4/30/99
It's going to be a family week. My sister showed up last night (from England via Berkeley, CA). My mom and grandma just arrived in N.Y. this morning for their first ever east coast visit. This could be either good fun or a potential nightmare. I'm a little nervous. Out of nowhere I've become self-conscious about writing about people. I'm sure that'll change in no time, but for now I'm keeping things low-key. If you're so inclined, you may want to look at Part II of my Henry Thomas saga. I've momentarily dropped back into the world of fantasy and celebrities-sometimes it's good to keep your mind off of the "real" boys, you, know? All in all, April has been an interesting, albeit baffling, month.
4/26/99
People were talking about phone prefixes the other night and it reminded me how for most of my childhood I was burdened with a 666 one (666-8243 to be exact—I wonder who has that number now?). It really explains a lot about Gresham, OR. I forget how warped you become living there. I called an old friend of mine, Lema, on Saturday just to see what was going on. It turns out that one of our friends, Stepahnie is pregnant and due in a month. I guess that when you get to be in the 25+ age bracket, it’s not all that unusual to be married, have kids, own a home, etc. but her situation is just not right. Her father died about 4 years ago and there was some friend of the family who was staying with them or dating her aunt or something like that (I always just get bits and pieces) and next thing you know, Stephanie and this guy are going out and then without telling anyone they got married (Lema only found out because there was a tiny blurb in the "Gresham Outlook"). He is in his late 40’s, is an alcoholic, supposedly looks like a cross between "Paul Bunyan and Lou Ferrigno" (the truly demented aspect is that Lema has never once met this husband, she’s only seen photos), lives in the woods, and is exactly like her father. He won’t let her go out with friends, she just raises the horses and works a couple days a week at an equestrian supply store, and now she’s pregnant, and this whole thing really bothers me. Like how does this happen to a person? Yet, even though Lema and I were discussing how fucked-up Stephanie’s life must be, Lema is just as warped in her own way. She’s almost 27, has always lived at home, has never had a boyfriend, and the only person she’s had sex with was her cousin years ago (while her married sister was getting it on with him too—not simultaneously, just during the same time period). She started telling me about this guy who likes her at work (she’s a secretary at a school for electricians) and I was like, "o.k., maybe this is good. It wouldn’t hurt her to go out with someone (anyone)." Then she proceeds to go on about how he reminds her of my dad. He’s in his fifties, is Italian, recently divorced, calls her sweetie and honey (she thinks that’s gentlemanly), and here’s the best part—his name is LUIGI. That sounds so made-up, but it’s all painfully true. She wanted to know what she should do. I asked the obvious question, "Do you like him?" (dur) and she wasn’t sure. Obviously she’s just flattered by the attention and the whole thing is a disaster waiting to happen. And why I’m going off about this, I’m not sure. I just feel so weirded out hearing these things. And of course it just makes me wonder how I am any better off. I mean I’m crazy, obsessed, lovesick over a 29 yr. old who acts like a 12 yr. old (no, actually 12 yr. olds would jump at the chance to get it on with a girl) and who knows if anything will ever go anywhere and I hate uncertainty and it’s just making me nuts and I’m afraid that one day soon I’ll attack the poor guy and scare him off for good. So in a way I’m pretty darn retarded in my persistence. I don’t know if it’s healthier to get hung-up on guys who wish they were robots (he actually said that, which is funny because my sister who’s never even met him [but will this weekend] refers to him as "the automaton") or to shack up with a middle-aged mountain man who runs your life or to go out with one of the Mario Brothers. Maybe it’s not my fault that I’m full of bad ideas—I never had a fighting chance with that 666 looming so large during my formative years
4/23/99
I think I’m regressing. Yesterday I went to Duane Reade A. to kill some time. B. to pick up razor blades and coffee filters. But somehow I ended up in the make up section as I often do. I’ve got a problem with beauty products. Every fri. (this morning) I get excited for the sale papers that come bundled up in a plastic bag on my porch. I scan the Duane Reade, CVS, and Genovese ads for coupons on such necessities as shimmer sticks, mascara, nail polish, whatever. I just get really crazy about make up and go wild checking in every week or so for new displays. As I’ve said before, I even have make-up dreams. Dreams where I find this new amazing product or the perfect color of eye shadow and then it all goes wrong and I end up forgetting about it or can’t find where the item was. Yes, this is wrong, wrong, wrong. I know it’s not o.k. to get this worked up over crap like translucent powder, but I lead an empty life, so forgive me. And I don’t even obsess over nice, expensive make up. The fun of my drug store fixation is finding something just as good as the nice stuff, but for half the price (though there are certain things that the cheaper companies just don’t make). But anyway, I went to Duane Reade yesterday and found that all this Max Factor stuff was 50% off. This excited me even though I’d just taken my last $20 out of an atm and should’ve been thinking of wiser ways of spending it. I found this good color "violette" and it was only $1.98 so I figured I could get another one, "black velvet" since they were half off. I get up to the counter and the girl says that the $1.98 already reflects the 50% discount and I turned into one of those freaks in my neighborhood who gets up to the counter with their groceries and is outraged at the total and makes the cashier go through every freakin’ item they’ve rung up so they can decide which to keep and which they don’t want and then starts swearing and storms out without purchasing any of it, leaving a pile of crap on the counter so some 11 yr. old Puerto Rican kid (I don’t think they have child labor laws here) can take 10 minutes to saunter over and put it away so I can have my groceries rung up. Actually, I just said, "Oh, well then I’ll just take one of them" in a pleasant tone. The woman asked me to put the other one back on the shelf where I got it when I was done. I got over there and my blood started pumping and I got all jittery and I began reverting back to my teen years and all I could think about was how I needed both eye shadows and how I’d be damned if I was going to pay for both of them and next thing you know I’m putting the other one in my bag and I can’t believe how stupid I’m acting. It would be so ridiculous to get caught shoplifting something that costs $1.98, but I got this weird euphoric rush and it worried me a bit because you shouldn’t get a high from pilfering eye shadow. You really shouldn’t. Like petty theft is what angsty suburban kids with too much time on their hands do for kicks (I should know—my sister and I used to drive around in our parent's Aerostar van and hit store after store, taking asinine things like zippers, candy, and iron-on patches). Next thing you know, I’ll be starting up a Queens branch of the Trenchcoat Mafia. I guess I could be worse off.
4/21/99
11:58 am. I am steaming. I just received a phone call at work from my friend MARTI saying, "Do you want to know why you didn’t get that job at MTV?" Since, I always take everything personally, I assumed it was something I had either done or not done correctly (but then how would she know). But no, it turns out that this enemy of hers who’ve I’ve always given the benefit of the doubt to got my job because she’s humping a guy who works at MTV News. And it was so my job. I totally got along with the interviewer and he practically told me it was mine. We had the same taste in music, he was all into "The Scaredy-cat Stalker," and we talked about my obsession with "Jeopardy." I’m really disgusted with the way the world works. Like last night my friend Jessica had to go on some "date" with this gross guy we called "Shamoo" just because she wants a job where he works. That’s intolerable to me. And that’s why I am and will always be a career-failure. I will not sleep with or pretend to like someone for a job (no, I’d rather just fuck stupid guys for the sake of fucking and get absolutely nothing out of it because I’m an idiot). And once again I was reminded by MARTI how hateful a place MTV is to work at, but you know what? I’m tortured here on a daily fucking basis. I really loathe babies. I’m not just saying that because I’m feeling pissy. I’ve always loathed children. Some days I can laugh and some days I verge on snapping. Today there’s a casting call. That means there are babies in the lobby, babies, in the elevators, babies roaming the office. Right this moment I am being subjected to squealing. Some woman brought a baby to the annoying girl next to me’s cubicle and they were oohing and ahhing and I almost lost it and all I could do was jump up and go outside and smoke. And I’ve been trying not to smoke at work because I’m already unhealthy enough as it is, but it would be better for everyone if I had a couple extra cigarettes a day and refrained from hitting co workers. If I get lung cancer it will be the fault of this job. O.k. if I am to extract one positive thing from this it would be this: The pug-faced girl who got my job sent a mass e-mail announcing it to her friends. One of these individuals was my crush. He immediately called MARTI and said, "Hey, didn’t Krista interview for this job?" and then I was called. So, the positive thing is that at least the stalkee thought about me in a round about way. I crossed his mind once today. And if you think I’m pathetic for grasping at such straws…well, then you can kiss my grits. By the by, MARTI found my webpages yesterday and was very irked that I always refer to her as "the best friend of the crush." She is an extreme attention-hound (it’s true MARTI, you are and you know it. So there, you’re allowed one day of bold and caps. P.S. I want my $5).
4/20/99
The world is just not right. A couple nights a week I work at SonicNet and last night as I was walking in, who should brush right past me, but The Subway Freak a.k.a. David Kay. The fucked-up, suicidal sexual harasser I had a run-in with a while ago and then saw again at a party. I really don’t like him and no one seems to understand why. He’s working as some tech asst. to my friend Marti and she said to be nice to him because he’s "emotionally fragile." I will not. What are the odds that I would work with this guy twice in my life? 1992: N.W. Film Center, Portland, OR. 1999: SonicNet, NYC. If he was cute I would probably think it was fate bringing us together, but since he’s a hideous beast I think God is punishing me.
4/18/99
It’s odd. Twice in 12 hours I was told, "you look familiar" while in my neighborhood. I don’t want to look familiar. That scares me. The first incident occurred (5 pm) when I was getting pizza at a new place down the street (the pizza was actually good [the food in my neighborhood sucks] and they have Hawaiian on the menu! Unfortunately, they only sell it by the pie and it just isn’t feasible for me to buy a 14" pizza). The guy working behind the counter was being pretty chummy and I was in a social mood so it was o.k. and then he said, "You look familiar. Are you from the neighborhood?" That’s such a strange term, "from the neighborhood" because of course I live in the neighborhood, but I didn’t grow up there, which is what I think that statement means. Then that night (4:30 am) I was on my way home from a trying evening with the stalkee (I just don’t know where I stand with the deviant. I mean I shouldn’t complain—we hung out just the two of us for over 3 hours, he bought drinks, paid for my dinner and paid plenty of attention to me [then said if he had a gun he’d shoot me—the charmer] and that’s more than I would’ve ever hoped for a few weeks ago, but still. That’s the problem with being an obsessor—nothing is ever enough) and waiting on a bench for the subway when I spied a strangely attractive police officer. I didn’t mean to stare, but I was tired and tipsy and next thing I knew he was walking over. It cracked me up. It’s not like I normally pay attention to "guy" types or vice versa for that matter. He introduced himself as David (his badge said Wolfson—I liked the sound of Officer Wolfson), and we shook hands. Then he told me that I looked familiar and asked if I lived around Seneca St. (which is almost the same as saying "the neighborhood"). He hadn’t eaten all night and wanted to know if there were any places open in the area. I told him about a diner on Fresh Pond Rd. We chatted. He had a heavy New York accent. He called Oregon, OreGONE (many do). I gave him a hard time. It was fun. I imagined bringing out Officer Wolfson drinking next weekend and freaking out my stalkee. But Officer Wolfson only gets a weekend off every 11 weeks. My subway came and David (he was so impressed that I remembered his name from that long 10 min. earlier) and I parted ways and he shook my hand for the third time. His final words of wisdom, "Don’t fall asleep on the subway." I told him it was too late for that advice and that was that. Maybe I should give up on the sissies and start dating blue-collar men in my neighborhood.
4/14/99
I swear people are always trying to ruin my fun. I was bored at work and came to the Mining Co. site. I saw that they were looking for people to run websites on a variety of topics. Anything of interest was already taken and what remained were brilliant topics such as Coin Collecting, Lacrosse, Hebrew, and C/C++ (Sigh, I know a certain someone who does C++ programming just for the fun of it. I’m pathetic). Ah, but then I saw New York: Queens! This was for me. It’s not like you’d really make money or anything doing this, I just wanted to run a website about my favorite borough, dammit. Of course most of the neighborhoods in Manhattan were already taken, as well as Brooklyn and The Bronx. I figured this was because I was meant to become the authority on Queens. Well, look at the response I received and see why I feel like a second class citizen.
Hi Krista :
Thanks for your interest in working with us. The New York: Queens topic is no longer available. The editorial staff have re-examined the niche and felt it was best not to add this topic as a separate site, but rather allow some of our existing sites the option of covering this topic on their larger sites.
We do plan on expanding our topics in the future, so maybe in a few months we'll be looking to add your topic. If you'd like, email me back and I will put your name, email and topic on a list and try to contact you when we expand our topics.
In the meantime, please feel free to head on back to our Be a Guide site (http://beaguide.miningco.com) and look around again. The site is always changing as new topics become un/available.
As always, if you have any questions, please let me know.
Thanks,
Paul Martinez
Paul Martinez can go to hell (the spic). What are they saying?! Queens ain’t good enough to merit its own site? That I’m not good enough (cause I’m a spic, of course)? I didn’t actually have the time to do it anyway, but still, it busts my chops.
4/13/99
You know, I think that every month I get excited, predict wonderful things to come and somewhere it all goes blah and I have to start over. I'm starting to wonder if this will be the first month that I anticipated greatness and it pans out. I don't want to jinx my luck, but I can't leave the rest of this page blank out of fear of tripping myself up. I was really pleased a week or so ago when I had my Target epiphany and I just remembered an important aspect. Before I went on my excursion, I got my mail and did my laundry. I was in a pissy mood because I got this rejection letter from MTV for the first decent paying job I've interviewed for since I've been here (everyone in the know warned me it was a rotten place to work anyway and that I would be miserable if I got it, but still, no one likes rejection). So I was in a huff, going to do my laundry and wondering if I should even bother with Target when I heard, "hey you" and as I've said many times before, I don't have any friends in my neighborhood so I didn't assume it was directed at me, but I looked up anyway and it was Benny! My "guardian angel" that always appears on the subway in the wee hours of the morning. It was weird seeing him in the daylight and looking semi-functional, with a backward baseball cap and in a football jersey and pushing a cart of groceries. It was at that moment that I knew April was going to be good and that it didn't even matter that I was dirt poor and never going to escape working at this rotten job. Yes, so now it's nearing the middle of the month and things are oddly going my way and it's scaring me. I don't know what's going on. I blame it on spring. I think my stalkee likes me (though technically he was never a stalk since we have mutual friends and I don't have to dig all that hard for info etc.). I do. And maybe it's risky to be writing this, but I'm about 98% sure he doesn't know to read this stuff (he was telling me about this guy who uses the word "stuff" all the time and how unintelligent it is, but look at me go). There's just so much strangeness I can't even detail it, but the bare bones are that I stayed at his apt. sat. (it was his suggestion), wore a pair of his pajamas, slept in the same bed, and it was innocent and pure (and definitely borderline demented) and there wasn't any sordidness and we held hands and talked about the proper usage of quotes with question marks, and the next morning we drank coffee (he put sugar in my coffee and I didn't even complain), chain smoked, watched CNN, and he complimented me on my toenail polish (Maybelline Matte Grape), and gave me a peck on the mouth when I left. I don't know what the heck this means, but how could it possibly be bad?
4/7/99
Yesterday I was in a shopping mood. I left work early and bought my friend a toaster for her birthday this evening. I know that’s not very glamorous and I’m sure it’ll look pathetic and retarded next to the more exotic gifts that I’m sure she’ll receive. But anyway, I wanted something cheap for myself since I had only $12 on me. I headed to Rainbow, a tacky store for juniors. Well, they’ve got "plus size" too, but it’s never as cute as the junior stuff and it’s all sized wrong—like I can wear a 2X there—and while I’m not petite by any stretch of the imagination, I’m certainly not 2X. So I found this gray stretchy sleeveless top with a pink lining for $11.97. It seemed a bit small (it was a junior large, which is anything but. If I were a Dave Barry type, I’d start going on about oxymorons right here. A junior large! That’s kind of like jumbo shrimp. Ha ha.) but I really wanted it. Now, if I were in Portland this would be no problem since $11.97 really means $11.97, but I don’t know how to calculate tax and I wasn’t sure how much loose change was floating around in my wallet. I went to the counter anyway. It came to $12.96. I didn’t think that I had 96 cents, but I dug and dug and it was the strangest thing. I put together every single coin--the dimes, nickels, and all the dirty pennies I normally toss in the trash and I’m not joking, it came to exactly 96 cents. No more, no less. I literally spent my last dime on that shirt and since it all came together so unexpectedly well, I assumed that God must’ve wanted me to have that top. Yes, well I got it home, tried it on, and no, it didn’t fit so well. Now I have to return it. It just blew all my superstitious notions to hell. Next thing you know, I’ll realize that always liking guys with the same letters in their name is just a coincidence and has nothing to do with our being meant to be together. And on that topic, I know I’ve mentioned how three of the most recent guys I’ve liked and/or gone out with had last names that began with ROB. It’s gone even deeper. It just recently came to me that my last two boyfriends had RO. I don’t care what anyone says, it’s a pattern that needs to be made sense of. Roth, Robinson, Robertson, Robb. The only one who hasn’t given in is the last (current) one. It’s only a matter of time. He must. It’s fate.
4/6/99
I had the most amazing suburban-style weekend. Nothing makes me happier. I don't even know where to begin. I've been hankering to find a Target ever since I moved here. The nearest one I was aware of was in Westbury, which I think is Long Island. But my friend Jane kept insisting there was one in Queens. I didn't believe her because earlier she kept insisting there was one in Manhattan and that was untrue. But I looked into it, and yes, there was a Target in College Point, Queens. Now, I live in Queens so you'd think this would be a hop, skip, and a jump away, but no. People don't understand. They think I live in the suburbs. They mock me. My Queens (Ridgewood) is like 12 blocks from the Brooklyn border, it's not like the Queens where The Bunkers, The Costanzas, or The Nanny would live. But anyway, Jane had a $50 Target gift certificate that needed to be spent and she's the only person in the entire universe who'd go chasing after some Target dream with me. I figured out that from my neighborhood there was a bus Q58 that would weasel its way up to Flushing and then from there it might be about 20 blocks to the Target. Jane showed up on my doorstep (it was weird seeing someone not wearing gold chains on my block and it was even weirder to think that I've lived in this apt. for 8 months and this was my first visitor) and we were ready to take on the borough. Well, needless to say, nothing went smooth. The bus which should come every 8 min. took a half hour to show up, we had to stand for an eternity, the ride to Flushing took about an hour-but it was great. I think I saw every neighborhood imaginable: Middle Village, Maspeth, Elmhurst, Corona, we passed by the Unisphere from the '64 World's Fair and then we were in Flushing. I saw Peruvian bakeries, the cutest Italian Ice shops, Asian stores with names like, "Peach Candy Furniture Company" and a demented barber shop, "Gino's Shear Sex" (what the hell is that about?!). I love Flushing. It's like a foreign city. Really. Like I've been in love with channel 17 (which no one outside of Queens gets) since I've moved here. It's a local Korean channel. I guess they have a huge Asian population. Main Street is crazy. Like Chinatown in Manhattan you know you're in the middle of a big city that's not Asian. But Main Street, Flushing felt like you were in Hong Kong or maybe even Europe, but definitely not New York. We got pork and custard buns and tried to figure out how to get to College Point. We ended up walking through dirt and gravel paths and found ourselves in some crazy industrial area on the water. Luckily, there was a bus stop Q65 right on a corner by a U Haul company, which came within 30 seconds and took us up College Point Rd. We got dropped off in some mildly ramshackle neighborhood (I always wonder how people end up in places like College Point, but then I've been asked countless times how someone could move across the country and end up in Ridgewood so who am I to say anything). But we got very excited when we got to 20th ave because we knew the Target was on this street. It was a bit of a walk and the sun was starting to set and we began quickening our pace and getting a little flushed in the cheeks. We got on the top of a hill and on the horizon I saw the most beautiful sight I've ever seen-a giant red bull's eye. Ooh, it was the Target symbol and my pulse sped up. We started brisk walking. Jane pulled out her cell phone and we left messages on everyone's machines about how we were Lewis and Clark and how now we know how they must've felt when seeing the Pacific for the first time. I'm serious. I went completely giddy and started running down the hill towards the strip mall. I can't even articulate how wonderful it was. There was a four lane highway with a median (wide roads!), a huge parking lot filled with cars (a day without subways!), Target was nestled in with stores like T.J. Maxx, Circuit City, Waldbaums, and this is the clincher-there was GRASS and barkdust and little trees planted in dividers in the parking lot. I almost started rolling around in the grass. It was as if I'd died and gone to Tualatin (I know that means almost nothing to anyone, but if you didn't know better you'd think you were in Oregon, not New York). But anyway, we did our shopping. I didn't even really buy much of anything since I have no money, I was just going for the experience. I even saw a hottie that I kept giving looks to, but then I noticed he had Tampax in his shopping cart and my heart sunk. And this wasn't an ordinary west coast Target, it's one of those larger Target Greatlands with Pizza Hut and Taco Bell and one hour photo. By the time we left it was dark and kind of creepy and desolate and I predicted that we'd never make it home alive and that the Target journey would be our last memory and then out of nowhere this fucked-up van went all nuts on the sidewalk and ran into this cement block and bounced back and came feet from running into us. Minutes before that, a Camaro started backing-up all fast and weird in the wrong lane and almost ran us down. It scared me that my prediction almost came true. I was relieved to make it out of College Point in one piece and about an hour later I was safe in my apt. with my treasures: 3 shirts, a blow dryer/curling iron, ibuprofen, st. john's wort, wrapping paper, and an accordion file folder. Yeah, it's all stuff I could've bought elsewhere, but it had to be done. Damn, I've just rambled on insanely and I haven't even discussed Easter yet. Well, I went to The Olive Garden in Times Square and it was equally beautiful even if it was easier to get to (I always place more value on difficult situations) . There was an hour wait, but we got one of those beeper things and got hang out in the bar and drink fluffy drinks like Mudslides so it was o.k. Friday night I went to some medieval hippy party and somehow ended up at some Morrocan guy's (that I'd met at Boxcar Lounge [where that bartender humiliated me last weekend by chiding my stalkee for treating me the way he does, and this weekend he said my obsession was a faggot-you've got to love that], not the party-jeez, I've got some taste. And I met these nice guys at the bar who live in QUEENS and they were buying me drinks and cheering me up and telling me how I was too good for my stalkee and how I needed to get over my sissy fixation and I know it's true, but I can't) apt., but that's not suburban so it doesn't quite fit the rambling theme of this enormous paragraph, but whatever. So it was an enlightening, jam-packed, transitional weekend like all beginnings of new months should be. And I don't know what I'm doing with myself and I didn't get that job I wanted, and I'm starting to get afraid of being poor, old, lonely and miserable for the rest of my life. But I've decided that I love Queens, and I love going nowhere important on buses, and that there's so much good in the world that has nothing to do with money or Manhattan, and I've been taking huge doses of my Target brand st. john's wort, and it's finally sunny and warmer than 50 degrees, and my supervisor is in Delaware today and tomorrow at a funeral so I can come and leave early and spend all day doing no work and type drivel like this to occupy the time, and "Jeopardy" is advertising for contestants in the New York area and I signed up in hopes of being called in for a test. April could be o.k.
4/5/99
Well, I didn't die. There will be something here tomorrow. Lots of things have happened. I just don't have the energy to type it at the moment.
phone home