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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"