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2/27/01
Blech. As if having to get my third biopsy in a year and a half this morning (I know they're only snipping tiny samples, but if this every six month rate keeps up, do you think I'll even have a cervix left by the time I'm 40? That's not the kind of thing I feel like imagining right now.) was not enough torment, yesterday I woke up with another urinary tract infection. I swear. I didn't realize it til I got to work and had that burning pee thing where you have to go like every 30 seconds but nothing comes out. That really sucks. At least I knew I'd be able to get antibiotics today, but in the mean time I needed some sort of over the counter analgesic for the excruciating pain. The last time this happened it was me walking around in the rain at 4am on a work night trying to find a 24 drug store. But at least that was in Manhattan--there's not a single pharmacy or drug store in my work neighborhood. Like it's this part of Park Slope that hasn't completely gentrified yet. There are wine stores, yoga/pilates places and a cat hotel mixed in with the 99 cent stores and ratty bodegas, but no chains like a Duane Reade or a Rite Aid yet. I felt like I was in an episode of Lifetime TV's newish, horrible, hit-you-over-the-head with women's issues drama Strong Medicine that I just can't help but watch every Sunday. It's produced by Whoopi Goldberg and every episode is jam-packed with as many cliches as possible. There's the Harvard educated doctor played by Janine Turner from "Northern Expose" who butts heads with the Puerto Rican low-income clinic dr. who looks like a freaky alien. The men are either white, powerful and insensitive to women's needs or are over-the-top compassionate and are nurses and mid-wives. Topics have included a woman dying of a rare African fever who had been posing as a priest for 15 years, female circumcision, drug addicts and porn stars with abnormal bleeding. Last week there was a plot about the ex-con who couldn't get Demerol for her sickle cell anemia because the only pharmacy in the neighborhood wouldn't carry expensive drugs for fear of being robbed. The alien dr. gave the mean white pharmacist guy hell until he stocked it, then he was tragically stabbed and killed and the Demerol stash was stolen. Strong medicine, indeed. So, all I wanted was some stupid AZO or Cystex, but this wasn't going to happen in Brooklyn. I wanted to leave early, but I already knew I wasn't going to come in today so I had to tough it out. Then the construction workers who've been annoyingly and noisily working out front of the office for weeks now digging up who knows what, happened to cut our power line. The electricity went off and the phones went dead. What a stroke of genius luck! I got to leave at 3:15. Unfortunately, my plan was to stay at James's last night since the dr. is a block from his apt. and I could sleep in this morning, but I didn't have the keys to his apt. and I couldn't get in touch with him because he was in a meeting and I was stupid and left in a hurry and didn't bring the piece of paper with his cell number on it (yes, I should know it by heart now--it's a mental block or something--I just haven't accepted the whole cell phone proliferation yet). I guess I could've just gone home, but I didn't want to and my stuff was all at his house. This was really annoying. I ended up wandering around Wall St. all afternoon (at least they have drug stores) in a bad mood with bladder cramps until I finally parked it at an Irish Pub where he met me at 6:00 when he finally got my messages and I could get his keys. It's always a trauma with me. I was supposed to be working from home today, but I can't say I got much done. And that's really bad because I have so much to do. I wasn't a total lazy-ass, but I goofed-off a bit, watched bad TV, took a nap, went out for a Cuban sandwich, stuff like that. Now it's almost 7:00 and I'm just getting started, it feels like. I've got like a million emails to respond to, but I just feel like lying in bed and watching "Jeopardy." We'll have to see.
2/22/01
Yesterday was odd. Only mildly so, but enough. On the subway to work, I managed to get all the way to the Fulton St. stop without looking up from my magazine--it's rare that I ever get that engrossed, but it's good because then I don't notice the length of my commute. So I looked up at Fulton (the next to last stop in Manhattan on the M) to see what sort of folks were left on the train, saw the usual outer borough office worker riff-raff, then noted a guy across from me by the door that seemed o.k.. After my initial assessment, it only took a split second before I realized this was a guy I had a short-lived, nonsensical obsession with when I first moved here. He even fit the peculiar common, one syllable first name, surname beginning with the letters ROB pattern of all the guys I end up liking. I knew he'd be getting off at the next stop since only a retard would continue on the M into Brooklyn. I had to re-engross myself in my "Time Out NY" even though I'd already picked out each and every nugget of even vague interest (that's why I looked up in the first place--I'd ran out of things to read) because I didn't want to get caught looking at him. He didn't make any notice of me, but I knew he had to have gotten on at Marcy Ave. and that was five stops back. You would think that in that time span he would have had to have spied me. Earlier I was skimming this interview with Steve Malkmus for no good reason other than boredom and noticed him talking about his new band the Jicks with Portland members. One was a guy named John Moen. I can't say that I know him super well, but he was a friend of the old guy I went out with in Portland (also with the common, one syllable first name, surname beginning with the letters ROB). Anyway, it cracked me up to see this '98 mini-fixation on the subway (probably going to the same temp job turned menial occupation he had then) because he's such an early '90s, Pavement era, look-I-made-you-a-mix-tape, slacker type and I had just been passing subway-riding time pondering what ever happened to that whole genre. Like it must survive in college towns throughout the nation, but NY is so anti that low-key, underachieving vibe. It's pretty uncool to be poor or depressed or unsure of yourself or any of those other negative traits that somehow thrived in the late '80s/early '90s. The world is certainly full of some pretty cocky bastards these days. Hmm…then I went to buy groceries yesterday afternoon and my total came to $6.66. Very devilish. I put the receipt in my pocket so I could look at it later, but when I checked last night it was gone without a trace. There are some dark forces at work, and they're on the M train and in Key Foods.
2/19/01
I've always had hypochondriac-type tendencies, but now I'm starting to worry myself. I've noticed that for the past week and a half, I get nauseous on the way home from work. Not just a little upset stomach, but the feeling that I'm going to vomit. It's bothered me enough to mention it to people, but this afternoon I got so sick I thought I was going to die. I can feel fine at work, on the walk to the subway, but within minutes of sitting on the train, my stomach gets queasy. I thought maybe it was a psychosomatic reation to my rotten commute, but it's the same route and length of time in the morning and I don't get sick then. And if anything, you think your body would be more repulsed by going to work than by going home (though the amount of time I spend complaining about this apt. would make that hard to tell). This afternoon it was particularly bad because I decided to work President's Day (so I could take a day off later when I could use it for something fun or productive) so the trains were on a holiday schedule. This meant three trains, two transfers instead of my usual one train, no transfer. I don't know what was going on, but I got sweaty after about two minutes of getting on the first train, my legs felt weak, I could barely swallow and no matter what I did (usually closing my eyes helps), I kept verging on throwing up. All I can think is that something I'm eating is not agreeing with me. Honest to god, I think my body can't digest non-fat food. I didn't get sick over the weekend and I ate insane stuff like pound cake, ice cream, bacon, popcorn, empanadas, bagels and lox and jalepeno poppers with ranch dressing from Burger King. But during the week I eat a banana for breakfast, and a small box of raisins, a handful of baby carrots, squash soup or pita and soy hummus for lunch and often yogurt later in the day. What about those items would make someone barf? Contrary to all popular belief and health-related news I've read, I swear to God it's the yogurt. I did a search on yogurt allergies/intolerance today and it appears that such a thing is non-exisitant. All I can find is how yogurt is some miracle food full of great bacteria that aids in digestion. It's so great that even lactose intolerant, milk allergy people have no problem with it. And the brand I've been eating mon-fri. Stonyfield Farm is all organic and claims to be "the only U.S. yogurt brand with SIX cultures AND the only U.S. yogurt with
L. reuteri." I don't really even like yogurt as you may remember me complaining not too long ago--how I'd buy it and it's always end up in the garbage. Well, I don't actually have a problem with this brand, it tastes good and isn't full of corn syrup and other cheap crap, but I don't know if I can keep eating it. Am I just making myself sick or am I targeting the wrong item? Maybe the crap I eat on the weekend just takes a day or two to catch up with me? I don't think so though since I ate lunch around 1:00 and was fine, and yogurt around 3:30, then left work around 4:20 and got sick within minutes. Maybe it's the soy hummus? I don't think so. Maybe I'm mentally ill and dread my daily return to Ridgewood, Queens so much that I'm making myself sick. I didn't add that as soon as I walked in the door, I threw up (in the toilet--I'm a whiz with holding it in). I layed down, ended up sleeping for two hours and had the most demented dreams--one involving twin teen girl goths and another about pepperoni pizza. I had to fill in for my friend Dassi who worked in a pizza joint (not in real life) and woke up in the middle all queasy. This was almost four hours ago and I still feel not quite right. And no, I'm like 99% sure that I'm not pregnant. But next tues. I get to go in for my third cervical biopsy in a year and a half so I can certainly find out if I feel like it. I'd much rather believe the too-much-good-for-you-bacteria hippy organic yogurt is the culprit of my discomfort.
2/15/01
Nothing says I love you like an endless barrage of meat. So, last night I was treated to a Valentine's dinner at Churrascaria Plataforma. This is sort of the king of NYC rodizios, at least in price and popularity. The general premise is sitting down and waiting for the parade of waiters with giant cuts of meat on skewers to pass your table and cut off a portion or two. But first there's the salad bar, which is enormous with selections like sushi (odd for a Brazilian place), hearts of palm (supposedly traditional), a handful of different seafood concoctions, green salad, shrimp, vegetables and loads loads more. Everyone knows you're not supposed to fill up on the salad, but it's hard to resist. Then once you're done with that course, the games begin. You flip your coaster from red to the green side and the meat starts filling your plate--like five different beef preparations, chicken, sausages, salmon, pork loin, ribs (I'm feeling really nauseous writing this so I won't go in depth too much) etc. On top of this, they bring side dishes to the table to accompany the meat: rice, fried plantains, polenta, asparagus, mashed potatoes and this confusing one I never figured out--it looked and tasted like a large plate of bread crumbs with bacon mixed in. What the heck do you do with that?! Of course I couldn't resist a piece of coconut caramel cake and a glass of dessert wine (stiff caipirinhas were sipped with dinner). Eck, enough food talk--I'm not joking about still feeling full and sick to my stomach. I was too stuffed (and it was a bit late) to go to the Tenth Street Lounge, where I've spent the past two Valentine's Days with James (one as a date, one not). I wanted to make a tradition of going and him saying annoying clueless things to reenact the debacle of '99. I'm always up for doing dumb things to humor myself, but I had indigestion and a minor problem with my hosiery. Yesterday I left the house all dressed up and feeling festive, but when I got off the subway in the morning something was amiss. I realized that my tights had scrunched all the way down below my crotch and were rapidly scooting down my legs. I'd worn these cottony tights and thick shiny underwear (to suck my gut in girdle-style since my skit was straight and snug) and the two reacted like oil and water. No matter what, the tights wouldn't stay up. I'd go into the bathroom at work and hike them up to my bra-line practically, and they'd be slipping down in a matter of minutes. Somehow I managed to keep them in place during dinner, but afterwards we were walking through Time's Square to the subway and my stomach had totally expanded from the meal causing this nasty set-up where if I were to bend over or breathe out, my newly-formed pot belly would create a roll effect at the waistband of the tights pushing them down. It was totally out of control and by the time got to the subway I'd given up trying to keep them on and they were bunched right above my knees. The only solution (I couldn't pull them up without pulling my skirt all the way up) seemed to be to take off my boots and pull them off altogether. Unfortunately, this was not an option since I hadn't shaved the night before like a good date should. (You certainly know the honeymoon phase is over when you don't even shave for the lovey-doviest holiday of all.) My only exposed flesh would be from my knee to mid-calf and the stubble wasn't that bad really, but I was so exasperated that I just left the tights at knee-level and decided to forgo the Tenth Street Lounge plan. I'll have to be more careful with future outfit planning, that's for sure.
2/13/01
I'm having a dilemma. Yesterday after work I went on this whole ordeal of an excursion to find this candy store, Li-Lac, in the west village to buy a Valentine's present. It was all chaotic and there was a line out the door and I didn't really know what I wanted. To keep it simple, I picked out a 1/2 pound "French Assortment" in a heart-shaped box. But somehow the girl at the counter misunderstood me and thought I also wanted 1/2 dozen chocolate-covered cherries. Before I could figure out what was going on, she'd started putting the cherries in a nice little box and was gift wrapping them. I didn't want to hold up the line or cause a problem so I just took them too. So now I've got two boxes of candy and I don't know if I should give both of them to James or not. He doesn't even eat sweets much, whenever I've given him goodies in the past like Christmas cookies or a birthday cake, they end up going in the refrigerator until they're rancid or stale. My question is whether or not I should keep the cherries for myself. The only thing is, I don't like chocolate-covered cherries very much. They weren't cheap and they're all nicely wrapped up with a bow so I'd feel dumb just sitting here munching on them, but for someone who's not a big candy eater (like me), two boxes of sweets seems sort of like overkill, gift-wise. Life is so difficult sometimes. Today I found out where I'm being taken for Valentine's Day, and it's sort of nuts. I mean, it's someplace I've wanted to go for a while, and it's certainly not a slack-ass crappy choice (I was talking with Jessica the other day about Portland guys and how they don't make efforts. Like I don't think I ever ate at a restaurant my entire time there [like 20 some odd years] that required reservations. Yes, I know it's the thought that counts, not the price of the meal, but burritos or pita and hummus just don't cut it anymore. I'll be 29 in less than six months, for fuck's sake [I just realized that yesterday and it scared me a bit]), but it's not exactly what I'd call a romantic dining choice. That's o.k. though, 'cause I'm no sap and I thrive on obscenely large portions. Gory details on Thursday...
2/12/01/
I wish I had more time to ramble here, but all my energy seems to be going towards writing upbeat stuff like this for work. So, I saw some movies this weekend: "Snatch," which I wasn't all that excited about, but at least the theater was next to the new Sanrio store in Time's Square. I got pretty jazzed about all the housewares like Hello Kitty toaster ovens (I have the regular toaster, but still), coffee makers, towel racks, pots & pans, and various cooking utensils. I had to get out of there before I went overboard--salt and pepper shakers and some astrology-themed doo dads were my only purchases. There was even a person in a Hello Kitty costume walking around outside, but I got too scared to get my picture taken with it (it seemed sort of genderless despite the dress and platform boots). The real movie highlight was getting to see the movie Henry Thomas was filming when I ran into him here in New York, "Fever." Oh it was a doozy, alright. What do you expect when the writer/director is Alex Winter (the blonde half of Bill and Ted)? It's taken over two years to come out and it only played here for two weeks at The Screening Room, this small theater near the Holland Tunnel. Henry plays some poor tortured artist/teacher living in "slummy" Greenpoint, Brooklyn (yeah, if I could even afford to live in Greenpoint working full time. Not that it's a particularly desirable neighborhood or anything, but still it's out of my range. It's a more urban Ridgewood really. Heavily Polish). His Polish landlords get murdered and Henry's not sure if he killed them in a feverish stupor or not. It's really funny and Terri Hatcher plays his gallery-owner sister, which is sort of amusing. I doubt it'll play anywhere except late night cable after this run, but it's worth a peek, especially if you're easily entertained. It's just funny to think this was the schlock he was all immersed in when I hung out with him. I remember my friend Jane complaining about how her block on the lower east side was shut down for the filming of this--they used the school across the street as the setting for the place where Nick Parker (Henry) teaches drawing to talentless students. Speaking of movies, what's the big deal with "Hannibal"? Why is everyone so excited? The reason I had to go to Time's Square to see "Snatch" was because the Union Square Theater had mobs out the door (for "Hannibal") and I just couldn't deal with the crowds. Then today I noticed people (all women) reading the stupid paperback book on the subway. I guess it's good that people are reading at all, but it's just weird if you ask me.
2/8/01
You know, I don't think it's the mildly healthy food in my system (yum, I can feel that soy protein made to mimic spicy ground beef moving around in my gut as I type) that's given me more spring in my step. I just realized that it's staying light outside longer. Yes, the days lengthen year after year without fail, and yet it never ceases to amaze me. I always feel more energetic when I get off work and it's not pitch black. By the time I get off the subway it's dark, but that will soon change. It's weird how a good mood can affect others (for the worse). I've been feeling all gross and lumpy lately. Since my job is so laid back (not workload wise, just in atmosphere and location) and it's doubtful that I'd ever run into anyone worth trying to impress during my daily commute, I've noticed myself wearing less and less make up and putting on pants and tennis shoes a lot. I've never been a pants person so this is odd. But yesterday I'd had enough, went crazy with the make-up and pulled a skirt on. No big deal, but as I was going to catch the subway home last night some freaky old guy said in this froggy voice (I wish I could make voices here, it's so hard to convey specifics like this with words) said, "nice legs" and I was like what the fuck ever. And before I could even laugh to myself, I passed a younger black guy and out of his mouth popped, "nice set of legs." I was like what the hell is going on (especially since my legs are easily one of my least attractive features). And earlier at work, the regular mailman was out so instead we had this old creepy short Hispanic guy, and after I got the mail and turned to go back inside he said, "bye bonita" in this raspy quiet voice that made my skin crawl. What's to be learned. I guess if you carry yourself vivaciously, guys who hang out on street corners will take notice. Regular guys could care less, but I've always been able to work magic on the freaks of the world. Not to be sappy, but it occurred to me that Valentine's Day is rapidly approaching and I haven't heard a single mention about it. I'm not greedy and I've never had high expectations concerning sentimental holidays, but what if I don't get anything? I don't even want to think about the possibility because it's really disheartening. I mean, I have a boyfriend, this isn't like 8th grade where I bought 1/2 price candy Feb. 15 and told my crush in an effort to evoke sympathy (which I hoped would then turn into affection, then undying love. It didn't). If I'm down at Rite Aid picking over the Russell Stover's next Thurs...nevermind, I don't even want to think about it. Oh, I just remembered something. Henry Thomas is married! How does that happen to a person? Jessica's friend Lisa in Portland sent her some interview with him from a recent "Mademoiselle" to give to me. I haven't seen it yet, but I guess he's talking about his wife Kelley (I think it was spelled with an EY). That's just weird. I met him in late '98 and he'd just broken up with a girlfriend and was clearly not seeing anyone seriously. I know that was a little over two years ago, but how do you meet someone, fall in love and get married like that. If you took talk shows and judge dramas to heart, you'd think that 90% of the American population marries (or at least has babies) after a date or two. Mabye this is right, and I'm wrong. I like to believe that everyone's stupid and I'm the only smart one, but I've always been a bit deluded. Why am I so concerned about strangers' relationships anyway? I'm just bored and wound-up, it'll pass.
2/6/01
Lord, I'm even dumber than I thought. I would totally die if left in the wild. Yesterday I was complaining about my burnt out ceiling light bulbs. Well, tonight I finally got fed up and was going to try and use this rickety chair that's not tall enough, but first I went to the closet and realized I only had one light bulb. I didn't want to go through the effort to only change one lightbulb instead of both. So...I went to the built-in wall sconces in the living room to pull a bulb out. I've never really used these lights (there are also two in the kitchen) so I tested the bulbs (that I'd put in them myself months and months ago) to see if they still worked. They did. I was about to take them out to put in the ceiling fixture when I realized how freakin' retarded I was. Uh, why not just use the wall lights? I'd had two perfectly good working lights in living room the entire time, and yet I've spent almost a week in the dark. I honestly think I have brain damage. It's really worrisome. But I'm working on it. I've stopped eating candy, snacks, bread, cheese and excessive fat during the week (we'll see about the weekends) and have been eating crap like fruit, vegetables and tempeh and I feel strangely alert this evening. It's probably just a coincidence. Now that I'm lucid, I'm noticing even more disturbing details concerning my surroundings than usual. Earlier this evening I was at the Rite Aid buying hair dye (there was a phase where I actually got a kick out of my severely graying hair, but now that I'm solidly in my late 20's, the novelty is starting to wear off) and killing time while my laundry was washing and was losing my mind because the elderly mother and daughter in front of me were taking forever. The weird things was that among the Valentine's candy and cards they were purchasing, there were also two tubes of KY Jelly, a Summer's Eve douche and a giant can of Rave super strength aerosol hair spray. (I just typed in KY jelly and Summer's Eve and came up with this great Private Woman site) I could only assume these were for the aging Lita Ford-looking daughter with a bandage on her nose. All that was missing was the FDS Woman spray--you know, your "second deodorant." Maybe I'm just sensitive, but I can't imagine being out with my mom and buying KY or douches (I wouldn't even buy them if I were alone, which I often am). And the mom was the one who was paying the $52.09 total--that's what was taking such an ungodly amount of time, and allowing me to scrutinize their items. It was such a Ridgewood moment. Hmm...I'd better rinse out my hair now. I believe there's a youthful, mentally sharp person just waiting to emerge from underneath the head of hair dye.
2/5/01
I never thought I'd say this, but if I have to watch one minute more of TV or lay on a couch a second longer, I may lose my freakin' mind. The past week has got to be the most boring on record. I went to work on Thurs. and Fri. and ended up leaving early both days because I felt like I was dying. Two weekends in a row, I did nothing but lay around the house moping and sweating (from the fever, not because I'm naturally all sweaty). Today is the healthiest I've felt in a while and that's good. I have no clean clothes, dishes are piled up, there's no food in the house and to make matters worse, both bulbs in my living room burnt out last week and I've never been able to change them. I don't have anything tall enough to reach them, plus I'm afraid of heights and have bad balance. I'm typing in the dark with the kitchen and bedroom lights helping me a bit. It's pathetic. I need to buy a little step-ladder thingy, and even those scare me. Plus, there was another snow storm today, which totally threw off my now-that-I'm-well-I-should-take-on-the-world ideas of getting millions of things done. The bad weather made me not want to do my laundry, which means I'll have to do it tomorrow night which means that I won't be able to go to the gym. I've been telling myself I'd go twice a week instead of once for a month now, and it never seems to happen because I always have too much to do after work. I wouldn't really care except for when I went to dr. last week I discovered that I've gained 11 pounds since the summer, which is just insane since from aug-nov. I was going to the gym 5 times a week, 1.5 hours each time. It kind of makes you wonder if there's much point in it--and don't try telling me it's 11 pounds of muscle--I find that hard to believe. Actually, I did go out for a little bit Fri. night and had a couple drinks and some pirogies and a Belgian waffle. Last night I ate a reuben (and I wonder why I gained 11 pounds--but after a week of eating soup and cream of wheat, solid food was irresistible) at this diner and as I was walking back to James's down 3rd Ave., I passed Noah Amos/Anus again! I don't know what's up. He's haunting me. Jeez, I'd better be careful. I got another message today from a stranger who stumbled on this site and they seemed bothered that I'd described someone we mutually know as "plain." Honestly, I don't remember exactly what I said or when I wrote it, but I'm sure it wasn't anything horrible since the person in question is/was perfectly nice. That's the weird thing, it's hard to remember everything you've said (especially when it gets to be more than a year old) until someone brings it to your attention. I just can't help talking about people. You can't even imagine the restraint I practice here. There are so many wacked-out individuals and incidents that I've had to keep to myself.
2/1/01
I don't know what's going on, but I'm still sick. It's getting annoying because I've been off work for practically four days (I went in this morning and ended up leaving by 10:30 because I felt so horrible) but I don't have the energy to do anything productive. Just walking up stairs makes me sweaty and dizzy. I went to the Dr. on tues. but it's a viral infection, not bacterial so there's nothing they can give me. I'm just getting so bored and super behind at work. It's going to be a total nightmare when I go in tomorrow and there's a week's worth of stuff piled up to do. At least I mustered up the strength to order these great new checks online.