Friday, February 29, 2008

leap day

also, why can't the extra day this year be during a somewhat reasonable month? July, for example. Who wants an extra day in February?

Yeah, yeah, i know, in the grand scheme of things, an extra day means summer will be "technically" pushed back a day, but it's the psychological aspect i'm talking about here. How depressing is it that we have an extra winter day when winter is depressing enough?

Also, i've never heard all of the folklore about leap day/year until today, which apparently has something to do with all the women running around trying to coerce men into marrying them. good riddance to that bullshit. seriously, who came up with the idea that women are somehow incomplete until marriage?

stopping that before i get started. i'm way too cranky to get started. though i will say that i'm reading a pretty good "social history" non-fiction book right now called "Bachelor Girl" about single woman-hood during the past 150 years. I'm up to about 1910. What i've learned so far is that single women were generally regarded as either spinsters or whores. Luckily, in 2008, you can be both at the same time.



So, I'm deep in what i've finally come to realize (after several subsequent years of wanting to kill myself come mid-to-late February) as my "winter depression." I feel like crap, i'm frustrated, i'm bored, i'm tired of being inside all the time, i'm tired of having to wear long sleeves that are NEVER long enough because of my freakishly long arms, i feel like everyone hates me, and i'm stressed about school, work, life, friends, and where i'm going to live. i'm also seriously considering deleting my blog, as i feel like i can't write what i want to without making people angry, which makes me feel like i need to censor myself, which completely paralyzes my writing. when, in fact, most of what i write has nothing to do with anyone specifically and has a lot more to do with my own personal psychoses and frustrations over large, general things in my life and personal hangups that have been honed for YEARS. in all likelihood, anything i write has nothing whatsoever to do with you. so please don't take it personally. just because i express frustration that all my friends are married does NOT mean that i dislike you, married friend. just because i write about my frustration with ungrateful men does NOT mean that i am angry at you, sir, or that i think you are ungrateful. also, i am almost always willing to discuss any of my views and listen to yours. if you disagree with me, say something. it's not going to offend me.

i want to go to sleep and not wake up until May.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

love and hate

hiya, babies! how are you? it's been a few days, so i thought i'd write something, even though i'm not sure yet what that's going to be.

let's start with the BF. I know i sometimes get frustrated with him, but at the moment i'm so enamored it's kind of disgusting and i would like to just say that he showed up on my doorstep at a completely reasonable hour last night OUT OF THE BLUE and we snuggled and talked in my bed until the wee hours of the night. and he said something sickening like "I love looking into your eyes," and then i said something sickening, like "I love how we can just lay around and talk." in fact, here's a short list of the things i love about him.

1. he likes my fat (erm, curves)
2. he likes me in spite of (and possibly in part because of) my crazy psychopathic tendencies (like wanting to plan everything, or flipping out over minute infractions)
3. he is a fantastic listener
4. he always knows when something is wrong (sometimes before i do)
5. he is hot, hot, hot, and does that boy know how to dance! mmm.
6. he owns more pairs of shoes than i do.

did you just throw up a little in your mouth? sorry about that. i couldn't help myself.

moving on. I read an article this morning about my alma mater, one Oral Roberts University, which fucked me up more than i care to let on. if you don't know the entire story, it's documented practically daily by the Tulsa World. Because nothing else really happens down there. (HA! I just got a really weird mental image of the "down there" of the United States being in Oklahoma. Oklahoma, the vagina of the US. god, how depressing!) The first article i read was about how the place is on the upswing, because a guy basically said "I'll give you $62 million dollars if you let me make the rules" and ORU was like "yeah, sure. sounds good." which has a couple of alumni i know really excited that the place is now on the right track (these are former "I hate ORUers" who are now giving money to the university). but i'm (more than) a little skeptical. isn't that just trading one monarchy for another? isn't that continuing the tradition of BOWING TO THE DOLLAR instead of God? I'm not convinced. I mean, anything, ANYTHING is better than Richard and Lindsey. A monkey, a chocolate bar, a waitress from Hooters. Marilyn Manson. Anything. (side note: although, i do actually have a lot of respect for MM. i like the guy. he's smart and well-spoken, and i think in many ways he is more "christian" than most self-proclaimed christians.) But I'm not sure that the corruption is gone. i'm not sure that ORU hasn't traded one "evil" for another. the second article i read was about a former accountant who has stepped forward and alleges that ORU was funneling $1 billion annually through the university out to not only Richard and Lindsey but also to the Regents. Though I doubt that it's possible that that much money was coming through ORU, it would explain why the Regents were so reluctant to deal with the allegations brought by the former professors who filed the lawsuit. What? More corruption in the church? I'm shocked.

all of that to say that i'm not convinced that anything has changed. and it will be a long time before i am. at this point, though i feel much less like blowing up the prayer tower or hoping to someday watch a giant tornado level the campus, i am still so scarred by my four years there that i'm not sure that any amount of change could convince me to ever forgive ORU its former evils. and although some former "I hate ORUers" have come to a place where they are now supporting the university financially, i don't know that i will ever even be able to speak well of it. I'm still angry, and it's going to take more than a little restructuring to change that. ORU took my soul. it's not getting my money, too.

Sunday, February 17, 2008


so, i just discovered the joys of Google Reader. More on this later.

I also just clicked on my own blog in Google Reader and read the title. which is in your view up there right now. and thought..."hmm, haven't been writing on those lines in a couple of weeks." so, i'm going to try to amend that, as winter makes me an angry suicidal depressive and all i want to do is eat, sleep, and murder people with my eyes. right. and yes, there probably is medication for that. but i'm averse to pills and wouldn't take it anyway, so that is a moot point. thank you for pointing it out, though. you are a good friend.

So, due to winter-ness and angry suicidal depressiveness, i haven't been having too many adventures of late. the whole of the last 48 hours or so of mine have been spent largely within the confines of my own apartment, as the evil twins have LEFT THE CITY for the weekend and won't be returning until tuesday at the earliest and wednesday at the latest. i have been reveling in my complete aloneness by leaving as much of my stuff as possible scattered in completely obvious places ALL OVER the common area, watching TV LOUDLY until late into the night, and walking from my room, to the shower, and back again, completely NUDE. Also, i have rearranged the cupboards to just exactly the way i like them (and the freezer, too), smoked INSIDE, and had an imaginary fight in my head with evil roommate 2 about how she is no longer allowed to sit on my couch or use my dishes since she took all of her free-and-now-in-theaters-so-the-only-way-i-can-see-them-is-to-pay-
$11.50-which-i'm-not-going-to-do movies and hid them somewhere. (she works at a talent agency and they get all of the "reviewer" copies of new releases. ER2 USED to put them beside the TV for all of our enjoyment. then they "mysteriously" disappeared. which i'm trying very hard not to be angry about because that would make me just as immature as her. but seriously. she uses my couch. i want to use her movies.)

Moving on. The one thing i HAVEN'T done so far during this gloriously alone all all alone in my apartment alone with no roommates at all all weekend alone for THREE DAYS alone with no roommates, is laundry. Why? You ask. Let me tell you. (i am the queen of segues. did you see what i just did there? brilliant!)

So, i get off the train coming home from work on Valentine's Day, visions of sugar plums dancing in my head (or vascillating wildly between excited expectation and premature disappointment, whatever), when i get an acrid whiff of smoke and notice that there are 6 fire trucks in front of the building across the street, along with several police cruisers and a few pedestrians. being the (proudly) calloused New Yorker that i now am (see previous post), i was tempted to look at my fingernails while passing by seemingly so nonplussed as to NOT EVEN CARE that there were fire trucks across the street, or possibly to not even notice. Until i realized that firemen were carting the burnt remains of washers and dryers out of my very own laundromat!

now, as you know, i am a fun and carefree kind of long as the fun and the carefree-ness are properly planned out ahead of time. so imagine my dismay as i realized that I AM GOING TO HAVE TO CHANGE LAUNDROMATS. which means

1. Physically finding a new laundromat
2. Carting my 25 pounds of laundry further than across the street
3. Doing my laundry in completely unfamiliar surroundings with unfamiliar neighborhood people
4. Developing an entirely new "laundry routine" (I won't bore you with the old one. but i had it down to a 90-minute science of efficiency and absolute perfection)
5. READJUSTING BACK to my old routine once this laundromat re-opens, if it ever does, but i don't know if it will because what if that mean Asian lady torched the place for the insurance money and now it will be some kind of terrible sushi place or something?

So, I've basically decided never to do laundry again.

Is it just me, or am I becoming crazier and more anal retentive as I age?

All right then, we've covered how i'm alone in my apartment (please do not come kill me, as i am having a lovely time. if you would like to kill one of my crazy roommates, however, please let me know and i'll help you set it up.), how the laundromat burned to the ground (slight exaggeration. everything is still standing, though the building is empty), AND everything I've accomplished this weekend. Oh! Including my taxes! Which i did for the first time by myself and i am anticipating more than one thousand dollars of a refund, which i think is not enough considering that i am a quiet, well-mannered citizen who barely needs any government services at all and believes that her good behavior should be rewarded with a refund of all the money the government didn't personally spend on her this year. which would be all of it. but i'll take the thousand bucks. of my own money. which i gave you and you've been keeping so you can give it back and make me feel good about this whole "I work hard so the government can squander my dollars and i can only afford to live with two crazy people instead of by myself because i pay taxes" racket.

i'm rambling. i know. i'm beginning to remember the occasional downsides to living alone.

1. squalor
2. talking to inanimate objects/using the internet as your sole social outlet
3. eating (ALL THE TIME. no WONDER i used to be so fat!)
4. noticing every single itty bitty tiny noise and thinking it is a large Serbian man who is breaking in with the express purpose of slitting my throat and raping me.

OH! Right! This is the best part. Well, maybe not for you. but i'm excited about it.

so, i haven't really had a chance to sit down since the beginning of the year and really think about my life. i like to do a kind of "life assessment" around this time every year, you know, because it's a new year and my birthday's in february, and i'm a goal-oriented type-A perfectionist who needs to have something to work toward. or...what? i don't know. but it's not pretty.

ANYWHO, you still there? should i stop now? i should. but i don't want to.

anywho, i've been spending a lot of time during the last few days thinking about my "priorities." This is kind of like new year's resolutions but not. so, one of my priorities is to get my finances in order. i'm usually pretty good with money, but since i moved to new york, i've been pretty lax with my expendable income, and as a result, feel like i'm floundering a little bit. SO, the first thing i decided was to write down where every dollar of my money goes for the next month so i can see where i'm spending money. then i can adjust. but what i found has already started to happen is that i'm thinking about my money and where it's going more, and so i'm being more deliberate about how i'm spending it. For example, when i went to the grocery store today, i was comparison shopping the cans of beans. the first can i picked up was 99 cents, which i usually would have just thrown in the cart. but i looked around and i found that the store brand was on sale for only 50 cents! Half price! So, i got out of the grocery store for around $38 bucks with two big bags of food that i guess generally would have cost me around $50 if i hadn't been paying closer attention.

So, i haven't fully formed my "priorities list" or whatever it is i'm going to call it. basically i'm looking at my whole life versus what things are important to me and what goals i want to attain and then tweaking things to achieve/be happy. i'll update you when i've got it mapped out a little better.

enough for now. byeee!

Thursday, February 14, 2008

completely unoriginal valentine's day blog

is there ANYONE in the western world who actually LIKES valentine's day? Seriously, anyone? I would like to meet them. Because regardless of your personal life, Valentine's Day is bound to be frought with 1) too-high expectations, 2) self-pity, 3) anxiety, and 4) crushedness.

at least when you're single, you know exactly what to expect. when you've got a boyfriend, you WANT to expect, but you don't want to expect too much, because you don't want to be disappointed, but you do know that he cares about you, so that means he's going to do something, right? but then maybe he won't...this is the anxiety. i'm hoping to avoid the self-pity and crushedness this year. gah.

i don't remember ever having a good valentine's day. Oop! Wait. Yes, there was one! I was in 4th grade, which would have made me, um, roughly 10 years old. I was "going with" (what did we used to call it? god, it was so long ago) a cute little black boy named Chris Byers. And on Valentine's Day, he delivered. I got a box of candy and a cheap gold-plated heart necklace that turned my neck green almost immediately. I remember being so embarrassed to tell my mom that i had a boyfriend that i left the chocolate at school in my "cubby." i don't think i ever even ate it. (i've never been a huge fan of chocolate. strangely.) but i'll tell you one thing. that boy liked me. and he let me know it.

i admit, this is probably part of the reason that i dislike valentine's day now (and have since). because if it's so easy that a 10-YEAR-OLD BOY can do it, why don't more men get it right? For Chrissakes, it's not that difficult. And women are so easy to buy for: flowers, chocolate, stuffed animals, jewelry, dinner. Granted, the only thing on that list that really excites me is dinner. and jewelry. but a heartfelt gesture, no matter how off-point, is still a heartfelt gesture. why, then, do so many men balk and simply do nothing? C'mon guys! You know you're supposed to do something. So do something! It doesn't even have to be a big something. it doesn't have to be an expensive something. A card with a handwritten note in it telling us how much you care about us. A carefully picked CD or book. A token of your love and/or affection. I don't need diamonds. I don't even really need dinner (well, I do need dinner, due to my blood sugar issues, but it doesn't have to be fancy). All I want to know is that I am important to you, that you care about me, and that you feel lucky to have me in your life. that's it.

i think it's a pretty small price to pay for guaranteed sex.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

the beauty of the unknown

i feel like i've been scattered into a million swirling snowflakes that are hovering above the city. i feel like nothing is certain, that any part of me could land anywhere. i feel stagnant, hovering above the chaos of the city, unable to settle as i sweep past buildings and trees and the lights in Times Square, and the hunched overcoats. I feel cold and alone. I feel shaken and stirred. I feel like this entire city is my home but i have nowhere to rest. still but on a precipice. calm with a storm on the horizon. the hush before the starting gun.

on your mark. get set. run.

in six months, my life could be entirely different. or entirely the same. and it feels odd to say that i have no idea which it will be. questions are writhing like snakes in a pit, one, then another, then another, sliding on top of the others, into my view.

where will i live when my lease is up?
will i get into grad school?
will my work pay for grad school?
will i try to find a better-paying job?
will i try to find a cheaper apartment further away, or will i be able to afford to live on my own?
who will be my confidantes?
who will be my lover?
will i be able to afford a vacation, and will i be able to find someone to go with me? (yes, i know, not exactly a life question, but important, nonetheless)
will i cut my hair? (haha, NO!)
will i be in love?

i know that some of these things are simply unknowable. which is what drives me crazy.
however, i also know that i will adjust. i will think hard and long about what is most important to me (saving money or living alone?). and i will know what to do. i will be fine. i know it. i always am. but that doesn't stop a part of me from freaking the eff out about the unknown now. before i know it.

which is one of those things i really like about life: the drama of it all. the change. the ambush. you think everything is fine and calm and peaceful and maybe, just maybe you've started to figure everything out, and then KA-BLAM! Batman breaks through the door and starts throwing punches and next thing you know, you're in the middle of an epic comic-book scale punch-throwing, onomonopoiec-word seeing fight with some crazy fat man dressed like a penguin. POW! BLAT! SCHMOOZELE! (i made up that last one.)

BOOM. and you know you're still alive.

Friday, February 8, 2008

yes, actually, i am planning to party like it's my birthday

BECAUSE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i was thinking today, because it's my birthday, about birthdays. specifically, about how people react to their birthdays. i think there are two types of birthday people.

1. The denyers
2. The shameless attention whores

Denyers won't admit, even to themselves, that it's their birthday. They tell no one, they lie about it if someone brings it up, and they shut themselves in their apartments/rooms/closets/bathrooms curled in the fetal position and rocking from side to side, waiting for it all to be over.

Shameless attention whores, on the other hand, begin announcing their birthday NO LATER than six months before the event. This usually begins with me, SHOUTING TO EVERYONE on August 8, "HEY! IT'S MY HALF-BIRTHDAY! GET READY! IN SIX MONTHS, IT WILL BE MY REAL BIRTHDAY!" then giving people weekly updates to let them know just how much longer they have before i expect them to shower me with attention, presents, cake (mmmm, a cake shower...can you even imagine????), love, adoration, facebook comments, text messages, phone calls, singing telegrams, clowns, strippers/exotic dancers, vacations to cabo, etc. also, attention whores pretty much base their self esteem for the entire year on how many people show them love on their birthday.

so far, this is the best birthday i've had since i was 21. AND IT'S ONLY 1:35 PM. AND I'M AT WORK.

I've gotten a LOT of love so far today (strangely, though, no vacations to Cabo. but it's still early). my boyfriend called AND texted at midnight last night, my mom called this morning, and several friends have texted, e-mailed, sent e-cards (2 birthday, 1 mammogram!), called, facebook/myspace messaged/commented, or walked over to my desk to give me a birthday song and dance routine (okay, only one of those. so far. but keep 'em coming.)

ANYHOW, all of that to say that it's been a really really really long time since i had a good birthday (really). and i feel so blessed (agh, i hate that word, but it's true) and lucky to have such a supportive, loving family of friends (and family, too, but mostly friends).

and to not be sitting alone in a big, scary house drinking a bottle of wine by myself and watching "Sex and the City" and crying because i have no friends.

man, 23 was rough.

i heart you all.

thank you for indulging my attention-whoreishness.

leggings are not pants

what more can i really say?

Thursday, February 7, 2008

birthday madness

and now, back to my generally cheery-yet-at-the-same-time-wittily-sarcastic and adorable demeanor.

apologies for the manic-depressive episode yesterday. i think it has something to do with getting 60-seconds a day worth of sunshine, living with the spawn of Satan, and turning, ack, 26 tomorrow.

i'll do my best not to let it happen again. though, if you'll notice, all three of the above contributors to my mental state are for the most part beyond my control.

speaking of, i never understood my mom when she said, "You control your mood."

No, MOM, I don't. I control (or don't) what i say. i do not control how i FEEL. THAT is called repression. which is your problem, not mine.

so. there.

on the bright side, i am about to go hit all of the budget slutty-dress-and-other-party-accessories-for-your-body retailers within a two-block radius to find a party shirt-dress-other revealing accoutrement to wear for my birthday tomorrow. Whoever said you can't shop at Charlotte Russe when you're about to turn 26 was wrong, wrong, wrong! Baby Prostitute store, here i come!

I will let you know how it goes tomorrow. ON MY BIRTHDAY. TOMORROW. BIRTHDAY. TOMORROW. BIRTHDAY.



yay! let's celebrate impending wrinkles/fatness/sterility! woot!

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

get divorced. i'll feel better.

i hate it that you're all* married. because i feel like my relationship problems seem stupid, or tawdry, like you're listening with your hands to your mouths, hiding your wry smiles, thinking, "aw, how adorable!" looking knowingly at your spouse, saying, "remember, honey, when we used to fight about such silly things?"

don't get me wrong. i DO NOT want to be married. i just want ALL of you not to be married either. because when i'm cranky, like today, i don't have a single single girlfriend to call and say "let's go get trashed." or when i'm having relationship problems, like today, i don't have a single girlfriend to call and say "what the fuck is he thinking?" without hearing an adorable anecdote about her mostly perfect "but we still have our bad days" husband.

who is going to come over and help me get ready for my birthday party?

who is going to run over with a tub of ice cream and a good chick flick when i'm depressed?

who is going to wail with me about the lack of decent men in this city?

who is going to get gussied up with me to go to bars where we will unsuccessfully try to pick up men while getting completely drunk?

NO ONE. BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL MARRIED. and you have to check with your husbands first. and you're annoying secure in your relationships. and you have all the fucking answers. i'm sorry. i don't want answers. i want some befuddled commisseration, okay? I want you not to know why men are so frustrating, too.

is that too much to ask?

there, married kyle. there's your fucking question of the day. "is that too much to ask?"

*i may be exaggerating. but i'm upset. and that's how i feel, even if it's not true.


sometimes i wonder if i had met an ex later in life, if we could have been happy together.

sometimes i wonder how my life would be different if my mother had been 25 instead of 16.

sometimes i wonder if i'm doing the right thing, if i'm working hard enough, if i'm where i'm supposed to be.

i wonder who decides that--supposed to and should

or whether these are just expectations that are sure to be unfulfilled?

have you ever noticed that when you shave, you definitely won't get laid...but every damn time you don't, some guy is in your pants faster than you can say "razor"?

is this a matter of expectation, or simply Murphy's law of body hair?

why do men care so much when they disappoint you, yet they don't seem to do much to avoid it?

do you ever think about all of the decisions you could have made differently and try to surmise where you'd be now?

i could have been a college dropout with a child to a man i never loved

i could have been a missionary in Africa to babies orphaned by AIDS

i could have married because i was ready to and not because it was right

i would have been miserable.

birthdays always make me sad

they remind me that i only have so much time and that i don't know what to do with it

don't get me wrong, i'm not complaining

most days i'm happier than i've ever been

it doesn't keep me from wondering, though

if i'm on the right path, or wandering in the correct direction

how do we ever know if we're doing anything right

if anything is right, anyway.

Monday, February 4, 2008

a writing update

i haven't written much in the last several weeks, most probably because of the frenzy of writing i did leading up to my application to grad school, which was due January 15. unless you count this blog, which is more writing than i've done in a long time, not counting the October novel. or the fact that even though i fancy myself a "writer" i do much much less writing than i would like. or like to admit.

so, imagine my surprise when, last evening, i oddly found myself in front of my computer, web browser closed, with just a blank Word document open. Oh! I thought to myself. I suppose I should write something, then. I began writing, as i always do when i sit down with little purpose or direction, about writing. Then, as i sometimes do, i decided i should try writing something that didn't sound like a diary entry.

so, i wrote a poem. and remembered why i don't write poems. i'm terrible at poetry. but hey, i wrote something, right? i would insert an excerpt here, but it really is terrible, and i'm on my work computer, so i can't.

I'm not sure why I'm avoiding my current story, which is about a mother and daughter who don't want each other but end up needing each other (or some variation on that theme). I think it's because i feel like i started really strong and the more i write on it, the worse it gets.

I also had another idea that i haven't started on yet, about a mortician. That's all you get on that one, for now anyway.

And i have yet to read through or edit the novel i wrote in October. Though I'm tempted to trash it and call it what i suspect it extended exercise in getting the cobwebs out of my system and showing myself that i do, in fact, have the discipline to write 50,000 words in 31 days.

i think my next goal will be writing something worth reading.

which is how i end up not writing anything for extended periods of time.


Saturday, February 2, 2008

a REAL new yorker now

hi again! didja miss me? i missed you. really. i did. man, i am farting like crazy today. that's the great thing about being alone. you can fart all you want and it doesn't matter. or pick the gunk out of your toenails. or masturbate. whatever you want! that's why i love being alone. why do you love being alone?

i know i said a couple of posts ago that i was going to start doing a "question of the day." and then the universe stomped on my baby toe and broke it, thus derailing my line of thought for a few days, but i am back, people. i am back! right. so, in case you were wondering, the question up there, in that last paragraph, was NOT the question of the day. that was just a random question. though it may end up being the question of the day if i don't think of anything better by the end of this post. which i have entitled (as you may or may not have noticed) "a REAL new yorker now." (i just farted like 6 times writing that paragraph)

Like most women everywhere all over the planet who are pretty much any adult age do, i base whether or not i am having a great new york life on how directly it correlates to anything i've ever seen in "Sex and the City." And last night, i had a VERY NEW YORK moment. i don't know how many people live here. A lot, okay? Which means that when i lived in West Bumblefuck, I never ever believed it when Carrie or Miranda or Charlotte or Samantha just "happened" to run into someone they used to fuck on the street. I thought to myself, "There are a gajillion people in New York, and they run into that guy? Yeah, right!"

But then, I moved to New York. And what I found out was this: i know less than 1% of the population of this city, easily, probably less than one half of 1%. And yet, every few weeks, i run into someone i know on the street or in a store or in the subway. my theory (which i'm still working on), is something like a ven diagram (and if i knew how to put pictures in my posts, i would draw one for you and put it right here: BLOOP. Where that bloop was. but i don't know how. so you will have to imagine it with me. because i can't see one either. okay, so my theory is that everyone you know is in New York and everyone you know...hmmm, is this really like a ven diagram? nevermind. my point is that everyone you know is probably somewhat like you and runs in the same kind of circles as you and goes to the same kinds of places, so it makes sense if you run into people you know. also, this is a very tiny island. there aren't many places for people to go. i mean, there are. but there aren't. does that make sense?

ALL of that to say that last night, the boyfriend (who has informed me that "Bud" is not a proper moniker and would like to be called "something sexier") and I (and my crutches, and the torrential downpour) went to see a friend of mine perform in a monologue slam (which she won last month, btw). after the show (in which she was amazing but didn't win because the douchebag stage guy forgot to put up a chair for her), she, her husband, the boyfriend, me, and her "photographer" and his wife, traipsed off to look for a close bar because i was on crutches and 80% of my body weight is in my legs, making their use relatively uncomfortable. we found a suitably nondescript Irish bar in NYU territory that didn't seem to be full of too many underage college kids. Booths lined the wall opposite the bar. We found an empty booth, and as everyone was taking their coats off, i heard my name, in stereo, from the booth i was standing in front of.

I didn't hear it at first, then thought someone must be yelling at someone else, but eventually realized i must be the closest person with my name to them and looked over.

It was an ex-boyfriend and several of his female friends that we used to hang out with. My friends saw a bigger, better booth and beelined over, and i said i'd be there in a second. I smiled, asked how they were. They asked why i was on crutches. I told them. I looked at the ex. He was smiling, that light in his eyes. He apparently had forgotten that i had treated him like shit. Well, that's probably good, i thought to myself. At least he wasn't a jerk. After a minute, i politely excused myself to my friends. I hobbled to the booth where they sat, thinking how crazy it was that we just wandered into a random bar and happened to run into my ex. and then, i thought, Oh my God, I must be a real New Yorker. I've lived here long enough that I'm running into exes with my new boyfriend! I'm in! I made it! This totally happened in "Sex and the City"!

We get our drinks. We talk. We laugh. The ex-boyfriend awkwardly brings over a beer at some point "to help my foot get better." i thank him. then i notice that he has scootched to the edge of his booth so that he can watch me from across the bar. so i ignore him. then he gets up and goes to the bathroom, staring at me. i ignore him, the boyfriend's hand on my knee. i add in an extra head toss-back laugh so the the ex knows i'm having fun. because the reason i broke up with him was because he was needy and emotional and got way too attached way to quickly, and then tell him to never speak to me again. several times. he was a leech. a sweet, artistic, sensitive leech. that suffocated me.

we have our drinks. we discuss our next steps. we decide to go back to my place so i can take off my rain boots, which are crunching my toe. we walk outside and the boyfriend asks if i can walk to my house. i say no. he says "let us carry you." I say no. they say it again, as though i'm going to let myself be given a piggy back ride as a 25-year-old through the streets of Manhattan. I don't have much pride, friends, but i do have a little. finally, we decide to take the subway one stop to my apartment. as we begin to walk away, i hear my name again. I turn. The ex is smoking outside the bar.

"It was good to see you."

"You too," I say. I smile. I do try to be nice to people sometimes.

"So, I'll talk to you soon? If that's okay? Is that okay?"

I nod, beneficently, like a queen nodding to a peasant. "Sure. Bye."

"Take care of that foot!" He yells after me as I hobble away. I hate feeling pity for people. Maybe that's why i stopped talking to him. I just want to tell them, "I can't give you what you need. Please stop asking me to."

The boyfriend didn't say anything about it. We just walked through the warm moist air, away from my past. We went home. We made love. Everything was as it should be.

Friday, February 1, 2008

little toe, big mistake

So, I have been cooped up in my 3 square foot apartment since I got home from the emergency room on Sunday. I have gotten out of bed to walk A) to the couch, B) to the bathroom, or C) (and this is the big adventure) downstairs to smoke outside. I was a good girl. I kept my foot elevated, iced, and my toes taped together. When i walked around, I walked on my heel. My boss was nice enough to let me do work from home, so i sat, laptop on lap, leg elevated, and edited. my toe felt pretty good. it only started to ache when i went downstairs, and then quickly felt better when i elevated it again.

So, feeling guilty because my toe was feeling better and because my boss was calling every day to ask how i was feeling and when might i be back at work, and not wanting to go back until monday, I compromised and told him that i would come in for half a day today (Friday), and if i felt good enough, i'd stay through the day.

i took the bus so i wouldn't have to navigate the subway stairs (and the L train full of hipsters). Too many opportunities to have my foot tromped on. At least on the bus, i can tuck my bad foot under the seat. so i stuffed the bad foot into my rain boots (because it was raining and the attractive blue canvas open-toe bootie with velcro straps they gave me wasn't going to cut it) and hobbled to the the bus stop. one transfer and 45 minutes later, i limped into work, already in pain. as i type this, i'm sitting, left leg on my desk next to the keyboard, waiting until lunchtime so i can go home. thank god i'm flexible enough to elevate my leg and type at the same time.

right. so now i'm in worse pain than i've been in all week and worried that i've just gone and undone all the good i did being cooped up in that tiny fucking apartment all week.

side note: the lesser of the two evil roommates is dog sitting this weekend. and the dog is staying with us. which i was okay with until i came home last night to find a disgusting chewed-up slobbery bone on MY COUCH and see that the roommate decided to use my bowls (yes, the human bowls. mine. that i EAT out of.) as the dog's food and water dishes. DISGUSTING. absolutely disgusting.

so, as i always try to do when life pelts me with lemons, i try and make sense of it all by learning something. So, here's what i feel i've learned this week.

1. I am either allergic to having a broken toe or my apartment. Judging by the amount of dust in my apartment, i'm leaning toward that explanation.

2. When you are hurt such that you are house-ridden and unable to go out for the basic necessities (ie, cigarettes, booze, oranges), you find out who really loves you and who doesn't. The people who love you call first to ask what they should bring you, then come over bearing a) the items you need, and b) presents. This is, of course, quite a matter of proximity. Those who are unable to come over show their love by texting constantly throughout the day, having two-hour-long phone conversations at night to help you stave off the boredom, and sending you cab money. (i heart grandma. so much.)

3. You sometimes come to the unfortunate, surprising, and very disheartening realization that someone who should love you and be there for you and be taking care of you and asking you if you need anything and having two-hour-long conversations to stave off the boredom is nowhere to be found.

Sometimes, the people you don't expect to show up do. And the people you think are going to be there for you aren't. That's something I've never understood. How the people who are closest to us are able to let us down so completely.

so here i am, broken toe and all, feeling raw and vulnerable, frustrated by my limited mobility, guilty because friends have so unselfishly offered their help to me, abandoned by someone close to me. maybe i'm making too big a deal out of a lousy broken toe. but if you can't depend on someone when it's something as small as a toe, what's going to happen when something more crippling happens?

maybe i made a bigger mistake than coming to work this morning. maybe my big mistake was depending on people who weren't there for me when i needed them.

on the other hand, i have some fantastic, amazing friends who really came through for me this week. and for them, i am truly grateful. i feel blessed to be so loved. to them i would like to say thank you. I am deeply moved by your selflessness.