single, and don't I look beautiful (ew), and can he give my contact information to B?

Round 3: When we arrive home, my mother tells me that Pastor's Wife ran into P, my mom's close friend, in town the other day, and told her what a perfect couple B and I would make, and asked for P's help in getting us together. My mother allows that she probably should have warned me about this before we went to church.

Questions:

Is this it? Have I finally reached the stage of my life where "well-meaning" semi-strangers will decide that 34 is too old to be unattached, and therefore attempt to matchmake without any discernible interest on my part?

By similar "situations", did he mean my broken engagment? And if so, how did he know about that? Was B engaged at one point? Furthermore, why would he assume that our "situations" are similar because of that one fact?

Why would Pastor's Wife and Pastor presuppose that I am currently single just because I'm not engaged or married?

Given that Pastor's Wife and Pastor know nothing about my life, personality, circumstances, preferences, or (ahem) situation since I was regularly attending church at age 18 (and they had limited information at that time as well) - what makes B and I "perfect" for each other?

Can't I just be engaged in worshiping Our Lord Jesus Christ without worrying about engagements of another kind?

We Have A Plan

Current Music: 'Hide and Seek' - Imogen Heap (obsessed)

Last night, The Lawyer and I walked over to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree and bump into 50 million tourists. And while we were there, we witnessed an proposal/engagement taking place on the ice skating rink that even managed to touch our black, shriveled, bitter hearts (I think I got a little teary - don't tell anyone).

But that's not the important part of the story.

As many of you know, The Lawyer and I have a retirement plan which involves Catalina Island, gaudily decorated golf carts, poolboys/poolgirls, and perpetual drunkeness. Our escape will take place 25 years two weeks from now. So last night, as we're standing by the rink, The Lawyer turns to me with a maniacal gleam in her eye and says:

"You know what we should do on Catalina? We should build an ice skating rink just so we can be the Zamboni operators. But we'd have to have a Zamboni for each of us."

Me: "And they'd need to have cup holders for our martini glasses."

The Lawyer: "And really big bumpers so we could have ice fights."

Me: "Because we'd need something to do other than harassing our pool staff and running people off the road..."

The Lawyer: "Um, yeah."

And then the only thing left to do at that point was to High 10 (because really, some situations are simply too momentous for a High 5).

Etiquette

Dear Lady At Work Who Was Walking Down The Wrong Side Of The Hallway And Would Not Get Out Of My Way, Forcing Me To Engage In A Strange Game Of Chicken, Which I Think I Lost:

When I look directly at you and say "Excuse me", what I'm really saying is "Go fuck yourself."

Kisses!
r

Whaaaa?

I managed to drag myself out of my self-imposed social isolation on Saturday night. But you already knew that, didn't you? Because I did a little drunk blogging when I got home. And unless you assumed that I achieved that state of inebriation on my own (which wouldn't really be that much of a leap) you figured out that I left my apartment.

Also, I discussed attending a holiday party in my previous post.

Anyway.

Megan holds a theory that Ex Encounters can proceed in the following manner:

1) Upon contact, all of your previous romantic feelings come rushing back, usually causing "you + a bottle of something, in the person's face", yelling and attempting to deconstruct the end of the relationship. Emphasis on the yelling.

OR

2) Uncomfortable, yet insignificant. Brief conversation. Gauging for deeper feelings, finding none. Anti-climactic.

Luckily, my interaction with A on Saturday night fell into the second category. It was, in fact, so non-eventful that I'm left with a vague sense of puzzlement as to why I was so upset earlier this year. This has caused me to examine all the unecessary drama in my life as of late. I'd like to be able to leave that behind. Obviously, my next step is to track down the ARH and have a non-event with him so I can enter the new year unencumbered. Somehow, though, I don't think that this is the way it works. My closure tends to sneak up on me, despite my best efforts to control it.

PS: (and totally unrelated) I brought in cookies today for my Secret Holiday Gift Person and left them in her mailbox. She's out sick. Would it be bad to 'ungift' and eat the cookies? I can see the mailbox from my desk, and the cookies are there. Taunting me.

PS: (and somewhat related) The other fun part of Saturday night was a conversation with JP's girlfriend in which she referenced her 33rd birthday as memorable because it was the same year that Jesus died. Yes, I'm serious. No, I don't have any idea what she was talking about.

Lessons Learned - LA

1. It is one thing to profess an affinity for Pabst Blue Ribbon; it is quite another to 'throw down' by chugging two in rapid succession within the space of an hour.

2. It is quite possible to eat your own weight in cookies.

3. Megan and I still agree on the important things: people who annoy us, optimum cruising music, baked goods, shopping.

4. Lungs partially closing in reaction to cat dander = bad.

5. Waking up in your hotel room with bedbug bites = bad.

6. It is almost painful to watch Cameron Diaz attempt to be an actor.

7. Megan is still the coolest person I know, aside from myself.

8. People in LA don't go out when it rains. Which is very strange indeed, but it makes for a blessedly uncrowded Saturday night.

9. All-you-can-eat sushi = surprisingly good.

10. Bacon is a necessary side dish with every meal. And when I say 'meal', that includes '10 peanut butter cookies and a large diet coke'.

Drunk Blogging

A. you always remember your keys

2. you were ROCKING that party in your new haircut and your skinny jeans in the face of A. and you're not shallow at all...

and another thing: i can identify

Separate

We spend so much time in NY trying to establish our own space, separate from the people that seem determined to invade it. I often think that the reason that iPods are so popular (and I spend time counting the number of people that I see with an iPod on my way to work) is that they allow us to carve out some time alone. When you're always in a crowd, the closeness can be too much sometimes.

[You do realize that when I say 'we', I mean 'I', right?]

However much we desire isolation, there is an equal yearning for connection. Which is why we'll spend time talking to a neighbor, or the woman on the subway whose toddler is asleep on your shoulder, or the dry cleaner who gives you a holiday present. Or the friends who see through your forced jokes and lightheartedness.

Relationships and emotional ties carry you through. Even when you push them away.

And now, I need to push aside this moodiness, and prepare a cup of the awesome that is me for JP's holiday party tonight. I'll start with the dry cleaner holiday present: a pair of pink rubber kitchen gloves. Random. And awesome.

This Is My Job?

When I completed my graduate degree, did I ever imagine that my job would entail:

• bickering with various and sundry Brooklyn restaurant owners over receipts, tipping practices, and non-profit tax exemption?
• screening a Ludacris/Mary J. Blige video for suitable language/content and relevance to school program?
• discussing the ethics of 'borrowing' said video from Limewire/YouTube?
• providing sex education workshops to 8th graders as a 'sexual health professional' in lieu of same workshops being presented by an actual health instructor?
• mediating the aftermath of a fight, which requires asking for clarification of terms I don't use in my personal life, and am not even comfortable writing here?

No, no I certainly did not.

Sick

Having a cold and a nose ring...sucks.

Home today, huddling under my covers. Blowing my nose.

Yup

I have cool sneakers, which means I am now cool. Yes, that's how it works.



I'm sorry...kicks. I have cool kicks.

Pause, Rewind, Pause

I have returned, triumphantly (?) from California, and have lots to report. However, I've been preoccupied today with various work stuff.

And also, I'm busy bringing sexy back. As soon as that is accomplished, I'll be right with you.

(I'm not even sure what the above means. And I wrote it. So if you're confused, I don't blame you. I also find myself confusing.)

Packing, Heat

I am facing quite the dilemma tonight. Quite the dilemma.

Tomorrow is supposed to be very cold in NY. I will spend the morning in NY. I will spend the afternoon on a plane. I will be in LA by evening.

Here's the question. (Wait for it. Wait for it.)

Do I trundle miserably around Brooklyn tomorrow morning, hoping that a few layers of clothing and my new favorite (cold weather inappropriate) jacket will suffice for a few hours...or...do I wear my warm down winter coat (which I also love), knowing that it will need to be stowed for the entirety of my time out West?

The other huge decision I am taxed with tonight (Oh, you thought there was only one? Silly. You obviously don't know me.) is: having finished my Us Weekly at the laundromat, what exactly am I supposed to read on the plane?

Decisions, decisions. It's a wonder that I get anything done at all, what with my need to self-debate the simplest things until I arrive at a conclusion.

Oh, and by the way I am going to LA to hang out with my AWESOME, FUNNY, AMAZING, BRILLIANT, BEAUTIFUL friend Megan. Who is also a DOCTOR. And did I mention that she's WAY COOL? No, like, seriously, SUPER COOL.
(Hi Megan. See you tomorrow. Love.)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Every time I send something out from my new Yahoo beta account, I get a banner advertisement exorting me to 'Email A Jerk Chicken'.

And today, the phrase 'jerk chicken' is making me giggle. Or maybe it's the concept of being able to email a jerk chicken. But I think it's just the phrase. Making me giggle. Out loud.

Jerk chicken. Heh.

I must be overtired.

Please

9:05 am and it's already one of those days.

I've been awake since 5:12, when some sort of public utility truck was parked outside my window, loudly rumbling. I'm tired. It's cold outside. My horoscope is telling me that today, I need to 'think with my heart, not my head' but I don't know if I can even access my feelings, or why I'm paying so much attention to the stars.

Life in NY is challenging me. Winter is coming, and I am lonely. Something needs to change.

Right now, though, it's enough to sit in the sunlight coming through my office window and drink coffee from my favorite mug.

It's That Time Of Year Again

Who the fuck are the Wichita State Shockers, and why were they able to beat my team on Saturday night?

I can only hope for a better game tomorrow during the Jimmy V Classic, because I'll be there. And when Syracuse is playing badly, I start swearing and sulking. While I am unconcerned about this display of unattractive behavior, it might frighten some of the people who will be attending the game. Like small children. Including T's girlfriend. (Oooooh, burn!)

And if they lose, I might be forced to...swear and sulk right on into Wednesday morning.

You Said It, Kate

"A sharp knife cuts the quickest and hurts the least."

Sigh. Why do I bother with trying to be nice?

I finally replied to Annoying Creepy Email MySpace Guy (formerly known as Saxophone Guy) yesterday. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s easier to be honest and direct, and experience a few moments of discomfort rather than to ignore/avoid and hope that the person just goes away. (So says the girl who preferred to live in denial from, roughly, early August through, I don’t know, say…October 24th, but that’s another post entirely.)

ACEMG has sent 5 messages since last Thursday, each progressively more desperate, culminating with a request to get together ‘for coffee’ this week.

My answer: ‘M – That’s not going to work. You’re a nice guy, but I am not interested in seeing you. J.’

And, of course, his reply was exactly what I thought it would be. In fact, it mirrored his defensive, rude, and passive-aggressive response when I told him that I no longer wanted to see him in July. Maybe I should have let loose and told him exactly what I thought about his personality (non-existent), sense of humor (non-existent), and behavior (creepy, pathetic). Or taught him how to respect people’s boundaries (much like I do with my Anti-Violence Program kids each week). Or maybe let JP handle it as he wanted to this summer by giving him a ‘Jersey-style talking-to’ (this probably would have looked like something on The Sopranos, would not have embodied anti-violence principles, and is JP’s standard offer to resolve any bumps that I have in my dating life).

However, the *other* lesson that I’ve learned the hard way is that endeavors like this are rarely worth my time. Which doesn’t explain why I’ve just spent 20 minutes writing a blog post about it, but learning is a process, no?

Bits

- I really want to get a Christmas tree. I love the scent of pine and turning off all of the lights and just having the tree illuminated. Unfortunately, the only area in my tiny living space that could accomodate a tree is directly in front of the radiator. So, if I got a tree, in addition to my current Grinch-like attitude, I'd be guilty of killing off a small part of Christmas.

- I found out today that my health benefits don't begin for another three months. Grrr. Until I'm covered, this continues to eliminate activites like skydiving, crossing the street, or climbing stairs (I'm highly accident prone).

- I think I'm dating again, which I fell into by accident when drinks with an acquaintance turned into...something different...last week. He's intelligent, kind, funny, and attentive. This sets off all of my alarm bells to run in the other direction. I guess I'll need to work that out somehow.

- For whatever reason, I cannot bring myself to do laundry tonight, so I might need to bring my dirty laundry to L's this weekend in Boston. That feels kinda immature and strange. I guess I'll need to work that out somehow.

- Over drinks last night, JP and I decided to take the month of January off from consumption of alcoholic beverages. Hm. Not a decision you'd expect to arrive at while having drinks.

- The Lawyer is thinking about moving into the city. The apartment beneath mine is vacant and currently being rennovated. I really want her to move in there, as I'm envisioning wacky Three's Company-style antics. But, you know, with two of us. And no Mr. Roper.

The Only Possible Answer

Tonight, Spanish class:

'Quienes es su jefe?'

Tony Danza. Obviously.

A Whole Lot Of Nothing

Over the weekend, I've been sequestering myself on my couch, watching DVD's and napping. My brain has effectively been turned off.

Today, coming home from necessary errands (you know, food, so I can continue on sequestering myself in the apartment), I encountered my neighbor, S, outside having a cigarette. He's a 72-year-old acting coach who has lived in the building for 26 years. We've talked on several occasions, which he forgets every time I see him. I try not to take it personally. I know I'm a fabulous conversationalist. Seriously.

I greeted him, reminded him of my name and settled in for a repeat conversation, which was going along as it always does, until he asked me if he could ask a personal question. Which, he quickly clarified, he was doing because he had been enjoying several drinks and 'marijuana cigarettes'.

Oh boy, I thought, this should be good.

I nodded.

'Do you have a boyfriend?'

I shook my head.

'Why not?'

I should have pointed out that he had asked about a personal question, not a difficult one. Or that he had received permission for a question, not multiple questions.

But mostly, I didn't know how to answer.

After a few days spent in my own company, diving into television character's lives, rather than my own - his question felt overwhelming. And unsettling. But most of all, complicated. It's always complicated. I'm tired of it being complicated.

(There were parallel thoughts running through my head, of telling him something completely spectacular, and completely fabricated because, let's face it, this conversation will have never happened the next time I run into him.)

I shrugged, smiled brightly, and rolled my eyes. And then escaped back into my apartment, content to grapple with the complexities of fiction. For now.

Thank You. No, Really. Thank You.

After two years of long student breaks, and an entire summer spent not working, I guess the real world had to catch up with me at some point.

And when I say ‘at some point’, I mean ‘Friday, 11.24.06, The Day After Thanksgiving’ aka ‘The Day That Every Single Person In The World United States Has Off From Work, Except For Me, And Some MTA Employees, And Hopefully Someone At Dunkin’ Donuts’.

I did request Friday off, which was denied because I am A Sucker The New Girl and everyone else beat me to it when they filed their requests months ago. Friday should be a Very Big Day for trauma in our emergency department, given that, statistically, violence escalates when families are together. Which is a lovely thought to bring into the holiday season, no?

Anyway, because my family goes away for Thanksgiving, I’ve had to decide whether it is worth the trip to the cabin, only to turn around and leave less than 12 hours later. I’d be driving, which is kinda stressful when you’re a) sitting in the inevitable traffic caused by everyone attempting to leave the Tri-State area at the same time b) borrowing your brother’s new car and c) not used to driving any more. The alternative? I don’t know, staying in the city, along with some form of sitting on my couch, eating a PB&J/String Cheese/Protein Bars and feeling sorry for myself.

Wow. Tough choice.

Over the past two weeks, amid this raging internal debate, I’ve been lucky enough that several friends have asked me to consider a third option – spending the holiday with them. So please ignore all the bitterness and self-pity contained above, and allow me to dedicate this post (and my thanks giving) to MM, RC, LK, JP & SN.

(But, however things turn out, I do hope that you’ll also allow me to be unrepentantly cantankerous on Friday. It's more fun that way. )

Um, No

On Friday morning, I received a compliment from one of the male teachers at my school program. Not a good compliment. More like ‘ok, this guy is really disturbing me, because he’s pretending to admire my dress but staring at my ass’. [This is the same person that, whenever I am presenting to the staff at the school, and I name my program, holds up his hands in mock surrender and says something like ‘Rape? Whoa, I wasn’t even there.’ Hilarious. ]

Then, on the subway ride back to work, a man asked for directions to the criminal court building, which I gave. I guess this opened the door for him to move closer to me and start muttering about how ‘pretty’ I am, along with commentary about how he was going to be late for ‘the arraignment’. As he exited the train, I noticed that his fly was wide open.

After those two encounters, I pretty much resigned myself to being a creep magnet for the day. But I’d hoped that there was a 24-hour limit to this experience.

No.

I opened my email this morning to discover that I have a friend request *and* a new message on MySpace from, um, let’s call him Saxophone Guy, whom I dated this summer. The brief history of our (non)relationship was that he got way too attached, way too quickly (after our 3rd date) and I told him that was no longer interested in seeing him (or hearing from him). I had thought I was completely clear during the 'break-up' discussion, but he continued to send email and text messages, which I ignored. That communication eventually died down, until the MySpace nonsense this morning. Sent, by the way, at 2:15 am.

Hey, how are you? Where did you end up getting a job? Are you dating anyone? If you want to get together for a drink sometime, let me know. I’m right down the street.

PS: You look good. Really good.

Perhaps I need to start carrying mace. Or get a guard dog. Or both.

Foolhardy

Current Music: 'A Quiet Mind' - Blue October




One of my favorite birthday presents this year was a t-shirt from L which reads 'Don't Drink And Dial'. Whenever I wear it, I feel like I'm part of an amusing public service announcement.

I should have been wearing that shirt last night. And aiming its directive toward myself.

After returning home from dinner and (too many) drinks with MM, I decided that 10:57 pm would be the perfect time to call The ARH. Apparently, that was also the perfect time to leave him a 3 minute and 17 second voicemail, vocalizing my thoughts on how much I was missing him, and how much I hate missing him, and how I had been at the scene of our last date, and...the rest of the details are blurry. The embarrassing part (oh really, only *one* part is embarrassing? I don't think so.) is that this phone call was made a mere 2 weeks after ending our relationship and asking him to refrain from contacting me at all in the future.

Gah.

Obviously, the blame cannot be placed with me, so I've spent the day thinking of other targets. Here's what I came up with:
- Vodka
- An earlier conversation about Singles which contains the best drunk-dial scene, ever. (YOU...BELONG..WITH...ME.)
- A text message from him last week
- The alignment of the planets and our horoscopes

(And yes, I realize that pinning it on the message from him is some sort of adult version of whining 'But he started it...' - I don't care.)

Gulp

The danger of the Venti Starbucks Peppermint Mocha (aside from the cost and the empty calories) is the ensuing caffeine/whipped cream/chocolate hyperactivity which manifests itself at work, where you’ve concluded during the past week that if you can’t change the stresses of your job, you can at least transform your environment.

This morning, while my blood was 90% coffee and 10% sugar, I spoke to my director about my latest brilliant idea - a weekly peer-to-peer supervision/case presentation meeting among the Social Workers, Case Managers and Interns in my program which will (undoubtedly) lead to greater collaboration, resource sharing, and teamwork. Somehow, by the end of the conversation, I’d committed to organizing and managing this assembly, a task which will strain my packed schedule to the tipping point.

There is an additional teeny tiny concern. As the newest and most inexperienced team member, I am hardly qualified to lead such a group.

Oh, and did I mention that my three-month performance appraisal (a slightly important review that determines if I will remain employed) is just around the corner?

Damn you, Starbucks. Damn you.

Math Skillz

Fee for LMSW exam + plane tickets to Los Angeles + plane tickets to Boston + gym membership + impending holiday shopping + goodbye dinner/celebration with MM + weekly psychotherapy with no insurance coverage + new 30G video iPod + the misguided belief that my salary is a lot higher than it actually is = meals of Oodles of Noodles/PB&J for the next two months.

(But seriously, the new iPod makes it all worthwhile.)

Good Example

I'm going to be an awesome parent someday. Consider all that I've achieved in the past 48 hours:

• Advising EJ, age 10: The raw eggs in uncooked brownie mix are actually good for you, and may conteract the growth-stunting effects of coffee. This is how I grew to my current 5'5".
• Balancing baby Audrey in one arm, drinking wine with the other...and not spilling a drop. Or a baby.
• Contributing $7.00 to the 'swear jar' ($1.00 per offense).
• Inventing a game where the players run at each other, throwing a nerf ball with as much force as possible at the other person, while yelling out random items off a Chinese food menu (HAPPY FAMILY!!!!!!).
• Eating brownies with fudge topping for breakfast.
• Watching hours upon hours of cartoons on Sunday morning.
• Winning various staring, cross-eyed, 'see food' contests. And loudly proclaiming my dominance.
• Adding to the tolerable level of chaos which already exists in a household full of kids and pets.

The Life I Chose / The Life That Chose Me

Social Work is the pathway to riches.

This is true.

Take this past month, for instance, when I got a haircut that wasn't part of a free modeling project.

Or the work-related research conference that I attended today where both cheese *and* crackers were served.

Also please consider that I am sitting on my couch right now, enjoying Annie's Organics Mac N' Cheese and a glass of Coppola Rosso, courtesy of a weekend trip to Trader Joe's.

But there's more.

Tomorrow, I am travelling to Boston, and for the first time in what seems like forever, I will not be joining the huddled unwashed masses on the bus.

Greyhound will have to live without my $40.00 because I've booked a flight! Bonus: I'll make it there in less than the usual 10 hours. And there's a snack basket and DirecTV.

As I said, pathway to riches.

Signifying Nothing

I couldn't think of what to write about today.

I had a lot of half-formed thoughts in my head: my upcoming LMSW exam and the concept of me currently running amok in my hospital, practicing without a license; how I got soaked on my way to work this morning; fear that my space heater is going to set my desk on fire; seeing a bartender that I couldn't quite place while I was voting yesterday (context); world peace; social justice; hero tendencies.

No, no, no, no, no, no, and...no.

So I asked The Lawyer if she had any ideas:

How the rain messed up your hair and why lesbians are so cool.

Then I asked MM:

You could write about Mormons, actually just one Mormon named J that your friend works with who won’t drink coffee because he can’t have caffeine but will drink Coca-Cola. That’s annoying to me…those crazy Mormons and their crazy rules.

Then MS, who was clearly not indulging me:

How about writing about the ridiculousness of asking friends what ridiculous topics you could write ridiculousness about.

And The Librarian:

Write about how pathetic it is when you are 34 years old and lusting after a fictional character that is in high school. And you actually spend time thinking up why said character would be perfect for you. Not that I have done that or anything.

I quite obviously rule, having managed to write a post comprised of nothing but suggestions for posts.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to reward myself with a brownie cheese danish from Au Bon Pain.

Expression

I just returned from Spanish class, where, to my great relief, we spent some time learning 'state of being'.

My teacher tolerates a lot of questions. Ridiculous questions.

So tonight, in addition to the usual 'I am happy/sad/tired', thanks to my persistent queries, we practiced how to say:

I am in a rage.
I am furious.
I am disgusted.

And thanks to everyone else in the class, we know:

I am delighted.
I am fantastic.
I am super.

You Were Never Mine!

And yes, I'm aware that this sounds like every other song they've released. I still defend my decision to love it.

Trivial

I have 2 days left.

Last week, I decided to give myself a specified amount of time to react to my latest disaster in whatever way I thought was most appropriate.

I’ve chosen to go out and drink. Every. Single. Night.

There are alternate coping mechanisms available to me (wallowing, yoga, toilet papering, ice cream) but alcohol has always come through in the past. No need for a change in methodology which might exacerbate the difficulty of the healing process. Plus, I think adhering to a plan in troubled times can give one a sense of stability. Furthermore, sometimes it’s best to delay the inevitable coursework: Review of Relationship – Good Times And Bad; Living With Your Decision, Even Though It Was The Right One; Introspection 101 - until you’re ready for it.

Also, it’s fun to get drunk.

In the spirit of following my treatment plan, I went to Trivia Night at the Crocodile Lounge with H & L, two of the Book Club girls. The questions were surprisingly difficult but we managed to come in 6th place (holla!), despite a truly horrendous showing in the ‘Current Events’ category. (It turns out that we don’t know any Current Events unless they’re in Us Weekly or AM New York.) Oh, and the bar provides a free individual pizza with every drink purchase, so that means dinner *and* drunk snacks are covered. I’m already recruiting new team members for next week’s contest – The Librarian would totally kick ass at this sort of thing (both the trivia and the pizza-eating).

The upshot of all this excitement is that I’m tired today. I’ve been tired for what feels like a long time. Thankfully, life has intervened, and my monthly volunteering shift, which precludes any alcohol consumption, is scheduled on Saturday night. This coincides neatly with the end of this little social experiment that I’ve conducted with myself.

And for the next 2 days, I can continue to ‘cope’ like a rock star.

Addendum: By some strange twist of fate, L saw Anderson Cooper on her way home last night, and H has a remote connection to him through a co-worker. We're totally scheming to ask him to be on our trivia team. Because then, hopefully, current events would be covered.

Rational/Irrational

I was recently explaining my beloved calendar scheduling methods to someone, and he said 'I had no idea you were that organized.' Um, what? Do you know me at all? Next you're going to start using Words I Hate and mocking my string cheese addiction. (Oh, wait, you actually have done both of those things. Nevermind.)

However much I prize neatness, order, and structure...I can still be as disorganized as the next person. Take, for example, this past week when I went shopping, then remembered that I needed to pay rent, but that (as a result of the shopping) I would need to deposit my latest paycheck in order to pay my rent, and then the added layer of being annoyed that I still hadn't set up direct deposit, so that all this maneuvering would require a trip to the bank during business hours. And then there was the utter absurdity of forgetting until Sunday evening that I *still* hadn't deposited my paycheck, and then glancing at my calendar and realizing that November 1st was, in fact, happening on Wednesday.

The result: a meandering trip to the bank on Sunday night (deposit), then another visit this morning (certified check), followed by a stopover at my management company to hand them the rent. No worries, though, because a) it was a beautiful day to be walking around b) my management company had a bowl of Twix at the front desk and c) the accountant at my management company (who caught me pilfering several Twix, but seemed amused by it) is seriously cute.

I'm sure I'll come up with a better system next month. Or not.

Going Backwards

I miss my old job.

Wait, let me amend that statement. I don't miss anything about the actual work that I used to do, but I really miss the people that I worked with.

In my previous life, I was the only female member of a 14-person team of telecommunications engineers. There was a whole cast of characters: the super earnest, super nerdy guys who actually got excited by the prospect of building a SONET network and discussing mathematical theory; the super annoying guys who had no social skills; the super trendy guys who had somehow blundered into the job and had little interest in anything besides going out, maintaining their wardrobe and buying luxury cars; and the super inept managers who tried (and failed) to keep it all under control.

Some of you may remember The Fetus, Carlvette, EnRon, and Dan Halen (yes, his name was actually Dan Halen - go ahead and Jump!, Dan.)

There was never any shortage of ball-busting, name calling, shit stirring, or gossip. There was always someone to go to lunch with. There were always stories, good ones, about people's personal lives. There were daily pranks (vomit cup, anyone?) and weekly happy hours.

At Dream Job, everyone keeps to themselves. I can go for an entire day without actually talking to someone, and if I get a little hyper and (gasp) make an effort to socialize, my efforts are met with a polite smile/nervous laughter/look of confusion.

Maybe I can convince some of the guys to become social workers. Isn't work supposed to be a little fun?

Halloweenie

It is of great disappointment to me (and I’m sure everyone around me) that I did not parade around NYC this weekend in my skimpy Britney Spears costume. Actually, it's just fine with my stomach and my thighs that they were not exposed to the low temperatures or the scrutiny of other celebrants.

Nonetheless, I did manage to celebrate Halloween.

On Friday night, The Librarian and I went to St. John The Divine for a screening of Nosferatu , a silent film made in 1922 which is unintentionally hilarious (we especially liked the montage of Nosferatu wandering around the streets of Bremen with his coffin tucked under his arm). The movie was accompanied by organ music, and then followed by The Parade of Ghouls, which was also unintentionally funny, except for the giant creepy baby costume.

On Saturday night, we celebrated The Lawyer’s birthday at Cubby Hole. That didn’t really have so much to do with Halloween, except for MS and Groom showing up around 2:00 am in their costumes. Oh, and Michael Jackson’s Thriller playing about 10 times during the course of the night. And the strangeness of meeting our friend L’s car mechanic girlfriend.

The only thing left to do is to get my hands on some candy corn and lapse into a sugar coma.

2 Nights

The Same:
Dive75. Many, many vodka and sodas. Connect Four. Laughter. Rain.

The Different:
Two people who I dearly love, who will be part of my life forever.
One person who I will not love.

Alcohol

I've located my new favorite place to drink (well, other than in my apartment, alone, in the dark. Kidding! Totally kidding. Don't schedule the intervention. Yet.)

Moe's Bar is in Fort Greene. You've got to love a place that serves 'Duff' beer and plays weird vampire movies (complete with closed captioning) on a large screen in the back room. Last night, DK and I were sucked in by the (non)plot of the movie and the drink specials, and stayed much later than we had planned.

(Tangent. I think we had a long conversation about college basketball in which he passed the most important test: not being able to devise a scenario in which he would root for Duke to win a basketball game, despite their opponent. Even when given the choice between a team comprised of evil superpowers, like Hitler, Mussolini, and George Bush versus The Blue Devils, he opted for the Axis of Evil. I believe we were also engaged in some drunken "holdin' hands and makin' plans" by the end of the night. It's quite possible that we'll be attending the Final Four, wherever it's being held this year.)

The downside of having a fun night out is clearly evident the following morning when you're running around Brooklyn, preparing for your weekly visit to the school where you facilitate your violence prevention program, and your lack of sleep/hangover takes the peculiar form of hyperactivity and over-friendliness so that you somehow find yourself lugging around 15 Subway sandwiches and 3 bottles of soda but still greeting everyone you pass on the street with a wide smile and a cheery "Good morning!", like Miss Mary Fucking Sunshine.

Nothing Has Changed!

So, last night, on my way out to meet The Librarian, Honeychild and Big Daddy for drinks (drowning my feelings), I stopped by the NYPL to pick up some books I had on reserve. But I forgot my library card.

I knew that there was no way I could return to the library at any other point this week. I also knew that I NEEDED to check out one book in particular, so I would be prepared for the book club which is convening at my house this weekend. (It remains to be seen if I can finish the book in the 72 hours before book club and also manage to do my laundry, clean my apartment, and make lasagna. But I digress.)

So I brought my books up to the desk. Explained that I didn't have my card. And proceeded to rattle off my 14-digit card number from memory.

It's comforting to know that I am still a major geek who can recall things like my library number, on command. Because it's important.

If nothing else, I can hold on to that.

Quiet, Please

A slow strangle with feet on the floor
I've got 14 angels and we're sleeping alone
In the back of a cave, where the rest of us go
To feel normal

I call baby up. Leave me alone.
I'm in pain but I won't let you band-aid the wound
I'm mad at a stage where I can't seem to handle my own

Give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
You give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
Until the end

Give me strength to be kind... To combine
All the good things in life that were so hard to find
But I have and I won't let them go like I do with my friends

Still bearing voices... From front... From behind
They're the reasons I choose... When to live... How to die
When to cast... When to reel
When to buy... When to steal
And when to fiend for the friends that taught me
Being inappropriate will

Give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
You give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
Till the end

Oh Shit, It's Back To The Quotes

Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.

Rumi

Every Other Day Of The Week Is Fine...

- I believe I have found the solution to my current malaise. And that is to renew my efforts to bring Social Work! The Musical to Broadway. DJ is on board with the plan, and we recruited an aspiring filmmaker to document our progress. It’s going to sweep the nation. Trust me.

- I am officially official at Dream Job as I received my salary offer letter in the mail on Friday *and* my timecard this morning. The timecard would be a lot more fun if it was made out of stone and was punched by a prehistoric bird, like on the Flintstones.

- I really should stick to my standby (vodka) instead of branching out (beer) when I drink. Beer just makes me full. And silly. I need to be very, very serious, especially at parties and social occasions.

- I sat in church yesterday (!), watching The Peanut in her performance debut as a monkey on Noah’s Ark. And then later gave the rainbow-covered program to The Lawyer and told her that Jesus loves ‘her people’.

- Despite my usual Monday tiredness, I am considering meeting up with JP tonight to watch the Giants game. Even though I don’t care that much about the NFL, and even less about the Giants.

- I am frequently very funny at work, which makes my co-workers look at me like I’m crazy. Because I guess trauma counselors aren’t supposed to have a sense of humor. I think its fine as long as I’m not making jokes about clients/patients. And I also think its okay that I just declared that I am funny, despite my typical assertion that if you have to make statements about yourself, they’re not true.

- It would be a lot easier to learn Spanish if I had my Ultimate Spanish! textbook. And if my teacher was less random. And if I remembered to eat something before I went to class.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Dear Everyone I Spoke To Last Weekend:

Remember how my boiler was broken? And how I bitched endlessly about how cold it was in my apartment? And then how I talked about sleeping in sweatpants and a fleece jacket and still freezing, and about how I was sure I was going to get sick from the lack of heat? And then the whining about how my muscles hurt from shivering and curling up in a ball under my covers for most of the weekend? And then remember the threats I made about calling 311 to report my landlord? And my announcement that I hated my building and that I needed to move again?

Yeah, at any point you could have interupted that tirade and reminded me of the alternative - blazing heat, a radiator that won't turn off, and the difficult choice between sweltering/dehydrating OR opening my windows and subjecting myself to the noise and dirt of 9th Avenue.

Or you could have just told me to shut the fuck up.

ridiculouschick

Brighter Than Sunshine

This is the song that is playing in my head today. I'm smiling while thinking about the impatience - but persistence - in getting things right (thank you, Reporter, for the phrasing).

I Am A Little Explosion

There are several reasons to be happy today, if I choose to do so:

- Sushi, Sapporo and Sleepover with DJ
- My walk through Brooklyn this morning in unexpectedly warm Fall weather
- Fresh fruit and coffee
- MC’s latest brilliant novel in my Inbox
- www.pandora.com
- The Lawyer is finally home from California, and has called me the 'bomb diggity' and a 'Mental Health Professional', both of which are hilarious

Thought of the Day

'miracles will happen as we speak.
but we're never gonna survive unless
we get a little crazy.
no we're never gonna survive unless
we are a little
crazy.'

-Seal

Fave

Kate: I'm sure I don't do anything you would find exciting. I don't open beer bottles with my toes, I don't sit around and count what's left of my teeth, hey, I don't even enjoy a good tractor pull.

Doug: Life of the party, huh? Place must be crawling with guys.

Classic

'We have so much in common, we both love soup and snow peas, we love the outdoors, and talking and not talking. We could not talk or talk forever and still find things to not talk about.'

Best In Show

I'll Be Right With You...

I'm negotiating some big changes in my life right now. It's chaotic and messy and strange, but I need to believe that something quite beautiful will emerge.

In the meantime, I give you...quotes! Or, you can wade around in my archives.

"It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . . It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to."

Anonymous

Major Plans

It's been a long week.

The only thing I want to do tonight is climb into bed at a ludicrously early hour and watch an appropriately absurd movie. Luckily, my new comforter arrived last night.

SGH?

Oh my my.

Whilst running between the Emergency Department and the Psychiatric Inpatient Unit, I believe I encountered my hospital's very own Preston Burke.

This ought to make work more interesting.

Well, this *and* the giant bowl of Halloween candy that magically appeared in the hallway outside of my office this morning. (And I didn't even need to wear my Britney costume yet!)

Mindfulness

I am strong.

When the dark clouds come into my life, I have the power to push them away.

Or to simply sit and wait for them to pass.

No Shame

Music: No Reply At All - Genesis

Is it my imagination, or do men simply take up more space on the mass transit system?

Almost every male on the subway sits with his legs spread wiiiiide open, totally disregarding any passengers seated next to them (which is usually me, squeezed into a tiny space and trying not to inadvertently touch their leg, arm, or any other part of their body.)

Men frequently and blatantly release huge globs of phlegm and spit on the platform and track. (Why do men need to spit so much?)

Then there is the almost daily leering and suggestive commenting. Sometimes, if it's an extra special day, and the car is crowded, you might get an ass grab.

And then yesterday, the man standing next to me at the Jay Street Station was digging in his nose and then picking whatever he had extracted out from under his fingernails and flinging it on the ground. When we boarded the train, he continued his excavation and commenced wiping his fingers on his seat. And then looked at me and winked.

I think the MTA needs to create a female-only subway system.

Love, Love, Love

I was woken up early this morning for the best of reasons.

At 5:57 am, L & D's daughter, Audrey Vanette, was born. Apparently, she looks a lot like her big brother E and has 'an adorably cute' nose. I can't wait to meet her.

I obviously need to begin plotting reasons and methods to skip work one day this week so I can go to Boston.

For now, I'm off to The Jerz to see The Peanut (my first niece) and hear all about her monumental efforts toward using 'the big girl potty'. This will be a continuation of the conversation we started last night while I was chasing away my hangover with wine and tapas. It's really fun to note the looks that you collect when you are talking loudly about 'poopie' and 'princess underwear' on your cell phone in a crowded downtown bar on a Saturday night.

Declarations

A few weeks ago, I was proudly telling a friend that it had been ages since I had thrown up from drinking.

You know what this means, right?

Yeah, I pulled the chord last night. Big time. The beginning of my night was lovely - drinks and dinner, followed by more drinks, and some cigarettes...and then I remember turning a corner and suddenly being way too drunk, which was exacerbated by a lurching cab ride home.

Luckily, The ARH was asleep while I was getting sick - there really is no more vulnerable a position than being hunched over your toilet, naked and dizzy. And it is perhaps even more fortunate that I wasn't drunk enough to make *other* foolish declarations. Those will keep, I'm sure, for another time.

One Year

There is a resurgence of stories about bedbugs in the media lately. Not that I’m actually reading a newspaper or watching the news – but I keep reasonably informed through an online discussion group. In the past couple of weeks, there have been articles in the NY Times, The Daily News, USA Today, The Post, and on NPR…

The media attention, interestingly enough, is coinciding with my lease renewal. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I moved into that quiet, empty apartment – leaving behind the chaos and sleeplessness of my old living space. That move seemed like such an easy choice at the time.

This morning, I read through the paperwork and reviewed my options. Do I really want to commit myself to staying for another year? When I walk to work in the morning, I feel the pull of a calmer existence in Brooklyn and last month’s trip to San Francisco kicked off thoughts of a life there. Signing the lease means saying yes to honking horns and sirens, to noisy people leaving the bars at 4:00 am, mice and bursting water pipes and strange neighbors. But it also means continuing to be surrounded by friends, happily losing myself in the activity and the loudness, all the familiar places and the new ones…to exploring the deeper levels of connection and trust that I am feeling right now.

Saying yes means opening to the possibilities. I’m here.

Grrrr

It is amazing how a malfunctioning photocopy machine can make you feel completely useless at the end of a 10 hour work day.

It is slightly gratifying to realize that the strange looks that you received on your way home were (probably) due to the copier ink smudged all over your face.

It is disconcerting to have a house full of food, and not want to eat any of it, including the chocolate M&M's in your refrigerator, and the ice cream in your freezer.

It is strange to know that you will be in bed ridiculously early for the second night in a row.

Beauty

Yesterday morning, I was just about as cheerful as you'd imagine I'd be, dragging myself from my warm bed and venturing out into a cold and rainy morning to go to work. On about an hour of sleep, no less.

However, about 2 hours into our day-long training session for new volunteers for my program, we hosted a survivor panel. 4 women placed themselves at the front of the room and began to speak. Everything stilled. They spoke clearly, eloquently, honestly of the horrible violence they had survived. And as they shared their experiences, there was anger and sadness and pain. When they ended, there was a hushed pause, and then a torrent of applause. All of the women in the room were out of their seats, talking and laughing with each other, crying together, hugging each other.

I was reminded yet again why I do this work. I am a witness. It is easy to get discouraged by the number of women that have a story, in both my personal and professional life. At times, I feel like we're fighting a war that we have no hope of winning.

The simple act of telling and listening restores some balance.

New Roommate

(Doesn't roommate always look like it's spelled wrong?)

Discovery
One morning, while making coffee, I found some suspicious looking, um, brown objects in my cabinet. Internet investigation leads me to believe that these, um, brown objects are the by-products of a mouse.

Disclosure
ridiculouschick: 'I have a mouse in my house.'
MC: 'Did you really just say that? What are you, Doctor Seuss?'

ridiculouschick: 'I have a mouse in my house.'
DJ: 'You certainly do like to live with the critters, don't you?'

ridiculouschick: 'I have a mouse in my house.'
The Lawyer: 'I'm not coming over any more.'

Disgusting
Further searching leads to more, um, brown objects, a frantic 3 hour cleaning spree, and removal of all food from the cabinets into the (hopefully) impenetrable refrigerator.

Death
Upon LK's advice (and contemplation of MS and Groom's own mouse extermination saga), I purchase the 'humane' electronic mousetrap, which is billed as 'quick kill'! and has a 'flashing light [which] indicates kill'! I spend about half an hour struggling with the batteries, and another half an hour trying to figure out what the 'On' position is.

I think it's working.

I just don't want to hear it working. And I'm not relishing the thought of emptying it either.

Borrowing Again

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."

Rumi

Nothing Original Today, Lyrics, Tired

'drink up, baby down
mmm, are you in or are you out
leave your things behind
'cause it's all going off without you
excuse me, too busy you're writing your tragedy
these mishaps
you bubble wrap
when you've no idea what you're like

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it's so amazing here
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown

it gains the more it gives
and then it rises with the fall
so hand me that remote
can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow

such boundless pleasure
we've no time for later now
you can't await your own arrival
you've 20 seconds to comply

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it's so amazing here
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown'

frou frou

I'm A Slave 4 U

Last night, my Book Club voted to decide which version we would each play in 'Britney Spears: A Retrospective', opening October 31st, 2006.

• Since R is pregnant, she got 'Matt Lauer Interview/Clumped Mascara/Slumped Shoulder/We're Country'.


• L is tall and has long blonde hair, and thus can pull off 'Oops I Did It Again/Red Vinyl'.


• H is perpetually drunk, and will represent 'Las Vegas Wedding/Trucker Hat/Smudged Eyeliner'.


• The undisputed nicest member of our group, L, is most obviously 'One More Time/Catholic Schoolgirl/Pigtails'.


• S, with her dark hair and amplified cleavage, gets to 'Almost Drop Sean Preston on the Street/Burst Into Tears'.

And this is how it shook out for me:



Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a 35-day appointment with the Stairmaster.

Sigh

You Tube is the best invention. Ever. Because it allows you to obsess over just how hot Chris Cornell is in every single video he ever made.

Alternately, you can do 'research' for your Halloween costume by downloading Britney Spears. Now I just need to figure out where to get a red vinyl catsuit, and decide exactly where/how I could wear such a thing in public.

Blurg

Why do I always forget that red wine should more accurately be named 'headache in a bottle'?

Nonetheless, if you have an opportunity to dance with your girls AND a 50-ish crazy Italian man named Fabio (yes, Fabio), you take it.

Even if it means that you will have an agonizingly long Monday...

Empanada Mama

I think I have a new girlfriend.

The Lawyer and I had lunch at Empanada Mama today. She was telling me about her Friday night activities, which included an art exhibit and then dinner with the son of a family friend. The Lawyer said that at certain points in the evening, she felt as though she was on a date. She had wanted to tell him beforehand that she was gay, but never really found that appropriate time.

My suggestion was to lead off with the information. (Walk up to him, extend hand, and say 'Hi, I'm [The Lawyer] and I am a gay American.')

While I was trying out various iterations of 'Hello, I'm gay...', our waitress approached our table to take our order. She heard the sentence, paused, smiled widely at me, glanced at my chest, then looked into my eyes and asked what I wanted. And then she was...very attentive...throughout our meal.

Apparently, in certain establishments in Hell's Kitchen, I'm also a gay American.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Food

I have weird food stuff going on.

And no, I'm not talking about my well documented/widely discussed issues with mixing fruit and meat (D might recall my horror when he poured orange juice over a chicken in preparation for roasting, or LK may remember when I proclaimed certain meatballs on my plate at IKEA 'irretrievably ruined' because they had touched the lingonberry sauce).

And I'm also not referencing my tendency to document and monitor what I eat, particularly my protein/fat intake. I realized the other day that I've been dieting, in some form or another, since I was 18.

No, lately, I have absolutely zero appetite. Nothing sounds appealing to me, and the thought of eating an entire substantive meal makes me feel nauseous. So, I'm just really not eating all that much. Which is really strange when you consider that I've also quit smoking recently. And that I love food.

I'm going out to 'dinner' with JP tonight. Perhaps he'll allow me to count vodka and cranberry juice as a meal...

The Report

Today, I, the ridiculous one:

- reconsidered my decision to wear a pencil skirt and high heels when simultaneous emergencies at Dream Job had me running all over the place for about 4 hours. Further deliberation was warranted when the side slit in my skirt tore a bit, exposing more leg than I ever intended at work.

- ate only a protein bar and a cup of oatmeal. All day.

- wrote the 8th draft of my grant proposal and submitted it to my supervisor, praying for approval.

- received an e-mail from The ARH that made me happy and sad at the same time. Sending a reply (thus re-opening the door) scared the crap out of me. But my life needs to be about jumping in rather than shutting down.

- attended an interview so I can begin taking Spanish classes. The teacher began by emitting a rapid stream of Spanish and then looking at me. I told him that I didn't understand, which is why I need to take the class. He ignored this statement, pointed to my coffee and said something else. In Spanish. Using my extremely limited language capabilities, I nodded and said 'cafe mi gusto'. That means I like coffee, right?

- with the help of a friend, shifted my ideas of what I need to do about my family situation, and basically told them that I don't want their half-assed, belated birthday celebration. And I only feel a little anxious about this decision.

Fighting

Lately, I feel like I'm fighting to protect myself.

Within every conflict, there is a choice available to me. I'd be happy to sit back and let the right way happen along, but situations don't always clear on their own. Sometimes, like, say, when you have a bug infestation, you have to take action. And that action might include being featured in a New York Times article.

Or, maybe, if you haven't been paid by your new job, you might decide to dedicate a day to camping out in the HR reception area until they're sick enough of looking at you that they do the right thing.

But when it comes to personal issues (family, relationships) it's not quite as clear. I'm battling for my own happiness, my sanity, and my self. I'm exhausted by the struggle.

4 years ago, I left someone and something horrible, and I chose to survive. And, shortly after that, chose not just to survive, but to fight. I move back and forth every day with the meaning of this. Sometimes I am strong, and sometimes I feel weak.

But it's always me.

They Call It The Red Eye Because...

I'm back in New York. In my office. I feel like I left a million years ago.

And I'm so tired that it is perhaps quite possible that I did.

The Black Eyed Peas were on my flight home this morning. I texted the news to MC, who suggested that I start singing. I refrained. That's about exciting as this story gets.

Wait, why am I in front of a computer? Oh, that's right. It's time to work.

PS: Today, I have an irrational hatred towards the NYC transit system, MS's wheeled suitcase, and my outfit.

I Left My (Broken) Heart in San Francisco

"My only goal is just to be." - Rent

Ok, well, I'm still here, so I haven't really 'left' it yet, and I'm also not sure my heart is broken, maybe only cracked.

But I need to learn not to underestimate how much less wounded I can feel when I focus on myself. There is something incredibly empowering around flying across the country, spending the weekend exploring a beautiful city (including a walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, which I just got back from), and just letting each day unfold without any expectations about what it will bring.

Last night, I attended the wedding of two close friends. I wasn't sure how I would feel about celebrating love (and wow, how selfish to let my stuff possibly overshadow this event) but it was ok. It was more than ok. I walked into the wedding, single and strong, with a smile on my face, knowing in my soul that better days will come.

And then, with the help of The Fisherman, a dive bar jukebox, and Journey...I rocked the post-reception happenings.

Can't Sleep

Since Wednesday, I’ve been holding myself together. I'm really good at it. I’ve cried, but only at home by myself, or behind the closed door of my office. When I speak to friends, I tell them that I am ok, and then I find ways to make the current situation entertaining.

What I want to do is have a temper tantrum.

I want to throw myself on the ground and scream and kick and wail. I want to be a spectacle. Because you don’t get to hold my hand and look into my eyes and say the things that you've said, then abruptly pull away less than a week later. It’s not fair that you’re starting a new relationship while I’m left holding the terminated possibility of ours. And it’s not okay with me that I can’t say or do anything that will change the circumstances.

I really liked you. I now hate that I really liked you.

Why didn’t I know that the last date, the one where we went a little deeper, the one that convinced me that there was something worth holding onto, was indeed, our last date? I think you knew, and I wonder why you couldn't say goodbye in person.

Perhaps the biggest injustice of all is that I am expected to move through this world as an adult; to accept, grow, and learn from this little episode. It would be so much easier if I could just have a fit and then go on with my day...

Woo Hoo!

There's no better feeling than navigating your way through San Francisco on a beautiful, clear day while the satellite radio in your rental car is blasting the 80's channel.

Oh no, wait. There is. When the rental car happens to be an upgrade from your reserved compact to an mid-size electric blue Chevy Impala, it's fucking great.

That's right, bitches. I said mid-size electric blue Chevy Impala. Word is born.

And Broke

The administrative assistant just came into my office to inform me that my employee number hasn't made it into the payroll system yet. Which means that yesterday was payday for everyone else but me.

Guess who I need to deal with in order to have this rectified? My Favorite Inept Employee in HR.

It's unfortunate that you can't simply will your life to halt while you're dealing with personal stuff. On that note, it would probably be wise to reserve a rental car and find directions to B's house, as I am flying out to San Francisco tomorrow morning.

Taking A Break

It's raining and I feel shitty and I can't seem to write about what's going on without sounding horribly pathetic.

So I won't.

Questions, Questions

All asked today...

1. How was your birthday party?

It was fun. It contained the usual amount of ridiculousness that comprises most of my events. We drank. We were silly. Pictures were taken. Details would probably be really boring if you weren’t there.

2. Did you meet anyone on match.com this summer?

Um, yes. But I can’t really comment because I’m afraid of The Jinx.

3. What is The Jinx?

Well, basically, as soon as I tell anyone about the person I am dating, the relationship ends. No kidding.

4. So, are you dating someone?

Absolutely not.

5. How’s your new job?

It’s a Dream Job and I love it. But it’s a new job, so I have my daily panic about how I know nothing about what I’m supposed to be doing, and I’m really hurting people more than I’m helping them, and that I should probably just move to Montana and raise sheep.

6. You’re a social worker. Do you have any good stories?

Well, define good. There's nothing particularly funny about my job, and if I tell you anything 'good', it will probably bring the mood down. Way down. I think I'll save the entertainment for my therapist.

7. You’re posting a lot lately. Don’t you have anything better to do?

This is a strange period of my life, and my recall isn’t great. So I NEED to post. And no, I don’t have anything better to do.

The 'Fridge Wins!

September 11th

Although we have been made to believe that if we let go we will end up with nothing, life itself reveals again and again the opposite: that letting go is the path to real freedom.

Just as when the waves lash at the shore, the rocks suffer no damage but are sculpted and eroded into beautiful shapes, so our character can be molded and our rough edges worn smooth by changes. Through weathering changes we can learn how to develop a gentle but unshakable composure. Our confidence in ourselves grows, and becomes so much greater that goodness and compassion begin naturally to radiate out from us and bring joy to others. That goodness is what survives death, a fundamental goodness that is in every one of us. The whole of our life is a teaching of how to uncover that strong goodness, and a training towards realizing it.

Sogyal Rinpoche

Thematic

1. This morning at brunch, I amused myself by thinking up mottos for Honeychild and Big Daddy. And after dashing off many similar sounding platitudes, Big Daddy told me that I was reminding him of a movie called 'Being There' in which the main character's statements are mistaken for insightfulness. When pressed, BD said that he felt this main character might have been 'mildly retarded'.

2. While on vacation, my niece kept describing me as 'simple'.

3. I spent much of my time at last night's party spinning in circles and attempting to deconstruct D's birthday cake.

1+2+3 = I'm not as smart as I think I am.

Ridin' Spinners

I'm seriously considering posting a video of me and The Fisherman playing the 'chair game' tonight at D's 40th birthday party, because it's pretty fuckin' funny. Especially the part where I collide with the refridgerator and can't stop laughing.

But then I'll no longer be anonymous, and that might be a little weird.

Decisions, decisions.

Correction

I didn't turn 34 yesterday. I think I turned 12, because I am currently giggling about The Lawyer's 'Penal Law' book, which she has just offered to give me. If that happens, I'll never leave the house...

Birthday!

There's not much to say about my birthday so far, as I am at work, and slammed like any other day.

But I *can* say that I turned 34 at 12:42 am on the downtown 1 train, somewhere between 86th and 79th Streets. And that I can't really think of a more appropriate or celebratory place to be for that moment...

Leftovers

- For no discovered reason, my niece is currently telling everyone that she meets that her name is Colleen. This is not her name. I'm glad she's growing up a little weird. Just like her aunt.

- According to the employee handbook, nose rings are 'not allowed to be worn' while on duty at my job. The ARH helpfully provided legal-sounding rebuttals against removing mine. I think I'll keep him around for a while.

- My family is having some scheduling issues around celebrating my birthday this weekend. I can only apologize that the celebration of my birth will not come at a more convenient time for them. And be thankful that I've assembled a party for myself on Thursday night.

- I just woke from a 2 hour nap. The likelihood that I will be able to go back to sleep tonight without the aid of Tylenol PM is slim.

- I really need to get my iPod fixed. My 40 minute ride into the city on the C this evening was dominated by the loud voice of a large woman awkwardly trying to flirt with her coworker (?) by discussing the meeting they had just attended.

- MC sent me a message this morning to let me know that the lamest bar near our hometown has a MySpace page. I need to 'friend' them immediately.

Yes!

This morning, as I sat and waited for my clothes to dry, I was helpfully reminded, via the laundromat's blaring radio, to 'hold the line...love isn't always on time.'

Thank you, Toto. Thank you. Truer words have never been spoken. And it's not often that I get the chance to rock out while I do laundry.

Expectations

As it happens in almost every relationship, my brother and I have our unwritten roles within our family. I hesitate to simplify this as a binary good child/bad child scenario because it's a bit more complicated than that. However, on the whole, our family story will prove that J has always been calmer, more patient, sunnier, happier (my parents still tell the story of our nightmarish trip up the California coastline when I was 8 months old, juxtaposed with J's contented gurgling throughout his infancy and toddler years).

Even as adults, the roles continue. J is happily married, estsblished in his career, owns his home, just started an MBA program, and has a child. I have the weight of rebellious teenage years, a disaster during my first year of college, a broken engagement, and a chaotic life in the city. He conforms, accepts, and carries on; I challenge, rage and push against the familiar. There is a great deal in freedom and constriction in the characters we have chosen/been assigned.

Knowing this history, it always surprises me when one of us steps out of our disposition. On our recent family vacation, J and i were standing in the ocean, talking. It was a clear, beautiful day. My SIL and The Peanut were happily playing on the beach nearby. All of a sudden, J scanned the horizon, then turned to me, and in all seriousness, asked what I would do if there was a tsunami. [Please note, we were not in a foreign locale where this was a possibility. We were in freakin' Delaware, probably the last place on earth in which a tsunami would occur.] He continued, detailing his plan if this should happen: that he would scoop up The Peanut and his wife and run for high land, or perhaps take shelter behind a tree.

And while he was talking, I remembered another sort of history - that my family used to sarcastically call J 'Little Darling' because he was always predicting doom and gloom. Drive over a bridge and he'd ponder its collapse. Take an elevator and he'd discuss the fragility of the cable wires holding the car. Go through a tunnel and, well, you know. He's always maintained that he would lose all of his hair by age 18 (something about male pattern baldness on my Mom's side of the family) and die of a heart attack at age 43 (the same age my Dad was when he almost died of heart disease). J honestly half-expects these tragedies to happen. It's the part of his personality that doesn't fit in with our ideas of him.

Back on the beach, J stopped talking, and looked at me expectantly. I laughed and dove into an oncoming wave.

What?

At the close of my first week of employment, I am exhausted. I haven't slept well at all this week, and it turns out that the afternoon naps that I enjoyed all summer are not a possibility at my new job.

Somewhat crazily, I've agreed to attend the Yankees game tonight with JP - the tickets and 'many, many beers' serving as my early birthday present. I guess I can also consider the predicted torrential rainshowers a gift of sorts...or perhaps an ode to my foolishness.

All I know is that I am going to sleep all day tomorrow.

Older Than Me

I was going to write a post about my impending birthday (next week) and whinge on about being 34 and how the idea of that just seems to suck lately, and how I am feeling old but young...

...but then I spent the afternoon in the ED with a survivor whose 20th birthday was yesterday...

...and it suddenly seems more important to get out of the house and go running than to dwell in my self-absorption.

Book Club

I only had time yesterday to run to Barnes and Noble after work, grab a copy of 'The Memory Keeper's Daughter', and then skim the first chapter whilst in the B&N cafe, devouring a rice krispie treat. (I have no excuse or discernible reason for not having purchased/read the book during my vacation, or at any point during the previous month while I was not working.)

Due to my lack of preparation, it was only fair that all of the major plot points of the book were revealed during the discussion, including this gem: 'I just can't figure out why [the author] kills off [the main character] at the end of the book.'

Ahem.

Quite Contrary

- After a week of acting like a surly teenager, I am now sitting on my couch, missing my family and wishing I was with them again.

- I went to work today, and it was amazing. I never thought I'd have a job like this.

- Due to a lack of caffeine in my household, I was forced to visit Starbucks this morning, where I couldn't seem to just get coffee, but went for the Grande Mocha and Oatmeal Banana Bread. Damn you, Starbucks!

- I didn't have the heart to tell 'Blanco' that his monumental efforts at styling and shaping my new haircut would not be appreciated by the masses tonight, unless you count the people I walked past on the way to my apartment.

- I've happily continued my trend of eating hummus and Wheat Thins for dinner.

- My SIL was right about that dress at Banana Republic being useful someday when I had nothing to wear to work. And when I say 'someday', I mean 'Monday, August 28th'.

- Beach attire and business casual are very far away from each other on the clothing style continuum.

- I have not heard from the ARH and I have a weird feeling that I am never going to see him again.

I Just Walked In The Door...

...and I think I start my new job tomorrow. That is, I've been cleared by Human Resources to start my new job tomorrow, but have not received 1) an official letter which offers me the job/clarifies my salary/initiates my union membership OR 2) a return call from my supervisor indicating my start time.

I am in desperate need of a haircut and a pedicure. This has very little to do with my job, but I feel it ties in with 'general preparedness' so I'm mentioning it here.

Along the same tangent, I don't think I have any coffee in the house and I'm not sure what I'm going to wear to work.

Also...

I'm starting a new list called 'Unsolicited Opinions of Ridiculouschick's Character Traits, Offered By Someone She Is On A Date With.'

So far we have:

Reserved (Old Man)
Obstinate (Musician)
Not Italian, Irish (Leprechan)
Kooky (Just A Friend)

Gotcha

Ok, I lied.

I'm not on the beach.

Today is L's surprise baby shower. This blog was used as a part of the scheming (non-evil variety) to keep my trip to Boston a secret. However, as of last night, approximately 7:03 pm, the gig is up. Were you surprised, L? Did it work? Because I'd hate to think I manipulated my readers for no good reason...

[The Reporter just pointed out that I didn't completely lie, as I am in a place that starts with 'B'. Good one. ]

We'll be celebrating today with most of the girls (sadly, The Librarian and Nashville are missing) and lots of food. Because what you really want to do is bulk up before spending a week on the beach.

Time on the beach, for the record, will begin with a long-ass car trip tomorrow morning at 6:00 am.

And I swear I'm not lying about that one. Honestly.

ridiculouschick, out!

Ok people, I'm outta here.

I'm off to sit on the beach for a while, and to not think any more deeply than to worry about my tan lines.

My heart has experienced some contusions this week, but that always heals...and I'm not sure it's my heart we were dealing with anyway.

Holla!

I'm beautiful like me.

The Good News

I do not have tuberculosis.

My past employers are able to write coherent references (which was in some doubt with JC at TelecomCompany).

With a few minor changes, I can accept the proposal of the random stranger I met on the C train today ('If you get rid of tattoo and nose jewelry, you can be my wife.')

I will be on the beach in less than 48 hours.

Yesterday...

...All my troubles seemed so far...no. No. Fuck that. All my troubles were pretty much right there, staring me in the face. Mocking me. All. Day.

Luckily, my quasi-trauma was mitigated by a lovely afternoon yoga class with Cliff, who is fast becoming my favorite instructor. And then a really funny conversation about toilet-papering with The Lawyer, and high school reminiscing/internet smackdowns/boy advice with MC. And following that, a dive-bar night out in Soho (in which 3 separate people asked me directions - sadly, I was of no help, but hey, psyched to be asked) with The Leprechan.

And I didn't even stop to get pizza on the way home. Imagine that. My thighs are thanking me even as I type.

Doing The Limbo

I have a confession to make: I'm no good at waiting. At heart, I'm a planner. I live by my calendar, my appointments, and my schedule. As much as I'd like to be a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl (what does that mean anyway? pants?), I can't let go of my need to organize and obsess.

Lately, my life has been all about passing time. Everything feels like it is on delay. I can't start my job until I pass the physical exam, the tuberculosis test, and the toxicology screening. I can't go on vacation next week until I am sure that the above requirements have been met.

I stay home, and I suddenly want to be outside. I go out, and then all I want is to be back in my apartment, buried under my covers. I call friends to talk, but just want to be left alone.

This is a strange and beautiful time.

Little Ms. Crankypants

No sleep. Employee health worker at Dream Job attempting 5 tiimes, in 5 different spots, to find a vein from which to draw blood. PPD in my arm that is slightly oozing. A 2 mile walk through Manhattanville (the A train does not stop at 96th street - go figure). Immobilized right arm from the last of my Hepatitis B vaccinations. Hungry. Over-zealous GNC employee trying to sell me vitamins, chewable acidophilus, herbal supplements, and protein drinks. Long line at the grocery store. Apartment hallway smelling suspiciously like vomit.

History and Mystery

At what point do you talk about your past with the person you are dating? When can you be sure that your ugliness/their pity won't permanently frame the way that this person sees you? Do you really want to look into someone's eyes and know that they're seeing the person that was? How much of that girl is hidden until you tell them? When do you stop erecting the walls and dancing out of reach? Can you trust them? Can you trust yourself?

In any event, it's too complicated to figure out tonight...

Continued...

Excessive drinking is also an excellent way to dumb yourself down.

The Exception to the Rule

I'm generally concerned with trying to turn my brain off. I tend to over-analyze, over-think, and complicate even the most simple situations. Sleep used to be an excellent way to achieve thought-free bliss, but that's not happening much lately. Perhaps a lobotomy is included with the health benefits at my new job? At some point in my life, I'd just like to be dumb and happy.

This morning, though, I've realized that there is an area where my stupidity can excel. Dating turns me into an absolute fool. Correction. Dating someone that I really like turns me into an absolute fool. I become so idiotic that I could probably be called Fool and The Gang, because my lack of common sense is Just. That. Large.

Case in point: I went out with Anti-Robin Hood last night and couldn't stop kissing him. In public. And we were sober. Given that I usually mock overly-affectionate couples, this is quite alarming. I also couldn't seem to complete an intelligent sentence or stop looking at him and grinning. Everything about last night is kinda hazy, except for when I finally reigned myself in, had a semi-graceful panic, and abruptly left his apartment around 1:00 am.

Oh Snap!

Ok, I kinda love The Lawyer. I mean, she's one of my closest friends, so of course I love her, but it's stuff like this that makes me really, really love her. Maybe even want to be her for a little while.

The Setup: A friend of a friend, G, was seriously flirting with The Lawyer while at a party this past Saturday. Things have been, um, boiling between then for a while now, so The Lawyer asked G to meet up for a drink at some point this week. G replied that it sounded too much like a date, but that she'd be up for 'some fun'. Since The Lawyer is on a quest for non-committal sex (she calls it her 'holy grail') she replied that this would be perfect for her. G then proceeded to hedge and waver between suggesting that they 'make out' and telling her that she was still hung up on her ex-girlfriend. After going back and forth most of the day via e-mail, The Lawyer responded:

'I stopped thinking about this 3 hours ago. You’re all over the place. In one email you would make out with me. In the next email you’re telling me that you can’t predict your mood. In another email you want to have fun. Your vacillating feelings are overwhelming and I don’t want to deal with it. I’m not comfortable with the fact that you’re a different person to me every five minutes. And besides, what makes you think that everything is about you? This is not entirely your decision. I have a voice in it as well. I wouldn’t have even addressed the issue on Saturday but you seemed pretty willing. And the part where you screamed sexy to me when I was on the phone with M while you were in the cab gave me a clue that you may have wanted something. However, that will not be happening.
I don’t know what kind of women you’ve dealt with in the past but I can assure you that I don’t play these types of games. If you’re head is not together then by all means take whatever steps you need to get it together. I certainly don’t want to see you emotionally distraught over anything. So we’ll see each other when we see each other. I still like you. You’re funny and sometimes have interesting things to say. You’re a good acquaintance and fun at parties. We’ll continue as we have all along.'

Sum, Parts, Whole

1. I made the unfortunate decision to weigh myself this past weekend after eating all of Boston. It was quite unpleasant. This is why I don't own a scale. And also why I had an apple for dinner last night.

2. Apparently, all of the arm strength that I've built up over the last several months can suddenly disappear if I skip yoga for a week. I couldn't even get halfway up into a headstand last night.

3. At Big Daddy's suggestion, I spent much of my time in Boston trying to 'dumb it down' (he's convinced it will improve my dating life) with moderate success. Just need to subtract the vocabulary and add more hair twirling.

4. Honeychild also contributed her theory: 'Make his personality your personality. You are a blank slate and have no interests of your own, other than doing shots or watching SportsCenter.'

5. MM might be moving out of the 'hood, which devastates me. I can't possibly be expected to walk longer than 5 blocks or get on the subway for our weekly ridiculousness.

6. I believe I am going to join my family at the beach, even though this summer has been one long vacation with bouts of job hunting thrown in. Plus, who could resist spending a solid week with The Peanut?

7. I am currently waking up around 6:15 each morning without the aid of an alarm clock, a fact which remains constant regardless of my bedtime. I'm sure this will change in a few weeks when I am working, and will be dragging my ass out of bed at the last possible minute to run for the subway.

Hmmm

Very unexpectedly, I started sobbing at the end of yoga tonight. Luckily, we were in Savasana, so I don't think anyone witnessed my breakdown. Which is good. I like to keep my occasional craziness confined to my home. Or my blog.

I'm not sure what this was all about. Perhaps it was the slight fun-weekend-hangover I've been feeling all day, or the ton of hip-openers we did during class.

Home!

Honeychild and Big Daddy are amazing hosts. That being said, I am truly happy to be home today. I'm sitting on my couch, drinking iced coffee, listening to iTunes and writing.

The only way this could be better is if I had remembered to buy toilet paper and cereal last night...

L is for Loser

Sometimes I amaze myself with just how sad I am.

This morning, I flipped on the television in the guest room where I am staying. It hadn't been on since I stumbed to bed in the early hours on Sunday morning, where I vaguely recall watching about 15 minutes of...something...before I passed out. The television is currently on the same channel. Which is Lifetime.

I'm so glad to be entering this new phase of my life. Apparently, I'm a sad, middle-aged woman with too many cats who enjoys 'Television for Women'. Gah.

Booty Vortex, Geek Vortex

On Friday night, after a shitty 6 hour bus ride up to Boston, Honeychild, her husband, and I went to a local pub to see Georgia Overdrive, who "play the best (and some of the worst) classic country from Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash to Glenn Campbell and Johnny Paycheck, paying homage to the great songs and artists of country music songs about truck drivin', heartache, and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer".

(By the way, Honeychild's husband has a new moniker, and shall heretofore be referred to as 'Big Daddy', at least for the purposes of this blog).

The band was really entertaining, and we amused ourselves further by looking over the other bar patrons and attempting to figure out if they had been there since happy hour (in most cases, it was readily obvious: eyes at half-mast, rumpled business attire, stumbling). The bar was very crowded when we arrived at 10, then cleared out around midnight (most celebrants left to pass out, or vomit, or both). Around 1:30, Honeychild and I were sitting at the back of the bar, while Big Daddy was off performing his unofficial social duties as the mayor of Davis/Porter Square, and the bar got super crowded again, with people stopping by on their way home from somewhere else. We were still listening to the band (and I was hoping for an introduction to the lead singer) when we found ourselves surrounded by a whole new cast of characters.

These boys were very drunk, slightly geeky, trying to hook up, and not at all subtle about any of it. We named some of the more interesting contenders: Samurai Lumberjack (ponytail on the top of his head, beard), The Lizard (platinum-dyed hair, disturbing stare), Mr. Clean (bald), Striped Shirt Guy (um, striped shirt, bad sandals). A few approached, and we did our best to rebuff kindly. I got trapped in a conversation with The Russian, who told me that I had 'big eyes' and that I reminded him of his 10th grade math teacher, whom he wanted to 'bang'. Honeychild was accosted by Mr. Clean, who walked up, kissed her hand and then stood there and said nothing. Most of them just stared at us, and there might have been some winking or smiling. Hard to tell through the laughter.

After enduring about 10 minutes of this, we spotted Big Daddy talking to the band, and we escaped the vortex to hang with them. Which was infinitely better.

Guest Post By Honeychild

Hello Babies! Honeychild is so honored to be guest blogging today. I’m 34 now. Officially in my “mid-thirties.” Had a fantastic birthday that turned fantastically ugly just after midnight.

My girl ridiculouschick came up to Boston to celebrate her new job and my new gig with the righteous funk band Booty Vortex. Got some badass gifts from my family (a red rubber dress can only be described as bad ass), went for a hike, had a delicious lunch, then headed out to the club. The gig rocked. (Or more appropriately, it funk’d) The band sounded great and lots of friends turned out to celebrate with me. That’s where the trouble begins - many friends wanting to buy Honeychild shots for her big birthday. What’s wrong with free drinks you say? Honeychild isn’t much of a drinker. But birthdays and post-gig adrenaline have been known to paralyze the judgment of even the most conservative people.

Here now are some of the lessons learned on my 34th birthday:

- Don’t do shots (especially 3 different shots, especially when you don’t usually drink more than a couple glasses of wine a week)
- Don’t mix shots and gin and tonic
- Don’t do all of the above in the span of one hour

Thankfully, the lovely ridiculouschick and my very understanding husband were there to hold my long, curly locks and coach me through a very painful 3 hours of retching, during which I distinctly remember:

- Hearing “Time of My Life” on the radio, feeling my stomach turn, retching again, then screaming for someone to TURN OFF THE FREAKING 80’S STATION!
- Telling my dog Stella that “Mommy is drunk” and then begging someone to remove her from the bathroom in a lame attempt to protect her opinion of me

So, I spent my 34th birthday acting more like I was 24…okay 14. Good friends got me into it and good friends got me out of it. Friends are good, Maker’s Mark is bad.

Celebration Tour

I arrived back in NYC last night (where was the apocryphal rainstorm they were predicting?). I'm off shortly to Dream Job HR to receive a formal job offer, negotiate salary, start date, etc.

Then it's onto another bus to Boston to visit Honeychild, celebrate her birthday, and rock out to her band.

When The Going Gets Tough...

...I go to the beach.

I'm leaving this afternoon for the Jerz shore. Given my badly sprained (and self-doctored) taped-up thumb, the pending collapse of my bathroom ceiling, and the sweltering humidity - I'm out.

PS: The Lawyer says that my apartment karma is so bad that I must have been a slumlord in my previous life. Heh.

Virgo

I am a Virgo. While I do not possess all typical Virgoan traits, I thoroughly embrace neatness and order.

This morning, to my great dismay, I woke to find water pouring out of my bathroom ceiling and tiles. It was even more upsetting to go charging upstairs to discover the source of the leak, and to have my neighbor answer his door clad only in his dingy underwear. I raced back downstairs (throwing up a little in my mouth) to find water seeping into my living room. After locating a bucket and placing all of my towels on the floor, my Super entered the apartment, assessed the damage, and told me nothing could be fixed for at least a week, so that the beams and the wood could dry out. I did the only thing I could: escaped to MM's where we spent the day on her couch, watching movies and bemoaning our cramps.

I'm home now, contemplating the soggy mess on my bathroom floor. Do you think if I go to yoga, the bathroom elves will have this cleaned up by the time I get back?