something new awaits...

well, less "awaits" and more "comeths." Or something like that.

I'm more than well aware that my heart and brain have not been plugged in here. I think I'm evolving--or progressing, or channeling something. I have no idea what's going on with me, but I do know today's random post is steeped in hormones (so says the inconvenient pimple on my forehead). So i'm choosing this opportunity to tell you rather cryptically that I'm working on something...something new...just waiting for the right title to pop into my head and then I can spill.

Until then...xo

ms. parton.

So, a woman I work with drops her iPod in our gym locker-room...wait. I'll back up a bit. A very stoic, type-A, super career woman who has most-certainly given me the cold-shoulder a handful of times in the hallways—having met my twice-daily "hello" glances with silent bristle and possible ire, drops her iPod in the gym locker-room. (Yes, we have a gym at work...it's my one-and-only counterargument to the eyebrow raises I get when I describe the horror that is my 1-hour-plus commute to work.) The earphones pop out and all us half-naked ladies get the pleasure of hearing her iTunes. And will you guess what's playing? Nevermind, you won't. Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You." Yes, Dolly did it first (love you, Whitney).

Anyhoo, I love Dolly so dearly that I instantly forgave this woman's blatant oversight of my charm. What IS that? Have you ever done that...forgiven or fallen slightly and unexpectedly in love with someone just because their musical tastes align ever-so-nicely with yours?

p.s. Speaking of half-naked ladies, who knew Dolly did Playboy? Hmmm..kinda sorta curious...

Complicating matters more...

I 'd like those words silk-screened onto a T-shirt. Size Small. Seriously.

So lately, I've rambled on and on about my minor but constant 'struggle' with thinness...or skinnyness, if that's a word. Or rather, the over-awareness of it by the 40-ish women I work with.

At work today, I took a tooth-brush break in the ladies room after lunch. As it happens (to me), I couldn't find my toothbrush, so i went with the toothpaste-on-the-finger approach to dental hygiene and fresh breath. I'm in the ladies room, doing just that, when one of my editors walks in. She stops and stares at me for a second with shock and horror in her eyes just as I'm applying finger and toothpaste to my tongue. uh oh. My first thought: "damage control." I quickly remove the finger from my mouth, spit the foamy residue into the sink, and say "Ohh, hi! The chicken I ate for lunch was SO garlicky, and I can't find my toothbrush, so the finger will have to do!" Which is the truth. She laughs, perfunctorily. And then said...Wait. I don't know what she said. It was a mumble of nothingness, as she stood there staring at me for another 30 seconds that felt like 5 minutes, with a mother's concern in her eyes. I wanted to say "I'm OK...even though I'm sure it looks like I'm purging. ha ha!" That didn't happen. She walked into the stall..and I finished up, reapplied my lipstick, and made haste.

I'm still thinking about it, obviously. And wondering just what she was thinking when she walked through the door. Something a thin girl never wants to be caught doing is poking her finger toward her throat. But perhaps this is my overactive paranoia sculpting some form of irrational hyper-vigilance. It's likely, this woman walked in and saw me finger-brushing my teeth, a somewhat private act, in a somewhat public restroom and was skeeved out. yeah, that's probably it...

...i was just passing through...

...and decided to stay a while. I needed to, and yes, for good. I needed to figure out a clear purpose for being here, in this space. And it needed to be something I could sincerely commit to, at least for now :-) So after much thought, several months worth in fact, i'm giving in to my inner voice and dedicating my blog to love--the idea of it, perhaps the meaning (oh, I could write a book!), loss of it (at times, hopefully not often though), acts of love, you-name-it. Why? Because love is something I so earnestly obsess over, and know so much and so little about. It's something I can share with you--that is, if you still like me. I promise not to be boring.

Anyway, this calls for a re-design of sorts. Sorry I'm not more prepared--I just decided to sit on my bed, open my laptop, and sign-in b/c I knew that I could not go another night without writing something here.

p.s. when I signed into my account tonight, I hadn't done so since August **tsk tsk tsk**. I finally read and approved some extremely lovely and supportive comments. Thank you so much for those. Now to bed with me...xx

p.p.s. If you can't sleep, here's something silly to keep you up for a little--or maybe a lot--longer.

"40 plus and single?"

this was the subject line of an email that sneakily squirmed it's way past my spam filter today (gotta get that thing fixed). c'mon! times are not that hard that i have to be tagged "single" and 9 years older, are they? wait--i'll answer that. NO, THEY ARE NOT.

or perhaps the gods of dating are suggesting that i'm meant to take a lover in his or her 40s. how clairvoyant of them! but wait, i guess if they're gods--they'd have no use for psychic powers. anyway, don't know where i'm going with this, so I'll end here by saying, i have neither the need or want for the matchmaker emails. In fact, I made a match all by myself just half an hour ago with a chubby little black pug, with one good eye and a hankering for my ham sammich in a charming little hair salon on Broome--where jacqueline gave me a lover-ly bang trim (see below). He crawled onto my lap, enduringly planted himself there--and I fell madly in love with him. Oh, and then he fell asleep.

this will not be cool to you.

but come with me anyway.

at the bookstore on bedford, the one with about a dozen shelves of the best books by the best authors--Wilde, Butler, Atwood, Boyle. You name it, it's there, or they can order it for you. "One week. That's all." So, I'm eyeing the social activism section, without knowing i'm eyeing the social activism section. Pick up the Eldridge Cleaver biography, and it hits me "Is this the social activism section?!" Wasn't he a traitor? I recall someone telling me that. But what do I know about social activism and being a traitor? "I should read this book." I could learn something about being a black radical in the 60s.

Anyway, I slide the book back into its slot, trading it for the last literary masterpiece by some French guy. Not Voltaire--i think Descartes. I skim the back copy--it says something about him being the "world's greatest philosopher." I dunno, this wall is a bit too heavy for a Monday evening. Where's fiction? Didn't I come here to look for a cheap copy of "The Road"? I pivot--a little too fast--bolting away from the social activists, and at my 180 is this guy. We lock eyes (really, we do) long enough for me to deduce that he is not in fact someone I "know from somewhere" like college, or my commute to work, or my neighborhood coffee shop or bar. but I do kinda know him from somewhere--like somewhere on a stage performing in front of thousands, and not standing less than a foot away from me in a Williamsburg bookstore waiting for me to scoot out of his way so that he can eye the social activism section!


He's my height. Lovely eyes beyond round specs. Cool afro and beard--perfectly messed up. He reminds me of a little brown bear--the friendly kind that share honey with you instead of biting off your arms and legs. I don't do anything brave like ask for concert tickets or say "hi-omigosh-it's-you." But before leaving empty-handed, I take an extra long time perusing the shelves, pausing to sneak peaks at him (hoping he hasn't noticed), and speculating on what book he ended up with. Soul on Ice?

photo: stereogum

i know that i complain often...

...about having to trek all the way out to the sticks to get to my job. Most days i waver between reminiscing on the easy non-commute of my old job in Midtown, and just plain ol' fantasizing about not having a job at all...though I've never had the luxury of the latter (and if I did, I'd likely not think it as grand as it seems). Yet, when it snows, what does one who trekketh out to the sticks to get to work get? A SNOW DAY!

Last night i said to my friend Harry, "I reaaaally hope it snows all night so i can have a snow day."
Says Harry: "Snow day? You don't get snow days. It's New York!!"
Says me: "Yes you do, if you work in [the sticks]."
And sure enough, I woke up to several inches of pillowy white goodness and a message on the company voice mail saying "Due to inclement weather, the office will be closed today." Oh, the utter joy of a Monday off...

To properly celebrate, Hannah and i packed up some grilled cheese sandwiches and strawberries, and took a stroll through Central Park. It amazes me how the snow muffles sound and makes the city feel slower and less frenzied. Two friends sat on a swing in Central Park, gliding and giggling like children, and watched the real children sled and giggle down a hill. Who says there's no such thing as perfect? Well, it was at least until my fingers and toes began to freeze b/c of the 20-degree temps...ouch...oh well...sledding...snow pose...swinging...i didn't see the set of steps on the side of this hill, until after i'd climbed up (and fallen down...TWICE)oh, and then i met a boy...

thirty-one.

i had no real plans to celebrate..."I just wanna do something low key." well, it was anything but...*smiles* (thanks hans)

♥ din-din at Sticky Rice (I must have that giant blue chandelier!!)

♥ beers under the red lights of motor city (no, no doorguy yet. my long-lost brother, apparently, was there)

♥ delicious orange-flavored shots and Jimmy James at the magician (tom, what did u put in those shots???),

♥ impromptu lychee martinis, bourbon & ginger ales, and chit-chat at verlaine (stan, thanks for fixing my rosary)

♥ more beers at motor city. (uh oh)

♥ braided the doorguy's beard TWICE--added a little lip gloss and spit to help the braids stay put

♥ chatted with iraqi heavy metal band. told one I was a man. he believed me. asshole.

♥ chatted with New School students. lied about their ages (they're sooo much younger than we are). one is the spitting image of Carey Elwes.

♥ doorman wrestled a douchebag to the floor, and said douchebag was thrown out. trash talking ensued.

♥ tried to get a 20-year-old girl into bars, in vain. ahh youth.

♥ went to Iggys with New Schoolers. (i really want to break their camera)

♥ "[doorman], are you okay?"

♥ hannah won the scavenger hunt (damn you): a cigarette, a cough drop, change for a dollar. but i got the piece of gum.

♥ we didn't see a bulldog we could obnoxiously mistake for a collie nor a guy with a sports cap we could yell "go team" to...but we had a wonderful night!! (let's not even ruin it with talk of the hangover)

here are some silly pre- and post-birthday mac-pics.

it's been ages since...

...I've had a Gawker-worthy celeb siting. Last night, it was Mischa Barton, low and behold, at one of my LES brunch haunts. I noticed her because my date Liz kept ogling her feather skirt. Liz gave it the thumbs down--I gave it a thumbs-up, but did little birdies have to die to make it? :-( Liz and I had a loverly date, munching on beet and chicken salads, swooning over our hotter-than-Jude-Law waiter, swaying in the warm tawny light to what had to be a handpicked-by-me 80s mix. Liz giggled and said, "They've got your number." When "Africa" started playing, our jaws dropped and we sang along--not knowing or understanding the words. Here's the video--my first time seeing it, and not what I expected, though, in that predictable-8-member-80s-band-with-big-hair sort of way, maybe it is. There--I just referenced Mischa Barton, feather skirts, and the band Toto in one blog post. I just made your day, didn't I?

a dozen or so things...

...that make for a perfect saturday night.

1) A lovely, crazy girl named "granpa."
2) sephora.
3) blackest eye liner.
4) American Apparel.
5) figure skater dress (oh no!)
6) You've got a bruise on your back. No, it's cupping. Oh.
7) vintage boots.
8) joie de vivre. joie de vivre.
9) snow. snow. snow.
10) quesadillas and caesar salad. water with lemon please.
11) a dog in shoes. poor thing!
12) herbal medicine...................American Dad reruns. 12oz bag of popcorn. LOL. California Dreaming. Tiny Dancer. Last Christmas. Caribbean Queen. Smooze. Love Will Never Do Without You. LMAO. Susan Miller. Ben & Jerry's. Who draws the ice-cream art for Ben & Jerry's? A ride on the 1-train. Making faces at dogs. Now the D-train. Making faces at beautiful guy (his bike was in my way. what?! it was! *giggle*). Home. I Be Troubled. Baby Please Don't Go. Mannish Boy. Going Down Slow. Zzzzzzz.

happy birthday, baby.

happy birthday, baby. i love you so...**humming 16 Candles**

Today my Hannah turns...well, I'll leave her age out of this. Anyway, she turns a year older! yay!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HANNAH--do something fun, do something adventurous, and for god's sake, don't sulk and mope about your age. xo!

And here's a photo of another Hannah. Meet artist, feminist, and narcissist Hannah Wilke--in her birthday suit :-)

i really need to...

...get off my ass and wash/style my hair. Ugh...it's almost 10pm, and flat-ironing will take me into the wee hours...so...I wish hats were acceptable dress code at my job.

tonight, i did not cry in therapy (that's a 1st in almost three months!)...I got teary, but no tears fell. And I'm thankful that I found my bottle of naproxen and my heating pad. And finally, tonight--on the subway--I wrote my prose-ish essay (i refuse to call it a poem) that i'm submitting to a friend's literary web-azine. Still needs some cleaning up...but all and all, very good first draft. PROGRESS--whether on a cushiony couch, on the pages of a tiny moleskine, or inside a pill bottle (yes, i said it)--feels pretty damn good.

a dog named ginger.

quick, unremarkable story.

last night, angelica and i are walking home from a dinner of pork, beans, steak enchiladas (truly the anti-date, just-go-straight-to-sleep-after-eating dinner), when we spot a sweet little pooch, like this one, seemingly lost--pacing up and down the sidewalk. Can dogs pace? Perhaps it was more like "wagging up and down the sidewalk," anyway, leash around her neck--but no one on the other end of it.

Angelica and I are both immediately smitten with the precious furball...and worry that, if left there all on her own in Chinatown, she might get "abducted" (no comment). Angelica grabs the leash--and we set out to either walk up and down the street ISO the mom/dad, or take her home for the night. Before we can cook up a hasty practical plan, we hear a woman screaming, "Ginger! Ginger!" This is both symbolic and ironic. Symbolic, because I've been wanting a dog--and for that reason--have signed up to be a volunteer dog-walker--and this is quite possibly a black-and-white sign that I'm ready for my very own pup. maybe. And ironic because, well, if you know me, you'll know why. So, I'm happy to report Ginger is safe and sound--or at least she was when we returned her to her mom.

ughh...she was such a cutie pie! you know those little caramel chewy candies with the white sugary middles? that's what Ginger reminds me off. So, in honor of Ginger...I give you, one of my favorite comic clips...

i do not want to worry...

...about whether or not i am loved. i just want to love things and leave good things behind. and i don't want to talk about it.

today, i made your shirt
a mop.
and now my kitchen floor
is clean.

today's 2 learnings:
1) a pedgie
2) the process of removing a pedgie is one of my least favorite sights

So, i was at one of those outdoor thrift markets the other day, on Houston...though judging by the prices, not sure it should be called "thrift." So many good things though...vintage loveliness all around. And there among all the loveliness were two dildos. "Ugh. Who wants a pre-loved plastic penis?" says me. Maybe if it were gently used. I don't know...maybe it's good mantle art. But then again, most girls/guys are "using" a pre-loved phallis anyway, aren't we?

p.s. ever wonder what life would be life if you could always laugh all day long at yourself and at the world? i recommend seeing Happy-Go-Lucky. And another recommendation... "Naked Confessions" by Richard Prince. Prince's "Canal Zone" exhibit opened yesterday at the Gargosian Gallery, and runs through December 20.

silly little ethical quagmire.

first off...OBAMA! I had to take a few days to take it all in.

today when rachel and I went on our "it's-3-o'clock-and-i'm-dying-are-you?" coffee break, we snuck a peak inside the holiday coat drive box in the building lobby. Don't ask me what led me to peak inside...possibly just sheer curiosity or maybe comic relief--I figured I'd see lots of shoulder-padded London-Foggish oversized trenches in cobalt blues and dingy khaki. But no. instead i see a cute little well-made coffee brown leather jacket...in a size SMALL, no less. oh why oh why did i look?

at first, i thought, "that jacket's mine." followed by, "but no, it's for the poor." and again, "what poor new yorker needs a tiny leather jacket...it's not even warm!" but, alas, I couldn't do it. i'm obsessed with keeping my karma in good-standing..besides part of me thinks it's stealing--even if it's just from an over-sized box...although, another part of me thinks, "i'm poor, and my life deserves a free jacket." so i asked my friend chris...what should i do...he's pretty wise, and i think ethical for the most part...he's a finance editor...so that at least makes him more level-headed than me. he told me it's okay. "take it, but just swap it for a jacket you have at home that you don't like." I dunno...I don't really have any jackets or coats that I don't like. Ugh...woe is me. Perhaps this is one of those life-tests. Or maybe i'll call Randy Cohen. OR...I'll rationalize it the way I rationalize most things in my life...if it's meant to be, it'll be.

p.s. tomorrow i get my flu shot! yes. i'm excited. i get excited over anything that temporarily quiets my hypochondriacal tendencies. For more on the what-when-how-why of flu shots, see my smart friend Daniel's blog.

i was supposed to buy a broom today.

my apt really needs a good sweeping. But instead i lazed the morning away (yay for an extra hour) watching Degrassi. and Skyped about life/love/writing/babies/therapy/ny/london with hannah for a bit. then i went to see this in central park. but the line was too, too long...so I watched some of the ING NYC Marathoners cross the finish line...including a guy who took off his prosthetic legs right before the last 2 or 3 feet..and walked across the line on his hands (in a hand stand, no less. whew. crazy new yorkers).

Oh, but on the way, I stumbled upon a pile of discarded 1980s heels...all in a size 7 and a half. Is it Christmas already? My birthday? But then, I got them home, and tried them on and only one pair fit, and not the pair I liked. And I realized, they're all pretty ugly anyway. So, I think I'll find a more-suitable home for them...(thrift shop?)

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.

oh, gosh, well this is more like it...

...a lil something to take my mind off my nutty-crazy banter. Will you look at what I got from Etoilee8 (btw E, I found Opening Cerermony, but have yet to go in.) Anyway thanks hun--I needed something to wipe away the dramatical-ness that has been my day!

1. Link back to the person who tagged you
2. Mention the rules on your blog
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers blogs letting them know they've been tagged
6. You can now display this charming dalek image i created when tagged!

Here i go....MY QUIRKS (sheesh, where to start?!)

1. I'm addicted...ADDICTED to chap stick. I can't go to sleep at night w/o having a tube of chapstick on my nightstand. To loose my lip balm would send me over the edge. Tell me I'm not alone...

2. I love fried chicken and it's one of my gourmet specialties. But I will not eat it without honey drizzled on top. A perfectly good wing-and-thigh is dead to me if there's no honey in the house.

3. I'm a city-girl to the point of snobbery. I secretly, ignorantly think all people who live 50 miles outside of a major city are cheating themselves out of great food, culture, arts, and shopping. I know, I'm an idiot. or am i?

4. My purse often doubles as an emergency overnight/come-what-may feed bag. In addition to the normal purse necessities, I carry antiperspirant (tho i cannot spell it), a pocket knife, at least one band-aid, snacks of some sort (b/c you never know), my notebook, face cream, a vitamin or two, and vick's vapor rub (don't ask).

5. I'm obsessed with bulldogs. And my reasons are the obvious ones...b/c they're fat, awkward, top-heavy, sloppy, and appear to fart constantly. A co-worker said to me "If you chose guys the same way you choose dogs, I'd be perfect for you."

6. I have hair on my toes. We're not talking Frodo Baggins hair...just a couple strands. And I shave it, so you'd never know unless you read this blog. Okay, Asabi, Lex, Janelle, RedHotMama, Ariel, and Peas. Let's hear it!

i love this.

the 80s-centric, barely-there dance costumes, the too-hard, hip-popping dance-moves, the simple message pressed into an over-produced, saxophone-heavy song. and the vocals...pure perfection :-P If you ask me, the guy in the first 2 seconds of the clip stole the show. I want more of him! watch it now damnit.