Monday, September 6, 2010


I recently found out that Claude (aka Big-C aka C-dizzle aka Dad) used to do martial arts.  I was fascinated but not entirely surprised.  For all his cool swagger he was kind of a weirdo-nerd.  He rode the Sci-fi wave in the 70's and tie-dye tank-topped his way through the 80's.  Plus, he's always been one of those guys who carried a book in the back-pocket of his jeans and developed the art of reading while walking.  And watching my dad bend and stretch his body into rusty but graceful Asian movements, I started thinking.

When you're a kid you know you're going to grow out of things.  Dolls, for example, were always a ticking time bomb.  Most people know the feeling of realizing that some thing they love or some game they play or some hobby they have has transformed into a dirty little secret.  While you weren't looking it has become an example of you're developmental immaturity and is therefore fodder for public ridicule by your peers.  But what about 'mature' hobbies.  The old cliche of 'Time to put childish things aside' doesn't apply to everything.  Think about your parents.  Why did your mom ditch her her tarot cards or mood rings or her astrology books?  Why did your dad retire his guitar or squash racket?  And what about you, in your early twenties, how many sweaty yoga mats, rusty bicycles, moth-eaten paint brushes or busted SLR camera's lay in the basement of your past?

The Karate-Claude got me thinking about the things I love to do now.  I spin more than I really want to admit and I've gotten to the point that my body is so used to the exercise its not really hard anymore.  I'm considering changing up my exercise regime so as to avoid both mental and physical stagnation.  Maybe interests to the mind are the same as exercise to the body.  You reach a point at which you have to look for another outlet.  Or is it a matter of re-prioritizing?

I've also thought about Spin as an example of an era.  Volleyball and basketball and track (not to mention my participation in the dark room, on the literary magazine and in peer leadership) were emblematic of my do-all, be-all, win-all nature in high school.  I would argue participation in all of those things is demonstrative of the person I was.  Spin in it's dark competitive intensity is emblematic of the fierce Ivy-league mentality I was surrounded by.  Is my body telling me what my mind subconsciously knows?  Is it time to move on?

So I've brought up two reasons for why loved activities languish.  Stagnation and Re-prioritization.  Stagnation gives me a little more comfort as an explanation.  It implies that you've simply moved on, that you've grown and have gotten everything you can from that particular interest.  But an adjustment of priorities troubles me.  Was I, or work or life the reason my dad isn't a black belt?  Of course if the higher priority is something that is worth the abandonment of your first love than its not so sad.  But in my mind I can't help equating putting hobbies aside as a break-up.  There are some (like stagnation) that fade out like an old lover.  You both realize, without animosity, that the end has been long in coming.  Whereas other relationships explode; ripped to torched fragments by forces out of your control.  You are left for another woman or you, guiltily,  can't resist the greener pasture of another man.  Either way there's hollow ache of nostalgia.  And when you think of it are you reminiscing or regretting?

I guess it goes back to my concern about how quickly time passes, my ever-present fear of regrets.  And the internal struggle between my unwillingness to put my not-so 'childish things aside' to compromise or  conform and my fear of arrested development and stagnation.  Anyways, ironically I'm off to spin.  Maybe not Mr. Right but definitely Mr. Good-Enough-For-Right-Now.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Wherefore Art Thou...In The Holiday Inn...

This has nothing to do with Nelly.  RIP Nelly!...No as far as I know he's not dead.  But he has been admitted to the land of the dead in my consciousness with  DMX and JaRule which is the Gangsta's paradise of my middle school experience.  Enter Kanye...

So I've been lazy for a while.  And its not because I didn't have anything to do and it's not because I was terribly busy.  I'm not sure what the real balance is between living life and reflecting on it, but I honestly miss blogging when I don't do it.  Some days, some things just inspire you.  And today it was a chubby man jogging (laboriously) in a t-shirt that said "Tiny Tim's Donut Shop".

I'd like to warn you here:  This is not about that man.  But more the idea of that man.  The moments in life when you are so enraptured by something so hilariously minute that you feel the need to share that with others.  The ironic, the ridiculous, the annoying.  Those moments that everyone has when they wish there were someone there to make eye-contact with and acknowledge the nature of the situation.  Much like an awkward cow moment.

Which reminds me of what AW said about Awkward Cow and its superiority to Awkward Turtle (a fan favorite, I'm sure)  The argument (in a sentence)?  "This moment is So effin' awkward that not one but two people have to agree that it is awkward enough to point out and illustrate. " 

That was a sidenote.  This blog is really more of a re-introduction.  I'm back in the game.  I could try and recap on life since my last blog.  I won't.  To be honest I'll probably save some of those unfortunate and telling incidences 'til my more uninspired days.  Additionally,  even the loftiest of my aspirations could not make me commit to daily blogging.  I can't promise that.  But I will promise to the greatest listener in this WEB 2.0 era (the internet) and to the random assortment of friends, readers, and friends who are readers (let's be honest, you are the majority) that I will try.  Because I still have not given up on a book deal or at least on the idea of making money from google adsense.  

My thoughts of blogging as a form of narcism are far in the past.  I'm not narcissistic, but I do like to hear myself talk, or write, or blog (I guess that would be the accurate word in this situation).  I also think I'm 'really-really-ridiculously-good-looking' and kind of awesome in general...wait...where was I?  uh....shit. do do....'not narcissitic, like to hear myself blog'...oh yeah!   The point is...keep reading so I can make money. wait no...The point is, it's friday at 5 and I got out early so I'm on glass two of white wine (yes...white, AW) (NO, I'm not drinking alone, INTERNET...not that I think there's anything wrong with that).   THE POINT IS.  I'm going to be blogging more because if Julie and Julia is a movie with Amy Adams then there is something wrong in this world if my ridiculousness (and that is the most important, telling, and honest of the aforementioned  adjectives (or noun as I've turned it into) ) can't make Lifetime...or Oxygen...I'd totally take Oxygen.  

With that I leave you...with a new commitment, a lot of love, and some Sauvignon blanc that I've belched onto my keyboard. Oh geez, blogging may be good for the soul, but its bad for the attractive....awkward cow...

Monday, August 16, 2010

What Seems Like A Good Idea At 5AM May Not Actually Be A Good Idea

What happens when you mix missed concerts, Pour House rejections, and AN's birthday?

This was taken in Port Authority at 5:30 AM Saturday morning.  Here is us eating breakfast.

We'd been out all night but decided that the only thing that could make the night better was Atlantic City.

To make a long story less long and way more amusing.  We had open containers, in public.  Which I totally thought was not that big of a deal because its port authority and port authority is like a third world country whose dictator has just been shanked.  Plus, one would think that the NY equivalent of a mall cop would worry more about the pimps picking up runaways than the harmless 20 something, minding there own business, eating breakfast, who just so happen to be supremely drunk and have an open beer under their chair.  Anyway, I may have mistakenly left one underneath the bench we were sitting on when we got up to check what time the bus was coming.

We thought there was one at 630.  FYI, should you have the same harebrained idea planted in your head by a drunken, impulsive, ridiculously awesome friend (see man in white shirt), buses don't actually start running until 8:30.

Be warned.  Never a good idea.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Why You Have to Look Both Ways.

So I totally plan on actually blogging today instead of stealing other peoples intellectual property.  But this me AN and MF stumbled upon this video this weekend.

Monday, August 2, 2010


My left eyes is tearing.

And I'm wearing glasses outside for the first time in years.  I've worn contacts since 5th grade and for some reason I've always chosen the nerdiest glasses I could find.  As if to say to myself, "you can fool everyone else with your fancy-schmansy contact lenses, but I know the real you, the 9-year-old-nerdy-nearsighed-you-who-wore-neon-yellow-plastic-frames.  Remember?  The ones that were taped in the middle.  Bwahahaha...."  The current pair are thick tortoise shell frame with a small square lens in the hipster nerd chic style.  Thank god for the square lens because these pair are one rounded corner from making me look like Steve Urkel. (exhibit A (not my actual glasses))

The surgery wasn't actually that bad.  EXCEPT my day is gone and I have to miss spinning AND pilates all because of this stupid laser eye surgery I just had.

It's wasn't even the cool modern marvel kind that gives your near-sighted genetics the finger and makes glasses unnecessary.  It was the serious kind that you need so that you don't see spots or go blind.

I just spent 3 hours at an opthamologists' because i have retinal tears.  And now my day is gone and the back of my eyeball itches.  After hours of waiting I almost didn't do it because my Harvard educated rather attractive (in an old man way) eye Dr. gave me the option of not doing it today after the 3rd time I asked if it would hurt.

We came to an optomotrist middle-ground of 'just the tip' and I only did the left one.  I'm beginning to think   this is a health history pattern for me.  Kind of like the time I decided I would only get two wisdom teeth out.  Why would I want to do that twice?

Anyway, next tuesday I'll be getting the other one done.  And I'm kind of ballin' for someone livin' on the edge of health insurance and somehow have talked Dr.s' into discounts recently.  But we'll see how it goes cause honestly I can't go back to $12 neon frames no matter how hipster I become.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

4 Awesome Things

So AW introduced me to this new blog called, 1,000 Awesome Things which I'm really enjoying.  And I like a lot of her/his posts and loooove a bunch of 'em.  But some of them are N/A for me.  I appreciate the dedication and in no way is my post a 'this-is-what-you-forgot-even-though-you're-only-at-442-awesome-things post.  It's more of a Claudia's-5-awesome-things-that-you-should-add post.  I'll be honest I haven't read all of the posts so I'm not entirely sure that one or all of these suggestions aren't already on the list.  But, if there's any overlap I promise it is a matter of awesomeness oneness and universal agreement, not a matter of intellectual property theft.

1.  Rediscovering, playing, and singing old school Disney movie songs with (or without) your friends.

In 6th Grade I had a part filapino friend who would watch Mulan with me on a weekly basis.  she would bend over tie her hair in a bun really tight.  She'd cross her arms placing one hand over the other and bob her head from side to side with each word singing: "Ancestors, hear my plea, please bring honor to my family".  

Recently I was reminded of that favored after school activity.  I was at a friends apartment when a Disney song came on his Ipod stereo.  I think there was moment of embarrassment.  Cause you know, that if its on an Ipod any Ipod you own, you were clearly way out of Disney's target child audience and put it on anyway.  But then everyone regresses (drunkenly, on this saturday night) and ventures down an impromtu karaoke of Disney and the like (shout out to Prince of Egypt.  sidenote: NOT Disney but "There Can Be Miracles". what?  Mariah and mildly-crackhead-Whitney? what, what?).  And then suddenly J's ipod is not enough and other people start pulling Disney skeletons out of closets cause "what you don't have the Lion King?  How do you not have the Lion King?"

2.  When parents take their crying babies outside.

So babies make me a little uncomfortable.  Holding people's babies is at once thrilling and terrifying.  At first they look at you all, 'whoa your head is ginormous, AWESOME'  then its all, 'dude what's up with the way your holding me' then 'where's my mom?'  'where the FUCK is my mom?!? Who are you lady".  Meanwhile you're all, Yo, no bitch I dont want to hold your baby.  Then you're all Whoa you are small and your eyes are too big for your head.  Your not so bad.  Then your all  Oh wait, what are you doing? Stop moving.  Please don't let me drop it, please don't let me drop it.  And that's when the crying starts. And you look around because you're convinced that people think you've done something to this poor baby cause your not holding it right OBVIOUSLY and you're supposed to cause you have a uterus and that's like a innate skill.  

In other situations you have no connection to this baby.  You're just sitting reading, minding your own business and then you hear a cough out of the stroller and your like. uh oh.  But then its quiet and you hear two coughs then kicking then a series and then this kid starts wailing like you've just killed its mother and you are powerless.  powerless to do anything but turn up your headphones and try not to stare at the overburdened, baby-weight carrying, sleep-deprived mother.  Because lets be honest.  She's probably hormonally unstable and might crack if you test her.  
But then sometimes.  There are those glorious new mothers who remember a time long ago before diaper changing and midnight feeding who remember how annoying it was to hear a baby crying while you're reading/talking/web surfing in a public place.  Thank you.

3.  Empty Movie Theaters and Movie Buffets.  

In New York its like 12 bucks to see a movie, at least. (Don't even get me started on 3D...abominations).  So its particularly frustrating when a new movie comes out and you have to wait in line and then the movie is sold out.  Or, worse, when you wait in line only to have the seats (and GOD knows why they even exist) where you can see Leonardo Dicaprio's fucking nose hair but not the full screen.

But the empty movie theater is Gods gift.  It's not like you NEED all that space.  But you don't have to worry about people asking you to move over, the couple making out in front of you, or the 'OH NO HE DIDN'T's of some *cough* movie theaters.  Its quiet and cool and you get all the armrest you want.

The Movie Buffet is a term my uncle Charles "Pepper, but you can call me Dr. Pepper" Trahan coined.  He's evidence of the genius trait in my family and he's legit but he will hustle the shit of you if you let him.  He used to take me to movie buffets.  It's basically when you have nothing else to do and sneak into as many movies in a row as possible.  I'm not saying its ethical, BUT, neither is paying $13 for a ticket.  And to tell you the truth movie theaters don't even really make their money on the films, they make it on the concession.  I'm sorry, but I probably gain a little to much enjoyment about paying $6.50 for a movie and sticking to the man than I should.

4.  Face Plants...except for when its old people.  

There is nothing more embarassing than the face plant.  But when its not you.  It is hilarious.  There are many reactions to the face plant:  the mocking 'dufus' laugh, the 'that was hilarious' laugh, the 'are you a. alive b.  injured c. ok cause that was hilarious laugh'.  There's also the 'omg she's dead', the 'holy shit, that's got to hurt' etc. you get the point.

Fundamentally there are two schools of thought.  Those who laugh at face plants and those who don't.  I'm clumsy and I fall a lot and I think its awkward when no one laughs with me cause I sure as hell am laughing.  And so when its other people I just have to.

Awesome Face Plants.

"That Was Hilarious"  laugh. Fifth Grade.  Karen one of the nerdiest bigger kids.  Scurries to class carrying her backpack which is way to big for her in that hunched over little kid sort of way. teeters on the edge of the stairs and fights the triple team of her backpack, gravity, and the books she's holding in her arms.  She loses and flies down the stairs on her back (like a frisbee) only to reach the bottom step trip again and land on her face.  I will never forget that.

"Holy Shit That's Gotta Hurt" laugh Senior Year.  Penn.
A late night biker speeds past on Locust walk, almost hitting me.  He notices a brick protruding from the path.  But its too late.  His bike stops but his body doesn't.  Good thing you were wearing a helmet.

This last one sounds wrong but common'  they're close to the ground.  The little kid face plant.

"This Is Kinda Wrong....But Also Hilarious" laugh. Last Week.
*enter little kid (toddler-ish) and mom.  Child runs in, grabs a pole and swings one way.  He changes hands and swings the other way*
Mom:  Stop sit here.
*kid frowns and sits
*Mom 'rests her eyes'*
*Little kid takes the opportunity to get up and swing on pole.  around, around, around.  change direction, around, around....BAM. *
*Kid looks bewildered, confused, topples and WAILS*  

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The Big 2.3.

So, my birthday is next week (on the 23rd).  And I've been known to do some strange things on that day:

20th.  Beat a Spongebob Pinata in Washington Square Park.

16th.  Walk the questionably safe Costa Rican beaches with AB and a drunk frat reject who kept dropping the N-bomb to the house of a complete stranger just because her name was Claudia too.

21st a.  Find and a mannequin on the street outside of bar in Tribeca.

21st b.  Play with the said mannequin.

21st c. Put money in a GoGo dancers g-string or corset.  Does it make it less weird if I say that I knew her?  What about the fact that I had never actually seen a Pastie before?

I've also been know to do absolutely nothing.  I guess it depends on the year.  As you can see 21 was a good year.  But I didn't get shit-faced because I've had a fake ID and heels (the typical requirement for clubs in ny) since I was 15.

This year I think I'll have a party.  I'm still working out the details.  But it does seem like its "ON".  There are a number of reasons I can think of for my decision to host something.

A.  There are always people I'd like to be with on my birthday but who can't make it.  But this year, there are an inordinate amount of friends who have relocated to the wider metropolitan area.  

B.  My appetite was whetted by my rather creative roommates who threw me a 22 year-6 month and 14 day  surprise birthday party.  There was a triple layer homemade carrot cake, an "It is your birthday." sign (shout out to The Office) and way to many Comcast On-Demand plays OF and co-ordinated dancing TO Beyonce's "Single Ladies".

C.  23rd on the 23rd...'nuff said.

I'm no sure how I feel about 23.  Its kind of a non-destinct age.  But I know that this year I want to do it a little bigger and have all of my peeps there.  So yeah, get ready.

Also yes...she is wearing a pastie...not photoshopped.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Just Another Manic Monday

So I didn't really 'party like a rock-star, but this weekend was a full one.  It was jam packed with self-realizations and fun/interesting/awkward events.  I apologize in advance for the less than coherent progression of this blog. know.  I'll start with yesterday.


Everyone knows that I'm a hardcore Brooklyn proponent.  I push flea markets and park events.  Yesterday I went to a free concert in the park which was part of Celebrate Brooklyn Summer series.  The lead acts were Talib Kweli (native Brooklyner) and The Roots.

I went with AB and while on the F train we ran into another friend MR.   We met up with a bunch of friends and found even more there when we arrived.   The concert, by my new Bonnaroo standards, was sub par.  But you don't always go to concerts like that for the act and I was still glad that I went.

Celebrate brooklyn is an accurate sample of Brooklyn culture.  There's a community feel that rivals Bon Bonnaroo.  The crowd is diverse and happy.  And we're all brought together by the promise of free entertainment and feel-good company.  The ages range from less than 1 to over 70.  There is regular seating and portable chairs and blankets line the back.  And, while it rained sporadically, the crowd increased until fire-hazard and brooklyn law prohibited the admittance of even one more person.

This concert was the intro to a series this year celebrating African artists but there are acts for everyone from electronic-thumping tweens, to Nigerian natives, to country fans.  But regardless of the act there are people of every type and nationality appreciating music that is culturally foreign to them.


On Saturday I was supposed to do many things.  But comme d'habitude I accomplished a fraction.  On Friday I was headed to Sushi with a Census friend and ran into someone from Penn.  He had moved in a block away from me.  He invited me to his housewarming on Saturday night.  And because I am the person I am I was late, BUT I came bearing gifts.  I have to pat myself on the back for the carrot cake I made (with cream cheese frosting) from scratch.  And while I was supposed to head into the city after I 'popped over'  I ended up staying the night because it got late fast and I'm lazy.

JST (friend from Penn) had moved in with a fabulous gay black man (Brown University grad) he'd studied abroad with in South Africa.  So the crowd was Brown girls and awesome gay men.  The Party devolved or developed (depending on you opinion) into a lot of Mariah Carey singing and shirtless dancing (shirtless with bow ties).   It was great company and good music on a good night.  There was indoor dancing and outside stoop-sitting, my cake was a hit and I made more than a few new friends.


On Friday after Sushi I went out with LW.  We left her apartment and went to meet some of her friends at The Jane Hotel.  I've been there before for MS b-day, but there was a whole section of the bar/lounge that had been closed off and the newly opened section was striking.  It was a little elistist 'are you on the list'  when entering but it has great drinks and a beautiful ambiance and I would totally recommend it if you bring your own crowd.  

Then we headed over to Barbershop.  This is when the love interest is reintroduced.  He is someone I've known for a long time as a friend and the relationship we have currently is new and mildly confusing in its simplicity.


There's something strange about relationships in your early twenties, I think.  Regardless of whether you are 'naturally monogamous' or kind of a heartbreaker, no matter whether you are in a relationship or playing the field there's something distinctly odd about this time.   It's like we're all playing grown up.  Some people live at home, some have their own apartments, some are financially independent and some aren't.  But very few of us have gotten the hang of it yet.   To be honest, I think it has to do with a tendency for the twenty-something to be self-preservative and selfish.

At this point most of us have been hurt romantically.  But all of us are looking for something remarkable in someone else.  It creates a strange dichotomy of narcissism and self-consciousness.  With the uncertainty of impending adulthood a lot of us become, once again, dependent.  Like the miserable uncertainty of our middle school selves, our twenty-something-selves look to others (older or our same age).  It seems like as soon as you start to get a grip on one stage of your life your immediately ejected into another.

At 22 it becomes even more complicated because at this stage you start to involve other people (most of whom are feeling around in the dark as well).  Part of me is inclined to believe that in order to survive at every stage you have to create your own boundaries.  But then again like socrates said, "Wisest is he who knows he does not know".   Maybe flexibility is the only way to survive.  Maybe we should just accept that we're always going to encounter the unexpected.  Darwinistically, those who can adapt can survive.  

E (a Kansas native)  was so perplexed by the new york dating scene she started a blog in which she explores her own experiences.  Some of her points resonate so strongly I swear that I wrote them.  But some of her more poignant ideas:

The realization that dating is both formulaic and spontaneous.
That dating is a mix of hope and disappointment of guilt and indignation and that there are betrayals that you can at once find yourself the victim of without fully realizing that you yourself have betrayed.

This relates to my new love interest in the sense that we have no idea what we're doing.   I don't want to be dating anyone, neither does he.  But we like, respect and are attracted to each other.  We're free to date other people.  But it seems strange to have those qualifications fulfilled in addition to proximity and to not go for it.  What's worse is I'm not sure if this is a sign of progression or regression.  Am I mature?  Is this relationship evidence of us both realizing that we are young and selfish?

Like I said.  This is disjointed.  And I promise to elaborate on different areas of this post.  but for now, I'm just going to have to leave it as is and hope that someone who reads this can find the subtext and understand.

Friday, July 9, 2010

What To Do When Your New Love Interest(s) Is (are) unavailable...

That plural choice is for all the BIG PIMPIN' ladies out there (and I mean that in the Master P sense)

1.   Go out with the Girls.
2.  Make it a Blockbuster night.
3.  Party like a rock star.

The original title was "Chapter Three Summary of 'Oprah a Biography, by Kitty Kelley" the next was "Sometimes Nice Girls Gotta Do Naughty Things"  Guess which one of the three choices I'm picking.   

This post is TBC....but pray for me.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Working Girl

So this post was supposed to be about the fact that I have a job.  But I'm kind of tweaking right now.  By that I mean I've been tracking my blackberry delivery on  This is ridiculous to do.  This is ridiculous to do because:  I know it was sent out at 7:00AM yesterday.  I know It stopped in Kentucky (7:01PM) then Jamaica, Queens (12:04AM), then Brooklyn (3:25AM).  I also know that it was put on the truck at 8:01 AM for delivery. Meaning the next step is delivery. Meaning has nothing more to tell me.  Meaning, checking is ridiculous.  *Sigh*

So next there's the door check.  I can't remember whether I said it needed to be signed for.  (insert door check) I don't want the doorbell to stick and not ring. (insert door check) And I can't miss him because then I'll have to wait EVEN LONGER. (insert door check) 'til the truck route is done and then I'll have to go to some random UPS store that's not even close to where I live or I could wait til the next day, which I'm sorry sir is not going to happen. (insert door check)  Reason why the door check is ridiculous:

a.  My dog is outside.  She innately hates all uniformed mail carriers and thus announces their arrivals with disdainful barks.
b.  My doorbell rings annoyingly, but melodically, through the entire house.
c.  UPS should rethink staffing if a mail-person can't ring a doorbell.  

In other news.

I am a glorified bitch and complaint-hearer.  I'm working for a judge who rents me out on occasion to David Yassky or rather TLC.  For those of you who don't know what TLC is..that would be the Taxi & Limousine Commission.  So I basically paralegal style prosecute cases on behalf of consumers to a judge who then rules to reprimand a driver, revoke license, find not guilty.  For my judge I help recruit major private companies to donate high powered lawyers to give legal advice (well...technically the court cant give advice but they can provide information) to people who are in danger of losing their homes.  In addition to other things...I wont talk about.

Here's the thing.

For a little while I thought I talked about personal things because I didn't have a job.  I mean it seems like everyone talks about their job.  I'm probably just someone without one who has to rely on commonplace anecdotes in order to fill the gap.  But now, as a working girl (actually I've only started one of the two thingies) I realize I would rather talk about non-work things.  In fact non-work things are way more fun, unless there's real trashy office drama.  In which case, I probably shouldn't blog about that.  I feel like there could be some jail time and fines for blogging about government agencies.   Hmm....that is something to think about.  Anyway we'll see how this goes.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Bye Bye Blackberry

January 1 2009:  Coke heads at a club in soho steal my blackberry.

March 2009:  I break a glass of water i put on my bedstand because im drunk after a night at Bob & Barbara's Thursday drag show.  My Blackberry sits in a small pool of water.. all night.

July 2010:  Phone?  Phone on white screen.  Phone off....push power.  black screen. push power.  vibrate, sputter, die.  black screen....WTF.

So I have no phone.

Well I mean I have one.  But it doesn't work.  And I'm on day two.  So the Crackberry withdrawal is lessening and I think I can handle other electronic media without tearing up.  But I want to say for the record that before my phone sung its swan song...I was BLOWIN' UP.  I was deep into my BB addiction and getting major male texting attention.

Alas, the universe works in mysterious ways.  And I think that after the 23rd time I explained things to myself with the phrase, "cause I'm a G" the universe got fed up.

The Good News:

I have no game.  Ok that's not fair.  Maybe I have nerd/bad/no-game that somehow becomes game.  Either way the real point is that I have impulse control issues.  I often say things/do things/text things  I probably shouldn't.  The thing is I don't understand the 'Rules of the Game'  and that coupled with spontaneity kind of makes it impossible for me to seem cool and collected with guys I am seeing.  So, what's the good news?  I have absolutely no choice but to not text.  Can't stop, won't stop has become can't text, don't text.  And from what I hear that is like game or something.   Plus lets be honest.   You are reading about a girl who actually uses gmail labs drunk email prevention has been an issue.

So, what better a night to have a phone die when you're one glass of white wine from a booty call/text.

On the other hand.  I hate game.  and would probably be upset if I hadn't gotten a call back by now.  But to be fair.  Its not like I have a choice.  Its not like a wanted my phone to become an obsolete, water-absorbent piece of shit.  Like I said, I can't text.  In fact I may not even have your number when I do get a new phone.   Which brings me to

The Bad News:

I may not even have your number when I do get a new phone.  I may have blacked out then AND NOW (because of the untimely death of my BB) I may have missed out on what I or you drunkenly said.

I mean if you don't hear from someone for a week that's when you're supposed to like 'get the point', right?   But hey! that's not the point.  The point is my phone is effed and now you're gone forever unless there is a miracle worker at the verizon store who can turn water to wine, which I think is the level of skill necessary to extract any data off a Verizon phone that's effed.

K maybe this is more bad news than I thought

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Commitment Issues

My Dad likes to say that most people have no idea what they are doing most of the time.  That they may seem like they do and that it may be intimidating but really everyone is in the same shit.

Coming from a guy who by any barometer is a modern marvel and a successful human being in general this kind of gives me a twisted sense of hope.

We are at that pivotal age when you have to make decisions.  You have to because you're 22 and you're an adult now and you can't go on living at your parent's house forever.  And now I'm going to ask the same hackneyed question that twenty-somethings have been asking for centuries.

How do you know when your all growed up ?

Graduating from college has been like going through puberty again.  Some people do it gracefully pas de bourree-ing around acne and weight-gain and beautiful older sisters while avoiding bad hair and braces with ninja skills.  One major difference, however, is that during puberty everyone wears their awkwardness on the outside and at 21 most people have discovered how to conceal or deal with uncertainty and fear and bad decision-making.  But then is growing up just about being able to cover up?

I won't believe that I'm the only one who cringes at the thought of making life choices which necessarily exclude other options.  Does being an adult mean accepting that you may never have any of those other options.  Are there no redos or return to goes?   I mean, what if your decision sucks?  Are there no 'get out of jail free's ? Does being an adult mean you have to suffer through it? 

Needless to say I have commitment issues.  And time is up.  And I find myself at a crossroad between being Jay or Silent Bob or becoming a respectable, responsible human being.  To say that I've always eventually gotten my act together isn't to say that I always will.  Because before I've always wanted to.  

As a side note Kevin Smith aka Silent Bob (seen on the right)  was recently kicked of a Southwest airline flight because he hadn't bought two seats.  Relevance?  So you can fully understand that becoming the real or fictional person on the right would be kind of sad. Anyway...

I'm not satisfied being idle and I realize there are non binding options.  I could travel and teach english or do first rate things in third world places.  I could go back to school.  But I'm not that good of a person and I get sick every time I leave the US and I'm not willing to go into debt for the first time in my life for a degree I'm not even sure I want.  Not to mention the fact that I suck at doing things I don't like doing.  It's mentally exhausting for me to even fake it.

And when I hear from so many people that they are unhappy with their jobs.  Or when they speak blandly and dispassionately about what they do it makes me sad for them.  Even if they look at me and think I'm throwing time away and being irresponsible and blogging too much or spinning too much or being a self-indulgent spoon fed child.  I find myself wondering whether that matters at all until a time that I look at myself and see what they see?

It's only been a year.  But really, isn't that how things spiral out of control?  Isn't that how workoholics end up childless and alone or hippies end up as the old dude scoring weed off of teens or how the cat lady...becomes the cat lady?

Anyway I think I'm done being afraid of commitment because I don't want to deal with the confrontation involved with backing out.  I'm gonna stop treading and deep-end this bitch.  If being a young adult is  exploring options and being an adult is making choices and sticking to them I'm not sure I'll be that successful at it.  I'm sure there are plenty of 'adults' who aren't great ones.  But I suppose you gotta try, right?  

Tuesday, June 22, 2010


Saturday night was a mess.  And I wasn't drunk or angry or embarrassing or slutty.  I didn't vom in my hair or wake up naked with a burrito on my chest.  Those stories happen often and never get old but Saturday night was definitely unique and not really in a good way.


Here's the thing.  My beautifully gay older man companion SP consistently fills me with enlightened wisdom that I don't want to listen to because its easier to be childish and impulsive.  One thing he said was that "You should go into every argument assuming that at least 30% is you."   And I've thought about this after the fight (I use that term loosely because I was kind of just yelled at) I was in that night.

A friend (or former friend) or mine FLIPPED out.  And I understand that he was hurt and that he was angry and that he or we had some unresolved issues.  Literally all I did was start talking to him.  For most of the night I could tell that something was amiss but when he said, "You really think I should say fucking hi to you?"

I'm going to say now that for posterity: I'm not going to fill in the details of why he was so angry at me.  It's not because I have anything to hide it's because I think that discussing my issues with other people instead of him contributed (in part) to his explosion of anger on Saturday night.

But I do want to say that I did something wrong.  I have regrets. Maybe I should've tried harder.  Perhaps I should have more fully discussed my issues with him tried harder to make him understand why I was so pissed.  And if I hadn't maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all to anyone.

Either way, I'm disappointed.  He never even talked to me.  He assumed the worst and trusted the words of other people instead of talking to the source.  While I can admit my own culpability I can also say I tried to talk to him.  I voiced my complaints first delicately then more fiercely but for some reason he didn't or couldn't hear me.  One of the sources of my anger began when I started feeling both disregarded and disrespected.  I'd been there for him when he needed help and taken on responsibilities I didn't have to and instead of being treated like a partner and a friend I was treated like an inadequate employee who couldn't listen to direction and was blamed when things (I'd taken precautions to prevent) occurred.  Anyway, I think that his disregard of my opinion contributed to the events on Saturday night.  He didn't talk to me for the same reason I stopped trying to talk to him,  In his view my words had no credibility and wouldn't have made a difference.

We were at a bar and he yelled at me and I was shocked then embarrassed because it was our friend's birthday and it was in public and we'd been drinking.  And when I said "I can talk to you about this when your sober" he said "I don't want to talk to you when I'm sober"  and at that moment his hurtful and irate words were falling on deaf ears because as Claude says, "you can't argue successfully with the irrational".

And long before Saturday I thought I'd lost a friend.  He'd hurt and annoyed and pissed me off so entirely that I was done.  And after I'd tried on multiple occasions to talk to him, I'd listened to friends when they said that saying anything to him wasn't worth it.  And while he was yelling at me, name calling and gesturing he broke some glasses and had to be held back by some of the boys I was slipped into fear and then calm.  I was calm because I was resolved but I was also sad that our relationship had deteriorated to this.  But before I go on I want to focus on the phase of fear I felt when the violence and anger was escalating I was afraid.

I've never been in a physical fight, but I have been attacked verbally before.  Someone else has tried to harm me but never a man who could've knocked me cold and never someone who I'd considered a friend once.

That being said my culpability doesn't end with saying things to other people.  I'm starting to realize that I have a remarkable ability to get under skin.  I can say things that are hurtful in an artful and effective way and do it without regard to emotional collateral and (at times) without knowing how effed they actually are.  Saturday night in league with SPs cautionary words have forced me to introspect.  I find myself look for answer to questions like : How different is physical harm from emotional harm?  Is there really a barometer which can compare them and calculate which is worse?

After this friend was pulled away screaming things like fuck you, C, you fucking bitch (on his way to being moderated by mutual friends) a bouncer came up to me and asked if I was OK and did I know where that asshole was and said he was going to kick him the fuck out and asked if he had thrown a glass at me.  As vindictive and spiteful as I have been at times in my life I know how quickly things can escalate and I found myself saying that he was fine and he was just a little drunk and he knocked the glass over by accident and that he just needed a minute but the truth is I had, still have,  no idea if any of those things are true.

I'm not some sort of enlightened human being and I'm not trying to sound self-righteous.  So I want to be clear and say that I'm not sure why I didn't point him out to the bouncer or the undercover cop nearby who I'd seen entering the bar.  I'm not sure why I didn't finger him or get him thrown out.  I'm not sure why I wasn't even angry.  It wasn't because of guilt and I definitely didn't feel like I deserved that.  I don't care what I said.  I didn't deserve that and it wasn't my fault.  But it does allude to a question I've asked previously about giving up on friends.  Can you ever really be rid of them or is there part of you that will always remember what things were like before?  How does nostalgic sentiment alter how you interact with a former friend even after the person you knew and enjoyed is gone?  It's really the only thing I can come up with but the floor is open for suggestions.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Bonnaroo Part II: Back By Popular Demand

Day One Continued

A and I arrive at an open field with staff members in neon T-shirts and hundreds of cars.  We pass a white tent where some of the in neon sunglasses and polka-dot nail polish sit smoking cigarettes and talking to each other.  We've taken a back way, avoided the main highway and cut off hours of waiting in line.   No scalpers, although we ask a staff member about tickets and they say haven't seen any but that they'd 'totally scalp that shit if they needed to'.  The ticket trailer is on the right.

We trudge down the field watching cars get checked for drugs, glass bottles and weapons.  Some local sheriffs pull cars over at random for inspection and we hope our drug carrying friends aren't chosen but are secretly glad we aren't in the car.

Once we get to the ticket tent they tell us that the credit card machine is down and A is worried that I haven't taken out enough money for the festival if I have to pay the full price in cash.   A plump and perky gate-keeper wearing a fanny pack throws us a sympathetic smile and says it'll be half and hour.  I want to pay but A wants to keep looking and we reach a middle ground.  We'll just pay cash if our friends (still in car queue) get to the admission field before the machine is up. So we sit in the grass and look and observe the surrounding melange of people.  Commenting on tattoos and cars and the half of the sky that has gone ominously gray.

Then the downpour.

A is a slow person.  By that I mean she's the southern type of slow that is very deliberate and sometimes it seems like she's moving through water rather than air.  But as the rain comes down she sprints to a staff tent and gains us general admittance and cooler seating while we wait for it to pass.  There's a pile of illegal contraband beside us: butcher knives, vodka handles, and a salad dressing bottle I felt safe to assume did not contain any type of legal vinaigrette.

The rain only last 15 minutes but when we walk back toward the box office we see hybrids and pick-ups alike being pushed out of the mud by staff members.  And everyone is dirty and wet but no one is mean grumpy probably because at this point we're so close we can feel the vibrations of music playing in the distance.

When I get back to the Box Office I notice A is looking for something and realizes she's forgotten something.  She's running back.  A skinny kid in a graphic tee with tattoos on most of his visible body and more rings than anatomical holes in his face approaches me.

"Wanna buy a ticket for $ 200?"
"Uhh...well...uh...I think I should just wait for my friend"
I notice he's wearing the wrist band they give you after they scan your ticket.
"Yeah, I just need to sell this real quick and then get walking back.  My buddy got caught with weed.  I mean the cops took him away in handcuffs so now I gotta try and sell this and get back home."
I don't believe him.
"Yeah the staff members told me they'd watch my stuff and that I should try and sell the ticket over here"
I start to believe him.  A gets back.  I explain and she says to go for it.  I'm not convinced, so I walk with him to the staff member and ask about the story.  She says its true and another one says, "If your gonna buy it right now I can scan it for you."

It's real and 5 minutes later I'm running at A with a wrist band. I'm down 200 instead of close to 300 and with enough cash to buy.  A's bought a legal tickets and we agree to split the difference.  And then our friends arrive and we pile into the backseat of the 4 door pick-up to find our camp site.

The Camp Grounds:

There are port-o-potties.  And I cannot stress to you how much I wish going to the bathroom was as much of an option as showering.  We drive into a field that is quickly filling with 'Roo-ers'. Masses of people are unpacking.  There doesn't seem to be any parking method but as we approach the crowd I see haphazard rows being formed at an awkward diagonal.  The method seems to be: two cars and then camping space, two cars then camping space.  We park trying to create as much space as possible between the two cars but a staffer urges us closer no our game and calling our hand.  We start unpacking.  M thought of bringing a flag and has somehow manages to get some of our underage neighbors, who have a collapsable pole duck-taped to their car, to hoist our flag.  It's glosses surface gleams in the burning hot sun and waves in the useless breeze.  Ironically it's a man on skis but conveniently bought from the shit-we-need-to-get-rid-of box at Walgreens, or Walmart or something comparable.

On Setting up a tent:

So I'm a city kid.  And I went to camp but nerd camp and sports camps were at colleges and normal kid camp had cabins.  This summer I was convinced to camp out (for a day) in Greece. It was on the beach and it was awesome. But I have never had to put together a tent or bath in a bucket or use port-o-potties for 4 days.  So (for me) setting up camp was fun.  We threw tarp as far as the hipster staff would let us and we claimed territory.  By six we were making dinner on some portable gas burners.  We look at the schedules I've anally printed out and plan the night which would be late, long, and loud.


Tuesday, June 15, 2010

On Friendship...A Bonnaroo Digression

So...I know I promised more on Bonnaroo but I find myself gravitating toward another topic all together.  So, last night was an interesting night.  It ended with AN lecturing me about wasted talent and self-delusional bullshitting.  And while she has a point I find myself unwilling or unable to accept the accuracy of what she's said enough to do anything about it.

AN isn't the first to ask, to say, to judge.  To criticize me for a lack of anxiety or for taking advantage of the fact that I have supportive parents.  But for some unknown reason her tirade meant a lot coming from someone who has no major stock in my success and no familial connection.  Her criticism was true, it was rough, and it tied into another theme this weekend on the topic of friendship.

I've recently been asked by two good friends about their relationships with other good friends.
Case 1:  A
One of her good friends has a gf who he sucks around.  While I spent a lot of time with the gf and genuinely like her she somehow sucks the good-nature our of her bf (G).  Now the gf invited herself last minute on our trip and A told G that she really had planned this for close friends but that if gf came he couldn't suck balls and bail on her.  He looked her in the eyes and promised.  But he disappointed.  And its not the first time.

Now, I see where she's coming from and its definitely not a jealousy thing.  Its about disappointment.  How do you deal with a friend's betrayal or a friends disappointment?  How much can you take without being walked on?  What are your boundaries? When do you give up? Cutting losses isn't so cut and dry when it comes to friendships?  Does it matter if they have good intentions?

I always think of the quote, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions".

Case 2: J

It was really J who made me think long and hard about this.  I've been betrayed and I've forgiven and been betrayed again.  His case is even more serious because it involves a long time friend.  The only thing I could compare it to in my life is when one of my best friends became a drug addict in college.  She was/is one of the sweetest, generous people I know but there was a point at which I had to cut myself off from her (after she lied to me about needing money for books and spent the money on drugs).  I love her, I always will but there's a turning point where the person you love no longer exists in your present.   With life long friends you question whether they've changed, or whether you ever really knew them at all.

I don't mean to sound tragic or preachy.  I also don't think there is necessarily a definite friend faux-pas that demarcates friend and non-friend.  I guess my point is that it just seems like toxic friends are so much harder to identify than toxic bf/gfs.  And what's awful is that those friendships can sometimes be so much more important than any romantic relationship you're in.   So, why don't we pay them as much attention?  Why don't we define what we will and won't take from a friend?  And most of all why is it so easy for us to forgive and hard for us to learn that they just might not be who we want them to be?

I'm not sure I'm looking for any answer but these two cases have gotten me thinking about past betrayals.  How I've forgiven people who have continually disappointed me and why I have.  I've thought about whether I've betrayed friends (I have, one) and why I did it and why she's still friends with me.  I've thought about that sinking feeling of disappointment, the shock, the anger, the stages of grief we go through when faced with that situation.  We can alter or be forced to alter some of our best relationships when a friend becomes someone other than the person we know.  And whether we want to or not, we mourn.  We grieve loss of the original and we harbor anger for the stranger who has replaced the them.

It seems so tragic in the midst of loss but whether we keep or lose or distance a friend we do eventually reach a stage of acceptance. I guess the best method is damage control.  You can't allow someone no matter how good of a friend to make you feel like shit.  It's like A says, "Sometimes you just have to give up on people, friends aren't supposed to make you miserable, their supposed to lift you up".

Monday, June 14, 2010

The Road to Bonnaroo

So I was the dirtiest I've ever been in my life last night.  And I don't mean 'down and dirty'  or 'dirty dog' or 'ODB'  but like the kind of dirty you get when away from your parents for the first time and don't have someone to remind you (or force you) to bath.

To really explain this experience I have to break it into installments.  I don't have enough of an attention span to do this all in one and there were a lot of fun oddities this weekend and a lot of fodder for analysis and interpretation.  So bear with me...I'll get there.

I was camping for 4 days.  That's three nights in a tent on a queen size aero-mattress with two other girls sleeping horizontally because that was the only way we kind of fit.  We were in Manchester TN, 45 minutes from Nashville,  for Bonnaroo.  The concerts were A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. I'll get to those later.  To visualize Bonnaroo one only has to think of iconic woodstock images.  The atmosphere was all congenial and free-love and sharing is caring.  People were hot, high, and/or happy.  The aura presented such a stark contrast to NYC I had to find everything and everyone beautiful.  There were concerts upon concerts: Zac Brown, John Fogerty, Phoenix, Kid Cudi, LCD Soundsystem, Stevie Wonder, Jay-Z, Miike Snow.  There were nightly silent discos and stand-up shows by Conan O'Brien and Aziz Ansari,  There were tie-dye tents and breast painting tents and bong selling tables.  

Day One

We left on Thursday about 3 hours after we were supposed to.  9 of us were packed into a compact car and a pick-up truck, courtesy of the Grahams.  About 12 miles from Manchester we hit grid-lock traffic and since A and I didn't have tickets we decided to walk the high-way and see if anyone was selling them.  (A refused to buy the $245 tickets on-line and was convinced that we could find some for 200.  After some failed Craigslist attempts we set off without tickets and decided we'd just buy them full price if we couldn't find a scalper).  

So two other of the crew didn't have tickets either and at that 12 mi mark they got out.  About 2 minutes after we got out of the car traffic sped up and our cars moved gracefully and speedily out of walking distance.   That coupled with the fact that it was approaching 100 degrees with no shade and miles of tar in front of us made us question whether we'd made the right decision.  But there were other dirty hippies walking so we rallied.  After about 3 miles an old-beat-up pick-up trucks rolls up to us.  The driver smiled widely although he was visibly missing a few teeth and told us he could take us as far as ______ Road.  He then proceeded to drive on the left side of the road for 10 minutes until a sheriff (who I suspect knew him as it was a small town) yelled.  "Man, Jimmy what are you doin'?   You cain't do that mess, man.  Get back in the line".  Remarkably he was not sorry, ticketed, or apologetic.  

Back on the Road...a few miles later....

A girl gets out of her driver's seat with two waters and says, "I saw y'all walkin' way back, you must need water real bad".  

A few more miles later....

A middle-aged woman and her daughter, clearly from this small town are riding up and down the high way on one of those 4 by 4 motorcar things.  We have water but she offers us a ride.  Traveling (illegally) on the back of her ride, all the people who saw us walking smile, laugh and exchange peace signs with us. And as the wind and the cars blow past us, the sweat on my body dries and everything seems like it'll work out.  I didn't know then that it would be 4 days before I'd shower again.  

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I Can Smell the Waffle House

So I'm in Charlotte.  Well really I'm in the airport.  I have an hour layover en route to Nashville.  After 4 years and the threat that I would never again be invited,  I've ventured south of the Mason-Dixon to visit AN.  I haven't blogged in a while cause I'm busy and important or lazy and hungover...comme tu veux.   But today in a burst of blogging energy and because Charlotte's airport has free wireless (what what!?!) I've recommitted.

I'm already noticing the normal cultural shocks and curiosities I experience when traveling down south.  This is not a case of ny elitism because its just different.  For example, the rate at which people smile is negatively proportional to the rate a which they walk and Starbucks isn't legally bound to show calorie content.

Anyway I'm gonna be in Tennessee for a week. Because its cheaper to travel on tuesday.  But four of the days will be spent camping.  A fact AN conveniently forgot to mention.  We're going to Bonaroo.  For those of you who I speak to more frequently wondering why I didn't mention this.  The answer is...I meant to.  Actually.  I got home at 9:00 last night and went into my mom's room and said, "hey mom, forgot to tell you I'm going to TN for a week"  to which she relied "OK sweetie".   A half hour later she arrived in my room and said "Wait, what?"

Anyway Bonaroo seems like it'll be awesome.  I plan on woodstocking the shizit our of izit.  except without the drugs, sex, or love children.  Anyway, I better go check my gate cause missing my flight...well that means I'd be posting a lot more detailing the people in the waiting area and I feel like that might lose me readers.  Anyway BIII YALLLL

Thursday, May 13, 2010

The Miraculous Life And Adventures Of Lion The Dog Next Door

So I haven't blogged in a while.  Don't worry.  I'm alive.  I've been busy.  And I wont try to recap on what happened in one post...because it doesn't work. I've tried.  But future posts will include inappropriate texting, Sleeping on club bed-couches in hurricane like rains, two-day birthday parties and my first bachelorette party.    Anyway, I'll start with this morning.

I had my day planned out.  I woke up naturally at around 730  and by 735 the phone starts ringing off the hook.  My thought: How does she KNOW.  And I get in the shower only to get out again and answer my mom's question of 'whether Dad' has found his keys.  He has.

Back to the shower.

Five minutes later.

Phone Ring. Phone Ring. Phone Ring. RIIIIINNNNGGG....DOOR. BELL. RIIINNNG. 

Apparently the handy men are here.

30 mins later.

One of the men are out in front on the phone with my mom....who is whispering instructions on her cell phone from her work desk.   I'm eating breakfast and watching Lebron replays on ESPN and....BOOM...

Fred (handy-man) must've closed the trunk to my Mom Camry.

Fred walks in.  A sheepish new neighbor from next door is outside.

Fred:  Ummm....Claudia?
Me: yeah, what's up.  I don't know anything...ask Haratia...can't a woman sleep, shower, eat breakfast and watch LeBron kick Celtic-ass in peace...can't a girl even watch Canadian Hockey clips in peace!?!
Fred:  Did you hear that boom?  The neighbors dog fell off the roof onto Haratia car and broke the back window.
Me: What!?!?! From the 5 story roof of our house?
Fred: yeah.
Me: What?...Is it....Is it?
Fred:  It's alright...It's playing with Chance.
Me: It fell 5 stories onto a steel car...and its fine?
Fred: yeah.

So yeah....a dog fell off my roof this morning, shattering the back window of my Mom's car and denting the roof into the back seat and survived, unharmed.

Haratia was pissed.  Apparently the previous tenants have broken her back windshield before (though not as creatively with their house pet)


What was the dog doing on the roof?  Will my neighbor pay for the damages?  How does one file an insurance claim for free-falling dogs?...The world may never know.    

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Cherry Blossom Brooklyn

So yesterday I went to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.  For all of you who don't know because I haven't told you yet.  I know a lot about the area from a project I did on the architecture of the Brooklyn Museum. Summation:
Until 1894 Brooklyn or (Breukelen, as it was originally name by the dutch) was its own city.  The third largest.  Before it joined with the other boroughs BK was in a race against Manhattan to prove its elitism.  This lead to the adoption of certain projects to beautify Brooklyn and a large area was reserved for public works.  For a while it was basically a crude park.  But now that area consist of The Brooklyn Museum, The Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, The Brooklyn Public Library, and Prospect Park.

(just cause I love's the museum)
Anyway, back to the gardens.  The cherry blossoms are out early this year which is heavenly.  Although it kind of sucks when they don't come out just in time for the festival.  The Brooklyn cherry blossom festival is awesome...there are traditional japanese geishas with nightingale poop paint gleaming white on their faces, parading in silk kimonos and twirling their paper fans.  It's April 30th-May 1st.  There's dancing and fresh sushi and the big events take place around this traditional japanese pond with lounging turtles and giant goldfish. There's also the Cherry Blossom Princess whose selected for her awesomeness and gorgeousness and who is idolized like The Virgin Mary all day.

2008 Cherry Blossom Time-lapse at Brooklyn Botanic Garden from Brooklyn Botanic Garden on Vimeo.

Anyway...I strolled around the park with a couple friends and while we were disappointed by the fact that The Brooklyn Botanic Garden's famous willow tree had failed to bloom yet, as I was leaving I saw one of those things that remind me of why I love brooklyn.  Group of little boys playing football.  A tall mixed kid leaning down to a younger hasidic jewish kid and says, "ok I'm gonna fake to the right and you're gonna run in for the goal".  On inspection of the group at large I see two huddled teams each composed of a mixed group of Hasidic jewish, black, and mixed kids below the age of 12.  Their parents are chatting on the 'sidelines'.  Only in Brooklyn.

Anyway...if anyone gets the chance...

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Chance-Alize (that's her stripper name) Goes to the Vet

Yesterday morning I dropped Chance off at the veterinarian to get spayed.  My mom sent me an email in the afternoon and like usual she put the entire message in the subject.

What would you think?...Of course I freaked and called the vet 5 times until someone picked up.  She's fine.  But apparently there's some new non-invasive procedure that allows dogs to be neutered or whatever without slicing.  Having no medical history on Chance and because she appeared to have been in heat, Dr. Pruden cut into her and couldn't find her lady parts.  Yeah, you read that correctly.  She did however find spleen damage (not serious)...another indicator that Chance had had this procedure preformed.  
Anyway, she tells me all of me antibiotics for Chance (2x a day) and brings her out.   All I can say is:

This poor dog.

Not only did she go through an unnecessary surgery, the bottom half of her is entirely shaved off.  But worst of all she has one of those plastic cones surrounding her head and she has to wear it for 14 days.  How messed up is that?   She already throws her body around and runs into things but now its awful. 

I love her and will be the first to admit that she's not the brightest crayon in the box...but man, this is just sad.  I haven't got a chance to take a picture of her but just so you get the idea.  

Friday, April 9, 2010

My Television is a Fucking Republican

I recently accused my ex-boyfriend of being a republican.  I suppose it's easy to demonize ex bfs but that wasn't the case.

Wait.  Some background.

Big C calls me John McCain as an insult.
I protested child labor in front of the Disney store...when I was 9.

But don't get me wrong.  I'm no dirty-hippy-organicly-grown-on-my-roof-top-brooklynette (shout out to Jersey Shore for inspiring that last word).  Whining-useless-activist-intellectuals annoy me as well.  Don't just bitch.  Do something.

It's almost amazing to me how close-minded both extremes can be.  With no idea and no interest in maybe...I dunno....seeing a ray of legitimacy or exhibiting a ray of understanding to another point of view.

That being said.  I'd take a wack-job chaining himself to a tree over the Manson-mailers sending death threats to democratic politicians...over healthcare...really?!? health care?!?  There are so many things inherently wrong with that situation I'm not going to even try to analyze that.

The point television and possibly my ex bf (he made some arguments contrary but the jury is still out) are fucking Republican.  My television has clearly chose the right (but oh-so-wrong) side of the aisle.

But how do I know, you ask?

Woke up one day.  Got some Honey Nut Cherrios in a bowl.  Sat down on the livingroom couch to watch CNN.  Turn the TV on.  It's Fox News.  maybe its a fluke...maybe the cable box was left on...maybe I didn't actually turn it on. (still begs the question of who in my household was watching Fux News. But ok.)  Turn off cable box.  Turn on cable box.  Fox News.  Turn off.  Turn on.  Fox News.  Off.  On.  Fox....WHAT. THE. FOX.   *cue twilight zone music*

In case some of you are thinking...oh well obviously your television has been programmed by someone by accident to make Fux 5 your starter channel  (what happened to the good ol' days of channel 3 or sometimes 2 in weird places like the holiday inn airport hotel).


Parents room.  on.  Fox News.
Dad's Office. on. Fox News.
Guest Room on. Fox News.

What is going on???  Where is NY1???

So in summation my televisions or cable boxes or cable company or sick sick sick prank playing cable guy or my ex bf (a person of interest in this conspiracy) are republican.  One or all of these things are my conclusion.

In case you need an example of why this is a bad thing...why Fox News is so effin bad.  There are many.  It's the number one news network (as in, it informs the most Americans on political happenings) and it doesn't give a fuck about fact checking.  It's baffling and is also humorous when it isn't just sad.  But if you need a fantastic example...please.  please watch this.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartMon - Thurs 11p / 10c
The Big Bang Treaty
Daily Show Full EpisodesPolitical HumorTea Party

 Also...Glenn Beck?  'nuff said.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Hot as Balls

So yesterday I sent Claude off to his golf trip like a parent sends their child to camp.  I packed his bag, called a cab and made sure he was home for his pick-up.  I also looked up the weather in Pinehurst, South Carolina.  And it's hot as balls there.  High of 91.

Increasingly there have been hints of seasonal change.  And it looks like spring isn't pump faking this time.  Actually it looks like summer is kind of fist pumping the crap out of spring.  NYC is almost hot as balls.  When I checked yesterday it was 88 (even though it's high says 84).  And today it says high of 79.

But isn't the only barometer of meteorological change.  People are out.  Brooklyn-stoop-sitting-season has begun.  And with that begins the dark side of this bright time.  Cat-calling skyrockets and rims spin to the sound of car basses bumping.  And while today (and yesterday) could be environmental flukes and while we could very well slide nicely back into the spring-I-can-wear-a-light-jacket time.  The weather reminds us of the coming summer.  Which, without school, is kind of bitter-sweet.  I find myself having that middle school glee of 'schools out for summer.'  But then I think...why?  I'm kind of an adult now.  We all are.  The employed still have to go to work and the unemployed have to worry about sweat stains at interviews.

There are a thousand urban hints indicating the coming of warmer weather but (on a different note) I'll focus on the most important benchmark which of course involves my favorite activity, spinning.

Cobble Hill NYSC.   My favorite gym location because of my fabulously gay-dreaded-black-professional-dancer instructor.  Tuesday at 645 and Wednesday at 745 that is where you can find me.  So I was kind of badass yesterday.  I decided to do a double head-er (?) and do pilates after spinning.  It's deadly.  What made it more 'G' ("and I don't mean that in the regular way, I mean it in the way black people use it.  I feel it has more meaning that way" --Zoolander)  was the fact that the air-conditioning was broken...needless to say, it was hot as balls.  And the spin room is entirely lined with mirrors which were fogged after 10 mins of Lady Gaga on techno-crack.  The room was comparable to break dancing in a sauna.  If the lights hadn't been out (I usually like spin classes better that way so i can get really into it without looking like 'that' person)  I'm pretty sure I would've noticed myself starting to black out a few times.

And then I did pilates.  At that point I must've been delirious. because that wasn't that great of an idea....but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  Anywho....Not sure why I've decided to write about the weather when I have many...oh so many more interesting/embarrassing/TMI-filled stories to recount.  But I've been off not blogging and now I need to ease myself back into it.

As a side-note: I think for a while that 'shame' thing came back and I felt a little bad writing my rather inappropriate thoughts and releasing them out in to the www-dot-abyss.  But then there was another issue.  Every time I tried to blog the stories ended up involving vaginas in someway.   Usually mine.  So yeah, I got writers block on vag.  **feel free to laugh/make lesbian comments/request vaginal posts/ask me their topics/suggest or request less bizarre interjections...etc.**  But I'm back in the game and I'm planning a doing a retro 80's night Saturday with CA (bizarre if you knew my experience last weekend and could see that it should've taught me something...but that's a story for another blog post...the next one...and it has computer drawn pictures!!!) so there will be plenty to blog.

Also...a few questions...feel free to answer...I'm kind of a comment whore.

A.  Blogging about your sex/love/I'm-not-really-sure-what-this-is that detrimental to your game?  And I mean 'playa' playa' game' because (also to be blogged) I've become kind of a man-eater.

B.  Replace who-ha with manly-parts?  Is it that weird to be preoccupied/blog about 'your goods' that much?  I ask because who knows when I'll get c***-blocked again.  (and the stars are not for the man-word)  Side-note again: personally I have no beef with that word.  Never really gained the gravity that most of the female sex seemed to clean from it....I actually think its kind of funny....rhymes with grunt, runt, blunt.  It's also short and sweet.  Almost refreshingly masculine instead of flowery and poetic and artistic.  Also it's one syllable and rhymes with a ton of other words...that's just practical

Back to the point:  guys talk about theirs all the time...its not fair.  It's like when I started telling 'yo papa' jokes in high school and all i got were awkward silences?  Why?  Why the double standard?

C.  Oh, last all guys name their penises?  This is kind of poll thing and the more answers I get the more fun a pie chart I get to make.  I just need to judge (scientifically) the veracity of some blanket comments I've been told...

So, people:  Answer any/all of these questions at your leisure or if you have that thing...uhh...watcha call it ..yesh...just had it....hmmm...oh yeah!!...SHAME/embarrassment just holla' at me...through email...

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Fix Yo'self Guurrl

I know its cliche but I'd have to say my biggest fear is dying an old lady alone with cats (I hate cats).  One that curses at children playing, whose hostile womb has long since sputtered its swan song to its abandoned ovaries.

A close second is camel toe.  I have an irrational fear of camel toe.  Actually, it's not entirely irrational.  I wear spandex more than most and I don't particularly like underwear.  But I'm also afraid that I don't actually know what qualifies as 'camel toe'.  I can get into the graphic details involving more than one crotchal crease and vaginal fold BUT I wont. Instead I just Urban Dictionaried that mess.  This is what I got:

"When her pants are so tight you can read her lips!"
"A vaginal wedgie("vedgie"), most commonly caused by tight pants that work their way into the crevices of the vaginia making a shape that clearly resembles a camel's toe"
"When a woman's clothing clings so tightly to her crotch that a viewer can make out the cleft between the labia, she is showing camel toe. So named for the similarity to the actual toe of a camel.  Sometimes applied to viewability of a man's cock through his clothes, but this is awkward."

And those were the mild ones.  I chose them so I didn't scare readers off before they saw these :   

A Camel's Toe                                                                         Camel Toe 

Proof that it can happen to anyone 

Anyway I don't want to end this post all negative Nancy.  So instead of living in fear I want to spread the word...(HALLELUJAH AMEN).  You know what you can do to prevent camel toe (wear underwear, loose clothing) but do you know what you can do to remedy the problem?  Courtesy of MF and eHOW here are some ways to remedy a camel toe problem should you find a bunch. Ways to Remove Camel Toe

IN CONCLUSION:   Please enjoy this musical tribute

Update:  A way to prevent CT is to buy the Cuchini....(actually sold):  Instant remedy! Never worry about camel toe again!

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

I Realize It's Wednesday But...

So Big C works on Irving Place and I used to always make him take me to this mediocre Chinese food place down the street.  It was a sort of reparation for forcing me (an overweight, bookish, and oh-so-awkward) middle schooler to meet co-workers and bosses at his company and wait for hours.....hours for him to decide that he had worked enough for that day.   I never fully understood why I liked this place so much.  It's got this gaudy decor with garish chandeliers and faux-wood panelling.  It's like those party venues which advertise on public access television and where you imagine the Gotti family has hosted every special occasion ever.

Tonight I find myself heading back there with AB and co.  But on my last visit (during the summer) I made a shocking revelation which would wondrously connect my current and middle-school self in some existential meaning-of-life way.  Two words.  Free wine.

I've never been someone who's huge on going out of my way for free things...I didn't take every free t-shirt, or dinner, or snack, or study break coffee in college.   But I LOVE me some wine.

Anyway if you're in the area.  The service is awful and the waiters aren't friendly...but the wine is free and if you're like me you'll want to check 'The Cottage' out.