I’m taking a nap at work. A non-sleeping nap. A nap with my eyes open. A nap that includes writing this post in Word before copying and pasting it into blogger. I refuse to make sense today.
I went to a Stone event at a local pub last night as a pre-game to the bigger Stone event at Rattle-n-Hum on Sunday. I had three beers: San Diego County Session Ale, Saison De BUFF, and Oaked Arrogant Bastard. The Session and Oaked are my favorites. It was a fun night because I got to meet two of the reps and a brewer. Oh and I also got to know this one bartender better, which is always good for DR (drinker relations). I was home by 9pm, so I’m not sure why I’m so freakin’ tired. Maybe I’m coming down with something. Maybe my liver exploded. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe I’m just tired.
I came into work and immediately got pulled into a conference call to hear my boss get reamed out and for us both be blamed for not knowing something we never had to deal with before. It’s been a great morning.
So, now I’m writing. And sleeping while awake.
I hate my hair. It’s so fucking short. I’m never cutting it again. I decided since this will be the last time I have a pixie I might as well be a short-haired character for Halloween. I’m thinking Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby. I’ll Netflix it and see what’s up. Not sure if I want to be preggers as a costume, though. Creepy. If I was skinny I’d be Twiggy, but since I’m not, I won’t attempt to pull it off. The only costume worse than a fat Twiggy is a fat Rollergirl.
I had a Starbucks iced coffee this morning instead of my usual local deli one. Maybe it’s fucking with me.
Q4 Outlook. I might hibernate in between special events for the next three months. I have NYCC, Svenica’s wedding, a possible Giants game, Halloween, Pee-Wee on Broadway, possibly a weekend trip to Boston (please!), a Jets game, a long overdue visit to M & J’s (I suck!), and of course, the holidays. It would be wise to stay indoors and not spend money on anything else.
Jesus Mr. J! I cannot believe you just texted me! Every time we plan to hang out I never hear from him until like 9pm that night, which by then I already gave up and made other plans. He always says come to Brooklyn and I say no, come to Queens and we fight about how he always comes to Queens and then I ignore his last text and we don’t hang out. This has been going on since April. UGH. If he wasn’t a ginger I’d punch him in the face.
I haven’t heard from MD yet. On Sunday he said he’d call by the end of this week, so I really shouldn’t have been impatiently waiting until now. TRIPODS, if you like a girl don’t make her wait! Even if you say you’ll call on Thursday at exactly 8:13pm we will fucking count the seconds until then. Or at least I will. I hate waiting! It brings out the crazy!!
HA! Microsoft word has a squiggly green line under “fucking” in the above sentence.
DOUBLE HA! It suggested “fuck.”
4.5 hours to go. Boring. I wonder if it’s raining. Juniper has free tickets to tonight’s Mets game. It would be fun to go one more time this season, even if they blow. They always blow.
The 10th inning of Ken Burns’ Baseball was on the past two nights. I didn’t like it as much as the previous innings, probably because I’ve lived through this one. The heavy focus on Bonds and steroid use was depressing, too. Oh well. I might watch his Jazz docuseries next.
I FINALLY got the rest of Dexter Season 4 in the mail. I received the first disc a few weeks ago then kept getting bumped for the remaining three. The funny thing is MD was watching them last week and the minute he mailed them back, I got them. It must be love.
Ah crap, I forgot I was going to write about therapy. I don’t want to today. I don’t want to do anything today besides fake napping.
What else can I write about?
I bought stamps! First time in 2010. I swear to Shizza I am the grubbiest of grubs. Bella, you no longer need to be my stamp pusher.
I bought bedroom curtains! Only took seven years.
The recruiter I’m working with emailed me about a financial analyst position, but I declined. The job description included excel P&Ls…been there done that. I want a junior project manager or IT liaison position. I’ve had enough of being a data analyst, unless of course MeLBa or NeFLa were looking for one. That would rock.
I’m bored with this post now. The end.
Thursday, September 30
I’m taking a nap at work. A non-sleeping nap. A nap with my eyes open. A nap that includes writing this post in Word before copying and pasting it into blogger. I refuse to make sense today.
Tuesday, September 28
Apparently I meet a lot of guys, so I've been asked to make a reference guide for their nicknames and pertinent info.
Written by THIGHS around 12:00 AM
Monday, September 27
I am not one to judge (except if you're a racist, religious fanatic, or litterer). You can talk to me about anything, anytime, anywhere, BUT a word of advice - know your audience. If you are going to ask me if:
Written by THIGHS around 10:02 PM
Sunday, September 26
Saturday, September 25
I should be taking a disco nap right now, but I can't sleep. I was out until 4am and woke up at 9am. My body is TIRED. I sure hope I feel better soon as I'm meeting up with MD in a few hours. Sweet.
Written by THIGHS around 4:19 PM
Thursday, September 23
I was just made fun of by a tween thug.
Written by THIGHS around 7:38 PM
Saturday, September 18
Thursday, September 16
I just got a haircut. It is AWFUL. I look like a fucking dude. All I wanted was my goddamn mini-mullet cut off and a trim in the front. A TRIM IS NOT TWO INCHES ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE ONLY DEALING WITH FOUR INCHES YOU CUNT!! (Heh. Inches.)
I'm so fucking annoyed. Granted it's probably not much different from what it looked like in May BUT I WANTED TO START GROWING IT OUT.
AND I HAVE A DATE TOMORROW NIGHT. FUCK YOU FUCKBAG.
I can't get a grip this week and the haircut is throwing me over the edge. I even called my therapist Cee today (pre-haircut) and made an appointment for Saturday morning. It's been over a year now since group therapy. I'm not sure when the last time was I had a one-on-one appointment.
I don't know what I'm fucking doing. I really thought I was handling stuff okay this year, but apparently I'm not. I can feel myself falling apart...
Obviously a haircut or my stove fears or a guy or whatever other stupid thing I choose to harp on is all just a distraction from something bigger. BUT WHAT? What could I possibly be dealing with now?? Wasn't the past six weeks enough fucking drama? Why can't I get a mental fucking break?
Ugh. I'd pull my hair out IF I HAD ANY LEFT.
I decided to play with Photo Booth to document this ridiculous mood I'm in. You know what? It totally snapped me out of my funk. It's hard to take myself seriously when I look like this:
Where the hell did my nose go? And whose hand is that?? (Aren't my nails nice now?)
Aaaannd now I'm laughing. Manic depressive giggler, at your service. : ) :
Written by THIGHS around 8:23 PM
Monday, September 13
I walked around the city for a couple of hours on Saturday. It was so beautiful out. A bit hot in the sun, but the shady side of the street was perfect. I took some pictures of churches and hit up two more taco places, the El Idolo cart on 14th Street and 8th Ave and a Mexican deli right next to Bacon's apartment. Both were okay. The El Idolo beef wasn't as tender as I like, but it had a nice salt and peppery taste. I'm not a big fan of chicken tacos and I made the mistake of getting one at the deli. It smelled delicious, tasted meh. At this point I may need a taco break, although I'm told I should get the barbacoa at Chipotle.
The day continued with a plethora of drinking. And fine drinking at that: year old PBR, Modelo, and MiHiLi. I am so classy. Stevie and I went to my favorite old man bar to play some pool. We stayed out until 5am. Or I did, Stevie stayed out even longer! I love late night outs, but I'm like a vampire. I'm scared to see the sunrise because I'll probably implode.
I made out with another guy, too. I finally realized I have no problems meeting dudes. I talk to everyone! This one is really nice. He asked me to hang out on Friday, so I'm going to meet up with him for a bit before I head down to the usual pub. I like the idea of keeping it short and sweet on our first date because I'm not sure what I think of him. Twelve hours of drinking can do that. He might just be my old man bar boyfriend, not my boyfriend-boyfriend. We shall see. Of course he has the same name as Tat and Donovan. Yes, it's a very common name but sheesh!
Yesterday was a glorious day of football (Giants won! WOOT!), ribs, couching, and diarrhea. My ass was vomiting. The alcoholic that I am refuses to blame the beer, instead I blame the Frank's Red Hot Sauce I poured into my Modelos. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I stopped eating hot sauce almost a year ago now!! DUMB GIRL.
I had the strangest dreams last night. In one dream I went to an open call at a modelling agency. The head recruiter was this really thin brunette with a ton of make-up caked on her but-her-face. She took one look at me and asked her assistant for something. The assistant handed her plastic calipers and she proceeded to grab and examine my upper armfat like it was a new species. Then she told me to drop my pants and I cringed, knowing that the size of my thighs (blog!) would freak her out. It did. She asked, "I'm surprised you don't care to be thin." I responded, "I want to be thin, but I'm afraid." Stuff happened and then I was in a big fight with all of the models and recruiters telling them they are all mean, heartless, vain, evil people, that I may be fat but at least I'm awesome. Then I stabbed the head recruiter in the back with a plastic knife. It didn't go through her, but I wanted it to.
In the next dream I was at another open call to play on a pro baseball team. There was a huge line of people waiting to try out and I couldn't remember if I had cut the line or not. Then the manager asked us what is the role of a coach and I said "to know the strengths and weaknesses of each player" and "to call the plays" or something like that. I was quite proud of my answers. Oh and there was only one other girl trying out and I hoped she wasn't as good a player as I am.
I feel like there was more, but I can't remember now...
I write "but" way too much. Conjunction Junction, what's your function?
Hell yeah Sundays:
Written by THIGHS around 6:32 PM
While going back to New Jersey for follow-up visits is an expensive pain in the ass, I am very glad I had my surgery at the same office as I did as a teen. My parents said it's decorated exactly the same, but it doesn't really look familiar to me. I believe I recognize it on a subconscious level, though. I also believe it helped speed up my healing process, that by going back to the "scene of the crime" I'm getting closure, everything's come full circle, and I can finally move on. With this in mind I went to Greenwich Street on Saturday and stood where I was on 9/11.
When I first wrote my post I originally thought I had taken the 1 train downtown, which was odd because I always took the A/C/E from Port Authority. On Saturday I realized I did take the usual line and walked down Carmine from the West 4th station. As I was retracing my steps, the strangest thing happened. Six cop cars flew down Varick, just like they did nine years ago. My jaw dropped. Somehow the moment recreated itself. I believe deja vu tells us we are exactly where we are meant to be and while I was reliving part of a terrible day, I was comforted by knowing I was supposed to be reliving it.
I stood behind Penguin for a few minutes. I laughed, not because it was funny, but because I was having an honest moment with myself and my past. For whatever reason, I tend to giggle when I'm enlightened. Maybe the Laughing Buddha was onto something.
This is the first year I am ready to discuss or even think about 9/11. I am so happy and proud that I've finally come to terms with my experience. I hope everyone else affected by that day can eventually do the same.
Written by THIGHS around 12:06 PM
Friday, September 10
Today was a long one. I was so tired this morning that I had three cups of coffee. I thought I'd snap out of it at some point, so I considered going to the Mets game tonight to enjoy the crisp weather (not the actual team). Yeah, but no. I was half asleep all day.
I did rally enough to get a couple of beers with Rocks right after work. Two Firestone Walker Union Jack IPAs later I was raring to meet my pals at the usual Friday pub when I crashed again. Home it was.
On the train ride to Queens I had a massive taco attack. TACOS! I can't get enough!! I couldn't make up my mind between Tacos Mexico or the Broadway truck so I had THE BEST IDEA OF MY ENTIRE LIFE and got a taco at each. And then the best idea got BESTER when I decided to eat said tacos on my roof. My smile could not get any bigger.
Have I posted pictures from my roof? I can't remember. I have a beautiful view of Manhattan. My roof is one of my favorite places to be.
When I got up there tonight, the 9/11 Tribute of Light lit up the sky. The geek in me thinks of the Batsignal while the spiritual wannabe psychic-buddhist thinks it's the souls of the fallen. I love it.
I felt bad eating my tacos in front of the memorial, so I politely ate them with my back to the city. After I finished eating I stared at the lights for a while...
I am very happy I wrote my 9/11 post. I don't know what my deal is this year, but I gotta say, unloading the heavy shit is so freeing. I highly recommend it. That and the guacamole at Tacos Mexico.
Written by THIGHS around 8:35 PM
Thursday, September 9
I was having an amazing day before Kitchen Nightmare 4. I don't remember when I last felt so happy and free.
On Tuesday I had my two week follow-up with the doctor. I'm healing nicely and the girls look terrific. Yesterday was the first day I haven't been in pain or uncomfortable. I was and am thrilled!!
Things at work are going well. Actually I should say I'm managing things at work well, especially my bosses. I finally learned how to adapt to their needs instead of expecting or trying to will them to change. It's never going to happen, but at least I am able to deal until I find a new job. My boss Tennis has been so supportive with my surgery. Although he doesn't know the specifics, he has been very concerned about how I'm feeling and flexible with my days off. I'm grateful I was still at Minnow when this happened because the added stress of a new job would have made this ten times worse. Also, my insurance might even cover it this time. (They didn't back when I was a kid.)
I had a great holiday weekend. Thursday was the first night I drank in two weeks. The night ended with a random birthday party gave me a shot of Patron at a pizza place. I was home by 8pm. Friday I was out much later having gone to seen Machete (GO! It's so fun!) and then out for drinks at Blind Tiger, Amity Hall, and the bar Fiver works at in Astoria. In my drunken stupor I bluntly asked him to come outside so we can make out. He declined, but he did only charge us $5 (Fiver!) for six beers. I'll take discounted alcohol over smooching any night. Luckily I did get some mouth loving (that sounds worse than I mean it to) on Monday night. I met this guy at Crazy Ass and we made out for a good couple of hours at another bar and on the street. He wanted me to come home with him, but I said no. I just wasn't feeling it, plus I had a stitched up boob, hairy legs, and a grandma-sized pair of Hanes on. Back in the day none of that would've mattered, but it does now. I'm growing!
And shrinking! Or will be anyways. After stuffing my face at my family's annual Labor Day party and a street fair in the hood, I decided to start counting calories again. My doctor said I should wait another week before I start running. I cannot wait! Sexy, here I come!
So all day yesterday I felt AWESOME. I couldn't wait to come home, clean the apartment, and chill. As I thought this, an evil idea popped into my head. "You're going to have a gas leak." Wait, what? Why the fuck would I have a gas leak? "Your day is going too well. You're going to come home and something will be wrong. Maybe a roach. Maybe a flood. Maybe your kitchen will kill you."
And there you have it. My freakout started three blocks from my house. When I walked into my apartment I thought my kitchen smelled funny. Then I got all lightheaded and anxious again, like I did the time with the CO poisoning. Then my night was ruined.
My kitchen probably smelled bad because I hadn't washed my dishes in four days. While I had taken the garbage out, I didn't replace the bag in the can (Juniper!) so I had some garbage just sitting in my sink. I also had a vase of dirty water and flower remains sitting on the counter.
I was probably lightheaded and anxious because I was giving myself a panic attack before I even got home. I'm quite possibly PMSing too, and those are two new symptoms I get now that I'm off the pill. I also ran up the four flights of stairs like I usually do, forgetting that I haven't actually done that in two weeks since my surgery. And while I ate about 1100 calories at work, I could have had low blood sugar, too.
All of this plus my insanity made for a crappy night. Two good things did come out of it though: one, my previous post which I've been thinking about writing for four months now and two, I finally submitted an application for renter's insurance which I should have had this whole time.
I cleaned my kitchen this morning and it smelled fine when I came home an hour ago. I've been in my bedroom writing this since then. I think I've finally calmed down now. Maybe there is a connection between my fears and 9/11, but I do have to admit Shunty (my evil, cunty self) can mindfuck the crap out of me if she feels I'm too happy. I really need to learn how to stop that bitch.
Written by THIGHS around 6:25 PM
Last night I freaked myself out about my kitchen again.
As I wrote the other day, now that I’ve shared one of my most personal life experiences I feel more open to sharing other events that have strongly impacted me. My breast saga was the post I knew I’d always write and am very happy I did. This is The Inevitable NY Blogger Post that I’m forcing myself to write.
My issues with my stove scare the crap out of me. Sure, it is completely rational to be concerned about gas leaks or fires, but the visions and anxiety I feel while worrying about these things is not. At the risk of sounding like a crazy person, from about 7pm to 2am I had awful thoughts of my kitchen blowing up, me on fire, and everyone in my building dying. It was horrible.
After the most recent Stovegate incident earlier this year, I knew I needed to figure out where the hell all of this stress and fear were coming from. It finally occurred to me a few months ago. Only now am I somewhat ready to address it. I hate to admit this, but I think it’s because of September 11th.
Why do I hate to admit this? Because I fucking hate thinking about that day. I also feel like I don’t have a right to be upset about it. I didn’t lose a loved one, I wasn’t at ground zero. Who am I to have a story? Well after nine years of holding it in, here it is:
In June 2001 I got my first job out of college working for Penguin Putnam in the West Village. I still lived in NJ at the time so I used to catch a 6:30am bus and arrive in the city around 8:15am. The commute was rough, but I loved the view of Manhattan from the ramp going into the Lincoln Tunnel. I also liked to either walk the two miles to work from Port Authority or sit in the park on Clarkson Street when it was nice out.
September 11, 2001 was a gorgeous day. I remember sitting on the bus looking out the window and thinking how the city was picture perfect. Typically I would have walked to work, but that day I chose to take the subway. I got off at West 4th, walked west on Carmine, and saw at least twenty cop cars fly south down Varick. The sirens were deafening. Something was definitely wrong.
As I was entering my building, a girl from HR came running out saying that a plane hit one of the towers. We walked around the corner to Greenwich Street where a crowd had formed. We were only a mile away with a clear view of the towers. Through the smoke we could see the hole in the side of the North Tower. At least I’m pretty sure we could. The girl from HR (Kate maybe?) was crying and this is before we even knew what was happening. She just kept saying, “Those poor people. Those poor people.” The construction workers around us were a bit less sympathetic and kept cracking jokes about how the pilot must have been a drunken asshole. I believed them because really, what else could it be?
A few minutes later I was about to take Kate inside when everyone gasped. It happened so fast that I'm not even sure if I saw the second plane hit, but I did watch it explode and a big fireball fill the sky. I’d say it was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, but I still haven't come to terms with what I think. It felt surreal, like I was watching an action movie on an outdoor IMAX screen. At this point even the construction workers flipped out. No one knew what to do so we ran inside the building.
My memories of the rest of the day are in scenes, not one consistent playback. The president of the company came to every floor and said please stay indoors until we know what to do. We went to a conference room to watch the news. My coworker Sharon was hysterically crying because her boyfriend worked at World Trade. When he eventually showed up at her desk completely covered in dust, time stood still as they hugged and cried in each others’ arms. It was one of the most heartfelt and loving moments I’ve ever witnessed.
My best friend at the time was Nicole. She worked at a law firm a couple of blocks away from the towers. I called her a zillion times, but kept getting her voicemail. When she finally answered she yelled at me to stop bugging her because she was getting ready for a deposition and hung up. A few minutes later the first tower collapsed. I cried and called her again, but I think it was around this time that her cellphone service dropped. I didn’t hear from her for two hours and when I finally did, I almost threw up from relief. This is why I won’t switch from Verizon. My phone worked most of that day.
When the first tower collapsed I went into my boss’s office to call my mom. It was pretty stupid to be in there because my boss had a perfect view of the towers. I was on the phone as I watched the second tower fall. Up until that moment I always thought it would be fun to watch a building demolition. I no longer think this.
I don’t remember when we decided to leave the office. Bridget lived up on 42nd Street so a bunch of us walked to her apartment. We were zombies. Everyone was zombies. Someone suggested we get food so there we were, on one of the worst days of our lives, waiting in line for a cheeseburger at McDonald’s. We didn’t know what else to do. On our walk uptown, we saw people crowded around car radios and store televisions. “This Revolution Will Not Be Televised” was blaring from an apartment window. Anytime a helicopter or plane flew over head, we ducked for cover. Again, it was all right out of a movie.
I’m not sure how long I stayed at Bridget’s. The news said NJTransit trains were running again so I went down to New Brunswick to meet my brother at Rutgers. The train was packed with people arguing about what our government should do next. Kill them, bomb them, hang them. There was a lot of anger on that train.
You know who wasn’t angry? College students. I got off the train and I swear to god I thought I was in the Twilight Zone. Kids were chatting, laughing, bike riding. It was a beautiful day, why wouldn’t they be? Richie must have been in class or something because I remember talking to his roommates, then my friend Lou. Lou, I don’t remember what the heck we talked about. All I do remember is looking at my feet (I was wearing sandals) and saying, “I never noticed my big toes were so hairy.” to which Lou answered, “THAT’S what you’re concerned about right now!?!?!”
I’m not sure what time it was when I finally got to Jackson. I laid down on the couch in the fetal position and cried for hours. The next day Richie took me to the park because I didn’t want to be near the television. The week is a blur, but I’m pretty sure I was back to work on Friday the 14th. The city was different. I was different.
I’m not exactly sure when my fear of explosions began. I realize now it must have something to do with the fireball. How could it not, right? I believe the first time I freaked out was on one of the rafting trips. I had nightmares that our campfire would spread or the propane tank at a nearby campsite would blow. My fear seems to have gotten worse through the years as I’m still ridiculously nervous at barbecues, especially when people are smoking too close to the grill. My stove issues haven’t helped ease my neuroses, either. At least three times this year I was overcome by anxious thoughts of my kitchen exploding and killing everyone in my building. This is not good.
Now I’m embarrassed. I feel like a jerk for using 9/11 as a reason to why I am insane. Again, I feel like I don’t have a right to be affected by it, but as you now know, I do have issues with trusting myself and tend to feel guilty about my emotions. I guess it’s also because I feel like a hypocrite. I fucking hate everyone else in the country who weren’t in NY that day or didn’t lose a loved one, yet chant “never forget.” Honestly, I don’t like to remember.
I also don’t like the ignoramuses who use 9/11 as an excuse for hating other religions and cultures. Did everyone hear about the mosque being built two blocks away from ground zero? Of course you have, the media and politicians are having a field day with it. Did you know there's already a mosque four blocks away and another one ten blocks? Probably not, because then this wouldn’t be newsworthy drama. And don’t even get me started on the pastor in Florida. All of this just in time for the anniversary, too…
So what now? Has writing this changed me? Will my fear of explosions magically disappear? Am I insane or traumatized or both? Who knows. Apparently I’m unloading all of my emotional baggage this year, so I figured now was a good time to write about this. Plus at this point I’ll do anything to stop being afraid of my kitchen.
Thanks for reading.
Written by THIGHS around 2:49 PM