Monday, February 28, 2005

Sweeeeeet

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So in case you haven't heard, there's a full on blizzard in New York as I type this. Super important boss left an hour ago to avoid the fallout.

Was thinking to myself, 'Hm. Wonder if classes are canceled?' Because I have class tonight. The emergency number at the school says all is good to go, BUT. My professor just called me on my cell to let me know she was canceling tonight's class. Sweet!

I shall be leaving work at the prescribed 'earlier school day' hour*, depsite the fact that class will not be happening. I am giving in to the devil on my shoulder. Because I deserve it. Nice. Monday ain't so bad after all. Mwa haha.

*Please note that this 'earlier hour' is actually 30 minutes past when just about everyone else in the company has gone home. So, my devil's not all that off base.

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Star 'Who Ma Girl' Jones

Another key observation that A. and I had after viewing the pre-show interviews. I should preface this by quoting the usually modest A.: "I hate Star Jones... I really do." 'Bout covers it. So.

Was it just us, or does Star Jones have both a diva voice/persona and a more restrained 'classy' voice/persona between which she shifts at her discretion?

Whilst viewing the likes of Hilary Swank or, say Alan Alda, she utters phrases like, 'You look absolutely wonderful' and 'Indeed!' and 'I couldn't wish for a more perfect evening.'

However, when she spoke to the ever-talented Jamie Foxx or Samuel L. Jackson or Oprah, she said things like, 'Hey, girl' and 'I know that's right!' and 'Alright, sweeheart. You go.' Hm. Those aliens are tricky.

Also of note, did anoyone notice that Star Jones's back seemed to be melting out of her strapped gown. [Shudder.]

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Drone hearts the Ansonia

I want I want I want. I want to occupy this rental starting in June. Only problem is: I need a roommate (I'm talking to you, G). Save your damn money and get the hell back to NY. Only $1,225 each! OK, maybe I've been in New York too long if that sounds exciting. But seriously, I want to live in this shit!

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Friday, I'm in love

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[Photo and caption courtesy of Pink]

What a great weekend, Drone had. I went out with the non-ex ex on Friday night and had a great time. C. and I are now living in our respective places full time, but we have decided to date. Within three weeks of mutually deciding to break up, C. and I both decided that we really like being in each other's lives. So. We decided to date. Not sure how normal that is. To date someone for a year, have lived with them, and then go to dating and talking about 2-3 times per week. It definitely has injected the relationship with that shiny newness and excitement. Weird, but it seems to be working for both of us. Anywho, C. and I went for an awesome meal on Friday night. I went all out: goat cheese salad, 1/2 roasted succulent chicken, stuffed tomatoes and... FRENCH FRIES. I actually ate french fries. For those of you who know me in real life, that's huge. Also of note is that I'm eating turkey and chicken again for the first time in years. Guess I can't say I'm a vegeterian anymore. Oh well. Bring on the bird!

Saturday, I slept in (ahh) and went to the gym. Saturday night, I was invited to dinner at the house of this family whose children I tutored when I was in college. I've stayed in touch with them and went back to catch up. Yummy dinner and good conversation. The 11 and 13-year-old kids that I once tutored are now all cracking voiced and getting taller, prepping for the college application process. Jeezle. Time goes by fast.

After that, went out to celebrate the birthday of a friend of a friend. Met about 8 people having dinner at a cheap Chinese place where the booze is strong and cheap (kind of like the food). So everyone was bombed when I got there. I'd had one beer over dinner at the family's house, so I wasn't drunk. Needless to say, the jokes at the Chinese restaurant didn't seem as funny to me as they did to everyone else. Resigned myself to not trying to catch up. That would have meant consuming a bucket of grain alcohol or some shit. After that, we all went to a bar and talked the night away.

Sunday, I woke up late again (ahh), went to the gym, had a great homemade lunch, and met up with friend A. to watch the tube. We watch this, this, and eventually forced ourselves to watch the Oscars. We ordered in Japanese and let the snarky witticisms fly like the wind. I love the IMDB review of Showgirls: "Abominable! So bad it is *bad*." Pretty much sums it up. So, A. and I solidified a theory about Hollywood and all who parttake in that industry. Based on our observations and understanding that all actors are: small-statured beautiful people with big heads whom everyone worships, and; people who, when interviewed by Star Jones, all seem to be looking above the camera (and not into it) as if into the sky--A. and I believe them to be ALIENS. They always shake they Oscars towards the sky becuase they are acknowledging the Mother Ship in orbit. Not God, you silly fools. They are aliens who have brilliantly contrived a method to influence all of humanity. We're onto you, "celeb's."

Oh, man. Say it ain't Monday.

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Friday, February 25, 2005

I want:

-a brilliant career;
-a T-Mobile Sidekick;
-a wildly fulfilling sex life;
-an apartment at the Ansonia ($425,000 studio anyone?);
-a dog;
-a house in the Hamptons (so that I can infultrate and mire the village of societal climbers that are breeding out there);
-working hours of half past whenever I want until quarter past I feel like a nap;
-to never have to take the subway again (i.e., a 24/7 private driver).

That is all. Let's get on this, peoples.

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Help me out, Yee.

I have run out of underwear and socks. Wunna know why? Yee's wash and fold laundry service opens at 8AM and closes at 7PM, daily. I dropped my laundry off last Friday night.

Ready by Monday night.

M'kay.

Monday night? Class 'til midnight.
Tuesday night? Work 'til 9.
Wednesday night? Class 'til 11.
Thursday night? work 'til 9.

Is anyone feeling my pain, here? I'll soon be forced to go commando.

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Thursday, February 24, 2005

Salt and Pepper

The finale of Project Runway last night rocked. my. world. For two reasons. First, because I came home from class at 10:50PM (ten minutes from the conclusion of the finale) to find out that Bravo! was re-airing the finale from 11-1AM. Sweet. Second, because the episode friggin' ruled.

OK, so I buckled under the anticipation and watched the last ten minutes of the first airing of the 2-hour extravaganza to find out that Jay had won! Then I watched what had led up to that moment. Three words: reality TV heaven. Drama drama drama. Each of the remaining conestants uttered numerous explatives on camera. Fingers and tongues alike were wagging.

In the end, good triumphed over evil. Jay was the purest of all the contestants. Kara was almost neck and neck with Jay in the regard until the much disputed shoe debacle. More importantly, Wendy Pepper was snuffed out. Hurray! I love that she thinks she's so smart, making it to the final three. But uhm. Wendy? Pepp? Who the HELL is going to hire a freakazoid like you?! You've revealed yourself to the entire viewing public which, much to your chagrin I'm sure, is just about everyone in the whole world, as this show was a runaway hit. Maybe you can find someone in HR at Baby Phat that didn't watch the show. But then again, I doubt it. All I can say is, 'heh.' Oh yeah and, 'Yuh OUT.'

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Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Cycle 4: Place Your Bets

Ah, yes. Once again, we arrive at my favorite time of year. America's Next Top Model commences. There IS something to live for after all. On a totally related note, I briefly caught some local news blip about how ANTM 'winner [Yoanna House] feels Tyra [Banks] let her down... News at 11.' Sweet. Not successful as a model? Blame it on Madame Forehead. On to the fun.

So I notice that we might actually have some contenders here. At first glance, they all seem to be of a reasonable height (considering that they want to be MODELS). Looks like Tyra might want to recoup some of her cred.

Brandy? Uhm. Hair color: red? Yeah. We'll move past that, as it's pretty irrelevant. But come on. Interesting face. Appears to have great skin. Could be related to Tyra with that forehead. Nothing crazy special. Nyeh.

Brita? Your parent must have hated you to name you after a portable househould water filtration system. Moving on, something just isn't right about filter girl. Is her face too wide? Is she too busty? Dunno. Seems more like a fitness model or something. She's definitely in shape, but again: not special. Bleah.

Brittany? Brittany? Brit? You want the good news or the bad news first? Good news? M'kay. Good deal on the height. Nice (*natural*) hip-jutting modely pose. Decent hair. Good skin. You'll be a model for sure. Now for the bad news. This will be your only campaign, and then you will fall into utter obscurity. Just don't spend that paycheck all in one place. Not going to win ANTM though. Next!

Christina? Let's start with the badnewsyourHAIR! No. Just no. You need to eat a few bagels and change your HAIR. If your hip, nose, AND chin somehow avoid poking out some unsuspecting onlooker's eye, than your hair in its present state will surely do the trick nicely. Nice enough face, but Drone's gunna pass. Oh yeah. Change your hair!!!

Kahlen? How do you pronounce that shit? If only there were a fugged up name competition. You and Brita might have a shot. You're cute. Kind of like a poor man's anorexic Reese Witherspoon. But you're 5'8". Have fun watching the O.C. and hostessing back home. Buh bye.

Keenyah? Damn, I spoke to soon. Kahlen and Brita have some fierce name game competition. OK. So here we have Keenyah from Compton. Anyone care to take a gander as to where I'm going with this? 'Hi. I'm Keenyah, and I'm gunna pay for my mom's house when I climb out of the bullet-riddled streets of Compton to be the next Tyra!! [tears rolling down pretty cheek]' Mark my words, folks. Tyra knows what she's doing. She just ain't too subtle. Anyway. Nice skin. Nice enough face. Nice hipbones. Big ears. The best compliment I can come up with is that she's a poor man's anorexic Aisha Tyler. I like Aisha just the way she is. Later.

Lluvy? WTF?! What is it with these names. This 21-year-old janitor's too easy a target, so I'm just gunna roll right along...

Michelle? Well well well. ANTM has created a new token inidividual. The girl who looks like a dude. M-Ann the sequel, anyone? With her delightful Adam's Apple, as it bobbed up and down all the way through Cycle 3, M-Ann made it pretty far. So on that basis, and that basis a-LONE, I'll say that Michelle will be around for at least two rounds. If she wins, I'll never stop laughing. Did you see her occupation? Yeah.

Naima? Cool name-a! Somebody's trying to be the next Omahyra. You're so hard edged, Naima. Rock on, man. Could you possibly be pretty if you dropped the costumey image you have going? Eh. Too much brain effort for me. Like Heidi Klum says, 'Yuh OUT!'

Noelle? Nice try, Amanda, but you're only allowed to compete once. You can change your hair all you want, but you ain't fooling anyone. Noelle? No way.

Rebecca? Nice try, Elisha Cuthbert, but... why the hell would you want to be on ANTM when you already have a successful acting career on FOX? Oh, yeah. I see your point. But still. You're pretty. And you are 5'10". Hm. OK, I'm on the fence with you. You're a keeper. For now. So not fair. A successful actress AND a contestant on ANTM. Some girls have all the luck, I suppose.

Sarah? How come your bio says you're 22 but you look 32? Strange. And what's with the workout duds paired with jeans and ho heals? Oh well. You are pretty striking. I see Sports Illustrated in your future. If you're lucky. Wish you were taller. Keepin' you around for at least the first couple of rounds.

Tatiana? You have some serious Paris Hilton eye going on. Wonk. EE. Wonkee. Otherwise, you're cool. Need to change the hair, but you've got a lot going for you. If Janice can get past your crazy retina, you might be there for a while. But I doubt it. Tata, Tatiana.

Tiffany? A tatooed, 22-year-old mother from Miami whose self-professed favorite magazines are Ebony, Jet, and Source and whose favorite movie is Friday After Next? Yaya, the sequel anyone? Nuttin' wrong with pride. I'm just sayin'. On a more relevent note, while I predict that you'll be as in tune with your heritage as Yaya was, I don't think you're anywhere near as modely as she was. Hasta luego.

So there we have it, folks. I was pretty tough on these gals, so let's recap. Rebecca, Brittany, and Brandy seem like OK's. I'm not sure about Tatiana. Once I get my first look at these girls on camera, I'll have a better sense. So for now. Just you salivate until it airs on March 2nd. Sweet.

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Case of the Mondays

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OK, so it's really Wednesday. But it feels like Tuesday. 'Cause Monday was a holiday. And Tuesday felt like Monday. But I'm experiencing the Monday-esque blues today. Can't say why really. A lot of it has to do with (yawn, I know) the whole post-graduation 'where is my life going' obsession.

The thing that pisses me off the most is that I work my ass to the tailbone, and I'm making no. money. I'm poor. Poorer than I've ever been. I've never been in more need of a vacation, but I couldn't afford one even if I could manage to get the time off. It's getting to the point where I'm afraid to date because I know how expensive that can be. I kind of feel like I'm in this washing machine of hopelessness. Lots of work makes me tired. No money leaves me with few options when I'm NOT at work. So basically, when I'm not killing myself at work I can either: A) watch TV; B) go to the gym, or; C) go for a walk.

I should own up to the fact that I have 'money issues.' As a child I watched my mother max out all of her credit cards and drown in minimum payment and interest fee notices. From that, I learned that money troubles simply ain't for me. So, I guess it's cool that I carry zero debt. But, I am scrimping, economizing, and plotting to the point that I'm wondering if I'm really living at all. Mom says that people make sacrifices to live in New York City. I do have a really interesting and relatively coveted job. But let's be honest here. My job is coveted only by those in my industry who are at my level and looking to 'get started.' So, at the level I'm at, one is left wondering, 'If I'm really amazing at my job... what exactly am I amazing AT?' Hum. Well, I love my tiny studio. But. All of my friends seem to be fleeing the City, and I'm single, and I'm broke. So what exactly am I sacrificing for?

School is about my only saving grace as of late. It's this tangible thing that I can work towards. But again, school costs dinero. So I have to be very careful about what I sign up for. Ugh.

I guess I'll just keep (barf) plugging away. Towards the ultimate goal of attaining my own empire of fortune and fame. Until then, I'll just wish I was Rod Stewart's offspring. On second thought...

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Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Holy Flashback, Droneman

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**"Rio Kisses Jem" (oh, brother)

Oh, man. Does anyone remember Jem and the Holograms? Well I sure as hell do. In retrospect, I had no idea what this freakin' show was about. I'm pretty sure I was four years old when this was on. Nonetheless, even as a post infant I knew that this show was ridiculous.

So a chick touches her earring and she magically transforms from a straight-laced business woman (Jerrica Benton) to a rock-out-loud (heh) rocker. Do you remember Synergy? The computer that works with Jerrica/Jem to transform her? She is so, like, righteous and tubular. Seriously, this whole show is like a massive 80's bomb that went kersplat all over the t.v. Truly, truly, truly outrageous!

What a torrent life Jerrica must have led. Does she want to be a hardass business woman or a rockin' rock star? Way to prepare kids for real life with those hard hitting life choices, 80's cartoons! 'Cause knowing is half the battle.

**Dude. Rio? Rio with *blue hair*? Heh.

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An Army of Drone

Howdy. So I've returned from a three-day weekend. That I actually had off. Praises! My weekend actually began a little early. Do tell, you say? Well...

It all began the afternoon of Thursday of last week. Two co-workers and I had lunch together. This rarely happens, as we all work like panting dogs. So it was a welcomed surprise. I had one of those make-your-own salads with chicken and some other ingredients. Yum!

Fast forward a few hours. Tummy make me hurt. Tummy make weird gurgling, grumbling, shaking, similiar to a faulty transmission in a shitty car trying to shift gears noises and movements. Strange, I thought. But it's actually happened before. The stress of my job usually doesn't allow me to eat large meals without cramping up. That's a whole 'nother story. But I overlooked it, thinking it was just stress. Went home and had dinner (veggie burger, yogurt & granola, and some almonds). Fast forward to 2AM Friday morning. Lunch and dinner apparently had a love affair with my toilet and refused to be apart from it. So, I did my obligatory part in joining the lovers. Not once. But twice. M hm. Yeah.

So, I woke up on Friday feeling like I never wanted to eat again. Never wanting to eat again and wanting to drop a brick on my own head to make the mind splitting headaches go away. I'm now 85% certain that it was food poisoining. I cam into work on Friday (like the diligent little Drone idiot that I am) and could barely see straight. The headaches were as close to a migraine as I think I've ever experienced in my life. I was inadvertantly squinting and wincing every two or three seconds. Luckily, work was slow so I was permitted to leave at about 3PM. But not before I had to run several errands in the freezing cold whilst I feared that I was going to vomit my brains out. Slept the whole day as if I had passed out.

Went to school Saturday morning to finish up a project. Thankfully, I was feeling a little better. Slept the rest of Saturday.

Sunday I had brunch with my friend A, who is leaving for London soon. We talked about things like employment and the possibility of having babies. Not together, mind you. She told me that she could very well see herself having children and that every time she sees a baby (lately), she seems to connect with them. Like it's a sign from above or something. See, when I see a baby in a stroller, I have this innate reaction that forces me to run the other way. Don't get me wrong. I love kids and think most of them are cute enough. But mostly I just think they're loud and obnoxious. And that their parents don't restrain their shrieking and barfing well enough. Oh well.

Then, I met up with the ex- for a walk through the world famous Gates exhibition in Central Park. I'm neither here nor there about them. They're there. They're orange. They assist me in finding my way through the Park. That's about all the analysis I care to offer. Tons of others were there, too. Lemming.

Proceeded to the Whitney, where I actually saw some damn cool art. Whilst I was veiwing this art, who should pass right in front of me, but this Us Weekly cover gracing duo. They actually looked just like that picture. In need of some conditioner an. d a hot shower. They looked very hot, I'll admit. Walked around like they were in a slow motion version of a three-legged race. Never left each other's side, almost clutching for dear life. The sighting (in its context) was funny because here are all these art snobs that pride themselves on analyzing each and every piece. Yet, one glimpse of the duo and everyone was drooling. Noone was safe or guiltless. The celeb's were much more interesting to everyone than the awesome art. I dare anyone who was there to say that they didn't break there art-analyzing stares in order to smirk, whisper, and stare and two small-statured, big-headed actors. Let the social commentary ensue.

When the ex- and I left the museum, Jude and Sienna hadn't gone yet. I knew this because there were about five paparazzi waiting outside. Trust me. You know them when you see them. I decided to have a little fun, so I told them out of the corner of my mouth that 'Jude and Sienna went out the back entrance.' The photog's looked dejected and proceeded to wherever the back entrance might be. I don't even know if there is a back entrance. Sweet fun. After that, the ex- and I parted ways. So. How do you tell your ex- that you kinda dorta maybe wanna try getting back together? Do you say it like that? Do you risk it? If you get back together and then break up again, will it ever be possible to remain friends or close? Never been through this, so I'm not too certain. Gooh. Happy four-day week, people.

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Thursday, February 17, 2005

Burn, Baby. Burn. (Coffee Inferno)

So my terrific Wednesday commute (please see below post) led to a pretty normal day yesterday. Worked my little Drone butt off and actually enjoyed it a lot.

As much as I have to work like a dog, I'm really lucky that I get to learn a lot and work with people who are completely passionate about what they do. DEF-initely not like my last job. Aaaanyway. Just wish that working my Drone butt off paid a little more. To wit, my bi-monthly paycheck (for which I am anxiously waiting to get automatically deposited this evening) represents more than all of the money I currently have to my name. Ugh. Poverty is so enjoyable. So is insomnia. Did I mention that I went to bed last night at 3 A.M. because I was at school working on a project? What's that old saying about burning a candle at both ends? Oh yeah.

So my teacher of said class is utterly ridiculous. She's a heavyset older woman from Long Island that simply doesn not know how to answer a student's questions and refuses to agree with anyone. Ever. She's what my new friend in the class refers to as a "hot mess" or a "total spaz case." I'll try to give you a loose example of her ridiculousness.

If you ask her, "Is that a right angle?" [clearly pointing to a right angle of 90 degress], she will quickly snap back, "What are you TAWKIN' about? It's... two lines that are perpindicular! I mean. And you can say excuse me when yur axin' a question. It's more polite!" She's a classic example of someone who uses 1,800 words when merely four will suffice. She's a complicator. And a spaz. And she talks to you like you're four years old.

So my aforementioned friend and I take immense fun in enjoying the church giggles when she decides to fly off the handle with some student. Only down side is that you can't ask her questions. If you know what's good for you. So my friend A. and I usually just consult each other. As A. and I have sort of emerged as the top students, we're kind of screwed. If we don't know something or one of us haven't got the answer in our notes, there's really nobody that we can ask because, you know, God forbid we ask the spazoid to whose salary we're contributing. Gotta love school.

Two funny/weird things that happened yesterday:

*I was running an errand for work outside, smoking a cigarette on the street corner waiting for the crosswalk to change. Before I crossed the street, a Lexus SUV driving guy half turns the corner I'm waiting at and asks out of his window, "Do you have an extra cigarette." Almost instinctually, I blurted, "Are you serious?" He laughed and said, "Dead serious. I'm totally stressed out over this [New York rush hour] parking situation." Had to give it to the guy, because I can only imagine what that's like. People on the subway is one thing. Those same people behind 2-ton automobiles must be quite another matter entirely.

*When I got home at 2:30 A.M. last night, I noticed that my kitchen counter was radiating heat. Weird, right? So I put my palm on the surface to locate the origin of said. Slowly crept my way to my Mr. Coffee coffee maker. Shit was definitely on and had been burning up a heat storm. Crazy thing is: I haven't used that in at LEAST three months. For serious. I have no memory of touching it once. I just haven't been making coffee at home. So it was empty, clean, and apparently on. Now, I'm gunna plead stupidity here for a minute. I cannot tell for the life of me, based on the *sophisticated* Mr. Coffee heiroglyphics of a circle and a line, which inidcator on the switch means ON and which means OFF. So, when I tried to switch the burning hot thing off, naturally I flipped the switch to... the other setting: the one it wasn't currently on. But I still wasn't convinced it was off, so I just unplugged it. Now, my question. Was that shit raging for three months and I just never noticed it? Wow. I really don't need to add a house fire to my poverty, singledom, and overworkitude. A cautionary tale, I'll say it is.

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Wednesday, February 16, 2005

I heart commuting

So I was running a little bit late to work this morning, but I was also in no mood to hurry myself to get to work quickly. So I pretty much just resigned to treat myself well and go at a normal pace.

The subway stop near my apartment offers both the choice of an express train and a local train. The express train is, duh, quicker BUT is 9 times out of ten ridiculously packed. The local is much slower, but you actually have a fighting chance (at least when the train pulls into my station) of getting a seat. So, I decided not to stand and be smushed.

I boarded the local train, found a seat, turned up my iPod and pretended to be falling asleep. Fast forward ten minutes and an obsenely obese man was tearing me out of my fake sleep. Without warning, he plunked his double wide in a space between another patron and me. It was a space that measured about 16" wide. Hence, he was pretty much sitting on my right hip and the left hip of the person on his right. Pretty unbelievable really. Having had my eyes shut, it was a total shock to my system. I repositioned myself so his left girth descended to actually making contact with the seat and not my body. Gooh.

One transfer later, I was aboard my second train of the morning commute, as usual. iPod. Fake sleep. You get the idea. Upon exiting the train, I slowly crept up the one and only stairway with the masses. Going up the stairs, a petite professional latina sista was literally kicking at my heels. I clearly couldn't go any faster, but she insisted on kicking not once, but TWICE. So I gave her my most serious 'If you were a guy, I'd kick your ass' look. Without making eye contact (cowardess), she said, "You like what you see?!"

She was pretty heinous, so I just said, "No" and shrugged. Happy Wednesday morning, everybody.

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Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Escapamos

In case you didn't catch the Grammys, Escapamos was the lovely musical theatre meets Media Hoopla Freaktown number J.Lo and Marc threw together for all of our shadenfreude hungry hearts. So beautiful. And soooo not in the way J.Lo had hoped. Anyway, it means 'let's escape.' Which is rather fitting my mood lately. Aptly represents the discourse that takes place between my ego and superego (my id has all but been stifled to death what with my utter lack of freedom and choice). In other words, the notion of a pleasure principle really means very little to me lately. Getting my own basic needs met is... what are basic needs? Yeah. So, good ol' ego is shouting, 'Let's get the hizell out of here' (to paraphrase the title of the aforementioned song).

I think I've lost all perspective as to what constitutes ridiculous job duties. I work late, and I basically do whatever in the world my boss wants done. Dry cleaning need doing? I'm your man. Jeans need hemming? Bring 'em this a-way. Return a $3,000 jacket to a designer boutique a month after it's been purchased without a receipt for store credit? Oh boy. Tried to do just that today. The manager of said high falootin' boutique kindly advised me in front of the entire floor staff that it is "extremely unreasonable" [here's where his voice got pretty loud--sweet] to return a jacket a month after purchasing it. He then presented me with his business card and asked that my boss give him a call. In a nutshell, he informed me that he didn't care how important my boss is (which he is). The jacket was returned but not before the manager totally filleted the messenger. I just sat there with this, "Uh huh" look on my face. My defense mechanism and college mock trial experience almost kicked into gear, but then I thought, "Uhm. Do I give a shit?" Nope. So yeah. That was fun.

Also, funny. This morning my boss asked me where I went to dinner last night.

Nowhere. Why?

Oh. It was Valentine's Day. I thought you'd be going somewhere nice.

I was in class until 2 A.M.

Oh. Too bad.

Yes. Too bad, indeed. Not all of us have entree into the A-List restauarants and can even AFFORD them were we to be able to get in. No, Sir. I was toiling away in class, doing my homework. But thanks for, in one fail swoop, reminding me that I'm: 1) poor; 2) newly single, and; 3) "too bad." Hurray!!

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Monday, February 14, 2005

Hi, God. Are you out there? This is Drone.

So, the ridiculousness that is my life as of late continues ever more. Here's the update. Lots of asterisk-y goodness:

*Having a tremendously difficult time staying awake today at work. It's dreary and cold outside. Have class after work, so I'm really tired just thinking about it.

*Class is fun. Hard, if nothing else. Feel like I'm creeping along the path to the Land of Degree-dom. But you know what? Tough noogies. It's gunna take me as long as it's gunna take me. I spent four years busting my ass to get a full-time Ivy League degree in a high falootin' major. I need to chill the f**k out and deal with the fact that it might take me 2 1/2 years to get another (more creative) degree part-time.

*I am supposedly single. Have been enacting my own personal version of the Drone original picture, Boys Just Wanna Have Fun. In other words, I've been going out every weekend night with my more single and more wild friends. Doing raucous things and getting drunk whenever possible. I took a pretty boring second date to a pretty cool Saturday night party this weekend. Met up with said boring date for the first time LAST Saturday. Boring date, herein referred to as "D.", is very sweet but is also very shy, a little awkward, and didn't give up even a kiss on the first meeting. Call me a mimbo, but I like to feel the pucker asap. On the second meeting, D brought the best friend along, without warning me. Hey, D. I get that your best friend wants to judge me and give you her stamp of approval or rejection, but--that's just not right. I deserve the same consideration. A foursome, with my best friend in absentia due to your lack of communication, ain't cool.

So, anyway, ended up meeting up with Gina and witnessing a public urination citation by the NYPD. Love to know that my tax dollars are hard at work busting my friends. Note to the cops: we only pissed outside b/c the richie rich apt. had a mile-long bathroom line for the one. and. only. CO-ED. bathroom.

I ended up getting sweet justice: MY best friend (Gina) judged D. Nice. After the urinatathon, I ditched my date (Gina to the rescue!) and the date's best friend. Had two "car bombs" at a dive bar (Uhm, is anyone else OCD'd out by the fact that you drop a dirty glass into a vat of beer in order to get the kaboom effect of the drink? That slightly skeeved me, but whatever. I got drunk. Mission accomplished. Plus. The name [aka The IRISH Car bomb]? A little off color, perhaps? Yeah.)

*The ex- and I met for lunch this Sunday. First time we've seen eachother in three weeks. Had Sushi, saw HITCH with Will Smith and proceeded to my apt., where we had the most amazing sex we've ever had. TMI? It's just weird, b/c I know that we're both wondering, 'What does this mean?' I'm hoping we don't slide down the slippery slope to F**kbuddy-hood. Not sure where else we can go unless we return to Together-ville. Don't really know which I prefer at this point, but hot damn. Great sex AND I don't have to spend a dime on flowers today. Sweet.

*I suddenly remember why being single sucks. You spend a lot of money on cabs and booze. I'm pretty much broke at the moment. Desparately anticipating this Friday, when payday rolls around and I will have enough money in my checking accoun to pay my March rent. Did I mention that I hate money troubles?!

*Oh, yeah. I have to got to jury duty on March 17th. @#$%^&*(!!!!!!! I really. I mean. Civic duty, my ass. Have you ever BEEN to the downtown court house?! I have. Word of advice: don't touch anything (or ONE, for that matter), and breathe shallowly. It says that I can only get out if I'm sick. BUT. I think when they interview me, I might just say that I am a born-again racist and, further, that I believe all individuals with red hair to be truly inferior. Any other suggestions would be much appreciated.

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Friday, February 04, 2005

Ch-Ch-Changes

Holy sh-sh-shit. I'm posting. But I have to be quick, because life these days is insanity personified:

1. Have already finished my first night class as part of my new going-back-to-school degree ambition. Went to school five nights a week from 6-10pm and then did the homework from 10pm to about 2 or 3AM. Sweet! Basically got no sleep from January 3-24.

2. Broke up with my significant other, C. Waaa. Oh well. Life goes on.

3. Have started my second class, which is two nights a week. Much more manageable than the first class.

4. All of my friends have fled New York. Pretty much. Gina has been in South America, gallavanting on burros and getting tan. I hate you, G. No, I love you.

5. Wow. That was an easy list to put together. My life is simple: work + school = no time to blog or have a life. Good times.

6. Oh yeah. Chloe Sevigny checked me out on the street a few weeks back. Her ViaG-ness blogged on it.

7. More to follow, I hope.

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