Welcome to The OC, Bitch.

My sister, in what may be her most awesome act of sisterly love to date (kidding), bought me this, supposedly because she never bought me a birthday present back in February and needed to finish using an Amazon gift card that she had for a while.

It's fucking awesome. All 92 episodes. Remastered. Commentaries. Retrospectives. Deleted scenes. Music compilations. Totally cheesy and awesome packaging.

This definitely beats the motion I won today on the excitement scale.

Also, unrelated, this makes me sad. And mad. And, fuck, really mad.

What also makes me mad? The fact that a bug just landed in my glass of wine. Serves me right for trying to save money on my Con Ed bill by opening the window and giving the A/C a break.

Leave me alone. And go back to Portugal.

I am the first person to say that the United States is far from perfect. We have serious problems, and we need serious people to solve them.

But when an obnoxious foreigner, who has no investment in the future of this country in the same way I do, engages in the world's worst pick up attempt by telling me how horrible my country is, especially when it's 1:30 am and I'm tired and want to leave but I can't find my friend who's crashing at my apartment, there's really nothing to do besides "accidentally" spill my drink on him.

The "Are You Fucking Kidding Me?" Moment of the Day

Subway. Express train home. Headphones in. Michael Jackson is telling me that it's close to midnight and something evil's lurking through the dark.

Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder. I turn, and see a tall thin 45-ish nerdy guy. I say, "Yes?" Dude goes, "It's too loud. Too loud."

Um, excuse me? Are you fucking kidding me? First of all, the volume on my dam ipod wasn't even turned all the way up. Second, it's the subway. 98% of people have earphones in. Sometimes, yes, a person's music is loud, and you wonder how his or her eardrums are handling it since you can hear it from the outside. But mine wasn't that loud. Aside from that, who the fuck is so bothered by that as to tell a person to turn it down? Um, move away if you're bothered. Jesus.

So, I say to the doofus, "What song is playing?"

"Huh?"

"If it's so loud, you must know what song is playing. It's a pretty famous song that anyone who's been alive in the past three decades should know."

"Uh, well I don't know. But the drums are just too loud so could you turn it down?"

"Um, no."

Nerdy guy looks flustered and embarrassed, as people around us start to snicker. He got off at the next stop. Another guy who had heard the whole exchange then says to me, "What was that?"

I have no idea.

I wouldn't call myself a feminist per se...

(I mean, I am, but in the good ways. The label has taken on a pejorative meaning over the years and so I can't associate with it. Anyway, a subject for another post.)

But here's the thing.

Despite the fact that the number of women in law school has outnumbered men for at least a few years now, old school attorneys (men) still draft correspondence and discovery demands as "Dear Sirs" or "Sirs" or "Attention Sirs" all the freaking time. I get at least one a week. I'm not a Sir. If you're not with it enough to use my real name, or you don't know exactly who to direct something to in the firm, how about just "Dear Counselor(s)"?

It pisses me off.
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A 10:47pm complete nonsequiter: Watching Game 1 is really making me miss Boston.

I suddenly don't feel as strapped.

Well, I'm still in a shitload of debt. But I'm not stupid.*

My tivo-ing of Oprah has been established.

Today's show was about personal finances and the idiots who are digging themselves into poverty. $135,000 in credit card debt. Two mortgages of $700,000. Stay at home mom who spends $4000 on a birthday party but doesn't have health insurance for her kids. $900 shoes. $400 a month on Starbucks. Yep. All on your husband's middle to upper middle class salary. Not a millionaire's salary by any means. And your "my mother never believed in me, and I've never felt any self worth and wah wah wah"...give me a fucking break, lady. Your $60/week hair extensions are ugly and sure as hell aren't giving you any self-worth either.

Financial Guru Suze Orman: "I've been doing this for a long time, and I've never seen a family in such a terrible financial situation." Yikes.

Then there's the couple expecting a baby who aren't answering the phones when their student loan providers are calling but who are paying $2600 per month on two luxury cars, but, ha, "not to impress anybody." Fuck. You don't deserve a child. (Sidebar: I have ALWAYS wondered why you need a license to do almost everything in this world except be a parent. Don't give me the "it's a natural human right" stuff. Intellectually, I know that. Morally, I want to sterilize a lot of people. Maybe the "intellectually" and "morally" should be switched. I don't know.)

Did anyone else know that Washington state has no income tax?! I've always wanted to visit Seattle. Now I may have to move there.

*I'd like to thank my parents for instilling within me a life-long stinginess.

Those Entertaining NYU Kids

So I was at a rooftop party last night. Some would call it "taking advantage of the last summer-like weekend weather." I called it "being a plus one for my friend who wanted someone with her while she made googly eyes at some crush." Too bad he didn't show up. Of course she still managed to find the one straight guy in the bunch (it was a housewarming party for a gay interior designer friend) and I'm 90% sure either went home with him or at least made out with him. This friend is kinda slutty. I love and hate her for it. Although I must say, her standards are...lower than mine. Which is why I'll die alone.

Anyway, at some point while I was mixing myself nice little cocktail (yay for gay guys an their liquor selections! So much nicer than "the beer's over there.") to keep myself entertained enough not to feel bad about the fact that the guys were dressed better than I was, I heard some hooting and hollering. Turns out there was a huge freshmen NYU dorm across the way, and those kiddies hadn't learned the most important thing about living in New York:

Close your blinds/curtains/shades.

They were going AT IT. Two boys. Imagine the excitement over on our roof. I don't think I've ever seen a bunch of people in their 20s and 30s SO RIVETED before. And kudos to those kids. It's only October! They've known each other, what, a month?

Then again, they are guys.

To the jackholes playing football in the middle of the street:

I'm trying to go to sleep at a decent hour. So please, please shut the fuck up. If you happen to be shut up by being hit by a car, even better.

Of All the Things to Say

I had a light hearted post planned earlier today, but I witnessed something today that I feel demands immediate attention.

I went to see The Kingdom this afternoon. It's a rock 'em sock 'em yet thought provoking political drama about terrorism in Saudi Arabia. Basically, anything Peter Berg does I love. The movie ends on a morally ambiguous yet poignant note that implies, however cheesy it may sound outside of the movie's context, that we are more similar to "the terrorists" than we might like to admit.

Upon leaving the theater, two couples got into some kind of scuffle. Not sure what it was about - maybe someone stepped on someone's toes. The men started to raise their voices, and, in a moment to pure fury (which I was close enough to witness), one said to the other, "Why don't you just go back where you came from!"

It was visceral. And a slap in the face. Not just to the other man, but to the rest of us. I felt it. The communal experience of sitting in a darkened theater for a couple hours was ripped away, along with everything the film tried so earnestly to impart upon us.

It was a Tuesday then too.

But it was dark and threatening and raining today, unlike Tuesday six years ago.

My office overlooks ground zero. And this was the first year I've been in New York City since 9/11, when I got out of the subway at 8:45 to get to my internship 3 blocks from the WTC. When I heard a loud buzzing, looked up, and saw the first plane hit. When I was so confused thinking to myself "why are there feathers coming out of the building?" when it was thousands of pieces of paper. When something like that happens your brain does funny things at first. I finally got in touch with my family 4 hours later, and I was literally scared my mom was going to collapse out of relief from hearing my voice.

It's different outside of New York. It's different within New York. Midtown is different than downtown. Yes, everyone should and has moved on to some extent. But 9/11 did affect the entire world. Not in the way George Bush says it did. But it did.

I'll save my whining and crazy dream for tomorrow's post. Cuz it's not about me today.

I Never Knew What "Goosebumps" Were.

Until I read this article this morning. (To note, I do read the rest of the Times as well. I just read the style section first. While the coffee's kicking in.)

I've started and erased a few posts today.

Just my usual Sunday overthinking thing that I do. Gotta stop that.

_____________________________

And now I've edited this tiny post twice. This second time because I just saw that I went to school with one of the happy brides profiled in the weddings section. Fuck. As if I need another reason to feel bad about myself. Then again, my former classmate (who I remember as sweet, intelligent, and pretty and I really should be happy and not bitter) could always wind up here.

Giving

So I was watching Oprah a little while ago.

(Sidebar: No, I'm never home at 4pm. I Tivo Oprah. Shut up. I don't watch every episode, but a lot of them are interesting, inspiring, hilarious, or downright practical. So yes, I record Oprah.)

A couple days ago Bill Clinton was on the show promoting his new book, and they did a little segment about a young girl who has undergone a shit load of medical problems in her own life and yet focused her energy on raising money for kids who have been orphaned by AIDS in Africa:

Anyway. Tears. I have a little volunteer project of my own in the works, but it's not a done deal yet, so I don't wanna jinx it.

Also, I miss you Bill. A lot. I'm still not so fond of your wife though.

It's probably 1, 2, and 3.

I noticed a number of attributes of other people today that scared/disappointed/annoyed me to an extreme. I chalk my observations up to three possibilities:

1. My brain is so frazzled and ready for vacation that I am singularly focused on anything other than work.

2. People are incapable of following the orders and advice of millions of dollars worth of research, media portrayals, medical care, entertainment sources, fashion magazines, etc. that aspire to make our country prettier and healthier.

3. People are just idiots.

So here's what I noticed today:

A) There are still a hell of a lot of people out there who smoke. I mean a lot. In 2007, I have absolutely no sympathy for anyone who croaks of a smoke-related disease.

B) A bra has a purpose. If it's not doing its job, get a new one. No one wants to see that.

C) Wearing a tiny dress that is about 6 sizes too small and made of unforgiving fabric when you are about 100 pounds overweight INVITES people to stare at you and (silently or unsilently) judge, especially when said dress allows everyone sitting across from you on the subway to see your hoo-ha. There are many ways to fix this problem. Choose one or all of them. Now.

D) Ordering a side of mayonnaise for your french fries in a relatively nice restaurant should require you to be booted out the door.

In conclusion, people are freaks.

There's really no PC way to say this.

But being PC is so '90s and totally overrated and unhelpful.

So. Here's my gripe.

I have a problem with Latino men. Not all of them. Only the distinct subset who adhere to the machismo mindset that it is perfectly acceptable to make physical, visual, and auditory references to girls and women who are simply walking down the fucking street. I realize that all men check out women. We do a lot of checking out of our own. Believe you me. However, I cannot describe how much I prefer the subtle once overs and subdued eye contact to the in your face bullshit that seems to only come from Latino men.

Has living in New York made me a racist? I don't think so. This is how I feel. I had a conversation with my mom about it. My mother. Who has been on many national panels and given presentations at numerous conferences about her work in all things race-related. We came to the conclusion that as long as I continue with the meta-awareness, I shouldn't feel guilty about my thoughts and feelings. So I don't.

And I didn't, again, when just now on the way home I was faced with another example of pure cultural indecency. Assholes.

To end on a less inflammatory note, The Bourne Ultimatum was not exactly excellent, but highly entertaining nonetheless. It's rare that people actually clap both during and after a movie.

Family Matters and Sprained Elbows

This may turn into some sort of rant. I suggest you get a drink.

I had a very long and not very pleasant phone conversation with my sister today. It started out well enough. Chatting, gossiping, whining, as per usual. And then she made a joke that...didn't go over well with me. I'm not gonna get into the substance of it or why exactly it bothered me, at least right now. Maybe later. But it opened up a can o' worms that has stayed pretty well closed the last, oh 8 years or so. It rears its ugly head now and then, but we overeducated supposedly emotionally open and available liberal thinking heavily self-analyzing types quickly push it back beneath the surface before things get too tense. But my sister and I didn't do that today. Things were then said on both sides that needn't have been said. Truths were spoken.

Now we all know that sometimes speaking the truth serves no purpose other than to hurt or piss off the other person. Like when a friend asks how she looks and you say fine (read: you lie) but then suggest she wear X instead because right now she looks totally hideous/frumpy/stupid/inappropriate. But the tables turn when you're talking about people and issues that have and will continue to affect your entire lives. Is it really better to lie and let your loved one continue to delude themselves and refuse reality? I don't know.

There was some eventual crying. And some cursing. And some rationalizations. (A lot of rationalizations. They're more important than sex!) And some realization. And some more cursing.

We didn't exactly end the call on a warm and fuzzy note. But I said "I love you" because I'm paranoid that the one time I don't say it the other person is immediately going to be hit by a car/struck by lightning/killed by terrorists or the like and I'm never going to get over the guilt of not telling him or her "I love you." But that doesn't mean I have to like them.

Jesus christ I'm sick of the iphone commercials. Yes, they're neat-o. We get it. Yes, I kind of want one. When the price drops and the kinks are worked out. They're fucking awesome, ok? WE GET IT. Now shut up, Apple.

My right arm fucking hurts. The majority of the soreness from that maniacal body sculpting class the other day has subsided (although I'm sure I looked like a retarded monkey while out running yesterday), but whenever I straighten my right arm I feel the need to scream. Fab.

I also found out today that a young man I once knew, not knew well but knew nonetheless, who joined the army after he graduated college in some warped attempt to please his military male heritage (I'm sorry. But it's true.) was killed in Iraq last week. I don't have anything to say about the war that hasn't been said by those who are far more eloquent than I, but the immense sadness, frustration, and pure anger that I can feel on behalf of someone I didn't know that well makes me weep for those who have lost so much more.

I miss the summers of my childhood. Which is funny, considering I've always preferred winter to summer. Maybe they're fake memories, conjured up from media-based images of lazy summer days where children frolic around barefoot drinking lemonade and slurping ice cream and sneak into movie theaters to escape the heat. I miss that. I'm not sure if I ever did it, but I miss it.

Dear Time Warner Cable,

I pay a lot of money for your mediocre services. Let's just say, your channel line-up sucks compared to Comcast (where the hell is Soapnet?) and your digital layout is user-unfriendly.

But, until I decide to make the switch, the least you could do is respond promptly to your malfunctioning equipment. My cable box is clearly possessed by the devil. It turns off by itself, freezes the picture, breaks up images, and, worst of all, isn't recording my shows or letting me watch what I have stored. This is not just a minor problem. It's more of a life-ruiner. So, after spending 25 minutes meandering through your obnoxious automated service menu, your technician tells me you don't do Saturday or evening troubleshooting appointments, and that I instead have to be home between 2 and 6 pm. Um, excuse me?! How do you think I pay your bills? By picking my nose all day? Fuckers.

I'm so annoyed.

More Subway Fun

On the way home tonight, I found myself sitting next to a young man who couldn't have been more than 20, reading a parenting book by Dr. James Dobson. Yeah, this guy. Apparently he's written a bunch of best-selling books on how to be a good (read: crazy christian child beater) parent. At first I wanted to rip the book out of the young man's hands and slap some sense into him. If he has a kid at 20 he clearly needs all the sense he can get. Then I thought maybe he's a student and this is some kind of wacky assigned reading for his comparative religion/sociology class. I started peeking over his shoulder to glimpse some of the page, and what did it say?

"Children must be taught that their bodies are their own, but if they begin to explore their physicality to an extent that makes you uncomfortable, you must firmly make them understand the immorality and possibility of infections from their actions."

I swear.

I nearly lost it.

But then, just as I was about to commit assault and battery, my ipod, on shuffle, saved me with The Divinyls' "I Touch Myself". And just to freak the guy out, I began to sing it softly under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear me. Take that, "Dr." Dobson.

Let's not put the "duh" in dumb.

So there I was at DIP, one of Manhattan's many overpriced too-trendy eating/drinking establishments, for a friend's birthday party, where the main draw is fondue. $33 per pot fondue at that. I had already run 8 miles in the morning and showed an out-of-town guest the city sites all day. I was hoping for a nice relaxing and satiating dinner with pleasant interesting conversation.

What did I get? A group of girls in tube tops (it was 40 degrees outside) drinking $12 watermelon martinis like water and eating nothing but chocolate and cheese fondue and nachos. And talking exclusively about guys and looks and weight. No, you're skinnier than me! No, I look awful! No, I do! SHUT THE FUCK UP. YOU ARE EATING FONDUE. I'M PRETTY SORE RIGHT NOW BUT I WILL KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU DON'T STOP. It's amazing how you can be friends with someone and yet hate almost all of his or her other friends. People are quite chameleon-like.

Thankfully I had one other ally with me and we spent the entire "dinner" kicking each other under the table while savoring our overpriced wine. It was all I could do to keep myself from sticking a fondue skewer in one of the tube top girl's eye.

A little later I was forced to end up at another overpriced bar/dancing establishment where I proceeded to get groped and spilled on until 3am. I eventually parked myself in a comfy chair next to an adorable boy who described me as "too classically beautiful and down to earth" for a "place like this." I blushed, agreeing with the cute boy. And then the cute boy got up and I realized he was...about 5'5". I'm almost 5'9", and while I try not to be shallow, that's just a deal-breaker.

I love expensive disappointing nights in New York City.

And now, I'm blowing off the work I had planned to do, which will make my life worse this week, and going to see Reign Over Me with A (last night's table kicking partner), which will surely make me like the city again.

I'm not surrounding myself with the right people. But I'm not sure how to fix that.

Help...I can't breathe...

I think this is just natural selection at its sharpest. Then again, I'm kind of a bitch.

It's been in the Times' most emailed articles section for two days, and I saw a segment on it this morning on the Today Show, where Meredith Vieira talked about how she used to make herself hyperventilate to get a rush. Really, Meredith? Appropriate much?

Kids are fucking dumb.

Things Left Unsaid. Part 1.

Idea stolen from This Fish.

1. I wish we kept in better contact.
2. I'm worried you two will never work things out. And they are stupid things. So work them out.
3. I can handle this myself.
4. I really cannot handle this myself.
5. I think about you way too much for someone I will likely never see again.
6. You can do so much better.
7. I hope one day soon you will figure out what you want.
8. I don't know how long I can keep up this charade.
9. I'm sorry I lead you on for so long. I should have been honest from the start.
10. Take me seriously, damnit.
11. I miss you.
12. I'm jealous of you. I've worked so much harder than you and deserve more.
13. I'm worried that you will die at a young age.
14. You have enough on your plate. Let them go.
15. I strongly dislike you and don't know why I am still thrown into social situations with you.
16. I'm not as strong as I pretend to be.
17. It's going to get much worse if you don't deal with it now.