Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Wheeeeeeee! He won!

See, Jamie, this is why you should have gone to Yale instead of Harvard. We luhs you the mostest. But you dropped out of the bastid farm (for brown men, anyway), so all is forgiven. Congrats, you sexy thang! Also, holymuddafug! Broke his neck? Zoster? Wha?

This is tragic

Amazing how quickly a single event can bring such great destruction to a city, or in this case, a whole region. Here's hoping y'all down in Mississippi and Lousiana are safe!

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Bah, Monday was my last day of vacation. This displeases me. You know those people who say they just wouldn't know what to do with themselves if they didn't work, that they'd keep working even if they came into money? I'm not one of them. I could probably be good at being idle rich for a good five years before I got bored and found some ambition. Seriously. For instance, my mission today? Get my teeth cleaned, Target, clean apartment. Three things. I finished around 9 PM. I took a nap between the teeth and the Target. I feel no shame at this, whatsoever. Despite the fact that I went to Target for cleaning supplies for my apartment scrub-fest, I managed to pick up an eye cream from the new Boots Botanics line. I have yet to try it, but it was reasonably priced and came in fancy Origins-esque* packaging. It's funny, because the Boots section even had its own little makeup counter and rep. Nevermind that Boots is the UK equivalent of Rite Aid. It's an import to us, bitches, and imports is high class! I mean, if Rimmel and Garnier can jump the pond, why not Boots? Damn, I miss the yew-kay. I also spent a lot of money at Target, but I feel totally justified in doing so because I was re-stocking essentials like Swiffer refills, mouthwash and tampons. Plus, I found almost $30 in spare change when I cleaned my apartment. Thirty bucks! Of money I just bleeding put down and forgot about! That's like getting a third off my Target purchase! Okay, not really. But you get the idea. I can't believe I've been letting that much money just gather dust on my coffee tables. Meh. I am getting old. I'da been spent that in grad school. Sheeeeit, a pitcher of PBR (okay, this was in Boston, well before I fully realized the extent of the evil hipster empire, so don't go waggin' fingers) in the right bar'll only set you back $7. Dang. Now I'll be using that money for coffee. Or something. *Random-as-hell point: I had the biggest crush on the graduate fellow in my residential college. He was wire-rims and button-downs sexy. His last name was Levesque. The -esque reminded me. That is all.

Monday, August 29, 2005

There just are no words.

I keep giving great heaving sighs. I can't even work up a good rant. I just...jesusfuckingchrist. Asstards. Hipster asstards. Via Maryann. Go for the asstards. Stay for the "Jellyman Kelly"! Edit: Okay, so I found the words. I'm no stranger to socially crossing racial boundaries. And as an Ivy-grad, I'm certainly no stranger to the kind of outrageous sense of self-righteousness and entitlement that a certain kind of white boy possesses--the kind that just comes up with newer and more creative expressions of contempt couched in humor. We all know the type--they insult and degrade with a smirk, and when called on it, they cry humor, irony, you-just-don't-get-it, you're-too-uptight. The thing that scares me is that, in their little whitewashed, narrow minds, I think some of them truly believe they are being positive, are trying to break down boundaries. That the people who are calling bullshit really are the ones holding back the march of progress. That we really shouldn't be offended when they take something, mock it, turn it to their own use, lock us out and call it respect, admiration. That they're doing us a favor. You know, same old. Irony. Humor. Entertainment. I keep getting stuck on that whole irony claim, though. The fact that they have taken a fringe-element of hip-hop, started spinning it at all-white "Kill Whitey" parties in which they are supposedly killing the whiteness within, for a bunch of hipster numbnuts who are then stupid enough to actually admit they come to the parties to GET AWAY FROM THE KINDS OF PEOPLE WHO CREATE HIP-HOP, that they are deliberately creating all-white environments in which to "celebrate" the death of their inner whiteness, that they are walling themselves apart in order to allegedly tear down walls...the irony of that seems somehow to be lost on them. Fucking hipsters. Just stop. Just go ahead and give up your retail job and start your tedious white-collar career and move to Jersey and start your family with a spouse you hate only slightly more than you hate your children. Because no matter how you tart yourselves up, you're still suburban tourists. Bitches.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

A recipe for childhood revisited.

Unlimited Koolaid (red) Elios pizza, toasted VHS video What's yours?

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Why in hell are people so enamored of Phantom?

It is the most irritating musical, as I believe Amanda once said in regard to something totally different, "in the history of evar." I'm not even talking about last year's Joel Schumacher production, though it is what spurred this little post. It's the actual text, the content of the thing. Every character is annoying as shit. Christine seems to be a spineless bit of fluff who'll let herself be blown (heh) any way a domineering male character will blow 'er. The Phantom is batshit crazy. There is nothing healthy about lusting after someone you met when she was 7, mmmkay? Eew. Just...eew. And stop killing people, asshole. Raoul is, let's speak plainly, named motherfucking Raoul. Goddamned waste of 141 minutes if you ask me. Shit like this just doesn't happen with colored people. What is it about wispy little 18-year-old white girls that inspires so much drama? Damn. I'd rather be forced to watch Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge on a loop. Okay, not really. Taste the Haterade! It's derishus.

Friday, August 26, 2005

As if you care.

So. That there Freddie Fekkai shea butter hair mask I bought last night? Very nice. Since I always get really excited about a new product and tend to not actually know if my hair really is better for its use, I did some before and afters. Before: After: Oh, Freddie. I love you. Love, love, love. Next time, let's try a threesome with Terry--you before the shampoo and Ter after. Because a girl can never have too much of a good thing, eh? Or can she?

Always the last to know.

I'm sure you all read this blog already. My late ass is just now hopping on the bandwagon, thanks to Maryann.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Sweet baby Jesus, I've lost the will to live.

And by "to live," I mean shop, eat delicious fancy things, drink, or generally otherwise spend money on beautiful frivolities. Case in point: I've had about 3 days off now (technically it was supposed to be 2, but nobody told me I'd be needed that first day and it never occurred to me to call in to check because, damn, I thought I had the day off, I mean, did I not have over 100 hours on call last week, jeebus? So woops, my bad. *snort*) and I am only today doing anything besides clean, sleep, watch DVDs or workout. And I almost didn't make it today. I mean, I was planning to spend the afternoon shopping just because I finally have the time off and I can, but I opted to take a nap. A nap. I finally dragged my bleary-eyed arse out around 6, hoping that actually seeing lovely frivolous things would perk me up. First stop, Housing Works, a thrift shop on Columbus and 76thish. I've been to Housing Works one other time--when I first moved to the city and needed flatware. I got a nifty bridal-worthy set of service for four for $30. Today I popped in just before closing and only managed to pick up some CDs--this one, this one, this one and this one. Then I moseyed down the street peeking into accessory-shop windows, but nothing really tickled my fancy. There was, in fact, no fancy to tickle. Not a single goddamned sparkly thing set my heart aflutter. Neither shoe, nor hat, nor a spangly, dangly bauble. I meh'd my way down Columbus and then took a little detour down to Broadway, stopping only in Off Broadway Boutique (139 W72nd, where the card reads "If you're the kind of woman who enjoys being a woman, craves caviar before noon, gets a kick out of sculpture, and loves making an entrance, Off Broadway is definitely for you!") for a lookie-lou before sulking off to Urban for what I thought would be a spirit-rousing session of sneering and disdain, and, with any luck, enormously discounted housing items. Ahem. Not to be. I got there, found most of the goodies--er, trend-monkey schlock--no better nor worse than I have ever seen, and couldn't muster a single genuine sneer. In fact, I almost paid full price for the "Best Girls Are Black" pillow. Craziness. I didn't, of course, but the impulse was there, and I am mildly ashamed. In a last-ditch effort, I hied myself over to the Sephora at Columbus Circle for prettifiers and yummy-smelling things. This always puts me in a good mood. Always. Er. Now I have to amend that to usually. Don't get me wrong. I did some damage up in that piece. But none of it made me tingle in my secret places, if you knows what I means. My take: Lorac lip/cheek Sheer Wash in Sheer Emotion--for the upcoming winter, when I go all pasty-yellah, because when I can be assed to prettify, it usually consists of mascara, lip balm and this kind of thing, period. Philosophy Lemonade shampoo/shower gel/bubble bath--I'm a lemon-citrus-ginger-sweetness scent whore, okay? If I were allowed one scent on earth to wear forever, I think I'd go citrus, because you almost cannot go wrong. A teeny travel-sized Fekkai shea butter hair mask to treat my locks overnight tonight, after my lemonande bath, o'course. Peter Thomas Roth Potent Botanical Skin Brightening Gel Complex, to keep spotting to a minimum--I started on it last summer and never went back. Brightening, indeed. PTR Ultra-lite Oil-Free Sunblock, SPF30--because what the sam-hell is the point of bleaching out your freckles and spots with the other stuff it you're going to subject your skin to spottifying sunrays, anyway? L'Occitane tinted shea butter balm in Miel, a perfect nude pinky-beige I only really started to perk up when I hit the Bed, Bath and Beyond on 60whateverth and Broadway on the way home. I got a bunch of magnetic spice tins epices, some cutting boards and a two-liter pitcher in which to make jugs of iced instant green tea, given to me by my best bud J, who picked it up when she went to visit her folks in Korea. Holy hell, I was excited about all that. I damn-near drooled on the locked glass case with all the Wusthoff knives, leered in the general direction of several small, colorful kitchen appliances, and almost cried when I realized they didn't have my Swiffer refills. My god, the emotion! Go figure. I'm gonna go take my bath and curl up with some tea and a book like the crotchety old bootch I apparently am. Tomorrow, I'll try to be more exciting. Maybe I'll see that virgin movie and actually buy snacks at the theater or something equally outrageous. Oh, yeah, another soap-castmember sighting. I dunno what show. For chrissakes, they're everywhere, these people. WHEN WILL I GET TO SEE SOMEONE I LURVE?! I demand the opportunity to make a fool of myself in public! Ah, feck.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Memeries, misty, water-colored memeries

Looking over the list of songs that topped the charts in 1996, I'm amazed how little of it I remember, mostly because I hated most of it, but there are some good ones in there. Not many, but some. I think my years might have been '92-'94. Heh. Stolen from Keidra, year lists here. Likes underlined, loves in bold, hated in light colors because I am inept and know not how to strikethrough. 1. Macarena (Bayside Boys Mix), Los Del Rio 2. One Sweet Day, Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men 3. Because You Loved Me, Celine Dion 4. Nobody Knows, Tony Rich Project 5. Always Be My Baby, Mariah Carey 6. Give Me One Reason, Tracy Chapman 7. Tha Crossroads, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony 8. I Love You Always Forever, Donna Lewis 9. You're Makin' Me High / Let It Flow, Toni Braxton 1 0. Twisted, Keith Sweat 11. C'mon N' Ride It (The Train), Quad City Dj's 12. Missing, Everything But The Girl 13. Ironic, Alanis Morissette 14. Exhale (Shoop Shoop), Whitney Houston 15. Follow You Down / Til I Hear It From You, Gin Blossoms 16. Sittin' Up In My Room, Brandy 17. How Do U Want It / California Love, 2Pac 18. It's All Coming Back To Me Now, Celine Dion 19. Change The World, Eric Clapton 20. Hey Lover, LL Cool J 21. Loungin, LL Cool J 22. Insensitive, Jann Arden--I never heard this song until, like, 1998 when a friend with super gaydar would play it as she mourned her unrequited loves. 23. Be My Lover, La Bouche--I am beginning to have college dance flashbacks. 24. Name, Goo Goo Dolls 25. Who Will Save Your Soul, Jewel 26. Where Do You Go, No Mercy 27. I Can't Sleep Baby (If I), R. Kelly 28. Counting Blue Cars, Dishwalla 29. You Learn / You Oughta Know, Alanis Morissette 30. One Of Us, Joan Osborne 31. Wonder, Natalie Merchant 32. Not Gon' Cry, Mary J. Blige 33. Gangsta's Paradise, Coolio 34. Only You, 112 Featuring The Notorious B.I.G. 35. Down Low (Nobody Has To Know), R. Kelly 36. You're The One, SWV 37. Sweet Dreams, La Bouche 38. Before You Walk Out Of My Life / Like This And Like That, Monica 39. Breakfast At Tiffany's, Deep Blue Something 40. 1, 2, 3, 4 (Sumpin' New), Coolio 41. The World I Know, Collective Soul 42. No Diggity, BLACKstreet (Featuring Dr. Dre) 43. Anything, 3t 44. 1979, The Smashing Pumpkins 45. Diggin' On You, TLC 46. Why I Love You So Much / Ain't Nobody, Monica 47. Kissin' You, Total 48. Count On Me, Whitney Houston and Cece Winans 49. Fantasy, Mariah Carey 50. Time, Hootie and The Blowfish 51. You'll See, Madonna 52. Last Night, Az Yet 53. Mouth, Merril Bainbridge 54. The Earth, The Sun, The Rain, Color Me Badd 55. All The Things (Your Man Won't Do), Joe 56. Wonderwall, Oasis 57. Woo-hah!! Got You All In Check / Everything Remains Raw, Busta Rhymes 58. Tell Me, Groove Theory 59. Elevators (Me and You), Outkast 60. Hook, Blues Traveler 61. Doin It, LL Cool J 62. Fastlove, George Michael 63. Touch Me Tease Me, Case Featuring Foxxy Brown 64. Tonite's Tha Night, Kris Kross 65. Children, Robert Miles 66. Theme From Mission: Impossible, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen 67. Closer To Free, Bodeans 68. Just A Girl, No Doubt 69. If Your Girl Only Knew, Aaliyah 70. Lady, D'angelo 71. Key West Intermezzo (I Saw You First), John Mellencamp 72. Pony, Ginuwine 73. Nobody, Keith Sweat 74. Old Man and Me (When I Get To Heaven), Hootie and The Blowfish 75. If It Makes You Happy, Sheryl Crow 76. As I Lay Me Down, Sophie B. Hawkins 77. Keep On, Keepin' On, Mc Lyte 78. Jealousy, Natalie Merchant 79. I Want To Come Over, Melissa Etheridge 80. Who Do U Love, Deborah Cox 81. Un-Break My Heart, Toni Braxton 82. This Is Your Night, Amber--now I am flashing back to college dances and shuddering at my innocence, youth, hideous outfits, ridiculous bravado, and tragic dance moves. I hate this list. 83. You Remind Me Of Something, R. Kelly 84. Runaway, Janet Jackson 85. Set U Free, Planet Soul 86. Hit Me Off, New Edition 87. No One Else, Total 88. My Boo, Ghost Town Dj's 89. Get Money, Junior M.A.F.I.A. 90. That Girl, Maxi Priest Featuring Shaggy 91. Po Pimp, Do Or Die 92. Until It Sleeps, Metallica 93. Hay, Crucial Conflict 94. Beautiful Life, Ace Of Base--cringe, cringe, cringe. 95. Back For Good, Take That 96. I Got Id / Long Road, Pearl Jam 97. Soon As I Get Home, Faith Evans 98. Macarena, Los Del Rio 99. Only Wanna Be With You, Hootie and The Blowfish 100. Don't Cry, Seal Dang. What was I listening to that year, anyway? Looking at this list, one would think I was a little bland, college-radio addicted tart. And why isn't any of what I like on this list? Blech. I am getting so old. Oh, and Berry asked what I've been listening to lately: M.I.A., QOTSA (courtesy of Keidra), STP, Garbage, The Killers. Workout time, you know. Though I was listening to some Bebel and Brazilian electronica while I shopped today. I haven't bought anything recently, though.

Bitch-in-Kitch Nineish: More goddamned soup.

Loaf Originally uploaded by Siddity.

*Sid, in the general direction of Loaf's last known location* Sid: Loaf, I'm really enjoying these few days off. I'm cleaning, I'm taking care of all the stuff I let fall by the wayside these last few months, I'm getting my life in order. I think I'm finally getting back on track! *Loud clangs from kitchen, sounds of glass bottles rattling* Sid: Loaf? What are you doing in there? *Gets up to take a look* Loaf, hurrying into room: Oh, nothing, just, uh, doing some inventory in the kitchen. What'd you say? Sid: I'm getting back on track, I said! I think it's time to start cooking! What have we got in the kitchen? Loaf, looking nervous: Oh, not much, not much at all. Like, an old tub of yogurt and the 37 cans of chickpeas your folks bring down every time they visit. I swear, why they keep buying the damn things if they don't never eat 'em and just pass 'em off to you? And why in the HELL don't you ever say no? Sid: Oh, they never tell me they're bringing things. Plus, you never know when you'll need 37 cans of chickpeas. Which reminds me! Did you see that ckickpea soup recipe in the September O?!? Loaf: Bitch, I'm a gangsta-ass slice of bread. Do I look like I read some muhfuggin' O? Sid: Point. Anyway, there was a good-looking recipe for chickpea soup in the September O. Loaf: How good-lookin', like, on a scale of 1-10? And don't give me no bullshit about personality. Sid: Ohjesus. I'm going to pretend you didn't just hint that you'd like to molest my as-yet-unmade soup, and ask you if you'd like to help me make said soup. Which would, you know, kinda make you the soup-daddy, and therefore, you'll have to keep your little pervy mitts off, get it? Loaf, innocent, you-must-be-crazy face: ??? What in the hell are you talkin' about??? Can you be any crazier? Soup-daddy? What? You slippin'. Sid, looking at the little slice dubiously: You don't fool me. I know you're up to something. But I'm going to buy the ingredients. Don't fuck anything up. Loaf, turning back and heading for the kitchen before Sid finishes: Yeah yeah. Bye. Bitch. *Sid departs without so much as glancing at the actual recipe, heads for Zabar's for a handy container of chicken consomme, parsley, and a carrot muffin. Returns, ingredients in hand* Okay! I think I've got everything I need! Let's get started! *Looks at recipe* Sid: Okay, 3 cans chickpeas--check. Three tablespoons olive oil--check. Eight cloves garlic--Eight? is they crazy? I'll use three big ones instead. Red pepper flakes--oh, damn. Rosemary--double damn. Why'd I get parsley? This is like some Middle Eastern lentil soup mixup. Whatevs, I'll use it for that nummy Syrian flair. Rosemary is so bloody Gallic. Er, or something. Lemon--shit. I have lemon juice in a bottle? Sea salt--checkity-check. Four cups chicken stock--gahbless Zabar's and its "chicken consume." Teehee. I love that the labelers there misspell things. It's endearing. Now, whaddowegottado? Loaf, you done the prep yet? Loaf: Uh, *hic* no. I'mma go take a nap. Sid: Fine. I'll make it myself. *Reading recipe to self* Saute minced rosemary, red pepper flake and minced garlic in olive oil over medium-high heat until garlic, I'll swap the rosemary for parsley and a little dried rosemary, screw the red pepper...done. Add drained and rinsed chickpeas and cook two minutes, stirring constantly...done. Add chicken broth and bring to boil. Done. Simmer 30 minutes. Done. Allow to cool slightly. Blend soup in blender a cup at a time until smooth...haha, I gots my hand blender, bitches...done. Add lemon juice and sea salt to taste, drizzle with olive oil. Easy peasy, muhfuggas. A tablespoon of lemon juice, a teaspoon of sea salt, and I am...done! Yay! *Sid tastes* Mmm. That's delicious. A little thick, though. I'll just add the rest of the consomme...two cups, total of six. Better. Okay, now that's truly delicious. I love soup. I should just change the name of this feature to Bitch-makes-soup-in-Kitch. Mmmm. Now, what should I serve this with? Loaf! Loaf, startling awake on the counter, where he's been lounging: What! What do you want! Sid: What should we have with this chickpea soup? It's really good, by the way. But what do you think? A crusty bread? Maybe a nice tabbouleh salad? A pinot gris? What? Loaf: Why are you asking me this shit? Do I look like I know? Sid, staring pointedly at the chef's hat perched jauntily on the top pf Loaf', self* That damn hat better mean something, because it ain't cute. Loaf, sucking teeth: Fine. Go get some pita bread and the wine. I'll work something out here for afters. *Sid leaves cheerfully, returns an hour later with absolutely nothing she set out to get* Sid: Loaf! We're having couscous!

*Loaf, startling, banging head on cupboard shelf* Dammit! What? I thought you hated couscous. What happened to wine and pita bread?

Sid: Eh, I had an burst of inspiration in the bulk grain aisle. I'm going to make a sweet couscous side! And we can have a little cocktail made from one of the infusions for dessert! *runs off to kitchen giddily and begins to unpack bag* Gimme a hand this time, will ya?

*Loaf, sidling out of the room* Uh, I have to go trim my crust or some shit. *flees*

Sid: Okayfine. Damn. Now, couscous. In this case, Israeli couscous. It's just big. One cup couscous to 1 1/2 cup water. Cook over low heat for ten minutes and fluff with fork. Simple enough. I think I'll tart it up with nuts and figs and apricots.

Like so:

1 c. Israeli couscous

1 1/2 c. water

1/2 c. chopped walnuts

1/2 c. chopped dried apricots

3 chopped dried figs

3 tbs. butter

vanilla, cinnamon and honey to taste

Cook couscous in water over low heat for 10 minutes. While couscous is cooking, in separate pan melt one tbsp. butter and toast walnuts. Add remaining butter and saute walnuts, figs and apricots for 1-2 minutes, until apricots begin to brown around edges. Remove from heat. When couscous is ready, add it and vanilla to fruit and nut mixture and return to heat. Mix well. Serve sprinkled with cinnamon and drizzled with honey.

That's some fine couscousery.

Okay, now I just need to whip up a yummy after dinner drink with my chai vodka infusion and some cream...

*Peeks into cupboard* Wait a minute. Where're my infusions?



*worst ending ever. Revisions when inspiration strikes.


This is good. Especially in vanilla truffle flavor. Too derishus.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Whole new low.

After the week I just had, confronted with the monumental decision-making skills required to choose dinner from one of the fi'ty-'leven-thousand takeout menus in my kitchen drawer, I threw all those bitches down and instead had half of a chocolate bar, a finger-scoop of cream cheese, and a glass of Jamie and ginger. Jesus H. Christ. I thought only junkies ate crap like that. And yet, I'm not about to open up that drawer again.

Well, that was a long-ass week.

I worked a lot this last week. How much, you ask? A lot. Let's break it down in terms of numbers, shall we? In the last week I... ...slept an average of 5 hours per night. ...lost 4 pounds. During my period. Without ever stepping foot in a gym. ...earned $400 more than I earned in the previous two weeks. Combined. ...only read one book. ...averaged 20 minutes between getting home (when I did actually get home) and falling asleep. ...showered, I am ashamed to admit, only about 5 times. ...have not combed my hair. Not once. At one point, I finally resorted to one jank-ass ponytail. My hair is weeping. ...have not even looked at my own blog, let alone anyone else's. Not once. ...was off--totally off--work for only 46 hours. In 7 days. Now do the sleep-time math. This 46 hours actually includes the couple of nights I actually slept at work, so I feel like I should deduct about 10 hours from that, even. And I missed the departure of my brother and the visit of AZ blogger extraordinaire Mary, not even a phonecall, and I was so beat I didn't even realize it until just now. I never want to do that again, in my life, ever. Never. Ever. Seriously. Never. I think it's time for a vacation. This whole week has bred some truly bizarre-yet-possibly-genius plans for me, and I think now is the time to execute them. But first...I need to get some sleep.

Monday, August 15, 2005


See, I had this plan. It involved fleeing New York in favor of some place I liked, that was affordable, and low on the hipster-urban-pretension factor. I considered Chicago. And Philly. Which is cheaper than Chicago and warmer, to boot. I wasn't decided or anything, but...I had a plan, man. A dream. Now my dream is ruined. Ruined! Goddamn you, New York, keep your Brooklyn hipster refugees! Argh! And I spit on the NYT for alerting masses to Philly. You bastards. I can just hear the New York housing bubble sucking in the city of Brotherly Love. Now I weep, head in hands, for my dream of a three-digit one bedroom near the Italian market. Weep. Damn, what'll be left? Wilmington? If I move this week, I might still be able to lock in a decent place....

Saturday, August 13, 2005

New York moment

As it was my last day off before a very long stretch of very long working days, I decided I would do absolutely fuck-all today. Best choice I ever made. Of course, by fuck-all, I meant only things that I would immensely enjoy, rather than anything, like cleaning, grocery shopping, or future planning, that I had or needed to do. As I said, brilliant plan. This is what actually went down: 1. Several hours spent on the phone with TDMM, plotting our fall getaway. Fairmont, here we come! 2. Gym, for an hour of cardio training. I'm laying off my resistance training, since I did two strength workouts on Thursday, in addition to an hour of cardio, and I can still feel it. 2.5. John Basedow, Fitness Made Simple guru sighting at a local eatery, North West. Yeah, he actually eats. Apparently. I didn't actually see him eat anything, just head in. 3. Dinner with the lovely Carlos and his friend D. at Bar Masa. Brilliant company, great fun, both lovely and talented. 4. A double scoop of chocolate chip cookie ice cream on the way back from Bar Masa. That whole John Basedow run-in was quite jarring. His hair is just. The. Wrong. Color. Otherwise, he looks very fit. Dinner at Bar Masa was wonderful. I managed room for the spicy tuna with wasabi greens, foie gras, honey and truffle maki and mixed seafood ceviche dishes, with yuzu, ginger and sake drop martinis, all of which were indecently good, though I am experiencing pangs of conscience after the foie gras dish. (But if you feel no shame at force-fed goose liver, by all means, it was fantastic, order it.) I'd go again, gladly. If I can fit it into my long-term budget, that is. I joked with Carlos and D. that I would say John Basedow was the highlight of my day. Not quite, but dang, moments like that make living in The City* worthwhile. Now, I'm off to bed to prep for another hella long day of work. *Which reminds me: what is with people getting offended by calling New York "The City?" Is it the only city in the country? No. Is it the most fucking famous? Uh, yeah. Like, worldwide. So, while you may feel put out by the fact that some folks will call it such as though there is no other, recognize that any other city--even the big ones, some that I have lived in and frankly like a whole lot more--don't deserve The Title. Get over it. Also, I will shortly get around to blogging the lovely meetups I've had in the last few months with other fun-fun bloggers but was too depressed at the time to blog. I got love for all y'all! I just was all off blogging at the time. Hence, my lack of Chicago part II.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

As they say, let go and let God...

Ah, funny the difference a day makes. As it happens, I won't have to see my father after all. I'm not entirely sure how things shook out on the family's end to bring about that result, but there you are. Offer/opportunity off the table. No need for me to choose. I didn't get to see my brother today, and it looks like I won't be able to see him again before he returns to Panama, since I'll be working all of the remaining time he's free. That saddens me a bit. I'm still not sure how I should feel about any of it, but having siblings I know of and yet do not know well is nothing new. In a way, I hope he maintains some sort of relationship with our father. Over the course of the evening that I had with this man-boy, this stranger of my blood, I tried to get to know him as much as possible. No small feat. His English isn't great, but it is better than my Spanish. I spent the evening taking camera photos, trying to speak in slowish, coherent sentences (which I never, ever do. I talk fast and make no sense most of the time.) and putting random, get-to-know-you questions to him between bites and awkward silences my aunt and cousin filled with their humor. Somewhere in all that, on a train, I think, I asked if he fished. Yes, he said. His father, our father, gave him a fishing pole. That made me want to cry a little, but in a bittersweet way. The fishing trips I took with my father, our father, years ago when I was the only child, remain the fondest memories I have of him, the one bright spot in our short shared past. I was glad to find something my brother and I had in common, and despite the fact that I appear to hold much enmity for the man, I was gladder still that it was something we'd both had of the best of our father. If my brother can be satisfied with what our father is willing to give of himself, and if our father can in his way look to one child with whom he has not burnt his bridges, well, good. I'm happy for them both. Truly. In other, less maudlin news, woot, I finished the first draft of that script I was working on. Maybe they'll hate it. Maybe they won't. I'm just so excited to have set a deadline for myself and met it. Even better, they aren't ready to deal with it yet. There have been a bunch of delays and issues behind the scenes that I was unaware of until today. Which means I am not the supreme screw-up in this situation! I'm not the one holding everybody up in the process! I'm not the one missing deadlines! Wheeeeeheeeeeee! You have no idea how twistedly wonderful this makes me feel. I love the film and video types. I made one foray into that world a few years back, very briefly, and the same thing happened there. Deadlines just kept getting pushed back and back and back. And it was not my fault! If that's the character of the industry, mayhap I need to make myself a home there. I'd fit riiiiight in. Screw this print nonsense! Williamsburg warehouse-living documentary filmmaking-types, here I come! Or not. I mean, Williamsburg is so '03. Snort. I managed to put in an hour with my trainer (Love him. Really, if you need anybody, he's great. I'm willing to share.), write a short script, have dinner, several phone conversations, blog surf and watch Definite Article (which is fucking hilarious, Eddie is my favorite comedian) all before 6. And then, at the end of the day, I managed to squeeze in a few hours at the gym. I had to atone for the Big Nick's burger I had for dinner. I'm not even ashamed. Those are some good-ass burgers, bitches. Well worth an hour or three of pedaling to nowhere. Besides, it's my trainer's fault. I mean, what kind of twisted health-and-fitness professional thinks acceptable workout conversation is which neighborhood greasy-spoon has the best burgers and hotdogs, really? Oh right, my kind. Now I'm going slide my gym-funky arse into a big hot tub, sip on a cocktail made with one of my derishus vodka infusions, and read a dirty romance novel. I might even play some SIMS 2. Then I'm goin' to bed. Brilliant fucking end to a very good day.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Just when I thought my life couldn't go any more all to HELL...

My father (henceforth, MF) is in town. I mean, I thought he was before, but I was wrong. Apparently, he's been hiding out in the South. See, he's up here to see my new brother. I mean, he isn't new, he's a teenager, but, you know, he's new to me, because I'd never met him before last week, because he lives in Panama. My new brother, not MF. Did I forget to mention that shortly after MF abandoned his fatherly duties with me and my other sibs for good, he fucked off to Panama? Yeah, that. At least he was doing something productive, er, reproductive, while he was there. So I met my brother last week, he's a great kid. Great. Very sweet. But, you know, now that the women in his family have coordinated and incurred the enormous expense of bringing his youngest (I think) son over here, MF is tryina be all up in his grill. I was hoping to see my brother again tomorrow, but not with Skippy McChildsupportdodger in attendance. Actually, since this will probably be the last time I can see him before he goes back to Panama, I'll have to see him with whatsits, whosicalled, uh, my *JohnnyDepp-as-Wonka-barf-face* father around. I am thisclose to selling everything I own, robbing a bank, and fleeing to Meh-shee-co with the spoils to live out my days in a hut on some donkey-pie strewn beach, unmolested by the shitstink that is much of my current existence. Jesus H.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

The body beautiful.

Not really. The title was just an excuse to talk about body related things, you see. First off, I'd like to commend the new GM of my gym for making things In the last few weeks, we've gotten AC, a water fountain that runs cold, a mostly working vending machine, and only one of the cardio machines has an "Out of Order" sign on it. It sounds like I'm being flip, but seriously, things have gotten much better. I only have one more session with the new trainer. Boooooo. I need to sign up again. With a trainer that actually shows up, the whole experience has changed! I was going to post a lite hot dog taste test thing here, but damn if the idea doesn't sound silly now.

I'm only a leetle behind.

Vote on my custom hoodie! The options are: 1. high siddity 2. hellified lush/bitch* 3. free to good home 4. upper west side 5. prude Scratch 6. oreo 7. cablanasian? 8. Scotland 9. Hebrides 10. looser (heh heh. or Tight.) Scratch 11. Scum 12. Biter 13. Reformed 14. Fallen 15. Aquarius Or write in your own suggestion. I mean, there are infinite possibilities, none any more or less promising than the last. Help. I think I stole this from Girlhattan. *The alternative to the "hellified lush"/"hellified bitch" debate is to leave it at "hellified" and just stick a "Hello My Name Is" tag on with the appropriate sentiment for the day, which suddenly sounds like the solidest idea yet.

Monday, August 08, 2005

To: My Brothers in "the hood" and elsewhere

From: Sid Re: 'Do rags, etc. Message: Take them damn draws off ya heads. While you're at it, let's try a little variety in the fashion department. All these big-ass white tees and baggy jeans just look triflin'. I mean, I'd be happy even if you changed up the tee-shirt color, you know, to look less like a walking blank billboard. (Am I the only one who sees a man in a giant white shirt who thinks "blank canvas" and has to fight the urge to tag him with my initials?) Sigh. Nevermind. Considering how I've looked at work the last few weeks, who am I to complain?

Friday, August 05, 2005

Aw, hells yeah!

Okay, this one, this one and this one are so necessary. The guys' shirts are pretty special, too. I especially enjoy "68" and "Jell-o." But, hello, people, can I get an XL for the ladies? Oh dang. There're more I want. Is this wrong, or hilarious? I can't decide.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

If I could think of a better title, I'd use it.

Have you smelled Gain? Is it just me, or is this the best goddamned laundry detergent in the history of clean drawers? Why am I working on the day M.I.A. is playing for free? Can Miami Ink be any hotter? I know I mentioned it already. I really, really like it, okay? And for the questions, all, uh, sevenish: Keidra, I haven't seen any live shows lately, sadly. I even missed Whitesnake at the Beacon, and it looks like I'll be M.I.A. for M.I.A. How 'bout you? Viv asked: 1. What kind of man do you prefer -- Australian or British? British. Better fashion sense, better accents, better booze. More variety. Scottish, Irish, Welsh, English, and five possible combinations for the other three days of the week! 2. You have to kill one celeb. Which one would it be and why? Before I saw Being Bobby Brown for the first time, I would have said Tom Cruise. Now I'll have to wait for a red carpet situation that would involve the both of them, one very high-powered semi-automatic weapon, and a clean shot. That much crazy cannot be allowed to spread unchecked. 3. Boxers or briefs on a man? Commando! Failing that, boxers. Briefs just look silly. Miss James asked: 1. what's the worst, most god-awful name (for a person) you've ever heard/read? Piggy, Chinese Ta'kwanna or Mykia Lapresha M'Shae. 2. what's the best restaurant you've been to in nyc? Bouley, but I'm hoping to hit Nougatine this week. 3. if you could only have 1 pair of shoes out of your collection, which ones would you pick? Oh god, just take an eye, why don't you? I guess one pair of Speedcats, because they are in theory athletic, dress and casual kicks, all at once. Katie queried: 1. What was your favorite book as a kid and why? I was a big Anne of Green Gables fan. At the time, I think I couldn't have told you why a little cuhluhd girl felt such an affinity for a adolescent red-head in rural Canadia, but in retrospect, I think it had a lot to do with me moving around a lot and living with different relatives, and really, really wanting a solid home and to be loved and needing to prove myself worthy of it. Issues? Me? Nah. 2. What book would you give to your best friend and why? My friends and I swap books or book recommendations, of all kinds, all the time. I can't think of any one right now that could be symbolic of the depth of affection I have for any of them. Besides, usually we swap diet books, cookbooks and porn. I mean romance novels. 3. What book would you give to your worst enemy and why? A Separate Peace. I was forced to read it in high school, and to this day it remains the dullest, most irritating, waste of time book I have ever read. This would, of course, only work if they were forced to read it. Now, if you mean what book would I give that would be symbolic of our mutual enmity? Anything heavy enough to cause damage when hurled. Or some Johanna Lindsey. Miss Mary asked: 1. Will you quit your job in time for us to hang out when I'm in NY? I'll try to figure out a way for us to hang out without that. If I can't, though, you gotta go to the Ruby Foo's on Broadway and 77th! Have a spicy tuna roll and Litchee Mist on me, okay? *sniff* 2. Do you sleep with the TV on or off? If on, what channel is it tuned to? I usually don't watch TV, but since the debut of Miami Ink, I'd say maybe watching it on TLC before bed would lead to good dreams. *cough* 3. If you had to pick just one cheese, which would it be? Humboldt Fog chevre, for now. I love it. That's it. I thought about asking myself questions anonymously, but that would just be sad.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

You silly, head-in-the-sand-having, holy-rolling, high-horse-riding motherfuckers. Sorry, for now, just the Wisconsin ones.

Via Screed. Because the best way to keep women from getting pregnant is to take away any concrete means to prevent said pregnancy while hoping, eyes screwed-shut-tight and binky in hand, that we'll all just, I dunno, never again do the one thing that drives our species?

Vignettes: nothing to do with salad dressing.

Me, deli, last week, to random guy: Hey, didn't you go to Fancypants University? You look very familiar to me. Random guy: No, but thanks for mistaking me for someone who did. I work at Prestigious Publisher, though, maybe we met there? Me: Huh, I think I interviewed there once, but nope. Sorry to bother you! Me, gym, today, to random guy: Hey, didn't I stop you last week? Do you work at Prestigious Publisher? Random guy #2: Uh, no, but maybe I should? Me: Uh, sorry. *flees*

Driver yesterday, 11ish to me: Wow, you look really tired! Long day? Me: Uh, I always look like this, I dunno why. Not longer than usual. I'm fine. Me, 4 a.m., finishing up a book: Wow, that was a good book. Only one left in the series! Gee, how many have I read altogether? *counting spines* Uh, eleven. Since I got back from Chicago? Can that be right? Hang on... then there were the others... *mental tally* Christ, I've read almost 14 books in the last six weeks? Am I stupid? No wonder I'm not getting any goddamned sleep!
Me, today, elliptical machine, gym: Wow, that guy looks like that actor. Wait a minute, that is that actor. What's a recognizable actor doing in my podunk gym? Me, today, elliptical machine, gym, ten minutes later: ...What the hell is his name?!? It'll come to me...if I can just remember one of his movies, I can look it up online.... Me, today, elsewhere, three hours later: *...?...*

Monday, August 01, 2005

I need a mission.

I've grown dull and repetitive. It's time to whip out the memes. So either send me three questions you want answered or maybe a list of things you'd like photographed or large amounts of cash in small bills so I can go out and get lit and eat out during Restaurant Week--oh, did I mention it's that time again?--or swing by the city this weekend for blogtown throwdown type shiz, so I'll have something to post. Thanks. I still think a cat would be nice, though. My neighbor has a sweet orange kitty. I want to steal it. My first kitty was a kitten I named Chumley who was a gorgeous marmalade cat, but somebody stole him. Boo. I don't know where I got the name Chumley. I think I was about five or six. But I always had assed-up names for my pets. My first pet was a frog I named Alexander the Great, apparently. I have no recollection of this frog, but my family swears it's true. There was a series of insane cats with banal names like Smokey and Mittens, a dog named Shannon (not after Hoon) another sweet cat named Slash (yeah, after the guitarist, what of it?) a couple of unnamed reptiles, including a $150 iguana that ran away after a week (Don't ask. Don't fucking ask.), and a fish named Bacon. Now I have naught. Uh-huh. Rereading that last paragraph, I've realized it's not time for cats. It's time for a shrink. Those are the only people who should be subject to pet-name reminiscence. So, yeah, sorry.