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