Wednesday, December 31, 2008
I have been in New York again, futilely doing New York-y things to try and drum up more work, see friends, avoid home for reasons I can't articulate other than that it stopped feeling like home about the same time I realized it would only ever be my home and never our home, etc. Strangely, I have been very ambivalent about staying for the holiday. Yesterday afternoon and evening, I even contemplated finishing work and just driving home this afternoon despite NYE having been kind of a big deal to me in the past. It is 6:00 at night and I don't even really have plans, which is actually a great accomplishment for an over-planner trying to break the habit, if I was just trying not to plan.
But I was talking to my friend Braak, explaining that I didn't have any plans, and how part of me wanted to sort of tell all my various friends that I was going out with a different friend and then curl up on the sofa in the house of the friend with whom I am crashing with my 10-year-old bottle of wine, his cat and a movie and wallow. And then I thought, wait, that's not like me. I mean, it's sort of like me, but it's not very like me, and it's not like me on New Years, and it's not like I actually am even that depressed at this moment in time. And he said something about it not being very exciting for my first New Years in New York and I said, well, it's not. And there it was.
I spent the millennial New Years in New York, actually, celebrating with Tom (who I'd been dating for 2 years at that point). That New Years ended with me crying hysterically in the coatroom, having found out that my 2 year relationship was basically over, in the middle of which he came in to yell at me for ignoring his friends and embarrassing him in front of them. It was a great night -- so great that I successfully avoided thinking about it for 9 years and allowed it to sneak up on me again.
Anyway, so, Erica and I have since made a pact that we won't dump each other, neither of us will cry in a coatroom, we will not go anywhere that has a fucking dress code or a cover charge and we will be happy drunks tonight if it kills us. So that's the plan. I should probably find something to wear to help accomplish that. Happy New Years.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Jason: Hey. I just wanted to point out something.
me: yeah? what's up?
Jason: There's this thing called the "entertainment industry." They produce all manner of things that entice men to spend their free time on.
me: i have heard! are we talking about porn?
Jason: So, if what Prager is saying is true, that men are like crazy, rutting animals that need to FUCK ALL THE TIME, this "entertainment industry" wouldn't exist. Why would I watch FRINGE when I could be sticking my dick in a raccoon snizz or a nice knot in a piece of wood?
me: my dad now wants to know what i am laughing so hard at, but my mom is standing here.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Pharrell, Common's "Announcement": "My dick is like a Blow Pop, baby"
Does that mean I can chomp it real hard to get to the bubble gum?
There's nothing like a good penis-injury joke to start my day with a laugh.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Things that were hilariously necessary:
"People Are Still Having Sex" by La Tour
"This Is Ponderous" by 2 NU
God, I fucking love that song. So my taste in music in high school wasn't utter, utter shit. Ok, it was, but that song's good.
Is it too early to start drinking? Cleaning goes better with booze.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Anyway, although it was an event I possibly could've live-blogged due to its complete range from the ridiculous to the sublime, the one thing Maura did not put in her post was the fact that, on the Jumbotron, you could completely see the outline of Ne-Yo's (huge) cock. If we had been three rows closer, I would be able to tell you now if he was circumcised. As it is, the view was mighty fine. Also, Kanye's show as a performance was fucking awesome, Katy Perry's dress was annoying and Chris Brown's decision to eschew singing at his, you know, concert in favor of dancing might have been all right if two women in their mid-twenties hadn't decided to stand directly in front of us and get all I-Kissed-A-Girl about it to try to entice the cameras.
This afternoon, a diamond catalog arrived in the mail. Fuck you, too.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
AndRule 3. Make America or China happy. Make Israel and Saudi Arabia very happy. Become a Muslim, like Idi Amin. Visit Moammar Gadaffi often. He likes African leaders. We do not know why. Pray with George Bush and let him see your soul. Make your country's leading supermodel the ambassador to France and Italy. Ask her to wear a mini when presenting her papers to Nicholas Sarkozy.
Rule 11. Do not send all the money you steal to Switzerland and do not give it to your wife. Buy US treasury bonds and hide them in your children's library. They will never use it. Why should they read? Daddy is rich. Do not have businesses in your wife's name. Or in your children's names. Deal in euros, Krugerrands and diamonds.
If all these things fail and you find yourself in State House surrounded by screaming citizens carrying homemade weaponry, make sure you have a Hummer (Raila Odinga) in your garage. They are cheap now in America. You can burst out of your palace and make your way to Somalia, where you can become a pirate who earns $50-million a year.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
My mom, trying to get me to eat/have human contact knew one sure way to get me to eat was to bring me a cold, sliced, rock-hard Bartlett pear. It took a lot of pears to get through "Little Women."
When I eat pears, I am that age again, curled up in that chair in the winter afternoon sun and 100 miles and 100 years away besides. I bought some at the grocery store on Sunday. It's my stressed-out comfort food. I even sliced this one, for the extra-tangy nostalgia.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Recently, it was returned to me. I washed it just before Thanksgiving.
Tonight, I am wearing it out. I'm taking the pieces of me back, one at a time, metaphorically and otherwise. This is piece two. I wore the bra I was wearing that night last weekend, but I wasn't going to take a picture of that and post it on the Internet.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Also, a note. Someone that was following my Twitter feed decided to tip off Fishbowl NY for the purposes of their article, which pissed my higher-ups and me the fuck off. So, fuck you nameless Twitter-follower who got a boner off of tipping off the Fishbowl people that had contacted me for comment and who, for the sake of my continued employment, I had refused comment to. Are you proud of yourself now? Because of you, my Twitter has gone private. If I don't know you personally, don't bother asking because, no, you can't follow me anymore. Your Twitter compatriot fucked it up. Since I don't know who did it, everyone is out.
That, sadly, marks the end of the Huffington Post Challenge, as their following of me was enabled by my open Twitter feed. My last post was "Hey, asshole who sent my Twitter to FishbowlNY: Fuck you you fucking fuck. This will likely be the last Twitter you see." It seemed a good way to go out.