I just got home from an overnight and I should be sleeping.

Well then...

Goodnight.

life lessons.

Life is as interesting as you make it.

I just found a quarter in a pair of shorts I haven't worn in years.

Now it's tucked behind my license in my wallet for good luck.

Interesting it is!

Blanche Devereaux

I feel like I should be creating. I find myself writing little blurbs in my phone or on my computer; opening up text documents and letting a few words flow. But then I stop myself. I wonder why. I am reminded of similar goings on that took place on an episode of The Golden Girls not too long ago. I remember Blanche was having trouble writing something or other and something happened and then everyone laughed before raising their arms in triumph over the evils of osteoporosis. I can't decide if that means I need to find some personal evil to vanquish or if I am sorely in need of guidance from a gaggle of gray-haired women.

I think the problem is that I know exactly what it is I am up to at the moment and exactly what it is I am feeling. Previously when I wrote anything of substance that was my weird sort of fusion of prose and poetry (Prosetry?) I was ass-deep in contemplation. Contemplating life and love and this and that. But I'm all stopped up. I think my continuing hiatus from writing ANYTHING is behind all of this. I keep letting myself not write in my blog, then when I try to express myself via text I have to remember what my voice reads like. It's coming back to me in booms and bursts, but I would like to get to the mega-explosion at the end. For the most part I write the way I speak. That is why I am a no good poet by dictionary definition. I'd say it's more of a rhythmic and lyrical free flowing uncensored thought process that breaks and builds with every press and pause my fingertips take.

I may or may not be sabotaging myself. That's okay. I'm up for a little reconnaissance and espionage work.

I've actually come up to a few conclusions after writing those sentences as to why I do the things I do, why I am the person I am, and how I need to make these things change. So... in essence I really am sabotaging myself. It hits on the same notes as yesterday's post. Is it self preservation or outright selfishness? I'm fairly certain you can't have one without the other but I'm certain you can have too much of one or both. I think I am starving myself from the sort of attention I really want (read: don't need) in some useless attempt to quell said desire for said attention. But in acknowledging the fact that I don't need this attention it has become quite clear to me that I do need it. As I said at the start of this post I feel like I should be creating things. I feel like I should be creating things that garner the sort of attention I am lacking. What is that? i don't know. I want to be appreciated for being familiar and special in a human and obsequious way. I want to be able to write things that mean something to everyone, but not tons to anyone. I would like to be able to express myself without fear of exposing a nerve and letting my subconscious bleed out. It's hard. Hard to break free of. Hard to explain, really. Hard nonetheless.

And that is why I didn't write.
I didn't write to keep the peace.
But I've missed it and I need it.
I suppose this is when I decide that each keystroke will save my life.

blah blah blog.

I keep not writing in here and it's not because I'm not committed. I think about not writing in here all of the time. Unfortunately I do this thing where instead of releasing my emotions I let them bottle up until I lash out at someone (usually someone at work). So, life updates.

Work has been interesting. It's clear to me that upward movement is at a standstill so all I can do for the time being is continue to be amazing and fantastic. It's uncomfortable to know that your talents and abilities would gain you acclaim, respect, and more responsibility if you were elsewhere... because there is the constant "what if I" brewing in the back of my head. On the other hand, my talents and my work has been noted and I know my place is one of value for now. SO if something comes along it may not be mine right off the bat, but I know I will get what I deserve eventually. The question is... how long is too long before eventually rears it's glorious head? Should I wait another two years? I don't think so. Two years is a long time to be bouncing back and forth in the same position... or is it? I don't know. I think sometimes I see the world in "what I deserve" terms and not "what I can get" terms. Either outlook is damning if you follow it 100% so I'm trying at a blend. I want to rock the boat just enough for people to know I'm out at sea but not enough to cast myself overboard. I wish the game of life would play out like chess and not like Go Fish. Without going into too much detail I will describe the last few weeks at work. I have spent more time saying the words" fuck you" "fuck" "fuck off" and "fuck yourself" than I have in all of my years on this tumultuous sphere combined. While I know those aren't the most sophistocated of words if you sandwich them between words like "Nevertheless", "Thusly", and "Consequently" it makes it sound a lot more warm and comfortable. It makes me feel scholarly. The usual back and forth, he said she said have been amplified to ridiculous heights. It's like 6th grade but with grown-up genitals and legal ability to drink. SO for the time being it is what it is; uncomfortably comfortable and unusually awkward. Thankfully I thrive in awkward situations. According to everyone I am exceedingly approachable. That means I am privy to all sorts of petty drama. Knowing things sometimes makes it easier to ignore things. While I know this is all a recipe for disaster, it will keep me entertained until it's time to arm myself with words and start to get stabby.

Other than that things are okay I suppose. I have been thinking a lot about my friends and the relationships I have or haven't maintained. Most days I feel like a bad friend. I'm terrible at keeping in contact with people. I almost never go out when I'm invited until somewhat recently. I've turned into somewhat of a homebody. I don't know... here is what I'm thinking. I can't decide if I'm really being a bad friend or of I'm afraid to extend myself because I don't want to take on the responsibility of maintaining strong friendships. Spending my waking hours bouncing work scenarios back and forth in my head and spending so much time making words and feelings work while I'm at work has left me with little emotional time to want to spend on other people. Does that make me a self preservationist or a shitty friend? I don't know. And while it doesn't work so much for other people right now it's working for me so I'm going to run with it. I've been putting myself out there a bit more recently though, so I feel good about where things may be going. I don't know that I should apologize for not being there for anyone right now. I suppose it's selfish and self righteous, but if I can't keep my own thoughts afloat I'd be hard pressed to float the thoughts of others.

Not too long ago we decided that it was time to start watching The Golden Girls religiously. It makes my butt happy.

My Life on The D-List also started up again last week. Fantastic. If ever I were to be someone's gay I'd want to belong to Kathy Griffin. Her hosting of the Bravo A-List awards was fantastic. That evil homosexual that screamed in peoples' faces and ran away from idiots also gave me a good giggle. Exciting.

Brad's birthday party at the Annex was fun. A female Danny DeVito circa Batman Returns threw herself at me and my friends Kathy and Jessica; she came complete with smock-like moo-moo and obnoxious cackle. She delighted me with tales of her obnoxious friend who forced herself on others and talked entirely too much. I was tempted to ask her if her friend was named Obnoxious Girl in Moo-Moo Talking to Me Right Now... but I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Shortly after that another bunch of friends (my fantastic boyfriend included) and I found ourselves talking to one another when we were thrown the offer of friendship by yet another bar loner. Jihan was her name. Her father is Middle-Eastern so she wouldn't dream of dating a Jewish man. It took all of the restraint I could muster up not to call her Jihad and hurl her into one of the twin towers. (Too soon?). Point being... I am an idiot magnet. Thank god I've got a swarm of amazing people to keep me company when I brave the outside world. It's too bad Staten Island throws up on NYC every Friday and Saturday night; it would be a much more pleasant place to frequent and maybe I wouldn't have so many Cosmos spilled all over my shirt.

Done and done.

okay.

So I'm updating via my new fancy blackberry. That said; I went ahead and bought myself a new fancy blackberry. Aside from needing immediate access to me e-mail because I'm super important, I also just really wanted something with a qwerty keyboard. I had my horrible razor for what seemed like 20 years so when my upgrade came along I jumped on the smart phone bandwagon. I was tempted to get an iphone but considering how much I text I know I'd end up dropping that thing multiple times per day. I know they are drop tested but considering my ipod now conveniently opens up at the seam I figured I'd go with something heartier and less expensive. This only cost me $70 after all.

Anyway what else is going on; I had a wonderful Memorial Day weekend. I went with Ryan to spend time with/meet some more of his family. I had an amazing time. I wish my family was as receptive as his is. I know they have grown much more accepting over the years, but my mind is still shrouded in doubt. I guess that's the after effect of years of father-fashioned fear. I'm making my best efforts to make them a little more receptive to me and mine, so we'll see.

I've been trying to ignore all things not integral to my survival in the last few weeks. I've been doing a lot of thinking. I do not now nor have I ever had a functioning relationship with my father. Until somewhat recently I thought he was more inclined to hate me than anything else. I certainly do have my reasons that I don't want to dissect right now; but never having a relationship with someone of that caliber stings pretty righteously. Paired with the constant ache of no support from a loved one is the constant wonder of how to feel this ache, when to feel it, and why I feel it. I am mostly content with my youth but the parts that don't fit into mostly are... mostly dad-made. All of those things said I recently got some potentially bad news about my father. His PSA levels are really high; which could mean anything from simple urinary troubles to prostate cancer. He's supposed to be getting biopsied soon but he's being stubborn and thoughtless as usual so he hasn't even made the appointment yet.

So here I am. Growing up without my father at my back has left me wanting in the emotional department. Myself approval as an upstanding gentleman waxes and wanes and I attribute bits and pieces of this dysfunction to my lack of a relationship with my father. I often wonder if it’s worse growing up without a parent or growing up with one that simply doesn't care. This is directly affecting how this news of possible disease attaches itself to me. Is it wrong that I do and don't care? Can you really feel bad for someone who was never really there to begin with? Can I really care this or that much? I really don't know. I don't know how I feel. Is it bad to wish an end to what has seemingly been a lifelong struggle of mine? And what of the guilt that ensues from just thinking these things and wondering about these wonders? I can't tell if I feel terrible or if I feel horrible. It’s not so much tumultuous as it is tedious and not so much heart wrenching as it is heartbreaking.

It has added stress to an already troubled soul. We'll see how this all plays out. I feel like my job situation has become increasingly desperate. I'm definitely playing the corporate ping pong game. And unfortunately the only one looking out for me is me. My insecurities and weakness are being exploited and of course one of my weaknesses is putting myself in the shoes of the exploited. Hopefully things change soon. Or maybe I'll just have to jump ship.

I know I am my own worst enemy but the cards I'm being dealt are impossibly bleak and trying to constantly look on the bright side will be my eventual downfall.

a liar.

As you can see from my last post I am clearly a liar as I haven't updated anything. I'm still working on that poem, though. I also cut my thumbnails way too short and now my entire life hurts.

fancy times

I've been working on a poem. I like where it's going thus far, but we'll see if I'm ready to post it within the next few days. I am currently in the market for a really good not too expensive tattoo artist in the Brooklyn/Manhattan area. Someone let me know if they know anybody good!

I'm going to update for reals this weekend. I invite you all to sweat in anticipation.

begin to hope.

Sometimes I think my emotional biological clock is working in reverse. Unlike most people, i abhor the summertime. I don't really know why, either. I really enjoy the fact that I can go outside in just a hoodie (I'll wear a hoodie in up to 90 degree weather, it's true) without freezing to death, but the other summertime staples escape me. I understand the appeal of the sun and it's warmth; people and their gathering; outside and it's happenings and other warm weather things you can come up with. And more often than not I am completely okay with these things. BUT every now and again I despise the warmer weather and it's events. I don't know why. I know these are things I should like simply because I would probably benefit from going out and experiencing things and people in this outdoor friendly time of year, but that knowledge isn't enough to keep me from sitting in my house watching Forensic Files.

Actually, I don't think I dislike it as much as I pretend to. SEE!? Emotions getting the best of me and making me into some mole person. I think I'm just more emotional in the summertime. I know everyone and their mother is thrown into this wild and crazy downward spiral of crushing and devastating depression during the winter season, but my life is like 5th grade opposite day. (Sidebar: I just got a call from a girl asking, rather frantically, if I posted her bail yet! Sadly, no I did not.)

I've been thinking a lot about my life in general. Where I am right now, what I'm doing, where i want to be. You know, average mental activities of your textbook 20-something. And while I know I'm certainly not where I'd like to be in terms of my job and finances, or my living situation (when it's warm outside everyday is parade day), I'm in an okay spot. Things are tough every now and again when it comes to money, and friends, and my relationship... but lately every time I think about the bad the angel on my shoulder shocks me into thinking about good things. I know nothing is perfect, I'm sure we all do, but sometimes the good certainly outweighs the bad. And some things certainly are worth struggling for. Eventually I'll get promoted at my job or I'll find another one, and we'll move out of this paper mache apartment complex. I just celebrated my 2 year anniversary with Ryan. Last week he took me to see Goldfrapp as a surprise anniversary gift. I almost shit myself with excitement. Seriously if you ever do anything again in your life ever, go see Goldfrapp. And make sure someone you love surprises you with a ticket. Amazing. I have lots of photos, but I'm only going to post this one right now.



I've also come into family somewhat recently. I have a new nephew, his name is Christopher.



I think I look prim and proper with a child in my arms. Don't you? One of these days I'd like to have a child of my own... once I can manage to stop spending excess money on video game paraphernalia.




Anyway, like I said. Two year anniversary business. So our actual anniversary was yesterday May 6th, so I tried my best to recreate our first date. I think we actually did everything we did on our first date, some things were tweaked. I made breakfast yesterday morning. Sounds easy enough, but once you put me into a kitchen setting it's done. I can barely put water into the filter without soaking myself and my surroundings in gallons of water. But I think I pulled it off. I wanted to be sweet. Instead of Mr. Softee we went to that ice cream place off of 2nd ave with delicious delicious ice cream that comes in wacky flavors. And instead of going to Blockbuster and renting Monster In Law we went to Virgin and I bought Heathers, The Rose, Dancer In The Dark, and the Reno 911 movie. Sometimes it seems as though we've been together forever and other times it seems like I just met Ryan yesterday. I keep having that "I know you" feeling. You know when you know someone and you're just... around them... and all of a sudden you realize that you know them, oftentimes better than you usually think you do. Ah well, all I can say is things are going well. Until things kick into gear and I start moving onward and upward at least I've got my idiosyncratic joys, my itunes playlists, my video games, my exquisite wit, and my amazing boyfriend.

On May 6th 2006 I was tricked into relinquishing my heart to a fantastic man. 2 years later and I'm still without my most weighty of organs; tucked into his back pocket for safekeeping.

Here he is.



Here we are.


And here is a grape with a vagina.


OH and also. Barack Obama is probably going to beat out Hilary. While I won't discuss my opinion on this election in this lowly excuse for a paragraph I just wanted to make mention of the state of our potential democratic candidate. You heard it here folks, black people are pretty sweet.

new post

I haven't updated my blog in almost a month. I know my hiatus isn't in compliance with my numerous vows to update on a regular basis, but I needed some time. I needed lots of time. Real life is continually attacking me when I least expect it; slipping some Rohypnol into my Fresca and having its beastly way with me. If ever I were to claim that everyday life was more convulsive and tumultuous than spending a warm afternoon on Canal St, the happenings of these last few weeks would illustrate said adjectives more than perfectly.

Sometimes I think that I’m not updating my blog because I want to talk about the fact that I have so many things to talk about that I haven’t been able to because I’m not updating my blog which facilitates a blog update in itself. Time, tide, and blog... they all wait for no man, woman, intersexed, or transgendered individual. I’m sitting on the train making my way back to Brooklyn and I feel like I have arrived; drinking my coffee, listening to The Mountain Goats, sitting on my laptop typing up a blog entry. I think 17-year-old me would be very impressed with 25-year-old me. Too bad 17-year-old me doesn’t know 25-year-old me would shoot a hole in his own foot to trade places with said memory of myself. Every time I’ on Long Island I’m reminded of my youth, and how I miss it. Unlike almost every else I know I loved high school. You’re all Romy and I’m Michelle. High school was a blast. I think it’s because I felt like I didn’t belong growing up in the neighborhood I grew up in and going to a private school a few towns away let me be as weird and as wacky as I felt like being. It’s almost comical how even the most self deprecating of people agrees that they are special enough to need a niche. I’m not the most self deprecating of people... I’m just saying.

Speaking of saying things, I’ve taken to the word “sweet” in inappropriate ways. I’ve been saying “sweet” for the last few years for comedy effect, but now I find myself saying “sweet” during telephone conversations with customer service representatives, to my recently deceased landlord’s daughter, or to the man punching my ticket on the LIRR. He just punched my ticked and I looked at him and said “SWEET!” I can’t tell If I’m regressing to some primordial dude state or of I’m just so much fun that I can’t help myself. I’ve also found myself saying “Come on man” and “No way man, no way” way more often than I’d like. There is a girl sitting across from me who is REALLY excited about going into Manhattan today. She keeps saying “NEW YORK CITTAY!!!!!!!” I can’t. I can’t do the “cittay” thing. Or “partay” or anything else you can add “ay” on to the end of. Anyone who knows me knows I bring up how much I hate that on an almost weekly basis. Seriously, come on man.

I am going to invent an invisible ink font. This way I could talk about whatever I want and not worry about anybody I don’t want seeing anything seeing anything or bringing silly things up at work. Something that’s always bothered me about public forums of expression (this dates back to my livejournal days) is when someone reads something you’ve written that had nothing to do with them and then they think it’s a good idea to either address you about what it is you wrote in person, or bring up what you’ve written in casual conversation as though the inner workings of my cerebellum are to be made into table talk and lunchtime conversation. No. No it’s really not. I don’t think that’s something that you really need to remind people of, either. Isn’t that just understood? Isn’t it written in the constellations? Unless I invite you to talk ABOUT something I wrote about in person, keep quiet. If you want to ask me about something go for it, I’m all ears. But don’t come at me and make it into a conversation, really. Hello rudeness!

[Here is where we insert a break; I am now sitting in my apartment watching the View and its Tuesday, not Sunday]

Tonight Ryan is taking me to see Goldfrapp. I don’t know how he managed to get us fantastic seats after the show already sold out, but he did. I thoroughly enjoy her new album so I hope she plays a lot of new stuff. Of course I wouldn’t mind hearing some older Goldfrapp; back when I partied 7 nights a week I couldn’t take a step without hearing another Goldfrapp song. She is near and dear to my heart. I am so excited. I hear her shows are amazing and I could use some amazingness.

My cat just farted and it smells like someone set a tire and ass factory on fire. Gross.

I bought a set of weights to put to use on my unused weight bench. I bought said bench last summer and I bought one of those big long barbells with it. I’ve only used it a handful of times because it makes me feel silly having to hold up that giant bar. So the weight bench has become more of a pant storage destination. When I get home from work and my pants come off they end up sitting on my weight bench. I think I got up to almost 7 pairs of pants on the bench when I decided I should put it to actual use. So I bought two smaller barbells. They are both 20lbs. 20lbs may not sound like a lot but after a while 20lbs starts kicking my ass. I am doing this in conjunction with the healthier eating lifestyle to hopefully prevent the onset of the love handle.

Work has become an experience. If the options were to sink or swim you’d find me floating 15ft out from the shore. I have no idea what the future holds with the company I’m working for, or if there is even anything in store for the future. Perhaps I am destined to spend all of eternity arranging moderately priced linen pants for carrot-shaped foreigners who let their children draw on the walls with crayons before asking me how to get to Ed Hardy. Or perhaps my over qualification and oodles of experience will propel me into the upper echelons of merchandising. My team dynamic is really good right now, though. We’re finally at a point where we can have non-stop fun and still get our work done. Although there will always be the folks who say we’re having too much fun. It’s weird; whenever you work a merchandising job the people who aren’t merchandisers are always jealous of you. Jealous of your sense of humor, jealous of the way you dress and things of that nature. I don’t think they realize that most of us use humor as a defense mechanism. Or that we dress differently because we are strange and we get made fun of for our outfit choices outside of our work environment. Oh well. I suppose the leggings are always greener on the other side of the sales floor.

Speaking of work; yesterday I zipped my underwear up into my pants and didn’t realize there was a huge gaping hole in the pouch of my briefs until I felt one of my balls slip out. Things like this are always happening to me. I should have my own sitcom.

blah

[insert incredulous sigh]
life.

easter on the island of long.

I have a big update brewing inside of me. I've also gotten my hands on a ton of photos from decades past. Yikes.

amanda overmyer

If Pink and Rachel Ray had a baby...

I went skiing!

So I went skiing.

Ryan's dad and girlfriend planned a skiing trip for all of us (the two of them, me, Ryan, Ryan's brother Brady, his sister Becky, his brother's girlfriend Blair, and his sister's friend Amy)a few months ago and the trip finally came into fruition last week. I don't know why I decided to call everyone out by name, but it's a say something dress day so why not be carefree?

The trip was fantastic. Aside from desperately needing time away from this awful city, getting away cleared my head a bit. I'm not seeing things any clearer, but the urge to backhand everyone I come into contact with is at ease for now. It was a much needed and much deserved vacation. Sometimes I forget how hard me and Ryan work because we're not out there "busting our asses" digging wells or building houses or whatever it is grown men do in the square states. It's a lot of work making people feel pretty, whatever avenue it is you travel down to do so. Anyway, skiing.

It was fantastic. My ski outfit was fantastic. My jacket is navy blue with yellow and red strips about the chest. I had a brown/tan striped scarf, gray gloves, and BRIGHT SPRING GREEN snow pants. It looked like the '70s vomited all over me. I was in heaven. Hanging out in hotel rooms, eating out with newfound friends and family, 24hr cuddle parties. Good things, good times. Although, there may have been a snafu or two whilst we danced down those icy slopes of upstate New York. I may or may not have killed an Asian girl. Here's the thing; she was asking for it. I followed along a line of skiers, bounding back and forth from one side of our path to the other when all of a sudden the girl in front of me decides to a) stop and b) turn around. Um, what? You're not doing a toe-spike and this isn't the Ice Capades, Michelle Kwan. SO suffice it to say my chest came into contact with her entire life and a split second later I found myself side-stepping back up the hill to check on this broken pile of girl laying, stunned, in the middle of the pathway. She says she's fine but her arm really hurts. She assures me she will be okay and so I go on my merry way. But as I start back down the mountain I look over my shoulder and see her collapse (intoapileofporkfriedrice :x)and I am almost moved enough to stop again and make sure she's okay. But by that time I was hundreds of feet away and there were other people swarming around her. Long story short, don't fuck with me. I also got going down another slope at around, 900pmh. Ryan was sure I was going to die but I came out of it and pulled off a dazzling performance... not unlike one Ms. Michelle Kwan!

Our hotel room was fantastic. Eating wine and cheese and watching planet terror is what I think life is all about. Lots more happened, but I'm not one to list my every joy in the world. I like to keep my secrets. Although I do feel closer to Ryan than I have ever felt before. And I think walking back up that mountain over and over again has taught me to pace myself somewhat. I will not roll with the punches because I do not roll with the punches; I think now though I will try not to punch back so hard when said punches are being punched at me. Punch.

It's almost midnight and I'm naked watching Forensic Files in our living room. I'm curled up in a blanket that isn't anywhere near as warm or comfortable as the bed Ryan is currently passed out on BUT I can't go to sleep without sharing some NYC stories with you. First, as I was walking with some friends during my lunch break yesterday a large, juicy, black man said "How you doin' baby?" in my general direction. I thought he was talking to my friend Sara so of course I couldn't resist myself. "I"m fine, how are you?" I replied. But it was one of those replies that wasn't really directed at the juicy black man, it was just shot out into the sky. AND HE ANSWERED ME BACK! He said "GOOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOIN' TOMORROW NIGHT!?!??!" My reply to that was a brisk walk away from my juicy suitor, though I did happen a glance back at him. Never in my life have I seen a juicier, blacker, older, gold-toothedier man. Never. He looked like Aunt Jemima in Blackface. He looked like he gave birth to the crushed velvet suit. He was so juicy, I'm almost certain it was all grease, fatback, and crisco. I wish I had a bag of sand to throw on his face and sop him up. Gross.

Then today on my way home I was sitting in between my usual Latina Sandwich. Latina #1 was texting up a fury, cursing into her sidekick. Latina #2 was molding a section of curls with HER OWN BAMBOO EARRING! While I thought my riding situation couldn't get any better, a fight broke out between a black woman, herself, her friend, and a white guy. She could not believe that we had to get off of the J train at Marcy and transfer to the M train (because the J runs express, the M is local). She couldn't believe it. From Canal St. to the Williamsburg bridge to the platform to the M train. She was in shock and everyone needed to know about it. White guy looks in her general direction and she goes off. Telling her friend she's not crazy, and that white people are always looking at her like she's crazy. But she is not crazy. And while she is not crazy her friend is staring at her as though she is crazy. She asked Latina #3 if she "could believe this shit!" but #3 was lost in a cloud of Jay-Z, neon high-tops, and beef patties, so she was no help. All of a sudden she quiets down and tells her friend she's acting crazy. And that somehow white people always manage to see her when she's acting crazy. Her friend points out the fact that she denied being crazy while her fit was still going on... and she laughed. Then she walked over to white guy, said "you know I was just playing right?"; gave him a pound, and then exited the train before me. The moral of this story is... should you find yourself white, in the company of women who are several shades darker than you, and traveling to one of the lesser boroughs... avert your eyes. You will, perhaps, incite a riot within a single crazed black woman that will scare you, confuse you, confound you, and then shake your hand.

Clearly, I can't. I just can't.
I wonder what treasures tomorrow has in store for me.
Goodnight.

dreams

I just woke up crying/sweating/panting from the worst nightmare I've ever had. Ever!
Maybe I'll tell you about it.

one line

and i draw a line
to your heart today
"to your heart from mine
a line to keep us safe"

I hope I never end up on Forensic Files.

Once upon a time i met a girl named Kathy. I knew when I met her that we were destined to be in some way, shape, or form. And as it turns out we're identical twins. I know we don't look alike; one of us may or may not be a dashingly handsome black man while the other is an uncomfortably gorgeous white woman, but I'm fairly certain our brains were born of the same ingenious seed. I know I don't have to mention how my body responds negatively/physically to the thought of Kevin James in any state of undress, and I'm sure I don't have to mention how hers does either. I know I don't have to say it but I'm fairly certain we also share the same opinions of Sienna Miller, Raven Symoné, Aaron Carter, and Melanie C.

She posted a blog about her trials and tribulations with variations of life that lend themselves to the areas of health and nutrition, and how it seems that people breathe out stupid everywhere you turn. I'd like to think I'm going through a similar situation, though I know the variables are different. I feel that ultimately it's not about what you're doing, but the level of respect you receive while you're doing it. I feel like the unfortunate variables in our seemingly-different-but-ultimately-similar situations always end up being... stupid people. WONDERTWIN POWERS ACTIVATE! FORM OF: RANT!

So in the last two months or so my diet has changed drastically. My boyfriend Ryan and I decided that we needed to clean up our eating acts. A typical night would involve ordering a pizza, snacking on cookies and/or chips, then eating ice cream and watching DVR. So we threw out all of the processed sugars/sugary foods we owned. We got rid of the saturated fats and other various nasties. We replaced our previous guilty pleasures with organic foods, whole grains, and leafy greens. Since Christmas I've lost about 15lbs. I know that we aren't overweight so please, don't pretend as though I am citing this as some personal triumph. I know we are in no immediate need of radical diet change for health purposes, religious purposes, or any other purpose you can come up with. But that doesn't mean that I should leave well enough alone and be content in the fact that I can be unhealthy and not worry about the consequences right now. Even as I type that it sounds ridiculous, and yet I feel as though I am up against nothing but opposition from people regardless of their standing in my tiny social circle.

And it makes me wonder what the Christ is wrong with people. It seems as though (here comes the cliche that is so obviously cliche but somewhat necessary in a time like this) most people can only see in black and white and my opinion is clearly a shade of gray. One of the cooler grays, though... sometimes when my peoples wear warmer grays we tend to look like extras from Mad Max... or Fame... or anything made before 1998 with black people in it. Anyway, THIS is the respect I'm talking about. I always wonder after I end up defending my actions to someone(s) why they get to share their opinion with me anyway. And also, why am I defending myself? Why is my deciding to take better care of myself a reason for you to praise me so much that I know you thought I was seconds away from changing my name to White Castle Wendy's McDonald's Arby's Jr. or spit out so much disdain that I have no choice but to think you're attacking me out of fear for yourself and the things you are or aren't doing. I would like to be able to doctor myself however I see fit and not worry about the opinions of Random Mc Stupidperson and the Wealth of Bad Ideas Band.

So ultimately I wish people would keep their opinions to themselves unless they are asked for or supportive in the way that doesn't make me want to kill you with the season 1 box set of King of Queens. I think I've watched enough Forensic Files to make sure nobody ever finds your body or hears from me again. Although I'm pretty sure all they need to track you down now is a hunch, a pube, and a nosy neighbor. I may have stolen those three pieces of evidence from an episode of Matlock. And with that I take my leave.

Welcome back me!

So, it's been a while since I've posted anything of substance. I know this. I also know that I being a lot of my posts with "It's been a long time since I've posted anything of substance". And finally I know that 15 or so posts hardly constitutes a fraction of said posts being referred to as "a lot" but this is my blog and I will do as I please with the bloguniverse.

So real life really did happen. Lots of work stress and self discovery. I'm not going to write about my everythings all at once because I don't want this to turn into one of those "real life" blogs; one that gives you insight on the real life activities of today's girl; one that might end up in a yellow bubble on the cover of Self magazine. Instead I will talk about my living situation. Because this is New York and nobody is ever happy or ever lives anywhere; ever.

Our lease may or may not be over come June 1st. The owner of our building didn't rent out any other properties, this was his only apartment building... he sold buildings like ours as individual units in condos. He also died on Saturday and his son took over ownership of our building. Hence my not knowing if our lease might end or not. We are currently residing in an overpriced one bedroom in Little Puerto Rico on the corner of Little Dominican Republic Ave. and Little Mexico St. I have nothing against my Spanish speaking/screaming brethren. We are brothers and sisters in skin tone, therefor we are united. But you would think that for the amount we're paying (too much) we wouldn't have to endure the screams of children/old men/young men/gang members day in and day out. Williamsburg is surely being gentrified, but it may not be happening fast enough for my liking. And while I don't like the idea of misplacing a peoples, I also don't like worrying that walking down the street may or may not mean walking past bags of medical waste, being called a faggot by an old drunk, or getting hollered at by a Hispanic man in a gold Camry with dice dangling in the mirror. I believe he said "yo shorty, let me get at that booty".

Ideally we would love to find a loft. One that is in a nice enough area, close to a grocery store that sells organic foods, has lots of windows/natural light, is close to the JMZ or the L (nothing after Montrose, please), costs less than our apartment we're living in now (or is of equal price with way more space), and a fire escape wouldn't hurt the equation either. But if a loft isn't in the future for us, anything for the price we're paying now that has more space would be welcomed. Our across the hall neighbors are either screaming along with their idiot friends playing Wheel of Fortune Kids, or the girl is crying about feeling used or incompetent or unappreciated or something of that sort. I know that's not nice, but life isn't nice! She needs a new boyfriend and a hobby! She'll come home from work wearing heels and walk around on the hardwood floors with her heels on for HOURS before she thinks to take them off. What a bitch.

Moving closer to the JMZ would be ideal. But we don't want to rule out Greenpoint just yet. Although every time I'm in Greenpoint the Polish people look at me funny and I have a built-in hatred for the G train. I don't think I can explain exactly how I feel about the train in words... so I made a handy little graphic. Here it is:



If you live here you know what I mean. So what do we do? I'm sure no matter where we end up our individuality will shine through. I want to move out of this place and find another apartment that feels more like home. The stairwell here feels like a dentist's office situated on several sets of stairs. our balcony (yes a balcony!! Fancy!) window is drafty... and we just need more space. We're furthering our suburban-gone-hipsterness by ordering some furniture from Jennifer Convertibles, so we need some space to grow. I know the answers to my quandaries probably don't exist in this blog, so I'm going to give this post a rest.

But I'm back! And until I disappear again I'll produce other entry-long posts about problems that are really important to me because ultimately I'm exceedingly selfish and I enjoy keeping record of my thoughts because they are golden and I am amazing and unique.

Find me an apartment.
Please?

Craig T. Nelson

I hate that knowing someone is in a bad mood puts me into immediate detective mode. Modes of that sort lead me to sitting up online at 1:30 when I am well aware of the fact that I need to be awake in less than five hours to make it to work on time. I need that little old lady (Beatrice Straight) from Poltergeist to appear and suck me into the closet. I don't think Carol Anne had all too many worries when she was floating around inside of that TV.

Unless Craig T. Nelson is involved.

Then the deal's off.

birthday

Today is my birthday.
I am 25 years old.
I took a blog hiatus due to the onset of real life.
I'll update soon. Just watch.

AND

I ordered a fantastic print of a photo created by a really, really talented young lady named Madeline. This is what I ordered:


Here is the link to her stuff:
http://www.etsy.com/profile.php?user_id=5098586

Buy stuff!

lessons in, on, and around escapism.

It's snowing in Brooklyn.

How fancy is that?

So... I have a weird feeling in my stomach. I can't pinpoint what, exactly it is; or how, exactly to deal with it. But I feel like I need to go soon. From New York, I mean. And move somewhere far, far away. I've always felt like I came here because this is where you come when you move off of Long Island (if you're of my alternative persuasion, of course)... and now I'm pretty sure it's time to move on. New York is not built for someone like me. It turns people inside out and makes it hard to relate to them in ways that are unspoken and important. It amazes me how standing in the midst of 40 or so people crammed into a subway car elbow-to-elbow feels more lonely than sitting alone in my apartment organizing my itunes. And sure, you know, everyone here feels the same way... but it's not something I can do forever; I can hardly wrap my brain around doing it for now.

As a child I remember holding on to things too long. Letting my emotions run the gamut on my insides; carving out little pieces of my circulatory system so that every heartbeat was a reminder of the joy/pain/sadness/contentedness I felt on a daily basis. And I thought that when I moved away from that godforsaken mass of gated communities that I would blossom into something or someone a little less like the dictionary definition of a person and a little more like joan of arc. But leaving the walls of my hometown behind proved more difficult than I thought, and I never quite managed to move out of the home inside my heart. But I've made it thus far, soon to be 25. And you know I've never needed a savior; I just require company. In exchange for unconditional love and the insurmountable ability to understand I would just like to talk.

But like I said, talking isn't bred in a city built like this. And that, I suppose, is out of my hands.

I'm tired.

I start my management training at work next week.
The descent begins.

long time gone.

So I'm back from a hiatus of sorts. I don't really know why I took one, but I'm glad it's over. I think the holiday tension, good or bad, put my writing skills on hold to make space for other more or less intense emotions to take over me, myself, and I.

This past Christmas ended up being better than any Christmas I can remember; maybe not as good as those of my early childhood... but better than any in the last decade, for sure. This New Years was also one of the more fun New Years I've spent in my adult body. Hanging out with friends, making out with boyfriends in bars at the stroke of midnight, eating pizza in the back rooms of bars in Williamsburg, bouncing from one gay bar to the next. Fun times.

I'm going to write another post soon, one about life and work and whatnot. I just need to ease my fingers back into working. Me and Ryan are eating soup and watching movies at the moment. But for now I will leave you with pictures of my new computer, my new camera, and my fancy new in-progress hairstyle via the webcam built-in to said fancy new computer. When it's ready to expose itself I'll be sure to post more pictures.

Fancy new computer:




Fancy new camera:





Fancy new hair: