Wednesday, January 28, 2009

A support group?!

Are you effing kidding me?

My favorite line: Another wrote, fearfully, that her beau had told her to make a list of their favorite New York restaurants before the bad market forced a move to the Midwest.

Um, I live here, and I one of my secret dreams is to pick up and move to Montana/Wyoming/North Dakota, meet a soulful cowboy/rancher and practice small town law while basking in the wide open space.

These people are the suck.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

This started out as a different post.

But I kept erasing it because I couldn't find the right tone. So I don't think it was meant to be.

Instead, I'll relay a dream I had last night, more for me than you, so I can later try to figure out what it all means.

I was sick. Not cancer, but something really bad. Something without a cure. In the hospital. But the hallway. Not an actual room. On a gurney, in the hallway, between two rooms where two other people I knew were also staying. I'm not sure who they were.

My entire extended family showed up at one point or another during the sequence. Hushed whispers abounded, and I saw my mother looking worriedly at the doctors.

Suddenly, we were all at a party. At some lavish mansion in a warm climate with a lot of people I didn't know. I was still sick, but this was some kind of fundraiser for my treatment. I did my best to put on a smile, but inside I was dying. Literally. I excused myself to the spa-like bathroom where I curled up on the cool tile and listened to the rhythmic sound of the bass from the music downstairs.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

I have nothing to say, but in the interest of keeping readers...

The season premiere of Lost started five minutes ago, but I hate commercials, and am therefore waiting to begin watching until 9:30.

Like Grace, I too have a thing I am not going to talk about until it is resolved, but let's just say it's the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. While Grace's appears to be a negative thing, mine is more neutral at this point and could go either way. I'm waiting and seeing for now.

I've realized that Yellow Tail Shiraz might be the only red wine I really like. Classy taste I have, no?

I'm sad ER is ending. And I kind of think Clooney is a dick for not doing one damn guest appearance. I mean really. Do you not remember your roots, George? Where it all started? Pleeeeeeeeeze.

I'm still on an Inauguration Day high. Although I can't believe John Roberts fucked up the oath? Someone's bitter President Obama (it sounds good, huh?!) didn't vote to confirm him...

Sunday, January 18, 2009

I went to a dinner party tonight.

I arrived late.

Because I spent a solid half an hour hyperventilating and slightly crying in my apartment prior to leaving. Why?

Because I couldn't put on a bracelet that I got for Christmas. It was one of those things where you realize you just NEED another person to help you do something like fasten a clasp because you can't do it with one hand. I don't have another person. I'm nowhere near having another person.

Yeah. So that happened. After I spent the previous night and most of the day comforting a good friend who is wrapped up in a total shitshow of a relationship. She got locked out of her apartment after a fight with the on again off again boyfriend and spent the night on my couch.

But I bet she doesn't have any problem wearing a bracelet with a delicate clasp.

Friday, January 16, 2009

January is rough.

There's snow everywhere.

However, the cold has won out over my fear of burning my apartment building down.

There's also this.

She makes the cold warmer and the heat cooler. Yes she does.

(Yes, I have bars on my windows. I live in a nice neighborhood, but it's still on the ground floor, ok?)

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Stolen Lines #1

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

"Because I'm not."

When the woman first walked into the subway car, I knew right away she was going to be one of the more in your face people. The tattered and dirty clothes, noticeable stench in the middle of winter, and a picture of two young kids hanging around her neck made it obvious, but the way she moved perked me up. The New York City homeless, more than others, have a tacit understanding with those they seek help from. If you're gonna ask me for money, don't even think about invading my personal space.

"Do you have any change?"

"No, sorry."

"Come on, I know you got something. Why aren't you gonna help my babies eat?" She pointed to the picture hanging from bright blue yarn around her neck.

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

"Because I'm not." I'm not going to be guilted into it by a homeless person at least, I thought to myself.

"Please ma'am. Pleeeeeaaase." She was a few inches from me at this point. The other passengers grasped their bags tightly and shot me glances of their condolences.

"Hey." It came out sharper than I intended, but she was leaning in and had totally crossed the boundary.

"What? What? You think you own this train? Like I got no right to be here?"

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

What was the right answer? "Sure, you have a right to be here, although it is illegal to panhandle. And FYI, there's even a separate statute against panhandling on the property of the New York City Transit Authority. It carries higher penalties." No, I'm pretty sure that would have been the nerdy answer.

But I snapped. And spoke anyway.

"MOVE. Or I will have you arrested. "

She moved.

True story. I was in no mood that night. The first two sentences are stolen from Night of the Avenging Blowfish by John Welter. I may be the last to post as part of Grace's Blog Experiment this time around. However, I heart her and want to do it again soon.

Friday, January 02, 2009

I don't do resolutions.

But I do do (hee) lists. And in an effort (not a resolution) to be more positive, or at least bring the positive with the negative, I'm gonna take a page from the old Oprah playbook and write down things I am grateful for:

My beloved, crazy, snoring 15 year old dog. Even when she falls off the top of the couch and lands on my laptop in my lap and knocks off the 'Alt' key. It's not the most important key on the board, and hey, there's gotta be a reason there's two of them anyway.

My health. Sure, I could eat only organic stuff, a bit less cheese, no diet coke, etc. But you know what? I ran a freaking marathon this year, I get precisely two colds per year (the winter one is winding down), I have no history of cancer in my family, and although I do have a history of heart disease, my lifestyle pushes against that every day. Except for things like, uh, cheese.

My job. Yes, I rant and rave. A lot. I'm still searching for what's better out there. But believe me, I know how hard decent jobs are to come by, and I'm employed. So that's something.

My family. They are whackjobs. But loveable ones.

My apartment. I live in one of the greatest neighborhoods in one of the greatest cities in the freaking world. I could do worse.

My close friends. Who I don't see as much as I'd like due to our collective schedules, but who I trust implicitly and completely.

My not so close friends even. Hey, Facebook is a great procrastination tool. And hooray for my fellow bloggers, who, honestly, probably know more about me than certain Facebook friends.

My flatscreen. Because, well, let's be honest.