Friday, April 01, 2005

euthanasia for the pope!

So I'm pretty sure the Pope is dead by now. I imagine all these cardinals- robes a swingin wandering the halls of the Vatican whispering plots into each other's ears (you might have seen this already in the Godfather 3). I know I should proabbly cross myself or something, but I'm not Catholic anymore.
I am convinced that the only thing I should sell on EBay is vintage t-shirts. The things go like hotcakes!
Last night PD thought I was trying to initiate phone sex. He seemed pretty horrified. I was a little embarrassed because I'm a prude deep down and I can't even imagine trying to say something like, "Okay, I'm taking off my panties now," without laughing. Then today my cousin says phone sex requires a speakerphone - so apparently I'm a prudish, childish and unequipped.
I also think I might have picked up a good birthday gift for a Gyllenhal look-alike.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

to be a better blogger!

yes. i'm still a smoker, tho i've seriously cut down and see a non-smoking future not too far ahead.
my friend kristy is sort of my personal NYC succes story friend. she's only been here about a month and has already attended a SNL After-Show party, tried out for a reality TV cooking show and got a part in an off broadway production of The Vagina Monologues! Its this friday @ the Soho Playhouse and there is a Vagina Carnivale pre-show where there giving away condom and LUNA bars (I guess one gives you energy for sex - the other - well, we know what that does...).
i was so proud of myself last week when i set up another savings account - just patting my little self on the back and "Oh- I'm a big kid now!" well- the big girl spent way too much money in like a week and is back to scraping pennies and selling things on ebay to eat. its not that bad, but i could have gone without the $40 drinking session on a monday night (i rarely go over $20 on a week night).... and maybe, possibly the diane von furstenburg top and the awesome black vintage pencil skirt and the two skirts on ebay... oh, and did i mention the beautiful bow and flower top from Pema? i really need to revert back to a good old fashioned checkbook.

Friday, March 25, 2005

ok. i'll admit it

i smoked. yes. i did. and damnit it was great and i bought another pack tonight since everyone who wants to quit smoking stole all of my cigarettes last night.

and i'm addicted to selling things on ebay. i look at straw wrappers on my floor and think, "Could I market that?"

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

I Fought the Bank and I won

Yeah- thats right Wachovia - I had exactly $1.53 in my account when you charged me $60 worth of overdraft fees. And yes, I accept your apology.

That was some good news. Oh, and my check from work came. This whole week seems to be going well except for the three cold sores on my upper lip (small, but they won't be small for long), the non-smoker constipation and (hold on I really want to make some coffee) I have to weasel out of a reservation at Balthazar. Who even goes there anymore? I'll tell you - people from Florida who thinks its still cool. I think I'm gonna have to do one of those, "I know you think this is what you want..." talks.

Cheesy thing PWD said this weekend, "Lets get you dirty before that shower." (That doesn't even make sense does it really- I mean, the shower will make me clean, but I knew what he meant.) He has the unfortunate problem of being too cool and intellectual to ever pull off one of those statments, but he wants to try. Which makes it insanely cute. Its hard to go from a debate about the size of Rem Koolhaus's office in NYC to a sex scene. But it can be done.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Bobby Fisher is An Icelander

That isn't a joke title.
I'm trying to quit smoking. So I'm boring.
Last week was a bad week. I got $70 worth of insufficient fund fees, found out I wasn't getting paid AGAIN at work and I lost my IPod.
This week is better: found the IPod (thanks Kat), was promised that some back checks will magically appear in my mailbox this week and actually organized a get together with my fellow students that I've been meaning to do for like years. Oh, and I got to make fun of my cousin for talking about Superman. He's a newsman, so he likes Superman. I think he hides a red cape in his desk somewhere.

Quitting smoking is the most boring thing in the world. Whats the fun? Where's the fun. Oh big deal- now I get to breathe. Who wants to breathe all this nicotine-deprived air? I think my favorite part of the day was coming home, dropping all my things and having that nice smoke right by my window, looking out over the empty lawn at Relish. There is a girl who eats at the table out there in the summer and she looks just like Scarlett Johannson. I used to wave at her, but she never saw me.

But now I'm getting old and I have to worry about lines on my face, my lung capacity and not being able to afford cancer ($20,000 a year after your medical insurance). And I'm so sick of smoking cigarettes whilst talking about quitting smoking cigarettes. And I'm getting fat because I keep trying to quit and then I eat instead of smoking then I smoke anyway - so I end up just feeling like a fat smoker which I can't stand. I think if you smoke then you have to be rail thin and be mistaken for starlets regularly - then you're sort of like a '20's flapper. Sienna Miller is my ideal smoker. Fat smokers just remind me of the current drain on medicare...I know I'm being mean, but this is my blog.

The worst is that I can't shit without that caffeine kick from my morning cigarette, so now I'm irritated and constipated. The gas coming out of me could smoke out a village. I should put up a warning sign before I go into the bathroom at work.

Monday, February 28, 2005


i'm blogging again, and i've decided there will be no grammar checks. no spelling checks. i will just write. about anything. if people choose to read- i'll always appreciate it.
i just redid the lay out of my apaptment - then i walked through the blinding snow to buy some beer as a reward. then i listened to a horrifying radio report about a serial killer who used to leave notes about his crimes in the seventies - notes that described strangling an eleven year old girl and hanging her from a pipe in her basement. i'm still shivering. he was only recently caught and it turned out he was a leader in his church, a man with a family and a job and all those stable things that show what multiple personality disorder can produce with perfect skill.
oh- how can fiction that i write ever be "unbelievable"? People starve their foster children. And on a much more normal note- people beat their children. But how is that believable. That you could raise a fist and hit a child. Then again - your own child. I mean think about it- try to imagine that action. Imagine your own father/mother, balling his fist, looking you straight in the eye and lowering a blow. Children shoot their teachers. Priests rape children. Unknown strangers pick up teenagers on highways, rape them and leave them in unmarked cornfields. People blow up cars in the middle of busy markets and kill other people.
Remove all the politics, all the psychology, all the apologies. the political correctness and look at the action. Is any of it believable?

Thursday, January 27, 2005


So I guess I should be totally okay with being in a room full of naked women considering I spent ten years at an all girls camp where me and everyone else stripped at will within our cabin walls. But I was a little thrown off today when I thought I recognized a girl by her boobs in the locker room of my gym. This would seem completely normal for a guy. They can probably pick out ten porn stars by boobs alone, but not being a lesbian and never having seen this girl's boobs before - it really threw me off. It ended up not being her and I felt better about that. I'm not sure if I want to know what the boobs of an acquaintance look like. Even my close friends - excepting the ones who got boob jobs because thats just straight up curiousity.
Boobs are just something with a life of their own. Like a morphed extension of the female body. I mean, there will hopefully come a time when my boobs will produce milk. All on their own. And that sort of wigs me at - like the words: mammary glands. And think about it- women ask things of their boobs they would never ask any other area.
We ask them to grow. We ask them to be perky. We ask them not to get cold when we're wearing a tight shirt. We ask them not to bounce around so much when we're running at the gym. We ask them to bounce around a lot when we're running on a beach. We name them.