6/29/99
If this Project Me thing just stops appearing after June, it's not because I've lost interest it's because I've gone into a heat-induced coma. I got to leave work at 2 today and dilly dallied and went to Chinatown and bought weird little filled buns, then went record shopping, but couldn't find anything I wanted really, and then bought cheap $1 brie and gouda at this store (it's a bargain, but I'm always afraid it's going to go rancid within a day--that's why it's in the cheap basket), and then there was a rainstorm, but it didn't cool things down much, and then came home, laid in bed in my underwear with a fan and watched a dumb "Ricki Lake" about secret drag queens and got bored and next thing I knew it was 6:30 and I'd been asleep for an hour and a half. That bothers me. I hate taking naps and didn't even mean to. Maybe it was heat stroke. Yeah, yeah, I'm being a hypochondriac, but I did develop a mean tic beneath my left eye yesterday that doesn't show any sign of going away. I'm annoyed that I'm wasting all this free time I've been having lately. All I can do is lie on my bed, watch tv, read, talk on the phone, play on the computer (it's set up on a Gatorade box at the foot of my bed), and eat ice cream (Ben and Jerry's Southern Pecan Pie totally rules). If I don't go into a coma, I'll turn into that 1,200 pound man who had to have his wall knocked down and be forklifted out of his bed in Brooklyn. I may have to break down and buy an air conditioner this weekend. I don't know why I'm so opposed to it. I hate "Felicity" (the show and the character). She's just so torn between being a doctor or an artist. But that's not why she's a pain. She's got this stalker in the episode I'm watching right now and she so doesn't deserve such obsessive attention. I love her stalker. He's a good egg. It's not his fault that he still has all these fond memories of when she was 12 and he was 14 and this sunset they shared and how he should've kissed her then because there are all these little windows of opportunity and once they're gone who knows if they'll ever reappear. Felicity was all disturbed because he remembered all these things she'd done and said years ago and I love that kind of stuff (my former stalkee, James, jokingly told me I had A.A.D. "Attention Attention Disorder" because I would note things like how many refills he got on his soda and that his 1998 calendar was airplanes and his 1999 one was jazz musicians [barf]. Hey, attention to detail isn't a crime). Felicity was pretty much telling her stalker off and then he got all nuts and kept saying, "I will kiss you." Then, "I am down, but I am not in any way out" and then a bus hit him. Oh my god. How classic. That's such a stalker fantasy--to become injured or whatever and have the other person visit you in the hospital and have them see the error of their ways and fall madly in love. Or something like that. I definitely need to stop watching so much tv.
6/28/99
Subways are my friend. Sort of. It's the only exposure I get to air conditioning all day so I don't mind them so much at the moment. I got sent home from work at 12:30 because it was unbearably hot and humid and took a long subway ride to a mall. It was great. I opened up a bunch of credit card accounts at stores and charged a bunch of summer clothes. I even found this store that had a small selection of those Queens. School of Hard Knocks t-shirts that I'm crazy about, but I had a dilemma because the women's shirts were one-size-fits-all baby tees and the men's were all X-large and baggy and I know that's the style, but what about people who just want shirts that fit? I like shopping or else I wouldn't have gone, but it can be a frightening eye-opener. I can't wear "regular" clothes and I can't wear clothes for fat people either. I'm one size too big for stores like The Gap, Banana Republic etc. (not that I frequent those stores anyway) and the smallest size at "plus" stores is usually one size too big (and 90% of the clothes are catered for the cast of "The Golden Girls"). It can make a person nuts. I'll have to either gain or lose 15 pounds if I want to make life simpler. I got home at 4:45 just as if I'd worked a regular work day. I'm looking forward to a scorching summer of half days.
6/27/99
Subways are going to be the death of me. I decided to work from 1-5 on sat. because it was overtime and I didn't think 4 hours would kill me. Fine. But trying to go home was another story. The subway did not come for a freakin' hour. And when it did finally show up it went within 2 stops of where I needed to go and then the conductor announced that it would be going express and we all had to get off and wait for another one. This is the kind of thing that is not good for my blood pressure (I won't even go off on the sweltering heat and lack of air conditioning because it's an old story). I did not get home til 7pm. I probably live like 5 miles from my job. It's just not right. Urgh. And then I had a nighttime ordeal as well. I didn't even go out fri. night so I thought I should sat., but more and more I think I'm better off being a hermit. I thought I was being good by leaving the bar at 2 instead of at 4 as usual, but somehow things still went wrong. Normally, I go 9 stops on the L and transfer to the M and go north 3 stops into Queens. It's a long ride, but I can deal with it. I don't know what happened but I fell asleep waiting for the M as I often do and when it came got on as usual. I fell asleep again and when I looked up realized I was going south instead of north and heading back in a roundabout way to Manhattan. Yes, I was drunk, but I've never done anything this blatantly stupid. I've slept past my stop, but I've never just gone completely the wrong way (uh, actually that's not true, but let's pretend otherwise for now). I must've looked like a total panicky mess because when I opened my eyes the conductor was looking at me all worried and asked me where I was trying to go. I just said I meant to go the other direction. He said that this was the only train and that I might as well ride it to the end because it would be the same one I would have to catch if I got off and crossed the tracks. This put me in a rotten mood. Then he got all concerned and talked with me the rest of the ride (9 stops) and told me I should watch out and he couldn't believe that I'd be out by myself in this neighborhood and that I needed to stay awake so nothing would happen to me. He wasn't condescending, but it really freaked me out. I told him I was fine and that I always go this way and that I've never had trouble in the year I'd been here and that the public transportation is 100 times scarier in Portland at night. He was genuinely worried for me and it made me feel bad. We had to wait 15 min. at the end of the line and he was changing cars and told me I should move to the car with a conductor, but I didn't want to so he left (telling me I'd better stay awake) adn I immediately put my head back on my hand and clsoed my eyes. When I looked at my hand it was all black and smeary and I realized that I'd been crying my make-up off and felt retarded and then I noticed this large black man wearing a SECURITY shirt staring sympathetically at me. He came over and asked if I was o.k. and then proceeded to give me the same lecture/talk that the conductor had minutes earlier. His name was Ralston. He was from Jamaica and is a doorman at The Bowery Ballroom and some gay and lesbian club. Once again, I told him I was fine. This is what I do. I think that people think I'm younger than I am (the english email friend and co. thought I was 22--I'm not complaining) because he asked if I lived with my parents (he did). I don't mind strangers being concerned for my safety and well-being, but it does worry me. Yes, well then he gave me his number and asked for mine and I hate that stuff. Why can't people just be nice and leave it at that? The guys I like never ask for my number. Why is it always like this? I gave him a wrong number and felt bad about it. I'm always trying to be nicer to people and hoping that somehow it'll be reciprocated, but I don't think the Golden Rule was meant to apply in every single situation. I made it safely home by 3:30, ate some toast and looked at the New York Times online for jobs just out of habit.
6/25/99
It's exactly one month til my 27th birthday and it's freaking me out a bit. I'm working overtime sat. at the new library job and the dean was giving me this talk about responsibility and how I'll be the only "adult" on the weekend (the rest of the workers are work study students and graduate assts.) and it felt strange. I don't feel like an adult, but maybe that's how everyone feels. For the past 3 weeks or so I've been seeing this t-shirt that says in this curvy, baseball-type script: "Queens" and then below that, "School of hard knocks." I love this shirt, but I only see teenage hispanic males wearing it. I've been wanting to ask where I can buy this shirt, but I don't like asking strangers these types of questions. But at work today I noticed this work study student wearing one and I asked the most asinine, "adult" question in the world, "what does that shirt mean?" I can't believe I said that. That's the kind of thing someone so out of the loop would ask me as a teenager about a band shirt or something just showing how stupid and far removed they are. But I asked because I don't know if it means something other than the obvious, you know? He just looked at me and said, "I live in Queens." O.k. so the shirt has a literal meaning, but I just wanted to be sure. Yeah, so I bonded with this "kid" Henry and he told me you can only buy them at Von's (I have no idea what Von's is) in Corona or at the Queens Mall and that they've got hats, shirts, backpacks, etc. and he gave me the number of the place. I'm very excited. I think I'll go buy a shirt either sun. or mon. after work.
Later: well I did some researching and the School of Hard Knocks thing does sort of have a meaning in its own way.
6/22/99
I'm so pleased to see that bad-habited, Robert Downey Jr. back in the news. And I don't get what the big deal is with Prince William not smiling in that wedding photo, but if it gets him all over the news I'm not complaining. I'm worried that Prince William is starting to look manly. I will be crushed if he goes the beefy, Macaulay Culkin route. Oh my god, speaking of kid stars gone bulky, have you seen those ads for that cable movie "Pirates of Silicon Alley" with Anthony Michael Hall playing Bill Gates (or is it Steve Jobs? I forget. Oh, it's Noah Wylie playing Steve Jobs)? It looks amazing. They even have Tears for Fear's "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" playing in the background. I can't wait (even though I don't have cable).
6/21/99
This is really hard to convey, but I'll try and condense it. The other night around 7:00 I was walking to the subway and I noticed this guy with a large box standing in front of Payless shoes and for some reason he looked out of place, he just didn't fit into the neighborhood. Now that I think about it, he seemed like a Hassidic Jew, but wasn't wearing the outfit, he had a long red beard and glasses. As I walked by he handed me this handful of stuff. It turned out to be a 2 pair pack of Sabra stretch nylon foot covers in suntan (you know, those gross little pantyhose things that just go over your feet that they often have a shoe stores to try on shoes) and these two staples sheets of legal sized paper jam packed with haphazzard typewritten text. It's this "propoganda" that really caught my attention. I just don't get it. I wish I could reproduce the whole thing here because it's insane. In bold at the top it reads, SOME WAYS TO IMPROVE "QUALITY OF LIFE" BY MODESTY & REAL SERVICE: RECYCLING & REUSING IDEAS AND INFORMATION then it starts going on about how you shouldn't shy away from stockings out of fear of ruining the environment because there are so many uses for used stockings and lists a ton like making bracelets, to catch lint by attaching some to your washing machine hose, etc. Then it says ONE PERSON COLLECTING & REDISTRIBUTING ITEMS TO RECYCLE: Robert D. Caggiano and gives an address in my neighborhood. Now here's the demented part and I'm going to type it out because it's too good for me to paraphrase. 1). If you are a group using clothing to make things, you may ask him, because he keeps it until it's needed. 2). He gives free Nylon hosiery and Pedicures to ladies and girls, so call him for an appointment. 3). If you are going shoe shopping, and you need help choosing what to buy, ask him to go with you for advice. 4) If you need a new pair of hosiery for you or your daughter(s), but don't have time to go to the store, he can bring it to you. B) HOW ROBERT NEEDS YOUR HELP: 1) He's doing interviews for a survey about all types of hosiery: what was worn before and now, the reasons, likes and dislikes, and problems and needs. You msy write it, have a conversation by phone, or make an appointment for him to visit. 2) He needs to translate these flyers into other languages, so if you speak or write any besides English, please call him. 3) He is taking pictures of hosiery & footwear style combinations and problems for a documentary study, and you could be paid for foot modeling. P.S.: TO MEET ROBERT, call his boss Viorica (vee'-or-ee'-kah) at 718-366-1456 between 7 and 10 P.M. any day. This is nuts, right? It's not just me? The whole next page is filled with fashion tips and this giant detailed section about THE "ASIAN INFLUENCE STYLE" and goes in depth on how the ladies wear their hosiery in China, Korea, Japan, The Philipines, Myanmar (formerly Burma), and India. You also get some bits on making you pantyhose "retro" or "modern" (modern means wearing them with "Skechers" or "Birkenstocks"). Then at the very end of the page is this section in bold print about a "very important organization," the Jewish Task Force and lists all the air times for their cable show and give the URL for their website. I really want to figure out this Robert D. Caggiano character, but I'm a little scared. Should I be alarmed by this asia-phile, foot fetishist, Jew power freak who lives just down the street? I could use a pedicure, that much I know.
6/19/99
"Why are people so mean to me!? Why are people so rotten to me!?" That's what I was bawling last night. It was horrible. These past two weeks have been a bit trying. I mean I was completely hysterical in public last night and that's not the sort of thing I'm proud of. You see those people crying who just look like a wreck in bars, restaurants, on the street, wherever and it seems pathetic and you wonder why they can't control themselves or at least go home or something. Maybe that's just how I think. But I'm starting to have some sympathy for them. Who knows what horribleness they have to put up with. Hmm...I was having a fairly nice week. I really hit it off with the boy I met off the internet. And I don't mean it like that. I don't meet guys off the internet. Somehow I began this daily correspondence with this guy in England (well, not somehow--I don't want to say how, it's embarassing--we're both on the Belle and Sebastian mailing list and I emailed him a question about what label this other band's record was on and then it went from there and it wasn't like romantic or sexual or anything, just friendly chit-chat, you know?) back in Nov. and he decided to visit n.y. with 2 friends because none of them had ever been to America and we were having a good time hanging out, etc. and maybe it was a bit of a diversion from my recent obsession and who isn't flattered by attention. I'm sure that a lot of my excitement came from being on a stalker rebound, but with all that aside, we hit it off better than expected. I mean everything that was wrong about the recent obsession was right with this guy--we both have the same taste in books, movies, music (well, I'm not a big Wu Tang Clan fan), love bathroom humor and vile, lewd stories, are loud foul-mouthed drunks, and are hypochondriacs. Then last night we were hanging out and he went all weird and out of nowhere decided to up and leave. I got him to come back and sit down and then like 15 minutes later he just disappeared. He didn't say goodbye, he didn't tell anyone where he was going and this was his last night here so it was totally baffling to me. His friends said that's just how he is--he gets in moods and takes off and doesn't show up til the next day and feels bad about his behavior and maybe that's fine by them, but it really bothers me. I don't know why people pull crap on me all the time. I have serious issues with people ignoring me or turning on me and maybe I'm not even really upset about a near stranger not saying good-bye, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back and caused me to lose it. Everyone said that's it's not me, it's the guys I like, but my sister said that I must do something to invite the malajusted into my life and I tend to agree with her. But I don't know what it is that I'm doing or I'd stop it. I can't figure out if I give off some vibe (that's so powerful it comes across even in email) that draws the unstable to me or if in some way I attach myself to these off-kilter people without even realizing it. Maybe it's symbiotic (or is that parasitic?). I'm not sure. I'm thinking that I should find a guy who's like an accountant, wears Dockers, goes to the gym, and enjoys sports bars and movies starring Bruce Willis. Of course I'd be bored, but at least I'd know what to expect from them and I'm pretty sure they'd say good-bye.
6/15/99
I very rarely answer my phone, maybe 15% of the time. It eliminates a lot of unneccessariness. Tonight I decided to pick it up whenever it rang. As a result I switched my long distance to AT&T (I hung up on them last week, but they offered $100 and I couldn't say no). Then I got a call from that company that normally just sends me questionnaires, National Family Opinion, asking me questions like do you suffer from anxiety (yes), tension (yes), fatigue (yes), dizziness (yes), irritability (YES), and whether or not I'd ever been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder (yes). Then they went from that line of questioning right into, "Answer if you watch any of these TV shows--always, occasionally, or never: 'Third Rock From the Sun' (occasionally), 'Frasier' (occasionally), 'ER' (occasionally), 'Touched By An Angel (NEVER)." Now they're going to send me some video to watch next tues. and call me later for my response. THIS is what happens when you answer the phone. Well, I also got a long distance call from a friend I wanted to talk to which wasn't bad, a call from the English boy saying he was too hungover to out tonight and that he'd been puking at Ellis Island--beautiful, and I just got one while typing this from a friend wanting to know why I didn't show up at this performance thing in Brooklyn (dur, it's a performance in Brooklyn). I think I'll go back to my answering machine/screening process tomorrow. The last time I let my guard down (last Mon., not yesterday), I had just put on The Beach Boys, turned on the shower, was in my underwear and got the urge to pick up the phone only to be greeted by the voice of my (former, o.k.?) stalkee. Yes, I'm going back to screening.
6/14/99
Wow, I just went to my neighborhood grocery store that normally plays the worst poppy/dancey/techno crap imaginable, but as I walked in I was greeted by the beautiful sounds of John Cougar's "Small Town." I was in heaven. I even sang along, which is something I rarely do. Then I couldn't believe my ears--the Beach Boy's "Wouldn't It Be NIce" came on next! They actually played songs from the two cd's I bought last weekend to cheer myself up. It was nuts and I know it was especially for me. Really.
6/13/99
I've always said that that the test of whether or not a guy is a gem is if he'd come out to Queens. I mean, I've lived in this apt. for almost a year, a not a single gentleman caller has made the journey and I think that's sad. Well, I finally found a taker (though I'm sure that his being foreign and drunk probably had something to do with his willingness). And the strange thing is that there wasn't even any shagging--just some good natured "snogging" (that's the grossest word in the world for making-out--I don't know about those English). Yes, the kindness of strangers.
6/11/99
Funniest thing I've seen in 24 hours: an x-large t-shirt with an airbrushed bucktoothed, Bugs Bunny wearing a Puerto Rican flag bandana on his head. In haphazard letters next to Bugs, "It's all good." You know, In all my life I've never had a sit-down, face to face discussion with an object of obsession. It's very adult. So, that's what I had to do last night and I was all scared to go and I was wondering how the heck I always get myself into these predicaments and as I was approaching the subway--there was my good ol' friend Benny. I knew I'd be o.k. This morning I was coming out of the subway to head to work and heard someone say hi and it was this guy, Chris Wright, that I went to college with in Portland that I really didn't know that well, but he went crazy and was making homemade gasoline and storing it in his locker and used to call my friend Jessica all the time and freak her out. All I remember about him was that he had the same birthday as me and that at the beginning of freshman year I had some sexual dream with him in it and it really creeped me out because I wasn't into him and I rarely have erotic dreams. Ah, memories. Most absurd thing said to me in 24 hours: "I don't love you."
Later: I'm coming down off of my mature, well-adjusted high from yesterday. I still feel sick and obsessed even though I'm not supposed to. This is the first fri. night I haven't gone out in over 6 months and it just feels weird. I'm not sure if sulking and wallowing is the best hobby for a person. Sometimes I worry that my brain isn't wired right. I mean, I thought I had more sense than this.
6/9/99
Sometimes people can be alright. I've already been included in an after work "happy hour" plan (I was at americanbaby.com for almost 6 months and no one even said hi). I spoke on the phone with my english email friend who'll be here sat. and he actually seems like a very nice guy. The best part was when he told me I'd never guess who he saw on the train from London--Tom Courtenay. I know that name might not mean anything to anyone, but he's like one of my favorite all-time actors. He was in two of my most liked movies, "Billy Liar" and "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" and I don't know, hearing that just made me very happy. This industrial design graduate student who had turned in his thesis on snowboards for the handicapped happened to be on the opposite subway platform when I was going home and he smiled and waved and I know that just sounds like common courtesy, but you'd be surprised how rare a thing it is these days. Then I got this survey in the mail from National Family Opinion. I don't know why, but I always fill them out just for the fun of it, but this time they included a $2 bill and it excited me. You just don't see $2 bills as often as you should.
6/8/99
This new job is shaping up nicely. I got to go home at 2 again today. Now, this matter will NEVER be spoken of again, but I had one last thing to say. I got a phone call last night from a certain young man and it was so humiliating not so much because he called, but because it was apparent that he'd been put up to it and I just can't believe that people think I'm so deranged that they need to meddle and it didn't settle anything anyway. I'm assuming he was told "you need to talk to Krista" since I'm like on the brink of a nervous breakdown or something, but all we did was chat about Coney Island, car insurance, and air conditioning, and jobs for over an hour. I mean, what was I supposed to do? It caught me off guard. I swear. I don't have a problem with spouting personal things off for the world to read. I'm not a secretive person, but people telling other people my business behind my back really freaks me out. I'm just totally appalled. And I guess he didn't know about this website even though I had the impression that he was aware of its vague existence and now I'm worried. I've got a big mouth, if you haven't noticed. May may have been transitional, but June is completely fucking nuts. I've gotten into a lot of trouble in these past 8 days. And this could just be the beginning.
6/7/99
A New Leaf. Last night there were all these warnings on the news about a dangerous heatwave and how not to go outside if you didn't have to, drink plenty of fluids/shun alcohol, stay in air conditioned environments etc. This freaked me out 1. I just don't do well in hot weather. 2. I'm the only person I know here without air conditioning in my apt. (I'm not being a whiny, complainer. I suppose it's my own cheap fault). 3. Today I started a new job in an old building with NO air conditioning. This bothered me. I don't mind using fans in my apt., but to be in the heat 24-7 is just ridiculous. So yes, I decided to turn over a new leaf today. I'm afraid it may be a scary leaf. This is phase II of my east coast existence. From June '98-Nov '98 didn't count since I was completely unsettled. Phase I spanned from Nov. '98-last weekend, but I'll say May '99 for convenience. Nov. was when I met Henry, stopped temping and got the rotten americanbaby.com job, cultivated a good set of friends (including the horrible crush gone bad). Today marks a departure from all that. I may never set foot in Manhattan again. I used to always joke about how ideal it would be to live and work in a borough and now my dream's come true. I was even thinking about seeing how long I could go without going into Manhattan, but it would have to start after next week because sat. I have this English email guy who I've never even seen (not to be a looks freak, but it does make you wonder when someone's reluctant to send a photo) and his two friends visiting and it would be rude to ignore him (even though I've been sulking and ignoring all my "real" friends' phone calls for the past three days and I think I'd better call them after I wrap this up or I may no longer have any friends) and that "Jeopardy" tryout is next week so I may have to put my brilliant plan on hold. So, I had that nervous, but excited first-day-of-school thing going on this morning and got to work and it was kind of crazy. After a year, I'd forgotten how demented library workers are. First, I had to assist this hard-of-hearing, surly, mouthy, elderly librarian, Josephine in Gov. Documents. We bonded because we're both smokers (and surly and mouthy). I think these nasty, anti-social types are drawn to these jobs because they're union and it's near impossible to get fired and your raises have nothing to do with performance--they're just mandatory every so often. She was even telling me about how it was lucky that the clerk position (my job) is union and how they're classifying most jobs as "administrative" to keep them non-union and how hard it is to get fired. But anyway, the theme of the day was extreme heat. Unbearable heat. I was glad to hear that the hours are only 9-4 including an hour lunch so that makes a short day, but still. And it was nice to be able to sit in the grass, barefooted and read and write for an hour instead of being subjected to inanity, surrounded by cubicles. But it was hot. And every building on campus is air conditioned except the library (o.k., I am a complainer--so what). So, you can imagine how excited I was at 2:00 when I was told I could go home. Something called a T.H.I. (I don't know what that stands for, I just high-tailed it out of there) was declared by the union and it has something to do with if the temperature is higher than 80 degrees before noon then the employees are allowed to go home (to an equally hot house). I don't know. It's supposed to be at least 97 tomorrow so it could happen again. Maybe I won't have to work a full day for months.
You know, everyone thinks I'm being looney for getting so worked up over this crush gone bad thing and they just aren't getting it. I'm not so retarded that I think everyone should have to like me back. And it's not like I'm so delusional that I can't deal with rejection (though it doesn't help when someone's nice to you one week and then mean to you the next). I discussed this with a friend who totally knows where I'm coming from and we decided that the reason it's such an injustice is because we semi-subconsciously/semi-intentionally go for these socially inept, non-threatening plain, dull types. Due to our lack of confidence we seek out people who are not as smart, funny, interesting, whatever (sorry, but this just cries out for a Smith's lyric [for the record, I'm doing this while laughing. I'm not nearly as depressive as my Smiths mania would imply]
I know it's over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said:
"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very entertaining
Why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very good-looking
Then why do you sleep alone tonight?
Because tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
and for them to still not like us is intolerable. That's why I'm irked. I mean how rotten is it to set your sights so low and still be disappointed? Like a month after I moved here I called my ex and he had been on all these dates and I was like "what the fuck?!" I mean, this was a freaky, middle-aged, anti-social, missing-toothed nut (who of course, I obviously liked). How was he getting dates?! I've never been on a date in my entire freakin' life. No, I'm not that pathetic--I've had a decent number of boyfriends, I've even lived with a couple of guys, but I've never been on a date. You know, where someone you just casually know asks you out to dinner or a movie or whatever. And they don't even have to pay. I swear to god, I would be perfectly happy to get cheap burritos and split the bill. Yes, I'm being that woe-is-me self-pitier that no one can stand, but I don't care. I feel I've been wronged and I don't mind if that makes me sound irrational and unstable. I'm always such a pushover good sport, letting people treat me all crappy, and internalizing and dwelling and feeling like I must've caused the mistreatment and then acting fine while seething inside and that's totally a heart attack waiting to happen. If I have to put up with one more person turning on me, I swear I'm going to have a coronary by age 30.
You know how if you have an obsession with someone you see things and think it's a sign or an omen. Well, it happened to my three times today and I've absolutely lost all faith in that superstitious crap. I chalk it up to coincidence and an annoying one at that.
1). I was reading this book Great American Short Stories and down the left margin of one of the pages someone had written that name (that I'm afraid to type) like this:
J
a
m
e
s
2). I noticed walking from work to the subway that Pratt is on St. James Street.
3). The second place prize on "Jeopardy" tonight was a trip to Antigua. The lodgings were at some resort called St. James's Place. Blech.
6/6/99
"Homegirl's depressed" If you ever want rowdy dancing, handstand-performing teenagers with a loud ghettoblaster on a subway platform at 4 am to not bug you, just put a painfully maudlin expression on your face, close your eyes, and miserably prop your head up with one hand. Last week I heard these kids trying to get my attention and I was really more sick than bummed and one guy goes, "Leave her alone. Homegirl's depressed." I don't know why, but that really busted me up. It even caused me to open my eyes and chuckle a bit. But that was last week. Now I am bummed and I was trying to be so good and I'm not going to go on about it because there's just no point, but I was working really hard on de-crushing myself and I totally got a blow that set me back. Out of the blue, the stalkee goes on a date. This guy hasn't gone out with anyone in three years, o.k., so why now? I just don't know. All I'll say is that I'm extremely sad. It's lame. It's disappointing. That's all. I just wish I didn't take things ten times harder than the average person. I remember once the retard was going on about some Oprah crap how she said that getting over bad stuff was a three-step process: Hurt, Hate, Heal. It's unfortunate that someone's getting to the final stage can bump another to the first. But then, I've always thought Oprah was full of shit. So, today I went to the Metro Mall in my neighborhood, which isn't much of a mall at all. They have a Levitz, Toys r Us, Waldbaums (a real supermarket), Fashion Bug, Pergament (a home improvement store), Sam Goody, Radio Shack, Weight Watchers, a pet store, and a Burger King. Things that cheered me up the tiniest bit: seeing a large woman in a t-shirt reading "mom@stressedout.com," looking at a discount rack of clothes with a woman with one arm (there's a disproportionate amount a maimed and crippled people in my neighborhood. It's really eerie. I'm going to start counting how many canes I see being used between the 3 blocks from my apt. to the subway.), buying s'mores makings, getting The Beach Boys "Pet Sounds" (amusing lyric, "I once had a dream so I packed up and split for the city. I soon found out that my lonely life wasn't so pretty") and John Mellencamp's "The Best That I Could Do 1978-1988." I can't recall if I've gone off on my love for John Cougar before. But yes, I absolutely love him and not in an ironic, jokey way (there's no better cure for the blahs than putting away any and all indiepop and turning on the classic rock station. How can you not smile while listening to Boston and Creedence Clearwater Revival?). Did you know that John Mellencamp smoked five packs a day, had a heart attack, and still continues to smoke? He's hard core. And before he was married his model wife Elaine Mellencamp, he was in n.y., got her number, called her and said, "You'd better go out with me or I'll hunt you down and kill you." Now, that's the spirit! Oh, and I'd been looking forever for socks that go to your knee and they're nowhere to be found which is just insane and then today at this kiosk "Tootsies" they had them 3 for $5! Unbelievable. The Metro Mall is alright (though I didn't care much for the elderly, puffy-eyed, heavily-accented woman who was trying to get me help her find something that I couldn't understand in the freezer case and kept getting spit all over me when she spoke).
6/3/99
I have an interview at Paper tomorrow and I don't really know if that's me (but then, I don't think I know what me is). It conjures up nightmarish images of an interview I had at "Interview" when I first moved here. I didn't particularly want to be a photo asst. and once I got to talking with the woman in charge I really didn't want the job and I thought the interview was over and then she said, "now you can take the 'pop culture quiz'" and I started laughing because I thought it was a joke and people who bandy about the term pop culture like it's o.k. freak me out. It was so gross-just a list of about 30 names and you had to write what they were known for and it was a bunch of do-nothings like Sophia Coppolla. After I'd identified all the artists, designers and whatever authors like Douglas Coupland, there were still like 15 names left. I failed the test. I always thought that pop culture was like taste shared by the masses--hence the word popular in the phrase, but I guess I was wrong. Unrelated: my friend Jane is throwing a "prom" sat. Stop in and say hi. If all goes as planned, I'll be the dateless girl with the fake tan, streaked mascara, bawling in the corner with a bottle of peach schnapps (or Zima or Boone's Farm--I can't decide which is most accurate yet). You know, all dinner theater-style. I thought about giving birth and leaving the bloody doll/baby in the bathroom trash. I'm still entertaining the idea. Or maybe I'll just be good-natured and nondescript.
6/2/99
It's extremely hot and muggy, which is just gross in and of itself. But it really freaked me out to see this older gentleman walking past me with an open carton of milk in a plastic bag all wino-style (I know drunks prefer paper to plastic, but it had the same effect). That just seemed really wrong to me and I was thinking about it a little too hard and then realized he'd stopped a few feet from me and was chugging the entire carton and holding it with both hands like it was the tastiest, most quenching drink he'd ever had in his life! Maybe that doesn't bother anyone but me. I think this is going to be a long summer.
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