Life Listed - Chronologically

Missing: One Fairly Smart Brain
Reward: $500

I don't know where my brain is, or at least the part of my brain that is super high functioning and remembers things like wallets and floppy discs containing responses to year-end reviews. I bothered to take two hours last night crafting a response, missing all but the very end of Joe Millionaire. I managed to pack a bottle of water, book, find the I Am Sam soundtrack to replace it with the mix Bess had made me and I have been listening to for most of the past week. I managed to bring my metrocard, employee access card, lip glosses, bills that need to be paid and cell phone. But I forgot this floppy disc with a document that I promised to hand over to my boss. And my wallet. Whomever sees this brain whizzing around, please stop it. It's mine. I need it back.

This morning's commute was from hell. I got to the station with only a small case of frostbite and then had to wait a good 10 minutes for the train. When it finally arrived, it ran express to Yuppie Slope and I thought maybe the commute was going to go my way. But no. The F decided that it was going to be a G and train after train from the F had to transfer to the A/C. It took 3 trains to pass until I could actually be close enough to the doors to get into one. Finally on our way through Manhattan, well over an hour after I left my house, the train in front of mine had stalled forcing me to have to get out and wait to transfer to yet another train. The A dropped me off on 8th Ave, a pretty long walk in the cold to 5th and Madison, and a block away I realized I had neither wallet nor very important floppy disc.

One particularly funny man on this aggrivating commute was looking at one of the MTA posters in the station. Outloud he said "MTA: Going your way?! More like MTA: Messing up your day." Half the platform laughed. And stopped growling from being annoyed at the train situation.

Somedays, staying in bed would have been a better choice. Calling in sick, watching daytime television and not answering the phone would have made for a much nicer day.
Tuesday, January 21, 2003

In emailing Marie back and forth regarding reality television, my adventures with a certain Jersey boy and general points of existence, she included this gem that I have been given permission to post:

i wish i had a dramatic, highly publicized accident that i would barely survive. no one else would be hurt, and it wouldn't be my fault. strangers would send me bouquets and letters and stuffed animals that i would donate to homeless shelters and our dogs. i would lay in the hospital, fed through a tube, losing 50+ pounds on a liquid diet, and forcing everyone to ponder my almost-not existence. then i'd wake up and everyone would love me and miss me and i'd get an insurance settlement AND i'd finally have something to write about.

She makes me laugh, she makes me laugh hard. I nearly spewed my Dr. Pepper across my desk upon reading this. Mostly because she says she'd finally have something to write about as if what she writes now isn't already first-class and makes me feel as if I shouldn't even try. When she went away to England for a year, the dreams I had, mostly involving her sitting on a dock with her feet dangling ni water dressed in white, were always about missing her presense. I'd completely freak out if she was in a coma, a year in England was hard enough.

I'm afraid to be interested in a certain Jersey boy more than he is interested in me, to a have a crush on someone who may just see me a diversion. But I realize, now, however, that he feels the same way.

Despite the fact that many people left in the past year from my office without being replacements being hired, there were little-to-no salary increases, and no bonuses, my company still decided to terminate a handful of people. I know I am not really 2Point5 but when I've heard about some of the people who are leaving, I feel lucky to still have a job. I guess it's because I'll be leaving on my own accord by mid-year. Or that they secretly know I'm a 3PointZero more than they're letting on. Maybe even with occasional shining moments of 4PointZero behaviors like the work I've been putting in this week.
Friday, January 17, 2003

"So are you going to chop me into a million pieces and scatter them throughout the reservation for raccoons to eat?"
"No, only 25,000 pieces. A million is too many."
"Too high to count?"
"No, it would take too much time. And I wouldn't put all of them in one place."
"Why?"
"Does that sound like a good idea? Not really. Probably some in Bayonne, some in Newark, Brooklyn, Roseland, a dumpster in South Orange. 25,000 pieces is a lot to leave in one place."
"Very nice of you to distribute my body's pieces like that. You know too much about not getting caught. Either you watch a lot of Discovery forensic t.v. or you frequently chop girls into pieces."
"You can't give them all the evidence in one big pile. They have to find it all over. Plus, you look like girl who likes to go different places, be here and there. You shouldn't have to stop being that way just because you're in thousands of pieces."

Later: "This is my wife. Well, not really my wife, I just met her last week but this is my wife. We could go to Atlantic City and get married tonight. Or maybe Canada. You'd miss work tomorrow, so we might as well go to Vegas but that would take a lot of time to get to so you'll need the week off. We'd have fun being married, when we get married. In Vegas. 3 days from now."
Thursday, January 16, 2003

Sometimes, when an unique and unexpected proposition is given to me, I can't help but to say yes, without thinking it through. It's not much of a decision but an instinct. It proves to me I'm not as snug in my comfortable life as I sometimes lament over. Increasingly more vague details to follow.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003

When I find an aumsing story or though I want to share but don't have the time to create an entry with coding line breaks being so difficult and all, I open a word document and throw it in there. It'll sit around until I find the time, usually during my "lunch" that consists of me eating while doing slightly less work due to the fact that it is hard to eat and type simulataneously (plus I think I get an hour but that may be just a rumor). Earlier today I came up with this amusing aside:

Good reason to move from New York and stay away until at least September 2004: Republican National Convention in August, 2004 Obviously, this a move by Giuliani as he clearly intends on running for President that year and will make speeches about being proud to be in New York one last time before having to move to DC when the nation elects him.

It took me all day to ever get around to putting that up. I am here just to sort through papers and make tomorrow understandable. The frequency of solid 3PointZero behavior my 2Point5 self exhibits astonishes me. Actually, I would say I've been a good 3Point5 for the past week minus the excessive drinking but at least I kept that to after work.

Starting on January 3: didn't drink, drank, hung-over, drank, drank, didn't drink, didn't drink, drank, drank, drank, didn't drink, and today is yet to be determined. Drinking messes with the way I sleep as I can stay up late, as late as 5 am in the past week and a half, but will still magically wake up if, say, my mother calls to ask me an asinine question at 10 am. On Sunday, sharing a bottle of wine at dinner with my father, my family began to ask me if I was doing drugs or stoned as the effects of the wine were immediate as my cheeks flushed and eyes became droppy. I could fall asleep at any minute except those that I am actually in bed. Last night, I stayed up making a hat, after being up finishing a "statement of purpose" for grad school. I was a very still sleeper for a very long time and then began to be a very active sleeper. I am back to a still sleeper again mostly because I am 20% dead. (I usually don't drink this much in case anyone is thinking about an "intervention.")

I still have papers to move, priority lists to make and about a good hours worth of work to do before I can leave here. Drinking, in the end, has made this a bit easier. Tonight, I think a bottle of wine, butter-less and salt-less popcorn and the Osbournes are in order.

Assuming I don't fall asleep on the subway, am kidnapped on Ave X and chopped into a million pieces that are then thrown off the Coney Island Boardwalk.
(I posted this yesterday but almost deleted it, oppsie)
Wednesday, January 15, 2003

Mother Nature Terrorizing Midtown
Ex-New York City Mayor Guiliani is to shortly address the nation as ice continues to fall from the Empire State Building in an all-out attack on commerce and business by Mother Nature. With President Bush being air lifted to Florida in case any ice from Manhattan should makes it was into the oval office, the Vice President in an undisclosed location and the current Mayor Bloomberg searching for a pack of unfiltered Pall Malls as the stress has sent him back to smoking, Guiliani is the only person left to calm the fears of the nation as pieces of ice continue to fall from the sky.

It's been a three step, carefuly plotted out act of terror. Due to the cold weather of the past week followed by a warming trend, ice that had been deposited on the Empire State by Mother Nature earlier this week is now beginning to fly off in large chunks due to the high winds Mother Nature is also producing. We go live now to the Hollihan's on the ground floor of the Empire State Building to hear what Guiliani has to say:

"The situation now is frightening, but I refused to stay hidden in my previously undisclosed location to hide from Mexican guerillas who are trying to kidnap me. America needs Guiliani and Guiliani is here for you. (sips Manhattan he's been swirling)
Mother Nature has systematically set up this situation, for weeks she's plotted and planned this as we went about our lives unaware of the icing attack we are currently under. She must be stopped. She will be stopped. Currently, we are requesting that donations of blow torches be delivered to Time Square as police personel are preparing to melt all of the ice.
Our police officers continue to be the bravest in the entire world, standing up to two blocks away where quarter sized piece of ice have flown within inches of them during the past day. They are doing a great job allowing only office workers who belong in the areas in and out of their buildings. These office workers are demonstrating with each step how brave and strong New York is as the dodge up to half-dollar sized pieces of ice.
I'd like to commend the office buildings in the area for their employee i.d. program where each worker within blocks of the Empire State is now required to have an i.d. which shows where they work. Without this program, we would not know who to let go to work and force hundreds of office workers to stay away from jobs they eagerly want to do to, regardless of whether they are 2Point5s or not.
We will open mid-town again. We cannot lose another day of revenue from the world's largest panties story, Victoria's Secret, which is my favorite shop in the area. We will open again, probably around the time that Tara is writing this piece of satire.
I have talked to the pussy-assed, I mean, current mayor about my plans. I am now the mayor again, only until 2004 where I will become king, I mean, president. And during this time we will build the world's largest dome over the Empire State building to prevent Mother Nature from ever harming this great city again. We are requesting that all New Yorkers, be they from Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens or the other borough to donate money so that the world's largest underwear store never has to lose a day of business again. By pulling together as New Yorkers we will go forward, against Mother Nature and for sexy underwear."
Thursday, January 9, 2003

Saturday, my friends and I drank, and talked, and sat giggling on several couches that New Yorkers had placed on the curb for garbage pick-up until the last hours of night. Sunday, I made a hat while normal folks slept off the previous evening then I bought bags of groceries in the snowy night and had a brunch at 6 pm. I stayed up later than I needed to, leaving myself in need of coffee first thing Monday. Monday, I was back on the bottle and up until nearly dawn, surprising myself. Tuesday, I spent the day tripping over my own feet, and vowed not to drink but instead drank several beers, a magarita and two rum and cokes. I did not feel drunk as my loopy exhaustion was overpowering. I slept 7 hours and woke feeling just as tired as before.

I am completely worn. I need an 18 hour rest, a long hot bath, a quiet house and cotton sheets. I am starting to feel sick as exhaustion has worn me down to just the low-level of winter cold-germs that my body would otherwise be able to conquer. I should not be at work today but I have three separate meetings I had set up to attend.
(2Point5 does not set up meetings to discuss long-term project goals. 2Point5 doesn't care about those things.)

I managed to stretch my birthday into a 4 day straight celebration with a smattering of psuedobrations still to come. Really, though, if you add in New Years, I have been drinking, socially active or otherwise engaged all but one evening in the past week. And even then, I talked on the phone for hours while playing around with my rotary cutter and fabric. I am going to ditch my Craft Night tonight to drink gallons of warm tea, wear pore refining masks, read Rilke and fall asleep as early as I can.
Wednesday, January 8, 2003

Have I complained enough yet about how frigging sore my lips are? How they were already sore yesterday from probably licking my drunken lips after forcing Marie, Jesse and Andy to march half across the island of Manhattan with my drunken self in the freezing cold without using a protective layer of gloss, balm or stick. And then mushing faces with a surprising Jersey boy, with his evening barely there stubble sanding against my sore lips. And now I cannot go more than a half hour without applying some gloss, balm or stick as they pain me so. I can't complain enough about it.
{slooty details of birthday adventures deleted}
My older sister gave me a cd. Unfortunately, it was one of the cds my younger sister had given me for Christmas. She also gave me a book. Unfortunately, it was one of the books that Bess had sent me practically in manuscript format. They were very thoughtful gifts, definitely things I'd like, because I owned them already. It makes me feel bad because she obviously wanted to get me something great. I hate it when that happens.
However, if you were planning on buying me a small house on a white warm sandy beach, don't worry, I don't have one of those yet.
Tuesday, January 7, 2003

I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
. . .
Then I�m laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone,
Going home
Where the New York City winters
Aren�t bleeding me,
Leading me,
Going home.

Simon and Garfunkle�s The Boxer is currently the most relevant song. I put disc one of my Paul Simon box set into my discman this morning and began listening to it from the beginning, knowing very well The Boxer would play before I left Brooklyn. And at Jay Street, it began. I reached into my coat pocket and set the song to play continuously, missing parts as the train squealed louder than my music was playing and therefore justifying each replay of the song.

Most people have heard me temporarily obsess over this song. I can listen to it 6 or 7 times in a row and still find myself trying to listen harder, more carefully, wanting to open my ear canal more for the subtleties of both word and music. The amazing part is the recorded song will always sound better than it could ever possibly sound when played live, even if Simon was still with Garfunkle and time hadn't made their voices weary. The loud drum crashes at the end of the song were recorded in the CBS building air shafts, making that booming echo. The strings that back the drum booms were recorded at the little chapel at Columbia University where even the trembling voices during an a capella practice sounded lovely pouring out onto campus warm spring days when the chapel doors were left open.

Today, I am wearing my pale lemon heather cashmere sweater, pearl earrings and yellow ring. Today, I want to be listening to The Boxer another 10 times instead of getting back to work. But I�ll get on with it now, and watch the hours pass until the work day is over and I�m going home.
Monday, January 6, 2003

My email / calendar / multi-functional thing at work frequently is full of meetings, appointments and general notes that I've posted to remind myself of things. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I fill in notes for the future that make me chuckle. For example, I posted the day after thanksgiving as a holiday entitled "Vegging out on the living room couch." That was pretty clever of me.

But there is one that is menacing and mocking. Next Monday, the date is highlighted which indicated there is some note or appointment. I have clicked on it several times in the past weeks to see what that day contains, a meeting? a reminder? No, this cruel note left by a younger version of myself, a girl young and sassy and probably thought it was pretty funny. She was such a bitch as one afternoon probably in April or May when work was particularly slow, she added a note for Monday "You're 26 now!"

It makes me cringe as I check the status of next Monday, expecting an appointment at 2:30 pm to discuss this project or a reminder to email someone on another project about a deadline. Each time, that 25 1/2 year old self fools me, mocking me of my old age, taunting me from her place of dead-mid-20s ambiguity. Early today, I took the compatability test I had posted several month ago. My nearly 26 year old self is only 72% compatible with the 25 1/2 year old self. The 25 1/2 year old self thought "You're 26 now!" was pretty funny, like sending "get well soon" cards to well people. I don't.

Of course, there are worse things to be. I could be 27! Ha, ha, ha! 27!
Friday, January 3, 2003

Last night, the F train pulled into Church Avenue at 11:30 pm sharp, just in time for me to exit using the gates closer to my home. It was a gift from the subway gods, several blocks of walking in the icy nippy cold spared by the train arriving at my stop just as I was preparing to have to walk to the far exit and walk down the slippery sidewalks. And when I emerged to street level, another surprise: a light falling snow of huge flat flakes that left sand dollar sized patches of snow on my coat that eventually made me look like a negative image of a dalmation. The snow twirled in the street lights as I walked cautiously down the streets, convinced there would be some huge icy patch when I least expected it leaving me suddenly on my ass. But that never happened; it just snowed. As I walked past the apartment building across from the fast food joint, I heard a small child a few floors up: "Mommy, look, it's snowing! Okay, okay, I'll go to bed after I watch it snow s'more." And when I got home, I raised my shade, on snuggly pjamas and burrowed under my bed clothes, pretending to read my book while I just watched it snow s'more.
Friday, January 3, 2003

The day and half spent outside of the NY Metro area felt like much longer, maybe a full weekend of being away. It was needed and enjoyed, but the bitterness of my 6th day of Christmas has yet to pass. I know I should be pro-active and positive, but it's hard to be under these circumstances. My new alter-ego is called 2Point5, who is embodiment of what behaviors one would exhibit if they truly deserved this on their yearly review.

2Point5 doesn't come to work on New Year's Eve. 2Point5 doesn't care that they are 2Point5. 2Point5 comes in a little late every day, but 2Point5 would never stay until 7 or 8 on a regular basis. 2Point5 doesn't volunteer even when they have too much of their own work. 2Point5 doesn't fly to DC with a parasite, nearly passing out in the National Galleries. 2Point5 doesn't know more about random Excel functions that Bill Gates. 2Point5 leaves this job to work for its parents or friends, 2Point5 doesn't persue a masters.

I do all those things, but have still been given 2.5. Part of me would like to just act 2Point5 for a week so they know the difference between the two. Part of me hates the economy and Geroge Bush and everything else that makes it impossible to find an actual job these days. Part of me doesn't want to come to work for a long time. But I am not 2Point5 so I am here, and working on 10,000 things.

To top it all off, I'm due for a birthday that I am the most ambigous about rather than excited and counting down the days as I have ever since I knew what it all meant. I don't want it to be any other day, as it will surely depress me when the day comes if I try to pretend otherwise. But I also don't want to think about it. I never understood why my mother felt so overwhelmed with my birthday so close to the holidays, but now I do.
2Point5 takes its birthday off to sit at home at watch daytime television.
Thursday, January 2, 2003

My Christmas "Vacation"
My vacation started on a Tuesday, better known as Christmas Eve. I was at work and left a whole half hour earlier than our "dismissal" time. I took a very crowded train home. The people on the train weren't very Christmassy, kind or in any holiday spirit. When our track was first announced, a short father with his three children began to drag them along behind him in his usual rush to the train. He then turned to the oldest and said, "If you can't keep up I'm going to beat you senseless." I last-minute faxed Santa and asked that this boy receive a GameCube just for having to deal with an asshole for a father.

The remainder of my holiday vacation will be described in a song-inspired format. On the first day of Christmas, my parents gave to me a Elna Sewing Machine.
On the second day of Christmas, mother nature gave to me two hours of shoveling.
On the third day of Christmas, my dear Marie gave to me three frothy beers. (and I shaved a mohawk into her old crush's head.)
On the fourth day of Christmas, my dear Bess shared with me four mugs of Stella (or maybe 5 or 6 or 7).
On the fifth day of Christmas, I gave to me 5 hours of wandering Brooklyn.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my job gave me to a 2.5 on my yearly review. (out of 5, because apparently I'm an idiot who can�t place asterisks in their proper place.)
Monday, December 30, 2002

Happy Holidays
Tuesday, December 24, 2002

Saturday night, I was to meet Bess at The Blind Tiger just to go someplace other than bar we�ve most frequented on Hudson Street. I left the house early and wandered the West Village before going over to the bar. I waited outside briefly, watching girls arrive in cabs, over lipsticked and their faces smeared thick with foundation for a "flawless" look of flat colored skin. I went inside to see if Bess had already arrived and to use the ladies�. I walked past two men wearing stiffly starched button-down shirts, one saying to the other "I already brunched on the Island, so I completely can�t eat tonight." I decided that we would not be joining this crowd. Instead, we went to the so-called Sportsbar.

After many hours and many beers, we were wrapping up the night. I went to go to the bathroom and found the ladies� to be occupied. I went towards the gents� but looked first to see if any guys were waiting to use it. I saw one guy who gave me a look letting me know that he was waiting. He quickly looked away as soon as the meaning of his look had been communicated. I gave up my spot as first in line for the ladies� as I ran back to let Bess know that this guy was clearly David from Six Feet Under. He pretty much looks as dejected in real life as he does on the show, the same mildly discomforted face. Shortly after, Bess won the Emmy for nonchalant use of the jukebox in order to check out the drunken celebrity in the bar.
Monday, December 23, 2002

An ant is stepped on in Switzerland and Tara finds $20
Yesterday�s warm and sunny weather was supposed to be Saturday�s weather. It was better that way as I had the long lazy Sunday hours stretched before me while Saturday was full of busy activity of gather here and there with family and friends. When I finally decided to wake, I puttered blissfully around the empty house. I cleaned surfaces as the desire to struck me. I chatted with the disturbed Conrad who was annoyed at my roommate for covering him Friday night and then never uncovering him on Saturday. I knitted for a while since some of Christmas scarves are not yet finished. I shuffled from room to room in my fuzzy slippers. The sun was streaming into the house in the later afternoon and I put on corduroys and a sweater and went for a walk. I walked up through the park, looking at the empty trees and thinking about other strolls with other people I�d had in this same park. I browsed stores selling the standard variety of candles, house wares and �adorable� nicknacks. I drank root beer from a can.

Bess rang my cell phone and informed me that Lord of the Rings on video was no place to be found in her wanderings. As I was a few blocks from the video store I have a membership in, I volunteered to get it. After waiting to get the attention of one of the video store staff for about 5 minutes, I overheard one ask the other if they had any Lord of the Rings and the other replied no, only on DVD. I temporarily hated myself for not owning a DVD. At Blockbuster several streets away, they had several copies but I only had my bankcard and i.d. with me so I was not allowed to open a membership. I asked the urban youth with cornrows behind the counter to stash my copy some place and then planned on getting home, picking up a credit card and returning for the movie.

The ant walks onto the sidewalk in the path of the quickly stepping feet. I decided the fastest way home was to walk up to the bus, rather than backtracking to the subway. I quickly went up the slope, just to see the B67 passing when I was less than 2 houses away from the corner. I checked the schedule, and another bus wasn�t due for 20 minutes. I recalled a smallish video store several blocks away and decided to check there. I couldn�t imagine getting on the subway as I frequently cannot during lazy weekends in Brooklyn.

At this store, they had one solitary copy of the movie. Two geekish late teens were behind the counter trying to deal with the mob of yuppie parents renting Christmas videos for their children (who are better dressed than me) to watch while the parents wrap gifts. When I finally got the attention of one of these kids, I asked what I needed for a membership without a credit card. "$90 deposit for a lifetime membership." "But I only want to take out one video, I�ll have it back tomorrow, I�ll have a credit card with me then too." "Temporary membership, $25." I only had $15 on me so I asked him to hold the video while I ran for more money.

I stepped outside to the navy skies as another B67 passed me. This time, however, I was looking for the neared ATM. There was a deli with a large ATM sign about a block away, but I kept looking at the deli directly across the street. As I waited mid-block for traffic to pass, I noticed a small sign "ATM Available" and dashed between cars. Inside, I searched around for the nook that the ATM was stashed between. I had my debit card in my hand, and approached the machine crammed between the refrigerator case for milk and the shelf for pastas and cookies. I swiped my card and looked down.

Ant is smushed on the flat surface of the sole of a highly polished shoe. I get money.
There was $20 in the tray. The last person to use the ATM had left $20. I looked around the store, at the clerk watching people pass on the street and the mother selecting leeks with her children. The money was mine. I got another $20 from my fastly dwindling checking account and dashed back across the street. The kids behind the counter still had the video tucked behind a stack of returns he was processing. "$20 deposit for the video, you get it back tomorrow when you return with a credit card." I got my video and went towards the bus.

I spent the next 20 minutes walking up and down the street, not caring, really, when I got on the bus, tapping the money in pocket as I looked at store displays and people hurriedly walking home with bulging packages. I watched the sky deepen towards black and the warm day fall into a cold and windy night.
Monday, December 23, 2002

I tried to make some changes to my page earlier today. Then I spent a few hours cleaning up my old design code since the temporary style I had was full of superfluous code and 500 changes to nudge something a pixel.

The new plans for the World Trade Center area are ugly. Why did they make half of them look like the twisted masses of steel that where there for months after the attacks? These are the "best and brightest" architects in this country. It's obvious that little skyscraper design is taught in our schools while courses on pre-fabricated McMansions are held in huge lecture halls. Only one doesn't make me want to move to Ohio as to not ever have to see those new designs on the skyline. They look more like conceptual exercises than anything that they would plan to execute.

This morning I realized that going to school is better off if only to not have to participate in the adult world any further while GW Bush is President. I swear, that man would not have won if his name was George Michael Bush or George Boy Bush. The GW just reminds people of the faces on the money in their pocket (George Washington). Because really, what has he going for him other than a goofy smile and some alcoholic daughters. How many suburban men fit this bill?
Thursday, December 19, 2002

Marie Bess Jesse Alison Explodingdog Anti-Hipster Miz_a Fulltilt Gwenworld Savecraig	Tried and True Missing: One Fairly Smart Brain Reward: $500 I don't know where my brain is, or at least the part of my brain that is super high functioning and remembers things like wallets and floppy discs containing responses to year-end reviews. I bothered to take two hours last night crafting a response, missing all but the very end of Joe Millionaire. I managed to pack a bottle of water, book, find the I Am Sam soundtrack to replace it with the mix Bess had made me and I have been listening to for most of the past week. I managed to bring my metrocard, employee access card, lip glosses, bills that need to be paid and cell phone. But I forgot this floppy disc with a document that I promised to hand over to my boss. And my wallet. Whomever sees this brain whizzing around, please stop it. It's mine. I need it back. This morning's commute was from hell. I got to the station with only a small case of frostbite and then had to wait a good 10 minutes for the train. When it finally arrived, it ran express to Yuppie Slope and I thought maybe the commute was going to go my way. But no. The F decided that it was going to be a G and train after train from the F had to transfer to the A/C. It took 3 trains to pass until I could actually be close enough to the doors to get into one. Finally on our way through Manhattan, well over an hour after I left my house, the train in front of mine had stalled forcing me to have to get out and wait to transfer to yet another train. The A dropped me off on 8th Ave, a pretty long walk in the cold to 5th and Madison, and a block away I realized I had neither wallet nor very important floppy disc. One particularly funny man on this aggrivating commute was looking at one of the MTA posters in the station. Outloud he said "MTA: Going your way?! More like MTA: Messing up your day." Half the platform laughed. And stopped growling from being annoyed at the train situation. Somedays, staying in bed would have been a better choice. Calling in sick, watching daytime television and not answering the phone would have made for a much nicer day. Tuesday, January 21, 2003 In emailing Marie back and forth regarding reality television, my adventures with a certain Jersey boy and general points of existence, she included this gem that I have been given permission to post: i wish i had a dramatic, highly publicized accident that i would barely survive. no one else would be hurt, and it wouldn't be my fault. strangers would send me bouquets and letters and stuffed animals that i would donate to homeless shelters and our dogs. i would lay in the hospital, fed through a tube, losing 50+ pounds on a liquid diet, and forcing everyone to ponder my almost-not existence. then i'd wake up and everyone would love me and miss me and i'd get an insurance settlement AND i'd finally have something to write about. She makes me laugh, she makes me laugh hard. I nearly spewed my Dr. Pepper across my desk upon reading this. Mostly because she says she'd finally have something to write about as if what she writes now isn't already first-class and makes me feel as if I shouldn't even try. When she went away to England for a year, the dreams I had, mostly involving her sitting on a dock with her feet dangling ni water dressed in white, were always about missing her presense. I'd completely freak out if she was in a coma, a year in England was hard enough. I'm afraid to be interested in a certain Jersey boy more than he is interested in me, to a have a crush on someone who may just see me a diversion. But I realize, now, however, that he feels the same way. Despite the fact that many people left in the past year from my office without being replacements being hired, there were little-to-no salary increases, and no bonuses, my company still decided to terminate a handful of people. I know I am not really 2Point5 but when I've heard about some of the people who are leaving, I feel lucky to still have a job. I guess it's because I'll be leaving on my own accord by mid-year. Or that they secretly know I'm a 3PointZero more than they're letting on. Maybe even with occasional shining moments of 4PointZero behaviors like the work I've been putting in this week. Friday, January 17, 2003 "So are you going to chop me into a million pieces and scatter them throughout the reservation for raccoons to eat?" "No, only 25,000 pieces. A million is too many." "Too high to count?" "No, it would take too much time. And I wouldn't put all of them in one place." "Why?" "Does that sound like a good idea? Not really. Probably some in Bayonne, some in Newark, Brooklyn, Roseland, a dumpster in South Orange. 25,000 pieces is a lot to leave in one place." "Very nice of you to distribute my body's pieces like that. You know too much about not getting caught. Either you watch a lot of Discovery forensic t.v. or you frequently chop girls into pieces." "You can't give them all the evidence in one big pile. They have to find it all over. Plus, you look like girl who likes to go different places, be here and there. You shouldn't have to stop being that way just because you're in thousands of pieces." Later: "This is my wife. Well, not really my wife, I just met her last week but this is my wife. We could go to Atlantic City and get married tonight. Or maybe Canada. You'd miss work tomorrow, so we might as well go to Vegas but that would take a lot of time to get to so you'll need the week off. We'd have fun being married, when we get married. In Vegas. 3 days from now." Thursday, January 16, 2003 Sometimes, when an unique and unexpected proposition is given to me, I can't help but to say yes, without thinking it through. It's not much of a decision but an instinct. It proves to me I'm not as snug in my comfortable life as I sometimes lament over. Increasingly more vague details to follow. Wednesday, January 15, 2003 When I find an aumsing story or though I want to share but don't have the time to create an entry with coding line breaks being so difficult and all, I open a word document and throw it in there. It'll sit around until I find the time, usually during my "lunch" that consists of me eating while doing slightly less work due to the fact that it is hard to eat and type simulataneously (plus I think I get an hour but that may be just a rumor). Earlier today I came up with this amusing aside: Good reason to move from New York and stay away until at least September 2004: Republican National Convention in August, 2004 Obviously, this a move by Giuliani as he clearly intends on running for President that year and will make speeches about being proud to be in New York one last time before having to move to DC when the nation elects him. It took me all day to ever get around to putting that up. I am here just to sort through papers and make tomorrow understandable. The frequency of solid 3PointZero behavior my 2Point5 self exhibits astonishes me. Actually, I would say I've been a good 3Point5 for the past week minus the excessive drinking but at least I kept that to after work. Starting on January 3: didn't drink, drank, hung-over, drank, drank, didn't drink, didn't drink, drank, drank, drank, didn't drink, and today is yet to be determined. Drinking messes with the way I sleep as I can stay up late, as late as 5 am in the past week and a half, but will still magically wake up if, say, my mother calls to ask me an asinine question at 10 am. On Sunday, sharing a bottle of wine at dinner with my father, my family began to ask me if I was doing drugs or stoned as the effects of the wine were immediate as my cheeks flushed and eyes became droppy. I could fall asleep at any minute except those that I am actually in bed. Last night, I stayed up making a hat, after being up finishing a "statement of purpose" for grad school. I was a very still sleeper for a very long time and then began to be a very active sleeper. I am back to a still sleeper again mostly because I am 20% dead. (I usually don't drink this much in case anyone is thinking about an "intervention.") I still have papers to move, priority lists to make and about a good hours worth of work to do before I can leave here. Drinking, in the end, has made this a bit easier. Tonight, I think a bottle of wine, butter-less and salt-less popcorn and the Osbournes are in order. Assuming I don't fall asleep on the subway, am kidnapped on Ave X and chopped into a million pieces that are then thrown off the Coney Island Boardwalk. (I posted this yesterday but almost deleted it, oppsie) Wednesday, January 15, 2003 Mother Nature Terrorizing Midtown Ex-New York City Mayor Guiliani is to shortly address the nation as ice continues to fall from the Empire State Building in an all-out attack on commerce and business by Mother Nature. With President Bush being air lifted to Florida in case any ice from Manhattan should makes it was into the oval office, the Vice President in an undisclosed location and the current Mayor Bloomberg searching for a pack of unfiltered Pall Malls as the stress has sent him back to smoking, Guiliani is the only person left to calm the fears of the nation as pieces of ice continue to fall from the sky. It's been a three step, carefuly plotted out act of terror. Due to the cold weather of the past week followed by a warming trend, ice that had been deposited on the Empire State by Mother Nature earlier this week is now beginning to fly off in large chunks due to the high winds Mother Nature is also producing. We go live now to the Hollihan's on the ground floor of the Empire State Building to hear what Guiliani has to say: "The situation now is frightening, but I refused to stay hidden in my previously undisclosed location to hide from Mexican guerillas who are trying to kidnap me. America needs Guiliani and Guiliani is here for you. (sips Manhattan he's been swirling) Mother Nature has systematically set up this situation, for weeks she's plotted and planned this as we went about our lives unaware of the icing attack we are currently under. She must be stopped. She will be stopped. Currently, we are requesting that donations of blow torches be delivered to Time Square as police personel are preparing to melt all of the ice. Our police officers continue to be the bravest in the entire world, standing up to two blocks away where quarter sized piece of ice have flown within inches of them during the past day. They are doing a great job allowing only office workers who belong in the areas in and out of their buildings. These office workers are demonstrating with each step how brave and strong New York is as the dodge up to half-dollar sized pieces of ice. I'd like to commend the office buildings in the area for their employee i.d. program where each worker within blocks of the Empire State is now required to have an i.d. which shows where they work. Without this program, we would not know who to let go to work and force hundreds of office workers to stay away from jobs they eagerly want to do to, regardless of whether they are 2Point5s or not. We will open mid-town again. We cannot lose another day of revenue from the world's largest panties story, Victoria's Secret, which is my favorite shop in the area. We will open again, probably around the time that Tara is writing this piece of satire. I have talked to the pussy-assed, I mean, current mayor about my plans. I am now the mayor again, only until 2004 where I will become king, I mean, president. And during this time we will build the world's largest dome over the Empire State building to prevent Mother Nature from ever harming this great city again. We are requesting that all New Yorkers, be they from Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens or the other borough to donate money so that the world's largest underwear store never has to lose a day of business again. By pulling together as New Yorkers we will go forward, against Mother Nature and for sexy underwear." Thursday, January 9, 2003 Saturday, my friends and I drank, and talked, and sat giggling on several couches that New Yorkers had placed on the curb for garbage pick-up until the last hours of night. Sunday, I made a hat while normal folks slept off the previous evening then I bought bags of groceries in the snowy night and had a brunch at 6 pm. I stayed up later than I needed to, leaving myself in need of coffee first thing Monday. Monday, I was back on the bottle and up until nearly dawn, surprising myself. Tuesday, I spent the day tripping over my own feet, and vowed not to drink but instead drank several beers, a magarita and two rum and cokes. I did not feel drunk as my loopy exhaustion was overpowering. I slept 7 hours and woke feeling just as tired as before. I am completely worn. I need an 18 hour rest, a long hot bath, a quiet house and cotton sheets. I am starting to feel sick as exhaustion has worn me down to just the low-level of winter cold-germs that my body would otherwise be able to conquer. I should not be at work today but I have three separate meetings I had set up to attend. (2Point5 does not set up meetings to discuss long-term project goals. 2Point5 doesn't care about those things.) I managed to stretch my birthday into a 4 day straight celebration with a smattering of psuedobrations still to come. Really, though, if you add in New Years, I have been drinking, socially active or otherwise engaged all but one evening in the past week. And even then, I talked on the phone for hours while playing around with my rotary cutter and fabric. I am going to ditch my Craft Night tonight to drink gallons of warm tea, wear pore refining masks, read Rilke and fall asleep as early as I can. Wednesday, January 8, 2003 Have I complained enough yet about how frigging sore my lips are? How they were already sore yesterday from probably licking my drunken lips after forcing Marie, Jesse and Andy to march half across the island of Manhattan with my drunken self in the freezing cold without using a protective layer of gloss, balm or stick. And then mushing faces with a surprising Jersey boy, with his evening barely there stubble sanding against my sore lips. And now I cannot go more than a half hour without applying some gloss, balm or stick as they pain me so. I can't complain enough about it. {slooty details of birthday adventures deleted} My older sister gave me a cd. Unfortunately, it was one of the cds my younger sister had given me for Christmas. She also gave me a book. Unfortunately, it was one of the books that Bess had sent me practically in manuscript format. They were very thoughtful gifts, definitely things I'd like, because I owned them already. It makes me feel bad because she obviously wanted to get me something great. I hate it when that happens. However, if you were planning on buying me a small house on a white warm sandy beach, don't worry, I don't have one of those yet. Tuesday, January 7, 2003 I have squandered my resistance For a pocketful of mumbles, Such are promises All lies and jest Still, a man hears what he wants to hear And disregards the rest. . . . Then I�m laying out my winter clothes And wishing I was gone, Going home Where the New York City winters Aren�t bleeding me, Leading me, Going home. Simon and Garfunkle�s The Boxer is currently the most relevant song. I put disc one of my Paul Simon box set into my discman this morning and began listening to it from the beginning, knowing very well The Boxer would play before I left Brooklyn. And at Jay Street, it began. I reached into my coat pocket and set the song to play continuously, missing parts as the train squealed louder than my music was playing and therefore justifying each replay of the song. Most people have heard me temporarily obsess over this song. I can listen to it 6 or 7 times in a row and still find myself trying to listen harder, more carefully, wanting to open my ear canal more for the subtleties of both word and music. The amazing part is the recorded song will always sound better than it could ever possibly sound when played live, even if Simon was still with Garfunkle and time hadn't made their voices weary. The loud drum crashes at the end of the song were recorded in the CBS building air shafts, making that booming echo. The strings that back the drum booms were recorded at the little chapel at Columbia University where even the trembling voices during an a capella practice sounded lovely pouring out onto campus warm spring days when the chapel doors were left open. Today, I am wearing my pale lemon heather cashmere sweater, pearl earrings and yellow ring. Today, I want to be listening to The Boxer another 10 times instead of getting back to work. But I�ll get on with it now, and watch the hours pass until the work day is over and I�m going home. Monday, January 6, 2003 My email / calendar / multi-functional thing at work frequently is full of meetings, appointments and general notes that I've posted to remind myself of things. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I fill in notes for the future that make me chuckle. For example, I posted the day after thanksgiving as a holiday entitled "Vegging out on the living room couch." That was pretty clever of me. But there is one that is menacing and mocking. Next Monday, the date is highlighted which indicated there is some note or appointment. I have clicked on it several times in the past weeks to see what that day contains, a meeting? a reminder? No, this cruel note left by a younger version of myself, a girl young and sassy and probably thought it was pretty funny. She was such a bitch as one afternoon probably in April or May when work was particularly slow, she added a note for Monday "You're 26 now!" It makes me cringe as I check the status of next Monday, expecting an appointment at 2:30 pm to discuss this project or a reminder to email someone on another project about a deadline. Each time, that 25 1/2 year old self fools me, mocking me of my old age, taunting me from her place of dead-mid-20s ambiguity. Early today, I took the compatability test I had posted several month ago. My nearly 26 year old self is only 72% compatible with the 25 1/2 year old self. The 25 1/2 year old self thought "You're 26 now!" was pretty funny, like sending "get well soon" cards to well people. I don't. Of course, there are worse things to be. I could be 27! Ha, ha, ha! 27! Friday, January 3, 2003 Last night, the F train pulled into Church Avenue at 11:30 pm sharp, just in time for me to exit using the gates closer to my home. It was a gift from the subway gods, several blocks of walking in the icy nippy cold spared by the train arriving at my stop just as I was preparing to have to walk to the far exit and walk down the slippery sidewalks. And when I emerged to street level, another surprise: a light falling snow of huge flat flakes that left sand dollar sized patches of snow on my coat that eventually made me look like a negative image of a dalmation. The snow twirled in the street lights as I walked cautiously down the streets, convinced there would be some huge icy patch when I least expected it leaving me suddenly on my ass. But that never happened; it just snowed. As I walked past the apartment building across from the fast food joint, I heard a small child a few floors up: "Mommy, look, it's snowing! Okay, okay, I'll go to bed after I watch it snow s'more." And when I got home, I raised my shade, on snuggly pjamas and burrowed under my bed clothes, pretending to read my book while I just watched it snow s'more. Friday, January 3, 2003 The day and half spent outside of the NY Metro area felt like much longer, maybe a full weekend of being away. It was needed and enjoyed, but the bitterness of my 6th day of Christmas has yet to pass. I know I should be pro-active and positive, but it's hard to be under these circumstances. My new alter-ego is called 2Point5, who is embodiment of what behaviors one would exhibit if they truly deserved this on their yearly review. 2Point5 doesn't come to work on New Year's Eve. 2Point5 doesn't care that they are 2Point5. 2Point5 comes in a little late every day, but 2Point5 would never stay until 7 or 8 on a regular basis. 2Point5 doesn't volunteer even when they have too much of their own work. 2Point5 doesn't fly to DC with a parasite, nearly passing out in the National Galleries. 2Point5 doesn't know more about random Excel functions that Bill Gates. 2Point5 leaves this job to work for its parents or friends, 2Point5 doesn't persue a masters. I do all those things, but have still been given 2.5. Part of me would like to just act 2Point5 for a week so they know the difference between the two. Part of me hates the economy and Geroge Bush and everything else that makes it impossible to find an actual job these days. Part of me doesn't want to come to work for a long time. But I am not 2Point5 so I am here, and working on 10,000 things. To top it all off, I'm due for a birthday that I am the most ambigous about rather than excited and counting down the days as I have ever since I knew what it all meant. I don't want it to be any other day, as it will surely depress me when the day comes if I try to pretend otherwise. But I also don't want to think about it. I never understood why my mother felt so overwhelmed with my birthday so close to the holidays, but now I do. 2Point5 takes its birthday off to sit at home at watch daytime television. Thursday, January 2, 2003 My Christmas "Vacation" My vacation started on a Tuesday, better known as Christmas Eve. I was at work and left a whole half hour earlier than our "dismissal" time. I took a very crowded train home. The people on the train weren't very Christmassy, kind or in any holiday spirit. When our track was first announced, a short father with his three children began to drag them along behind him in his usual rush to the train. He then turned to the oldest and said, "If you can't keep up I'm going to beat you senseless." I last-minute faxed Santa and asked that this boy receive a GameCube just for having to deal with an asshole for a father. The remainder of my holiday vacation will be described in a song-inspired format. On the first day of Christmas, my parents gave to me a Elna Sewing Machine. On the second day of Christmas, mother nature gave to me two hours of shoveling. On the third day of Christmas, my dear Marie gave to me three frothy beers. (and I shaved a mohawk into her old crush's head.) On the fourth day of Christmas, my dear Bess shared with me four mugs of Stella (or maybe 5 or 6 or 7). On the fifth day of Christmas, I gave to me 5 hours of wandering Brooklyn. On the sixth day of Christmas, my job gave me to a 2.5 on my yearly review. (out of 5, because apparently I'm an idiot who can�t place asterisks in their proper place.) Monday, December 30, 2002 Happy Holidays Tuesday, December 24, 2002 Saturday night, I was to meet Bess at The Blind Tiger just to go someplace other than bar we�ve most frequented on Hudson Street. I left the house early and wandered the West Village before going over to the bar. I waited outside briefly, watching girls arrive in cabs, over lipsticked and their faces smeared thick with foundation for a "flawless" look of flat colored skin. I went inside to see if Bess had already arrived and to use the ladies�. I walked past two men wearing stiffly starched button-down shirts, one saying to the other "I already brunched on the Island, so I completely can�t eat tonight." I decided that we would not be joining this crowd. Instead, we went to the so-called Sportsbar. After many hours and many beers, we were wrapping up the night. I went to go to the bathroom and found the ladies� to be occupied. I went towards the gents� but looked first to see if any guys were waiting to use it. I saw one guy who gave me a look letting me know that he was waiting. He quickly looked away as soon as the meaning of his look had been communicated. I gave up my spot as first in line for the ladies� as I ran back to let Bess know that this guy was clearly David from Six Feet Under. He pretty much looks as dejected in real life as he does on the show, the same mildly discomforted face. Shortly after, Bess won the Emmy for nonchalant use of the jukebox in order to check out the drunken celebrity in the bar. Monday, December 23, 2002 An ant is stepped on in Switzerland and Tara finds $20 Yesterday�s warm and sunny weather was supposed to be Saturday�s weather. It was better that way as I had the long lazy Sunday hours stretched before me while Saturday was full of busy activity of gather here and there with family and friends. When I finally decided to wake, I puttered blissfully around the empty house. I cleaned surfaces as the desire to struck me. I chatted with the disturbed Conrad who was annoyed at my roommate for covering him Friday night and then never uncovering him on Saturday. I knitted for a while since some of Christmas scarves are not yet finished. I shuffled from room to room in my fuzzy slippers. The sun was streaming into the house in the later afternoon and I put on corduroys and a sweater and went for a walk. I walked up through the park, looking at the empty trees and thinking about other strolls with other people I�d had in this same park. I browsed stores selling the standard variety of candles, house wares and �adorable� nicknacks. I drank root beer from a can. Bess rang my cell phone and informed me that Lord of the Rings on video was no place to be found in her wanderings. As I was a few blocks from the video store I have a membership in, I volunteered to get it. After waiting to get the attention of one of the video store staff for about 5 minutes, I overheard one ask the other if they had any Lord of the Rings and the other replied no, only on DVD. I temporarily hated myself for not owning a DVD. At Blockbuster several streets away, they had several copies but I only had my bankcard and i.d. with me so I was not allowed to open a membership. I asked the urban youth with cornrows behind the counter to stash my copy some place and then planned on getting home, picking up a credit card and returning for the movie. The ant walks onto the sidewalk in the path of the quickly stepping feet. I decided the fastest way home was to walk up to the bus, rather than backtracking to the subway. I quickly went up the slope, just to see the B67 passing when I was less than 2 houses away from the corner. I checked the schedule, and another bus wasn�t due for 20 minutes. I recalled a smallish video store several blocks away and decided to check there. I couldn�t imagine getting on the subway as I frequently cannot during lazy weekends in Brooklyn. At this store, they had one solitary copy of the movie. Two geekish late teens were behind the counter trying to deal with the mob of yuppie parents renting Christmas videos for their children (who are better dressed than me) to watch while the parents wrap gifts. When I finally got the attention of one of these kids, I asked what I needed for a membership without a credit card. "$90 deposit for a lifetime membership." "But I only want to take out one video, I�ll have it back tomorrow, I�ll have a credit card with me then too." "Temporary membership, $25." I only had $15 on me so I asked him to hold the video while I ran for more money. I stepped outside to the navy skies as another B67 passed me. This time, however, I was looking for the neared ATM. There was a deli with a large ATM sign about a block away, but I kept looking at the deli directly across the street. As I waited mid-block for traffic to pass, I noticed a small sign "ATM Available" and dashed between cars. Inside, I searched around for the nook that the ATM was stashed between. I had my debit card in my hand, and approached the machine crammed between the refrigerator case for milk and the shelf for pastas and cookies. I swiped my card and looked down. Ant is smushed on the flat surface of the sole of a highly polished shoe. I get money. There was $20 in the tray. The last person to use the ATM had left $20. I looked around the store, at the clerk watching people pass on the street and the mother selecting leeks with her children. The money was mine. I got another $20 from my fastly dwindling checking account and dashed back across the street. The kids behind the counter still had the video tucked behind a stack of returns he was processing. "$20 deposit for the video, you get it back tomorrow when you return with a credit card." I got my video and went towards the bus. I spent the next 20 minutes walking up and down the street, not caring, really, when I got on the bus, tapping the money in pocket as I looked at store displays and people hurriedly walking home with bulging packages. I watched the sky deepen towards black and the warm day fall into a cold and windy night. Monday, December 23, 2002 I tried to make some changes to my page earlier today. Then I spent a few hours cleaning up my old design code since the temporary style I had was full of superfluous code and 500 changes to nudge something a pixel. The new plans for the World Trade Center area are ugly. Why did they make half of them look like the twisted masses of steel that where there for months after the attacks? These are the "best and brightest" architects in this country. It's obvious that little skyscraper design is taught in our schools while courses on pre-fabricated McMansions are held in huge lecture halls. Only one doesn't make me want to move to Ohio as to not ever have to see those new designs on the skyline. They look more like conceptual exercises than anything that they would plan to execute. This morning I realized that going to school is better off if only to not have to participate in the adult world any further while GW Bush is President. I swear, that man would not have won if his name was George Michael Bush or George Boy Bush. The GW just reminds people of the faces on the money in their pocket (George Washington). Because really, what has he going for him other than a goofy smile and some alcoholic daughters. How many suburban men fit this bill? Thursday, December 19, 2002
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