March 03

++++++++++++

phone home

3/27/03
Fashion is funny. I don't follow it much, but it's always amusing when the things you like are in style (of course the problem being that once they're no longer "in" look like a loser). There's that sexy retro thing with pencil skirts and stilettos, which is a good look but totally not something I can pull off because I have hips like someone's whose had numerous children and I'm scared of walking on subway stairs in high heels. Then there's that simple, breezy '50s look with a-line skirts, blousey, button-up shirts, cardigans and super cute flats and kitten heels in bright colors, that I'm hoping will stay around for a while because I own that stuff, it's practical and flattering. Then there's this sort of hybrid '50s casual look mixing with '80s tacky and I’m not sure what to think about that. Like I was at Urban Outiftters last night, which I rarely shop at but I'd read about a couple pairs of shoes they carry that caught my eye and it's a block from school and work. And in the shoe section they had all these old '80s flats, right out of middle school, Highlights brand, which was the cheap, white trash scum brand from Payless Shoes. I don't know, it was just wrong. I didn't care to see what they were charging for them. God, I need to go raid some suburban thrift store. And I know people who live out of the big cities might argue that their thrift stores are all picked over, overpriced crap, too, but it's got to be better than NYC. There's this Time-Life foods of the world series that's been at every thrift store since the dawn of time (or at least the '70s) and they might've sold for $1.99 some years back. I know Goodwill's upscaled a bit and maybe they're like $3.99 (though that seems high). Anyway, I've been wanting this series for a while and while in Philadelphia this weekend found a used book store that had shitloads of them and they were charging $10.98, which is insane. I don't really think they're collectable, I just want them. The east coast…I swear. Today at the gym in Conde Nast Traveler I saw some section on gold chic and they had this Ana Sui sweater with kitschy golf appliques on it, and I was like damn I've got like 7-8 of those things growing moss at home. I have all these cheap, acrylic sweaters, some golf, some with animal themes: frogs, sheep, owls, koalas, and funny sayings embroidered on the sleeves (like one with frogs on the front and down the left arm "You have to kiss a lot of toads" and the right arm "to find your Prince Charming") and are all the same '70s looking brand Andreno Argenti. I used to wear them a lot, but haven't touched in the last almost-five years I've lived here. One, because they just seemed un-stylish, and two, because they're really snug (they're all mediums) and have become even snugger over the past few years. Now the corny golf sweater is in (well, the Anna Sui version, at least). I'm going to drag and dust off those damn things right now.

3/25/03
You know, I was just about ready to blame all my recent bouts with hives on the Atkin's diet because in the past few weeks that I've been eating good ol' sugar and flour I've been feeling fit as a fiddle, no weird rashes…until yesterday…and then again today. Drats. On the way home from work, my left hand started tingling and swelled up like a rubber glove filled with water. Wasn't that part of some Halloween party game, like that would be the dead man's hand, and peeled grapes would be eyes, and so on, and you'd pass the fake, creepy body parts around a darkened room. As a kid, I always thought that'd be really cool, but it's not like I ever threw Halloween parties. It was hard enough getting 4-5 fickle friends together for a lame slumber party. I'm really mad at myself because I have this paper due tomorrow night and I spent all day at work writing it (well, it's spring break at Parson's so it's slow, and then like all these people called in sick, so I figured I'd just take it easy, myself) then emailed it to myself to finish up this evening after watching 24. Well, I'm so retarded that I emailed myself but forgot to attach the document and so I'm here and my paper is on my hard drive at work. Anyway, I should go do something school-related like read lots of really dull stuff about how to find and use maps and government documents. Or try and learn how to use Power Point. Or look for last year's taxes (that I never filed) to give to financial aid. The fun never stops, does it?

3/20/03
So, Saturday is James' birthday and I got it into my head to make reservations at Morimoto in Philadelphia. Very Iron Chef. There's nothing like blowing money you don't have, right? I was just figuring that if we did the top of the line omakase (they come in levels: $80, $100 or $120) that it would cost exactly one week's gross wages. Granted, my $240/week reflects a part-time schedule, but still…ouch. That's not even taking tax, tip and spendy drinks into account. Oh well. I'd naively assumed that I'd have my student loan refund by now, considering my loan supposedly went through Feb. 5, I signed a promissory note the middle of last month and have received paperwork from the loan company telling me I owe them over $15,000. I've lost my shit about 10 times this week with financial aid folks, bursars, etc. Every single person I call asks confrontationally, NYC-style, "why are you calling me and what do you want?" and proceeds to tell me I need to talk to somebody else, who in turn gets pissed that I'm asking simple questions and tells me to talk to someone else. In fact, after I get done here I have to call them up again. Earlier this week I was told they'd mail me a check on Monday. This morning I called again because I was told I wouldn't be allowed to register for fall because I had a hold on my account and owed them money from spring still (funny, I’m being held accountable for $15,000 and the school still hasn't credited my account) and they asked, "would you like a refund from the balance." Uh, isn't that what I asked for earlier in the week and was told I would receive next week? This person told me they'd already cut checks for the week and mine would be cut March 31. I think I'm going to stab somebody.

3/16/03
Spring is so sexy. I forget sometimes. It’s still five days till it’s official, but the weather’s been jumping the gun, what with it getting into the 60s today. It’s not as if I took advantage, all I did all day was sit inside and do homework, which is incredibly unsexy (in fact, I didn’t even go out Friday or Saturday, which is sort of pathetic – but I figured James being out of town [it’s his dad’s birthday and his own next weekend so a family get together was imminent and better for him to go there than for them to come here]) then briefly stepped out to try this new pizza by the pound place PIE, around the corner (what’s up with all the pizza frenzy lately? New Yorkers have gone totally nuts opening all these new places). I’d been thinking about moving my Singapore/Thailand trip to August instead of May because I don’t really have legitimate time off from my new job, and now with all the scary respiratory disease warnings, I don’t know what to think. I may be a hypochondriac, but my S.E. Asian food fixation is even stronger. The threat of mysterious deadly pneumonia/bioterrorism can’t keep me away from those hawker stalls.

3/13/03
The night before last I a dream with fleeting images of mice or rodents running towards a bed. Actually it was supposed to be a mouse I think, but the picture I remember was of this fluffy gray, thing maybe like a chinchilla. When I woke up yesterday there was mouse droppings on my kitchen counters and I haven't seen any in months. I got all paranoid that my dream was inspired by real rats padding around my bed. Later I was walking down Fourth Ave. to the store and for some reason got that image of the gray furry puffy rodent creature in my head again, looked to my left and saw this squirrel standing next to a pile of garbage bags in front of an apartment. It freaked me out because squirrels don't hang out on sidewalks next to buys, loud, eight-lane streets (at least I don't think they do), it seemed oddly out of place and it also gave me pause because its tail was exactly like the image I had in my head at that very moment, if you could imagine a creature whose fur is all like a squirrel tail (maybe it was a hedgehog in my dream?). I'd caught up to these women with strollers and little kids and the squirrel darted out and ran right in front of our feet towards the street and they kids started shrieking (with delight) but I was totally creeped out. That squirrel was ominous. Today I was supposed to get my millionth biopsy, but thank god after spraying vinegar all over the place (I think in the past I've been treated to swabs, but this doctor uses a spray bottle like she's misting some parched plant. I've never understood how vinegar makes potentially pre-cancerous cervical cells turn white, hence visible to the eye) and poking around it was decided that no samples needed to be taken after all. I was relieved to be able to high tail it out of there unscathed, but I smelled like an antipasto platter or something. Ick. Afterwards, I went to Sephora across the street to try for a better scent and ended up sampling the unfortunately named Ibiza Hippie. It smelled like a sandy, sweaty, stringy-haired, tan girl sucking on a strawberry lollipop – totally not me – but much better than smelling like vinaigrette.

3/12/03
In addition to bringing sack lunches and not living in Manhattan, I just thought of two more library worker personality traits that I share: not owning a cell phone (it’s the only environment I've been in where people aren't shocked to hear you still rely on old fashioned telephones. I could understand the dismay if you were still using a rotary dial, otherwise c'mon) and liking to drink (librarians are total lushes, not alcoholics mind you, just big drinkers). Sunday James and I were all excited to go check out Costco since he'd been given a membership for Christmas, but he ended up forgetting the paperwork at homes so that bright idea was nixed. Fortunately, out in Union, NJ there are plenty of other diversions like Target, Wal Mart, IHOP and the biggest, best Hong Kong Supermarket ever. The weird thing about the Costco Christmas present is that it from my friend Jessica and it struck me that she never gave me a Christmas present. I don't know if I should be dismayed or not, especially since I haven't given Christmas presents to friends either. I have them, too, even though I'd declared the past two Christmases gift exchange free due to financial dire straits. But my life is so half-assed that the once a week or so that I actually see friends I don't have my gifts on me. I usually see people on weekends, I stay at James' on weekends and my gifts are at my house and I don't have the foresight to bring them with me on Friday or Thursday or whenever. Anyway, now that it's almost mid-March and my two friends whose presents I posses are both having birthdays in a matter of weeks (James' birthday is also during the same time frame – this glut of celebrations is tough on the underpaid, part-time worker's pocketbook) it seems stupid to give them now. Like I may as well just give them in addition to birthday presents. I'll rectify the situation somehow. However, I still find it odd that James received a Christmas present from my friend when I did not. Do I have issues or something? I mean I'm equally guilty of not gift-giving. So, it's my spring break – shouldn't I be in Daytona or Ft. Lauderdale or some grotesque location for the next Girls Gone Wild tape? It looks like I'll be spending today and the rest of the week finishing all these assignments due next week that I've had a month to work on. That's no way to spend spring break, and on top of that I hear it's supposed to snow again tomorrow. What gives with this hideous weather, it may as well be Christmastime.

3/6/03
A couple weekends ago I had to stop in Peggy O'Neill's to do a review. It's a pretty generic Irish pub/sports bar, but of note was their roster of cover bands. Even on their webpage they mention tributes to Rush, Dave Matthews, Heart – can you imagine? But what caught my eye was Pink Houses, a John Cougar tribute band scheduled for last Sat. I'm a huge John Cougar fan (not of his recent stuff, so much) so I was so there. I got a group together and headed down to Bay Ridge, there was actually a door guy trying to wrestle $10 per person and the place was totally empty. No way, we did cough up $20 for the five of us. We kept speculating as to the age of the band, what they'd be like, etc. It was weird, the usual Bay Ridge types were at the bar, but in the back was a small group of out-of-place youngsters – was this the band and entourage? Well, the singer turned out to be a mid-20s hottie (I don't use that word much but it sort of fits in this case) that we couldn't figure out. The whole thing was nuts, he very much had the John Cougar raspy voice, and I'm not sure if they got better as the night wore on or if we were drunker, but they seemed to get more and more accurate with each song. Minus the Huey Lewis-looking guitarist (about the age of the real Huey Lewis) with the polar fleece vest with no shirt underneath, the band appeared to be pretty young. Who are these people and where did they come from? I'm 90% sure they don't live in NYC, Long Island or New Jersey were the best guesses. The guys and their girlfriends had this look like they might be sort of cool where they come from, but it's not a hip urban look, if that makes any sense. Like the singer had this slightly shaggy, floppy hair and guy necklace (which is usually gross) that was more stylized than rough. And the fact that he was playing with the Huey Lewis guy implies a small town (ha, no pun intended) like there are only so many musicians around so you get together with whoever. And the women and girls with them didn't quite fit the Bay Ridge low-rise jeans, long horse hair mold, but weren't polished or skinny enough to be from the city either (God, yesterday's Time Out has the cover story, "Why America is Fat and New York is Skinny," which is a load of crap. Like how 6 out of 10 Americans are supposed to be overweight, but the author doesn't see any fatties in the course of his day. Granted, I don't know any fat people, none of my friends or coworkers (well, a few fellow students) are obese. My family (not in NYC)…that's a totally different story. Oh no, it is true. New Yorkers are very special people. Even they acknowledge that's only true in certain pockets, primarily in Manhattan and NYC is not only Manhattan, duh. It's one of those self-congratulatory articles that New Yorkers love where it emphasizes how different we are from middle America: better-paid, higher-educated, better looking, always-on-the-go, cultured, fast-talking, determined, successful anomalies. Whatever. What I did find interesting is that Sunset Park is about 20% overweight, lower than Williamsburg, but I think that's only because they lumped Bushwick in with the Williamsburg count and everyone knows Hispanics and blacks are fatter than whites, right?) So, now I'm all obsessed with Pink Houses. Maybe I should become a groupie.

3/5/03
Those porn ads in my junk mail folder (I recently set my filter higher on Hotmail and now I get like almost no mail at all – it's said when smut peddlers are more eager to write you than the people you actually know) are getting trickier with their subject headings. It's easy to delete "Urgent Information" or "We have our own webiste!," but "You Retard" really makes me want to click because it's totally conceivable that someone could be calling me a retard and I'd want to know what they had to say. Unfortunately the message just said, "Click here Kinky Celeb sexxx." Boring. So, I started my new job this week and I haven't done the traditional library thing in a while so I'd forgotten how it was such my environment. Like everyone penny pinches, brings sack lunches, no one lives in Manhattan, it's all boroughs or NJ and no one clarifies or deprecates like "I live in Jersey City, yeah I know it sucks, but I live right on the train line" or makes points about how close it really is to Manhattan or how not bad the commute is or how surprisingly pretty the neighborhood is, there's even one guy who lives in Ridgewood, Queens. The irony is that I'm sure most of the college work study students live in Manhattan and eat out all the time. Spoiled, subsidized teens are the worst. And these expensive, NYC-educated kids are the ones who get all the jobs after graduation and totally sully the culture of an office with their tastes and expectations. I feel all ragged, and its not that my work and school schedule is unreasonable, it's just the commuting is getting to me, it's such a time-waster. I haven't been coming home at all, so my house never gets cleaned, errands don't get run, bills don't get paid, and my website doesn’t get updated. See, James live only 3 blocks from work and 4 from school so it's so much easier to just go there, especially since I get out at 9pm many nights, then have to turn around the next day and be back in the neighborhood at 8:30am. I'm really only home now Tues-Thurs. and Thursday night I go over there so I can walk to my 8:30am Friday class because I can sleep till 8am there but have to get up at 6:45am here and I'm lazy. Last night I got off work at 9pm and just wanted to come home, not a big deal at that time, maybe 35 min. on only one train, and it turned out that my entire subway line N/R/Q/W wasn't running. I mean you can't just stop an entire subway line. Those trains go everywhere: Astoria, Coney Island, Bay Ridge, all through Manhattan. I decided to try the 4/5 and figured I could switch to my line once we got into Brooklyn but it turned out there was no N/R/Q/W running, not even at Pacific-Atlantic. It was a total mob scene at the station, everyone was crammed because there were too many people trying to get on and off trains and on stairs and people were yelling and pushing and I was like we are such goners if a fire breaks out. All I could think was that someone had better be dead or getting terrorized by religious extremists. All they'd say was there was an "incident" at Time's Sq. (it turned out that there was a construction elevator near Times Sq. that was having a problem with its 4-ton counter-weight up in the air and they were afraid vibrations from the trains would make it fall so they closed the entire subway station. I still don't quite understand how that effects trains already running in Brooklyn and Queens). The only thing keeping me from totally losing my shit was knowing that I live on a busline that services the Pacific-Atlantic stop. I just wanted to get the hell out of the station before someone got stabbed. Of course, I wasn't the only one who had this bright idea. I mean everyone who needed to go S and SE into Brooklyn was trainless. I actually managed to get a seat on the bus and it wasn't so bad for the first 15 blocks, then we got to where the next big subway hub is at 9th St. and all hell broke loose, people outside pried the back door open (no one was getting off) and started climbing on like animals and everyone was screaming at each other. So third world. If I'd had the foresight I would've brought a chicken and a goat on with me. I didn't get home until 10:30pm. That's the reason I'm never home anymore. What should be a 35min. commute always becomes a trauma. I don't work today, but I have a class from 6:30-9pm and I swear the travel time there and back is as long as the class time. But I can't always schlep over to James's because all I do over there is watch cable while he works (he works all night, I'll go to bed at 2am and he's still working) and get tempted by all his junk food (there's candy, cookies and chips stashed throughout the place) and that's totally unproductive when I have a million things that need to be done here. Maybe I just need to move to a nice suburb and buy a car…life would be grand.