Archive for January, 2007

I love New York

January 10, 2007 | Filed under: Fotografias

“One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years” – Thomas Wolfe

I was once convinced that I would live in Manhattan: Another life where I was the US Ambassador to the UN and I would speak Spanish and have an apartment on the Upper East Side and visit Madrid regularly. This was probably about the time that I thought that I would be having children during my 24^th year of life, which is pretty soon, remind me to add to my To Do list: get some ass. Also: Have concussion treated.

Anyway, that passed and I stopped naming my children 30 years in advance and have yet to get that concussion taken care of, but I figure that’s what gives me my cute quirky obnoxious behavior. But Manhattan is still one of my favorite places in the world. Especially in the winter, and by winter I mean a balmy day after Christmas during which I contemplate purchasing a tank top as opposed to a turtleneck and find adorable hats to be useless because IT WILL NEVER SNOW. EVER.

People say that it’s magical and gorgeous and there’s that inexplicable feeling that I can’t very well put into words, but I’m convinced that someday I will learn how. My first visit that I can actually remember was about 12 or so years ago, with my parents and brother. We saw the Rockettes and ate hot dogs and Ray’s Pizza, discovered that it is entirely possible to consume a Ruben roughly the size of Djibouti and that cheesecake is the size of my head, that the Saks windows were magical and that I cannot play the piano with my feet like Tom Hanks, but damn I’ll try.

I’ve been asked about that visit before and about my most recent visit to the City, on how awkward it is to have both of my parents go on a trip. Really it isn’t awkward at all and I’ve never been a child that sits around hoping and praying that mommy and daddy love each other again some day. In fact I’d find it more awkward if they did. I actually find it to be a really great blessing as my parent’s divorce saved me from 18 years of standing on crowded subway platforms with one saying “Do we take the A train or the D train?” and the other responding with “OK” and then subsequent eye rolling ensues because clearly coming to a comprehensible decision together without one threatening to push the other onto the dreaded center rail, was never their forte. But they procreated quite well, so I’ll give them that.

*In that last picture…yes, my parents are midgets. Midgets who gray and go bald early.

**It’s also de-lurking week. So de-lurk if you’d like. Or you can be a troll and I’ll make fun of you and possibly call you a dumb whore or something equally unintelligent. But if you say hi, I’ll share my secret of drinking a bottle of wine without puking or hangover.

Of Mice and Murder

January 9, 2007 | Filed under: La Madre

“Women are afraid of mice and of murder, and of very little in between.” ~Mignon McLaughlin

Thinking the shape was chimerical, I looked back at the screen towards Zach Braff and ignored it. When I looked back down to the floor, I realized what was once my eyes playing tricks on me again, a flash of light from outside, perhaps; was certainly not. It was moving. And as it happened the first time*, I jumped on my bed, which is dangerously low to the ground and makes it easy for a little Mickey or Stuart Little to gnaw at my eye lashes, and screamed. Though it was a Friday night and surely no one could hear me and even my non-drinking, footsie playing roommate was out. I was completely alone at midnight, just me and another mammal whose mere presence had once again set me into a fit of convulsions…and screaming.

Normal procedure is to run for the nearest exit hollering about the rabid rodent that had made its way out of the cold into my closet amongst my cashmere. And while I do feel for those things that are out in the cold my thought is that if I am not bothering you and crashing into your home and leaving poop in your closet, then you should do me the same. And if you do intrude into my surroundings, I reserve the right to beat the shit out of you and/or kick you and/or pray that you fall into a glue trap and make sure that you die of asphyxiation in a plastic grocery bag.

Anyway, I stood on top of my pseudo desk chair, questioning why God made such disgusting animals who can’t understand the phrase “dude, leave me the fuck alone”. So I stood and recalled that I had Kris’ keys. Kris who was in the boonies of Shenandoah without a cell phone signal, and so I did what any normal Human being who feels like a mouse, roughly the size of a pen cap would eat her head, would do; I broke into Kris’ mouse free apartment and slept on the couch and had pleasant dreams of the mouse with a noose around it’s neck.

Two nights later, I finally had to sleep back in my own bed and stayed up long enough to see the little fucker come in underneath my door. So I did what any sensible person would do: I placed a large suitcase in front of the door. And when the little shit surreptiously managed to evade my brilliant large suitcase, I was resourceful and made good use of a hard cover copy of Little Women, thank God that Luisa May was prolific and managed to write a giant book perfect for blocking doors from mice. And the remainder of the door was blocked off with The Alchemist, some Augusten Burroughs, Salinger, and a giant copy of East of Eden, oh and The Bible: The impenetrable wall of doom.

I haven’t seen it since. I’m sure it’s still slinking around like a clandestine spy and telling its little cohorts that I have traps set up. I’ve been sleeping with the covers over my head as to prevent actually catching sight of it, but I can practically feel it taunting me. But now that I’m good and pissed and less terrified, it’s more like I could kill the fucker with one swift kick to the ass with my size 11 foot. And I’m sure that dropping said copy of Little Women on it, might very well do the trick. Either way, that little motherfucker is going down.

*different state, different mouse. Awesome.

Date night

January 5, 2007 | Filed under: La Madre

“Let’s face it: a date is a job-interview that lasts all night. The only difference between a date and a job interview is: not many job-interviews is there a chance you’ll end up naked at the end of it.” Jerry Seinfeld

My last good date was innocuous at best and hardly memorable, though a success because neither of us puked in the dorm bathroom and I didn’t have to do the walk of shame the next morning. He ended up marrying this past summer, clad in a seersucker suit, and I was appreciative knowing that I would never have to marry a guy who wore summer materials mid-January and dipped his French fries in mayonnaise while rubbing my upper torso in the middle of a crowded dining hall. In a word: relieved.

I haven’t been all that anal about getting into dating once again, because I’m in no rush and I cannot handle the presence of another person on a semi-regular basis. Especially one that insists on touching me and holding hand. Even so, a little practice could never hurt and my first victim – Rachel - fell prey to me on New Year’s Eve and evening in which I realized that as a date I am one who not only is never ready on time, but also demands that the date pay for my Coldstone addiction and then has my mother pay for our meals at the ever fancy Friday’s and afterwards I proceed to become drunk on my mother’s couch and ate an entire bowl of guacamole. Thankfully though I got my victim to sleep in my bed and at the end was told that I’m just like a real live male.

The next morning I reviewed my over full protruding stomach and realized that I had no clean socks and figured that I should make some serious strides at becoming less male and hairy and getting women into my bed, and more girl-like, I suppose. So I planned for my next victim to be this week during inauguration festivities. I was determined to show her – yes, Her. I said PRACTICE, not “Oh you there with the six pack abs, come hither and buy me some wine” - a good time. I was prepared to schmooze and to hold my alcohol and to get us into concerts that were something like $1000 per ticket, because no, I did not pay $1000 to get in, but will gladly partake in these crab cakes.

And let me tell you, after two nights of extensive open bar-ing and blowing air kisses and pretending as if I was actually cool and could totally and modestly dance to Wyclef without spilling Cab. Saugv. all over my pink sweater. She didn’t even bat an eyelash when I attempted to chase a former Law and Order star around the bar. Earlier today I received an google chat message from the person I had catered to for the past few nights, surely that is a good sign; when one stops during a day to thank the person who brought him/her out. I am apparently a great date and even better that though I did get her drunk, I hailed her a cab on more than one occasion and never, ever even tried to get her into bed.

So apparently I am a good date. And maybe in a year or ten, I’ll test out my skills with actual boys. Maybe.

Things you probably won’t hear me say after being away for 11 days

January 3, 2007 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine

“No man needs a vacation so much as the person who has just had one.” ~Elbert Hubbard

“Working only Wednesday, Thursday and Friday isn’t going to work for me. I like to have the entire week to get back into things. The quicker, the better”

“After indulging in all of that Friday’s and macaroni and cheese, I lost a mere 7.25 lbs. Time for that marathon”

“There’s just a little too much Law and Order watching going on here. Less Vincent D’onofrio more Wolf Blitzer!”

“You there…with your expert blackberrying while driving your Maserati…kudos to you. I could learn a thing or two from you.”

“I LOVE the beltway”

“El madre really shouldn’t have brought me starbucks in bed. Just too much”

“Wow, these expertly planned out and convenient traffic circles are really great. Even better the way these streets just go along seamlessly. I appreciate Pierre L’Enfant’s ingenuity”

“No Melanie, you can have the bathroom first. I’ll gladly wait”

“I don’t appreciate G enough. Here’s to hoping we spend more quality time together this year. Possibly while knitting and sipping on some chamomile tea and discussing how inherently racist television is”

“Noah, the incessant hugging really has to stop. Here, child, go play with these marbles”

“I HATE Whole Foods”

“No, no. After you, Congressman”

“mmmm Metro”

“I really have never minded that Target is in another state. I’m all for checking out all of America”

“Having a liquor store that sells wine, beer and hard liquor is terribly inconvenient. Also, what’s with grocery stores having all of this wine? Does not compute”

“No, I’ll just stick with water and diet coke. I’m not really into fermentation”

“It’s unfortunate that I made a permanent ass print on my mother’s couch”