snow in july.

hello, global warming. If this isn't a sure sign that the climate is in distress, I don't know what is. Take a look at pics from my office's parking lot after last night's hail storm. Shocking, right? In case the photos don't give you a clear visual, those hail stones are the size of marbles. ouch! Of course, the whimsy-seeking kid in me thinks it's pretty darn cool to have a little ice on an 80-degree summer day :-)

waiting is hell.

when you're waiting for the lay-off list to land under your office door, you begin to consider how great life would be without the obligation and stress of a nine-to-five, and how dismal life would be without that stuff that makes the world go 'round. and how temporary everything is...jobs, income, layoffs, office doors, stuff (maybe even stress--if i so choose).

p.s. i whole has passed. yes, i'm a bad blogger. i know. i don't deserve the title "blogger." don't hate me (if you're at all even reading this).

calgon, take me away.

that phrase never gets old. There are days I really wish I could say "take this job and shove it," another cliched, but never-gets-old phrase. Today is one of those days. I love my job, and I'm lucky to have a gig that I like, pays me decently, gives me health benefits, and even sometimes fulfills me creatively (I know, I know). But more and more lately, and partly due to the economic crisis, I've considered whether I'm cut out for many more years of nine-to-fiving-it.

Freelancers always seem so relaxed, don't they. And they work from far-off places--like the hammock in their back yard--or some warm, sunny vacation spot. I'm not saying that's the road I'm taking anytime soon--because lord knows the market is too unpredictable right now. I guess, I'm just sayin'. Just venting.

And on top of the stacks of paper on my desk, and the to-do list that covers pages of my notebook and hardly has any cross-outs, there's the looming sadness that my writing is having to take a back seat. And it hurts. a lot. I wrote short prose-y things (I think you call them poems) last weekend. It fulfilled me more than several months of working my ass off and bringing home a decent paycheck. go figure.

it's been a month...

...and I can no longer get by with the "my computer's dead" excuse. I'll just say, "Life has taken over" and there's been a lot of it. So much to say, so little time. Work has taken over as well--and it's kicking my butt.

Okay, enough rambling. This post was just to say "hello" "I've missed you," and I'll be back really soon, and more consistently, with peeps and winks from my life. Ooh, and there's love stuff, too! Hope I still remember how to blog...xo!

i promise to be more pleasant.

i do, and i really have sweet, sappy things to say (though, i've just been busy busy). But I haven't been able to wipe this news from my brain...and how awfully grim it is. You hear the stories, you read the news headlines about the "epidemic" in DC, but seeing it here in this shocking visual gives it a entirely different, dare i say--horrifying--dimension. My jaw dropped when I saw this. My city *sigh*

p.s. and let's add another layer, shall we? DC is not a state :-(

i need to get cable...

...for two reasons:

1) On Feb. 17, 2009, my roomie and I will have to get a DTV converter box.

2) The junk on network tv considerably outweighs the quality stuff. i.e. The World Music Awards have to be the lamest music awards show ever. They should rename the show, "We'll Give Awards To Whoever Shows Up to our Sucky Awards Show." And can someone tell me if that's beyonce's real hair? It looks natural--and besides, are weaves even popular anymore? Are they still called weaves? I'm so out of the loop. Anyway, she's still annoying as hell to me, and i'm soooo not okay with her portraying the great Etta, but call me shallow--I kinda like the hair.

p.s. this may be the only time i ever mention football or any other sport in my blogging. Plaxico means "Peaceful"--and not "Dumb Ass" like you may have thought. And, I've been wondering about this too.

love is...

dumb. And what's in the water in Long Island??

snow!

just a couple flurries for only 5 minutes. but really beautiful.

...and speaking of snow, i love this... p.s. ...and speaking of crazy, i love this too. Three out of 4 white supremacists are pro-Obama--and some say he's "not Black enough.".

purr. meow.

Halloween is a big deal in NYC...and just a bit overwhelming. People are everywhere, draped in bloody gore and cleopatra makeup--or sometimes just a loin cloth--and you constantly have to doubletake to figure out if they're in costume or just their every-day freak-o-nature garb. You get my drift. Best costume of the night would have to be the home-made robots--you had to be there. Runners up include Bjork (in swan dress), the bee and the flower (they were a couple..awww), and the American Werewolf in Paris (an almost-perfect likeness).

Me on the other hand...I'm quite boring when it comes to dressing up. Every year I say "I'm gonna do something COOL...and every year, I'm either "a better version of myself" or a cat. so, here I am. ...i'm a cat. meow, purr. of course, i forgot to take pics before the party, and this was taken at about 2am...after a little too much catnip. So, I suppose I'm an alley cat. A forlorn, goth, alley cat. Smudged as it may be, I really think I could get used to the black lipstick... p.s. oooh, i forgot to plug Black Opal eye liner pencil in Licorice. It's seriously black! good stuff, and so much cheaper than that name-brand stuff. go buy it and report back.

how the washing machine ruined a perfectly good thing.

i tried to steal one of your t-shirts. just to hold onto your scent, and maybe wear it to bed. but you'd just done your laundry, and each of your 60 or so tees were folded and smelling like nothing and no one. a hint of Tide. i know i have other things to remind me of you,*sigh* oh well. no one smells like you though. i think it's a mix of frankincense, and your own b.o...but the good kind. u know the kind that makes me plant my face deep in your chest and kiss the lobe of your ear. fuck Tide!

p.s. i know i've been away from my lil blog, but i'm present, just thinking of how i will write out some of my thoughts, and it isn't coming so easily..though my mind is full. Heavy even. I don't get it. on a surprisingly high note, I feel brave, and focused. Perhaps i just will spill some of that bravery and focus onto papier-mache world. soon, i think.

all i need right now is a hard cry.

and to not let whatever's getting to me remain pinned up and eating up my insides. (ugh...saying "your insides" makes me think of the word "innards" which makes me think of chitterlings, which makes me gag.)

Today, I feel like I am losing my mind. Not in the 911-check-me-into-the-looney-bin sense, but in the "I need a walk outside to scream" sense. The world feels so very heavy on me today, and though the day is a beautiful one and for-gods-sake it's friday, I feel overwhelmingly pissed off--at nothing in particular. Can I handle it all alone? Can I handle it all alone? Please let this be PMS! Today, I was hearing "No man is an island..." on repeat. Something with no particular meaning to me, and a pullout phrase from this book I'm dying to finish and move-on from. Reading it caused something to subconsciously trigger a bit of half-sadness/half-shame in me. I just want to cry...a good cry...until my eyes are red and my head is clear.

********
10 minutes later

I cried...or at least, I allowed tears to form even if they out-and-out refused to roll down my face. And I'm eating the most delicioso pumpkin soup. And what's next?? Chocolate pudding. Almost all better...

baby's sick.

blogging will be really light for the next 7-10 business days. oy. that's how long it's gonna take the Apple techs to fix my laptop. Seems I've blown a fuse--though I'm sure there's a more technical diagnosis that i'm not tech-savvy enough to articulate. Basically, my laptop has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, but I'm simply calling it a cough. why? cuz it makes me feel better.

During said fuse-blowing, there was a spark--and I think there's something in the fine print about this representing a safety hazard, sooooooo...I get my baby repaired for FREE! **big smile** No I do not have Apple Care, and yes I think it's a blatant waste of cash.

It occurred to me that, since my blog is my default home-page, the Apple Guys are reading this right now. "Apple Guys, I mean *cough cough* Apple Geniuses, I love you, please return my baby soon!"

As I sat at the counter yesterday waiting for my-own-personal-Genius to return with good news, I remarked to myself, "7-10 days is a lifetime for a writer." One of the other Genii overheard it and seemed unfazed...but it's true. What am I supposed to do without my laptop for a week and half. I mean, forget writing for a sec, what about email? facebook? ebay? perez hilton? And does Monday--Columbus Day--count as a business day? Now I'm even more furious that we get a day off in this thief's "honor."

Oh, but wait.

Then, it dawned on me that, aside from my blog, none of "the book" is on my laptop. It's all in my notebook, save for the 90 percent that's still in my head. Thank god for notebooks, u know. They may get misplaced, or left behind on the subway, or coffee stained, and the ink could even wash away in the rain, but that would all be my own doing. On the other hand, notebooks will never crash, freeze, mysteriously delete your files, nor blow fuses.

p.s. for all you chai tea lovers, I think i've discovered something great. Note: I am NOT a tea drinker, but this stuff is yummy! It's replaced my morning cup of coffee 2 days out of 3 this week...and of course, it's from Roasting Plant!

for rachel, and the (dreadful) dnc comedians.

will we ever tire of this song? not as long as jane has that braided mullet and nose-ear ring. hot.

patchouli makes me nauseous.

some guy was wearing it today, in the 85-degree august heat. i've never liked the scent--smells like something someone would splash on to cover up bad b.o.

so, i got lost going to the beach today. i had to take 4 subway trains, and I kept missing them. On a sunday morning, you're lucky if the G, L, and A come every 15 minutes. Then I took the wrong A to the wrong part of Queens, and had to backtrack and wait another 25 minutes for the right A. But hey, no complaining on a beach day. and what a lovely beach day it was!

some weird guy came over to my private space on the sand--asking to apply my suntan lotion. Of course, I said, "no," but I was kind about it--and I listened to him go on and on about his Puerto Rican/Jewish heritage, his first eye-brow threading (don't ask me why this guy gets his brows threaded...lol!), and his upcoming trip to the D.R. Finally, he went away after I told him that under no circumstances would I swim in the ocean with him.

then, coming home, the cherry on top of my day: I drove the train. Okay, I'm embellishing a bit. I met the conductor, Larry--and I guess he took a slight liking to me. Claims to like mulattos a lot *sigh*, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that we no longer go by "mulatto." it's kinda like calling a chinese person "oriental." oh well. so, i technically didn't steer the train, but Larry did give me the ins and outs of subway driving--buttons, valves, lights, switches, and lots of other gadgets and knobs, and he let me ride up front with him for four stops. i hope he doesn't get fired. i told him i was writing a book, when he asked "what do you do?" he gave me his email address and asked me to keep in touch and maybe let him know how the book is going. I doubt i will...but hey, who knows.

p.s. congrats to ellen and portia.

i didn't need to know this.

why does the "saviour's message" have to be so morbid?

ah. ummm. now i think i want to climb...

...the NY Times building. lol. I love how they're calling these judgement lapses the "climbing episodes." I say, let them climb! Let them pretend the NYT building is just a big ol' tree in their mom's backyard. And while, I hope no one falls, it'll probably take that to keep folks "grounded."

I have something to say about A-Rod and his cheating ways...but later.

it seems to have happened overnight...

...little flashes of my 30s showing up at my door...knocking, and I wish I didn't have to invite them in. For my entire 20s--a full lifetime--I never watched what I ate, and considered myself genetically blessed to have somehow dodged the onset of cellulite-tis, love handle syndrome (well, for the most part), and all the pudge-ility that seems to present itself in all the wrong places in the late-20s.

Then...

...yesterday, I was trying on a sundress in a boutique fitting room, and I saw them. The early signs of them, but still THEM...sitting there, smiling, waving, letting me know that they were here, planning on staying, and also had invited friends. PUCKERS!! Skin puckers...those bits of fat that plant themselves on the upper back part of the thighs. I don't even have hips...how on earth can I have puckers?? Not me...genetically-blessed-and-happy-with-my-small-uneven-tits ME??! Not me, scarfing-down-burgers-and-fries-for-lunch-and-a-steak-with-potatoes-for-dinner-followed-by pancakes-with-full-fat-butter-and-full-sugar-syrup-for-brunch ME?!?!

:-(

fuck it...i'm going to the gym RIGHT NOW!

this IS the DL post.

Last Wednesday, I was having mexican at a tiny Harlem in-and-out with my Old Roomie--who is gay. I tell you he is gay because I think it's a necessary part of this story. As we're enjoying our rotisserie chicken in tortillas with black beans (yum, btw), and yap-yapping away about our future plans to move, to finish grad school, to pay off debt, to be more self-loving, and yadda yadda yadda--a guy walks in and stops in his tracks at the sight of Old Roomie. Old Roomie is a handsome, statuesque, poised guy, so why shouldn't anyone fixate on him? Old Roomie is also open and obvious about his sexual choosings...you would not, in a million years, mistake him for my lover. Staring guy is buff. I mean, BUFF. Let's just call him Buff Guy. insanely buff...to the point, where I wonder how he fits his uncomfortably large neck into button-down Oxfords. Ha! Leave it to me to see a built, brawny guy and immediately imagine how awkward he must look in his non-gym clothing. lol. Back to my story...

wait, first...everyone knows what DL means right? Down Low. You come off straight...you date and sleep with women, but you also date and sleep with men. And most importantly, the part about dating and sleeping with men is a big secret. This secretive lifestyle is prevalent in the black community, and quite possibly could be prevalent in the white, asian, latino communities as well...but i'm speaking from what i know, and so there--I think I defined it.

Where was I? Yea, so he's buff and all that, and while he's staring at Old Roomie with a "where do I know you from?" expression, I pick up on two key things. Well, three. He's totally ignoring me. He's totally checking out Old Roomie. He totally does not LOOK gay. Nothing about him says, "I'm gay and proud"... except maybe his fervor for strength training--and his perceived infatuation with Old Roomie.

Buff Guy starts a convo with Old Roomie--so it appears they have seen eachother at the gym. (Old Roomie is a trainer/dancer and Buff Guy is a trainer as well.) He asks Old Roomie "what's your rate?," meaning how much do you charge for training sessions. Then he compliments Old Roomie on his training style. Hmmm...I'm thinking, "why hasn't he looked at me yet?" and "why does he need a trainer? He IS a trainer?"

Let me state again, not only is he buff, but he looks rough-around-the-edges, fully straight and a typical Harlem hip-hop chick-magnet. I don't know why, but I'm just not getting a look-and-feel gay vibe from him, if that makes any sense.

Next he offers to give Old Roomie his number, so as to set up the training session. Old Roomie is totally playing it cool and professional and maybe a bit coy (I don't think Buff Guy is his type anyway), and offers to take his email address instead. Buff Guy scribbles down both the number and the email address, and gives an enthusiastic "Yo, definitely give me a call. I'd like to train with you."

I'm so confused.

After dinner, I ask Old Roomie if "that guy was gay?" And again, he's coy, and answers (or rather, doesn't answer) "I'm not sure, but he certainly wanted to get in touch with me! I don't understand why he needs a trainer if he's already a trainer. Oh well." Then laughter. I'm not sure if he's telling the truth, or if he's just as confused as I am. So I let it go. I don't want to sound like I don't think a perfectly straight man could hold an anxious, dripping-with-compliments conversation with a gay man. It's quite possible and normal--but you truly had to see the intensely interested look on Buff Guy's face.

So there are a few things here...if he's Down Low, he's Down Low...I'm not as perplexed by that though as much as I am that he didn't look at me. I might have a bit of an ego, but I rarely come into such close contact with a guy without garnering at least a 5-second stare or a flirty smile. You know what I got instead? A loose, obligatory handshake. hmmph.

Or, what if he isn't gay or DL, and I'm just thinking too highly of myself in thinking that if he is indeed straight, he should at least have checked me out a little more. I'm in no way interested, yet I do want to be acknowledged as an attractive, flirt-worthy woman. Is that so wrong? And then there's my other thought...the one that the BF would probably side with: Maybe he didn't stare because it was that reverse pyschology, hard-to-get thing that men do to show you they're not interested, even if they are...because they know women will first be perplexed, then annoyed, then enticed. OR, quite simply--he's gay, and he really just wants a "training session" with Old Roomie.

Thoughts?

p.s. sorry for the long post...i'm normally anti about longer posts...but this one had so many layers in need of explanation.

p.p.s. So I just came to another conclusion...Maybe Buff Guy didn't look at me because he prefers a brown-skin lady with a big booty and basically a little more meat or muscle on her bones, and he caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye and figured I didn't fit that type.

you may or may not be aware of my love...

...of coffee. and if you are not, well let me re-affirm--I LOVE COFFEE! deeply. I can base my entire day around where I plan to sip my coffee. Three sugars and half 'n half--a window, my Ipod (or a notebook if I feel like jotting) and I'm set for hours!

I planned, this weekend, to go down to DC and sip on some Murky coffee and grab breakfast at the market...when I read this.

I mentioned this before. how sad. Murky has kept Cap Hill hipsters awake and alert for quite some time...really awful news that the doors are closed for good. (I have hope that they'll fix their financial woes and return **fingers crossed** DC needs more pleasantries like Murky coffee.)

i'm soooo not ready to have babies...

...so says the nightmare I had last night (contrary to my past sentiments). I knew I shouldn't have watched "Cold Case" and eaten two brownie cookies before falling asleep. Or it could have been HSN's Miss Tina collection (I watched it for all of three minutes) that threw off my sleep pattern...truly HIDEOUS, cheap-looking crap she's calling "fashion." just plain tacky!

Now for my nightmare: I went to the doctor for a regular check-up, and this evil nurse told me I was preggers. I told her she "must be mistaken!", so she made me pee several times into tiny glass test tubes. Then she shook all of them and cackled like a witch as they all turned pink (which, in my dream world, must be some sort of litmus test for pregnancy). As the nurse gave me the news 10 times over, my head spun with anxiety and questions--"This is the worst possible thing that could happen...my world is crushed! What am I gonna do with a baby? I just got a new job!!! I can't go on maternity leave yet? And what about [the BF] and his dreams?" Yes, I actually had this logical thought process in my dream!!!

And then I woke up this morning with a pounding headache, but relieved beyond belief that it wasn't morning sickness. whew!