Life Listed - Chronologically

I want to have a sleep over party.
Friday, May 24, 2002

Last night I painted the orange horror a dignified putty/latte foam color. And actually managed to pick out the paint that was the exact same color as the trim out of the 10,000 creamy color Benjamin Moore offers. Tonight, I need to do a second coat since some of the darker spots are showing through. The dust hadn't even settled and I was wiping the room clean.

Painting is something I enjoy. Just over two years ago, I repainted the room my younger sister & I shared for too many years. It was blue and very hip. I even sanded & paitned a corner-desk to match. Less than 3 months later, our house burned.

Due to the worlds crappiest contractor/next door neighbor, last year my family repainted our house. If you've even been there, it's large. It's very large. And every single room needed piant since each had some or all new walls. We became a very efficient team. We could probably enter a contest.

A few months later, moving into the worlds diriest apartment after living in the pristine home that had just been freshly painted, new floors, etc. I needed to paint. White walls give me eye-/aesthetic-hives. And we painted every room. Included that orange which led me to believe on many occasions that the light was still on when it was just the color.

And now, a year later, I get to pick up a roller, angled brushes, drop cloths and paint. And let that smell make me silly-dizzy. It's a very classy looking room now. just as I was putting away things, I realized that even though I enjoyed painting, I really shouldn't have been doing this. It was, after all, someone else's room. Leaving me with his stuff, his obnoxious orange to deal with. Just walking away, telling me to tie up the ends. (as if our landlord would've been a-okay with leaving it flamey orange - a barely blue kitchen is one thing. . . . )

Angel isn't completely gone, however, as he forgot his pint glass collection, rice cooker, items kept in the shower and the plant I potted for him. He did take the stupid soy sauces his girlfriend sent as a "house warming" a year ago. But, there are also all these spices he bought that are beyond my neuvo-Jersey cuisine needs. Like a 4 inch tall container of cumin. Or 5 different types of dried chilies. (read last non-paranthetic sentence of last paragraph).

It's not as if he still isn't going to be my friend. We have basketball tickets for Wednesday. Mostly, he managed to endlessly frustrate me in these past few weeks. To show me some of his worst sides rather than trying to enjoy our last weeks as roommates. We go through so many transistions, change and keep friends but those last impressions before things change really stick with you.

p.s. this weekend is two years since my house burned down. 1/2 of me wants to go down the shore as I did that night. The other half is looking for drunken oblivion.
Friday, May 24, 2002

And from the IT people as a way to prevent future viruses rather than installing a better firewall, virsus technology, what other companies use rahter than the below described "solution"

This product begins the process of filtering out web locations that are not business related. The locations will be filtered out by their respective names rather than broad search criteria. Additional sights will be added as they are reported to ITG staff or discovered during the course of network monitoring.(they can piss off if I can't update this page)

And then Abercrombie & Fitch Kids is now making thong panties for young girls! I really think this is sick and disgusting. I don't care what is hip or in style or anything else like that but I would die if my child ever wanted a pair. I'd burn her Britney Spears doll, send her to Catholic School and probably turn instantly gray. I have an 8 year old cousin. The idea of her wanting a thong, now or in 2 years, makes my flesh crawl.

Remember how Tiffany was the idol for girls under 10 in the mid-1980s. She wore jean jackets and turtlenecks. I understand that people have changed, but there is no need to be introducing that level of seductive sexuality to children who haven't even begun to sprout boobies yet. This is almost as gross as men buying used panties off the internet.

And the people here think they should limit non-work related internet usage!
Thursday, May 23, 2002

I have another little grammar/english language thing that irks me to no end. Good Day NY has brief, one or two sentence stories/headlines running on the bottom of the screen. This morning, it said that "investigators will try and determine the cause" Why add try? In my world it should be "try to determine" or just "determine." If someone, and I know three girls who could possibly make sense of this, could try to explain or could explain, but not try and explain, this to me it will help me sleep better at night.
Thursday, May 23, 2002

In the event of an authorized evacuation of the building, staff are strongly encouraged to move to a location within walking distance but at a safe distance away from the building. The corner of (X) Street and (Y) Avenue South is the designated meeting point for (large cush non-profit), as it provides a large area to convene, is within walking distance, and is in a direction away from other possible problem areas such as transportation centers (Grand Central; Penn Station; Port Authority) and landmarks (Empire State Building, etc).

Isn't that a nice good morning message to get?
Thursday, May 23, 2002

Today, I am being "bad" and I love it. I love the taste of it, I love it's rich roasted aroma. A sugar or two, no cream, milk, soy. Just sweetened black coffee. Good black coffee for $1.50 even though I'll probably be learning to eat fire by the end of the month to get extra cash to last me until June 1. The $1.50 once or twice a week, sometimes only every other week is completely well spent. Because it tastes so darn good.

Today I was also made Angel cry. Beacuse I sat on his bed and said goodbye. He's packing today, staying at his dad's tomorrow to get the truck in the am, and then gone as my roommate. I hugged him and then lifted my head, waved good-bye misty-eyed and made the boy cry after days of him saying he did not want to make a big deal of this, avoiding me, literally walking out on me and generally acting disinterested. But then he cried and I understood he just didn't want to cry, wanted anything but to feel the sadness in not having me as a roommate anymore.

Today, I got approval for vacation time. July 31 to August 7, I'll be in Haiti with my old college roommates (minus the one who joined a "cult" in India). Two and half weeks, on or about July 8, my parents are taking all of us on vacation. I think they've had enough "adult" vacations with each other & friends and now miss the family type. Plus, in a year of so, the older sister will be married and probably not interested in coming along. Although part of me believes my family will always travel together even when she starts having babies & I adopt every unwanted crack child in Kings County.

Today, I must get tickets for next Saturday's show. I must find a place to pick out paint so that I can cover Angel's orange mess before the new roommate moves in. Today I must harass my landlord for the thousandth time about signing the lease. I will even volunteer to get blank leases from the Staples on the ground floor. Today I must finish some projects and contemplate how to get the computer guys to fix the printers when they are busy restoring several computers destroyed by viruses. But now that my delicious coffee is done, I want nothing more than a cigarette.
Wednesday, May 22, 2002

Entering the F train on West 4th and then exiting to transfer to the B uptown at 34th street was this very tall man. He was about 6 foot 3 or so, very built, probably 215 pounds of muscle, short cropped blond hair and a look about him that told you he couldn't hold up an intelligent conversation about books. He was wearing unfashionably tight medium blue jeans, a sweater vest with nothing on underneath. It was in creamy colors and tucked into these tight pants.

He carried only two things: a cup of coffee in a paper take-away cup and a saw. I stared a him for a good long while, trying to make sense of this person. What was up with the pants, why only a sweater vest when most people were in their light coats, and why a saw? Are you allowed to walk around in public carrying a saw? It was on of those hand-held jig saw types with the thin 8 inch blades and a blue platic on the handle for grip.

Are people like this real? Do people ever think this of me? What type of cognitive dissonance do I create with my crazy hair, canvas & leather shoulder bag with the frayed strap from a puppy bite, my loud music, serious books, tendency to perch my glasses on top of my head? Or am I a part of the undistinguished masses, one of the many that I did not notice this morning?

One evening last week, I curled deep into my cushy bed and read poetry for a while. Because I have no more books to read, and I haven't read poetry in a long while, unless you count Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends. Audre Lorde has a poem about the subway where she describes all of us as being sucked into it's depths and spit out else where as partially digested masses from being in a place so dirty, so close, so strange.
Tuesday, May 21, 2002

After two and half days, the evil virus has been killed & my computer is brought back to life. It was nice/boring while it lasted. I got to take half a day wherein I don't recall accomplishing anything. On Friday, I left shortly after I came in and went to NJ since I was supposed to be there for the engagement party on Saturday anyhow. Under the guise that I have to pull some population stats from the Census and could do that from my parents' computer. Instead, I helped clean the house. "Helped" means I was guilted into it, seeing my mother run around crazy trying to cook, shop, prepare, perfect a party for her daughter. Remind me that I never want an engagement party.

When my mother was showing me the gifts she chose, it included a dish with a cone entirely for my sister to perch the rock/ring upon. I seriously wretched. I thought it was pretty gross. I understand that the rock should not be carelessly thrown on the dresser top as I do with my relatively cheap rings, but an entire heart shaped dish? I seriously couldn't handle it.

Sunday was 100% drama which panned out okay other than the fact that my neuroses and problems surfaced too close for me to handle. It turned from drama to light hearted drinks at 4 pm with Angel. Two beers are not the ideal first things to put into your stomach while waiting for restuarants to start serving dinner. After dinner, we watched the basketball game and a made rush home to watch Six Feet Under. Shortly after, when my channel surfing came up with nothing, I relinquished the remote. This is the last thing I recall until 12:30 when I stirred after being passed out on the couch with Angel. 6 beers in 6 hours along with a dinner should not make you do that, but it did.

I also would like to thank Bess for completely freaking me out last week by saying she had enough of her on-line journal. That was so terribly disappointing, so devastating, that I was happy the computer system had a virus so I wasn't checking her page every hour, to find nothing had changed. But she seems to be back and I hope it stays that way for a while until she needs to freak us out with a seemingly ominous message of her quitting. Thanks.

Now I have to either a) leave work or b) catch up on 2 and half days work at 5. We shall see (we all know it's going to be a, don't we?)
Monday, May 20, 2002

I just received the most scary message about the computers here that basically means I have nothing at all to do for a pretty indefinite amount of time. There is a big scary virus that requires cleaning each computer, shutting down the entire system, etc. So in about an hour, I will be disconnected from the servers, unable to use my desk top and essentially going home. Because, honestly, what else is there to do? I can pick up some crochet, sit in the park, and call up tomorrow to see if they are online again, and if not, stay home.

I really don't know what I'm supposed to do. I need to know what is the acceptable actions given the situation. Sit here and reorganize my pencil cup? Sort through my drawer of supplies and see if I have sufficient post-it flags for when I check over up-coming reports? Get on the F and do nothing for the afternoon?

I also need to know why my boss continually does not respond to my requests for help on certain things like geeky statistics he magically generates, probably in his head, that I need to replicate. I also need a hair cut, like right now. I woke this morning and realized I was in dire need for one, I look just funny. And some tshirts that are well-fitted but don't do that thing with my boobs that make it impossible to stand on 34th street smoking a cigarette in fron of my office building and not have every guy who walks by oogle at them.

I also need a good method of keeping my room out of chaos. Right now, it looks like a crazy lady lives there. In a half hour of cleaning, I can get it back to sweet girl with her pale pastels and pretty decor. But I can't keep it this way for too long. I have bi-polar cleaning disorder. All or nothing.

I need a lot of things, but most of all, I need to know what to do in 40 minutes. 4 grand, a vacation house in Bermuda, two big black dogs, a good tan and having a roommate that doesn't drink all the beer I buy would be nice too.
Thursday, May 16, 2002

Last night, Angel & I had what is to be the last of our Tuesday night roommates night out. Since he's moving out soon (I feel to kind too add in "thankfully" and be entirely serious). At 5:15 we met at Madison Square Park in the misting rain and walked to Union Square Park. We bought a creamer & sugar bowl for his mother for a late Mother's Day present. We looked for shoes at the outdoorsy store. Next was an ultra-yuppie bar with very expensive drinks followed by a attention-attracking ride on the subway since we were buzzed and too animated for the after-work crowd.

We talked about his girlfriend, how she relies on him to be 100% of her world with her dead-end retail job, zero friends and little motivation to do what she claimed she was moving to New York for. Surprise, surprise is all I have to say about that since it's nothing I haven't been saying for nearly a year.

He took me (read: paid for) to Brooklyn's premier, best restuarant where we were the last people to get a table without a reservation at 7 pm. We had a bottle of wine, tasty fish dinner and shared their fig-cake with a glass of muscat wine. It was a long and lovely dinner. I love getting tipsy on wine over a meal. I love watching other people getting togehter and talking over a meal. Good service makes me feel important.

We stopped at what is supposed to be this ultra hip bar/music place since neither of us have ever been there. There were tons of couches, records and cds in the back for purchse, a dj spinning music, and King Kong playing on the movie-screen behind him. You couldn't smoke, there was not a formal bar but a counter where you could order bottles of beer, juices, muffins, sandwiches. Seriously, they told me I could go outside if I needed to since you couldn't smoke. And there were two vegan sanwiches on the menu out of a total of 5 sandwich offerings. So we left.

The Lakers game was starting so the stand-by sports-bar was visited, but only for the first half since I was getting sleepy and no longer wanted to be out. Back at home, I insisted I really wanted to watch the Laker game. I cuddled under a blanket, and that's all I recall until 6:30 am. Angel said he tried to rouse me from the sofa several times, but I was pretty dead. Every time he got me to open my eyes, I'd say a terrible lie such as "in a minute" or "I'm watching tv" (which was off) then pull the blanket up closer and nod off again. I rarely sleep well and love it when I do.

Tonight is the Barnard roommates night out. Our quarterly meal/drinks/chat will be at a spicy food/margarita place. We will check-in, make sure everyone is okay, encourage, give construtive criticism and be the Barnard snots we are. They are both starting school in the fall, I'm getting bored with my office job. They are the only girls I know who will verbally kick my ass into gear, as I do to them. We are charming, really.

I just got my pay-check, perfect since it's already been spent.
Wednesday, May 15, 2002

Raining past Sunday morning, out of cigarettes, knowing fellow smokers were also low. I borrowed Marie's car. Jesse came with me, to get Mother's Day cards. He browsed the cards while I tried not to act too bored, looking at prices and wondering if shampoo was cheaper there than in the city, comparing the different brands available in the two places. He paid for his two cards. I paid for my apple juice, chocolate frosted donuts and then asked for 1 pack of Camel Lights (to share with Diego) and 1 pack of Marlboro reds (since Marie is hard-core).

"Can I see some id please?" says the 45 year old lady behind the counter with her roller-set curls and huge framed glasses. I take out my id, show her where the date is and say "Sure, I'm 25." She nods, smiles at me and then says, "You look very young. I thought he was robbing the craddle."

It becomes slightly annoying when I am asked for id for cigarettes as if I just may be 17 still. It is amusing, however, when someone thinks that I am significantly younger than Jesse, who is two years younger than me. It is also always amusing when people think Jesse & I are "together" since we act the way only siblings and couples who know each other so well can act. Since we don't look alike, we are "together." It's actually wth Jesse more than any of my male friends that I see this reaction.
Tuesday, May 14, 2002

Ruth Fisher, the mother of HBO's Six Feet Under, joins Marie and Bess as a fellow ex-Dickinson College student. More like Bess, she too only spent two years in the lovely crack den also known as Carlisle. Heh.
Monday, May 13, 2002

Thursday I spent the day at home, pissed that it rained when I was supposed to have a day off to enjoy the outdoors/sunshine. I began taking a pair of dungarees/blue jeans apart to use in a purse. I used a seam ripper. I punctured my hand. It was nasty, so I gave up on being domestic and went to Chinatown and found 3,000 yards of raffia for $2.58 versus the $9.50 for 60 yards that I bought for my Valentine's Day pouches. I also lusted after beautiful dishes and contemplated how important dinner-ware is in my life over other things like maybe some new shirts and pants for the summer.

Friday I sat in the car for a very long time to see Jesse. He lives on the edge of the world. It takes a very long time to get there in a car. It was a very long day indeed.

Saturday we got back in the car and went to see the senior theses/shows at the school he went to, another 2 hours each way. Getting 8 or so people tipsy at 1 pm is fun and all but we wind up being some dead-beats by 10:30. Feminism came in the series of pictures of the women's rugby team. The one of the ankle being wrapped while the toes were painted red, slightly chipped, muddy green & black background. It was the only thing that stuck out in my mind that day other than how far we were from civilization.

Sunday was waking up. And getting back in the car. For a really long time again. Seriously, like 7 or 8 hours which may as well be 15 because it wipes you out. But Marie's Diego learned how to crochet. And having other people join the club is always very exciting. Sitting in the back seat makes me think too much about how cars are dangerous, and evil, and scary. Mostly because I wasn't the one driving that much. If I was driving, I'd be in love with the road. Now I'm only in love with the Metrocard machine.

The plus would be the bag I have nearly finished for myself. I feel like I'm ready to reveal my summer 2002 Summer Handbag line these days since I'm working now on 5 bags, all mostly done. I put off seeing a friend last week and feel obligated to go out for a drink, make a dinner invite or something since I've returned to the city but I have this creative energy boiling in me that wants to bust out the sewing machine, iron and all to work on these bags. I will not use the seam ripper, it's a dangerous thing indeed.

You don't realize how often strangers touch/graze your hand until you have an injury on it. And someone taking a dollar makes it smart (in that granny-usage of smart as in hurt a little bit). It sort of scares me how much we touch strangers/they touch us. When we give them money for water, or juice or what have you. They lightly touch your hand. I guess it makes us more human, than not touching at all. If you don't believe me, go do something stupid with a sharp tool and injure yourself. You'll see.
Monday, May 13, 2002