i have nothing...

...new to contribute to my blog except...I met her! And yes, she IS as lovely as she appears to be on her blog. We giggled over yummy plantanos, sweet potato fries, and shrimp...and oh, we had salad too! Then we headed over to see my friend Kevonne's awesome band perform. We shared capris (yes, I'm still smoking. oy.), and discovered a new beer together--Blue Point's Toasted Lager. It really was as if she was an old friend that I hadn't seen in some years...though, it was our first date. I've never been keen on internet dating, but internet friending...i'm all about it!

p.s. today, our yoga instructor thought we were advanced enough to give THIS little pose a try. And try I did. Several times. But alas, I wasn't ready. I nailed the hands part, but fear that i'd fall on my face wouldn't allow my legs extend. I'm about to get down on my bedroom floor and try again. I will not let koundinyasana defeat me.

he deserves another day...

...on my little ol' blog. And because i love a man who says "why go out for a hamburger when you have steak at home." :-)

paul.

i nabbed this pic from another blog... i couldn't help it. joanne and paul seem perfectly matched...and paul, just look at him. those eyes! r.i.p.

i believe in real, ache-for-me love.

in spite of my past flops and mistakes in the field. the kind that sometimes make you feel just a little bit unstable. And i always look for little honest-to-goodness, geniune displays of it. Tonight, on my way to Whole Foods for Amy's soup (yum-o!)--to feed my untimely cold/bug/flu--I was walking behind an old Chinese couple...maybe in their 60s, both a bit shriveled and teeny tiny. The hubby (or boyfriend), wrapped his arm about his honey, and then grabbed her bottom...and held his hand their for several seconds. I giggled like a 6th grader--it was damn near pornographic, but cute as hell! And it just felt REAL and right to me...I'm sure it felt right to him too :-P

happy weekend folks!

i'm not gonna talk about therapy here.

can you imagine? reading this blog and hearing about my psychoanalysis everyday? ugh. no way. but since it was day one, it's fitting to say something about it. so i'll just say--i'm going back next week. and i think that's a positive sign. i'm ready to go through this...i wasn't for a long time, i put it off for many years, but now i'm really really ready to get on with having a wonderful, full life :-)

When i was a child, i'd dig through the jellybeans, picking out the black ones and tossing them out. well, that's what doc is gonna help me do...toss out all those black jellybeans. and fix me. i want her to fix me, or help me fix myself. sounds ideal and unreasonable, and maybe impossible...but that's what i want. fixed does not mean perfect, fixed means you take something old, and broken, and you put a little glue, a little polish, some soap and water--and you make it stronger, cleaner, you make it last longer, you make it better. that's what i want.

my brand new, old bag.

so i wanted a rugged, somewhat masculine bag to carry and bang around...like this one (from the Sartorialist). I found this gorgeous, pre-loved saddle bag (below) at a brooklyn thrift store this past weekend. I love it! I saddle-soaped it, but even without treating the leather, it's perfectly worn and broken in. One of the reasons I prefer used/old/vintage stuff--somebody's already done all the work for me.
:-)

it's a perfect fit!smell the leathaaa!insideoutside p.s. on a more serious note...i was watching the news this morning, and there's a lot of talk about Virginia and it's red-state leanings. oy. *sigh* I pray my home state wakes up and votes for the change our country needs.

kitty in the window.

last night, while walking to dinner with my good friend Pak--we saw a kitten in a pet shop window. All alone. Shit in the corner. Upon seeing us peering in at him, he started to jump and play with his bedding, behaving a lot like a wind-up puppy. I felt really a sense of emptiness walking way from him. Even if it was only my perception, he seemed to want to please us...and to say, "Look at me. I'd be a great pet. Please pick me and get me out of this dreadful, lonely glass container." *sigh*

Anyway, thanks to the zealous kitty-in-the-window, I started another chapter of "the book." I live for long walks.

i wanna be a lesbian...

...on a harley. well, not really. just sort of. this morning in front of Roasting Plant, these two masculine black women, talking in front of their motorcycles, made lesbianism seem so cool. Or maybe they were just cool, in general. They rambled about brain and perception and some other inaudible stuff, but all I could do was stare and think "Are they a couple? If so, is the big one the "dude?" Is that ignorant of me? If I were a lesbian, I'd want to be Ellen Degeneres...or married to her...

So, I introduced Roasting Plant to Rachel this weekend, and now she's smitten as well. When I went in today for my cup, the cashier guy said "You can't stay away, huh?" I agreed, and told him and the cashier girl that I'm a convert, after suffering the dreadful service at Orchard 88. Then the cashier girl says, "Yeah, did you read that blog where someone said the employees at Orchard 88 don't seem to really want to be there?" (or something like that) I nodded, though I hadn't read it, and said that I agreed and if I read it, I'll post a comment on it. She said, "Sounds like you wrote that blog." I said "Nope, I didn't." But it turns out I actually did..write the blog in question. funny.

p.s. today is the last day of summer...and sometime soon, i'll have to retire my lovely st. marks straw hat until next year. Makes me a bit sad. farewell, my lovely, rain-or-shine, st. marks straw hat.

oh my....coffee!

eureka (sort of). so there's this stuff i discovered today. manna from heaven, i'd like to call it (note: i'm not religious, which makes this statement all-the-more powerful i think). You've heard me go on and on and on many times about my lust for caffeine, well today i skipped Orchard 88. I'm beginning to think the hipsters there aren't sure they actually feel like working on most days, and it's started to annoy me. I'll revisit them on the weekends for a panini or something, when I'm not already 15 minutes late for work.

Today, I headed across the street to Roasting Plant. Their gimmick is that they roast your coffee--cup-by-cup, right there in front of you. And above you, there's a clear tube, that extracts beans from these dozen or so canisters, and then transports it into this brewing machine--and out comes your very own fresh cup of caffeinated goodness (if i didn't paint a visual for you, see pic below). The process takes likely the same amount of time as it would for the Orchard 88 folks to acknowledge i'm standing there waiting at the counter--and it's entertaining! Think something you'd see at Willy Wonka's house. So, the guy hands me my cup of coffee, and i'm worried now that it's gonna be too strong or brime-like. but nope. It's yummy, and doesn't leave you with that sticky, bitter after-taste. Obviously, if i'm writing this--the coffee was worth at least a couple hundred words. Another perk--as I'm pouring in my half-n-half, to my left there are at least 8 variations of sugar--all in these easy-to-pour ikea glass urns. There's cinnamon sugar, maple sugar, splenda (yay), regular, raw, agave liquid, and I can't recall the other 2. (dear funny-boy: When you were here, I regret that you settled for Starbucks, when you could have had the wonderfullness that is Roasting Plant.)

Okay enough. I say all this to end with--possibly, maybe I derived a teensy bit of inspiration (and happiness) from my coffee cup. I sat on the subway today, whipped out my pen and notebook--and wrote all the way from 14th St. to 103rd St. (on the local track, btw)--balancing my notebook on my purse, pen in right hand, coffee in my left, sleeping-leaning-on-me woman to my right, and broad-shouldered-dickhead-with-arms-akimbo to my left. And that's SOMETHING. Perhaps passion, perhaps inspiration.

I'm having a good morning. Hope you are.

p.s. yesterday i was browsing the web for writing boot camps and i came across this--"The secret to writing is...writing." I like it a lot.

i want to write...

but for two days: NOTHING. it's painful. I frequently blame it on my 9-to-5...sapping 90 percent of my energy, time, and creativity. but perhaps i'm making excuses. or, maybe i could use some inspiration--visual stimulation...and since it's not finding me, I vow to get out and find it. In fact, I likely won't post again until I find it.

just because, here's a pic of my neighborhood. tonight, i stood on Orchard, between Broome and Grand (my new favorite block), and cried against the lamp-post...it held me up. i don't know why i like to cry in public. perhaps b/c there's more room out there to let go of all that baggage...and of course, no one asks you "why?" The dog from the store next to Still came over, and rested his head under my hand. he did, he really did! I want to think the little bugger sensed my grim mood and came over to comfort me...but the truth is, he likely smelled my slice of pizza and thought he'd sniff his way into a pepperoni or two. p.s. i have therapy next week. i'm really really really scared, but i'm really really really ready. it feels so far away.

mental holidays...

...are oh sooooooo necessary...

i took a long walk today, had my coffee, wrote, watched a bit of oprah, and now i'm napping before an 8pm play reading (blogging while napping is a helluva skill). life should be this sweet everyday. :-)

p.s. i haven't had a cigarette in over a week. i think i quit.

last night, a guy with a guitar...

...said "anyhoo." 3x. *sigh* the 1st time, i glazed over. i don't know what song he was singing. The 2nd time, I was okay. By the 3rd time--nothing--or at least, not enough to mention (yet, here i am). oh, and he played the harmonica, guitar, and tambourine--all at once--while singing. and really well. i think that's worth mentioning.

i need therapy...and i think other people can tell. that's a good sign though, right? if i were crazy, I wouldn't be so self-aware. I keep putting off therapy--although I made a tentative appointment...but now I think I have to definitely go next week. I can't write my book without therapy...because there are emotions locked inside that I need to bring out and write down. my book will be just words without them.

Speaking of "the book," I think it's a cliche. a story of human tragedy--painful, but hopeful, blah blah blah. It's okay though...I'll find a way to make it more than that I'm sure. There's time...lots of it.

I attended my first writers salon tonight. At first, I felt uneasy, but thanks to red wine, that quickly faded. I wasn't sure I was in the right room, but after hearing some of the other writers read their works--i knew i'd fit in just fine. A poet there asked me "are you a poet?," and I said "no, i'm some-kind-of-a-writer." fucking self-doubt puts my foot in my mouth everytime. i loathe it. it's depressing! i've been a writer all my life--i've written for work, play, pleasure, and pain--for my entire life. next time, i'll say --with resolve--"I'm a writer." at the next salon, i promised to read my own writing. this woman was there--in-cred-ible storyteller/writer/orator/playwright. I can't say enough--so click on her link.

today, I feel brave.

p.s. I have good lighting in my bedroom...and this is when it's gray outside.

i should be writing.

i know. or at least finishing up what I think is a pretty decent eighth of a chapter.

i was walking home tonight--after having cubans with my boss--and I saw the twin lights shining from ground zero...and i wished I could touch them. two imaginary towers.

i didn't post yesterday...but if i had i would have said a big "Happy Birthday Angelica." One of the most beautiful girls I know.

dear hannah--me and the "disguise hat" miss you. xo

only one person I know...

...will appreciate this post, i think.

tonight, I did it! I went to my very first (hopefully, of many) Moth Slam! So so impressed, but wait, let me start at the beginning.

First--I had the option of going to an Elvis Costello/Jenny Lewis concert taping or going to the once-a-month Moth Slam at Nuyorican...and well...so glad I chose Moth, although I do love Jenny's Acid Tongue. If you like listening to people, mostly authors, telling ordinary stories and making them sound compelling, or telling compelling stories and making them more ordinary--you should check out the podcast.

Anyway, I get to the show, and the line is all the way down Avenue B. Nuyorican is small, so I'm thinking, "oh no, I'm not getting in." But, as I near the front of the line--inch by inch, foot by foot, I hold onto hope. This is serious. Finally (I hate that word), I get to the front, and there are still about 30 people behind me, possibly 150 or so inside already. The door guy takes me and the couple behind me, and then sadly has to tell the other fans that there's "no more room." I'm sorry for them, but I got in!! I don't know why I'm so excited...these are people just like me, standing at a mike, telling a story that I could tell. And maybe I will next time.

So, I won't bore you with the details of every 5-minute story (there were 10)... and although everyone was pretty awesome--my favorite was definitely Juliet and her painful-funny story of how she tried, in vain, to win back her vegan, crazed boyfriend by becoming a story teller, and actually winning the Grand Slam in Philadelphia. It wasn't what she said, it was how she said it--and that's what makes a great story teller. You could tell me how to make a tuna fish sandwich--and bore me to sleep, or you could tell me that you make a tuna fish sandwich by first hunting for 5 secret ingredients that you have to buy from 3 different markets, and then you can't just eat it on any bread, it has to be a special pumpernickel that's sold only at one deli that's open one day a week on the other side of town. And that's what a story teller does. Takes you there...all the way...even if at first, maybe you didn't want to go.

I think one of the hidden highlights of the night was the geriatric bartender, who looked a bit like my great granpa and had a sweet, ear-to-ear smile he flashed with every beer he uncapped. Well, he gets more lovable. Whenever the storytellers touched upon anything even slighty risque', for instance any mention of a tattoo, or sex, he'd give an embarassed "Oh boy..." and begin to giggle...but think a deep, husky granpa giggle. The kind that makes you (well, me) want to reach behind the bar and hug his fat belly tight.

oh, and i love this...

...pic. i didn't take it. it's of some guy out and about in my neighborhood on Saturday, during Hanna. It doesn't look like NY, but it is. Looks like he's taking in every minute...wet, messy, windy, cold, and all. wait a minute--is he smoking a cig?! ha! did i mention how much i heart my neighborhood!?

can you see it? my 18-hour paint job?

Hannah flew back to London last night, and I promised her I'd post pics of the "Hurricane Hanna paint job." She picked out this color for my bedroom walls--Cool Melon--and while here it looks warm and orange-y (like a lot of my pics), it's more of a coral-y pink. At night though, it takes on a rosy glow. I think it's lovely.

In other weekend news, the beach did not happen, however a long walk did...and some overdue errands (groceries/laundry/Ikea). I've come to realize that Ikea is just as dangerous, if not more, than Target. I went for a rug, I came out with a rug (yay), curtains, light bulbs, and a hanging light cord. So much for self-control.

Oh, and there was a break-up. Yes, that kind. It happened a while back, but it officially sunk into me yesterday. I'm okay though. As cliche as it sounds, I was holding onto a bird that wanted to fly. I know the feeling--I've been that bird. And really, that's all I'm going to say about it (today). Oh, and I love him always. Love is so rife with cliches, isn't it?

throwing away the junk...

...that's the theme of today. i don't think i can blog openly until I get all this crap out of my life. i've got good coffee though--a fresh pack of cigs, and a paint brush (piiiinnnkk!)...and so far, no sign of the notorious hanna **crossing fingers for good beach weather tomorrow**.

UPDATE: Hanna is here! And she's angry.

today i met iris...

...while waiting for the M103 on Lex. She told me her name, and I told her mine. "It suits you well," said Iris. She told me about her arthritis, and then asked for my honest opinion on her hair color...the color was, umm, for lack of better words "un-natural"...and it just didn't fit this cool octogenarian. Think a sickly ash brown with purple tint. And she agreed. Said her real color had been a honey brown. She wanted to re-dye it immediately, "not because of vanity" but because she just wants her old color back. I told her to let it fade or at least give it 2 weeks, or it "might all fall out." she made me giggle. Iris has lived in greenwich village all her life--and now owns her own co-op. I thought she deserved at least a mention on my blog.

and while we're on the topic of sickly ash brown things, i had the worst chai tea on earth today...just water and a hint of milk...not a drop of chai. luckily, an old-fashioned donut was there to counter the blandness.

my beautiful friend angelica told me she's inspired by me because i'm an extrovert. she's a true sweetie pie. i sometimes worry that maybe i meet TOO MANY people too easily, and what if i meet some crazy who cuts me up and tosses me in the East River. Case in point, I met a crazy Welsh man tonight while eating my just-okay shawarma on Ludlow and Rivington. He sat next to me, and my first thought was "he's gay," so of course, my guard came down immediately. Maybe he is, who knows...he was awful silly though, and said my name doesn't suit me, since I don't have red hair (contrary to what Iris says). He offered to be my friend, but only if I promised to smoke only two cigarettes a day. "Sorry," I said. "I have to have three. Everybody needs a vice." He nodded, and then told me his is alcohol--British beer to be exact.

p.s. no more flip flops in chinatown. more on that later...

moving day.

all boxed and ready to go. yay!

yesterday, Robert (Hannah's friend), who is a practicing psychic and magician told me "your karma is good," which essentially means I can move forward in life without any setbacks because I "don't owe anything."

p.s. i think i'm "celebrating" labor day the way you're meant to...by carrying a crap load of boxes up four flights of stairs. :-P