Monday, October 31, 2005

Giddy up

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Such a great weekend. Had a first date on Friday night which was preceded by getting drunk with some of my best pals at a bar that was half a block from where I was to meet my date. I'm a big fan of evening out the nerves with a little pre-date pre-gaming. Works every time.

Saturday involved seeing just about everybody I love in NY. Started out with Gina. Then I headed to my friend H's apt in Chinatown with three other friends to move H out of her current place. Even though moving sucks in general, this move was actually a lot of fun. Went pretty quick with five people. After that, my friend Cool Brooklyn (CB) and I went to one of his friend's house for hanging and getting wasted. After that, headed back to CB's place in the BK to get our horseman outfits on.

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[view the video!!]

Got more wasted and proceeded into the City for drinking at CB's roommate's bar (where she bartends). Free drinks and blabbing until 4 in the AM. The horse masks were a massive hit. People like trying them on.

Like CB's roommate, the bartend(ress):

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And the guy at the deli who made our drunken sandwiches:

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I crashed in the BK at CB's pad and woke up to meet my Friday night date for a second date on Sunday. Went well. Not head over heels well. But well. Though some head over heels action might be appreciated.

This weekend: MY move. Sweet.

Last night I had some crazy dreams. The first had something to do with my not being able to do a cartwheel. For some reason, this was extremely distressing. I'm pretty sure that I actually can do a cartwheel. Dream #2 involved my ex (C). In my dream, C was, like, this rich, arrogant lover who had people throwing themselves all over C. Sex, money, attention, the works: all eyes seemed to be on C. I woke up feeling extremely jealous and... sadly... longing for C. Damn, I literally am DREAMING about my ex. Not good. Not good. Stupid psyche. Shut up! Boo, you whore.


Friday, October 28, 2005

Cake and [No] Sympathy

I am truly beffudled as to how she ends up in the ditch.

I am also truly delighted that she does. Enjoy. [via here from here]


Horsin' around

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This is my Halloween costume, by the way. Sherioushly. Neigh.


BUH bam!

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[click image to view my witty text]

Well, it's official. (Sorta) like the Jeffersons I'm movin' on [down] to the East Side. Hasta la vista, Upper West Side. See ya, subway. I'm taking the leap and heaping all my material crap across and down town. Maybe I can win this...

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What's that smell?

As I emerged from the subway last night to meet up with Gina for excessive amounts of wine and cigarettes, I smelled a NICE smell in the air.

It actually put a smile on my face. But more than that, it confounded me. Where's the ass smell? The hot garbage smell? The exhuast? It actually smelled like... molasses? Turns out, I'm not the only confounded New Yorker.

Only in New York would a GOOD smell launch an investigation. I can hear it now: "The terrorists are going to kill us by sabotaging our Febreze Scent Stories!"


Thursday, October 27, 2005

Mr. Owl? How many licks does it take to get to the tootsie center of a tootsie [book]?

Oh my loveable, studious little M-K...

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Did you really say this? 'Cause if you did, I love you even more.


Fergie Ferg's in the House

Ok, let me just issue a disclaimer that I feel REALLY. badly. about this post... but I have to do it. It's just too funny not to post. So we all remember when Fergie had a Depends moment, right?

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Well, last night I went out with a bunch of friends to celebrate my friend S's birth day. Dinner led to drinks led to my friend K pole dancing. My friend K, who I love dearly, could be found strip teasing ala the Fergmeister...

Exhibit A:
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Exhibit B:
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I'm SURE that K just spilled a scant portion of her G&T... but still. I know, I'm a horrible friend and I'm going straight to hell.


Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Stop, Drop, and Roll!

OK so it's not M-K, but it's the next best thing.

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[image via Pink]

Thanks, Ash, for wearing a fire blanket out in public. That's hot!

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As the fire blanket website advises, you too can brandish this hideous visage of fashion:

Step 1: Yank the blanket out of the wall holder.
Step 2: Wrap it around the victim to smother the fire.

Ah, yes. Victim. What a fitting term.


Happy Holidays?

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I was opening the lid of my yogurt last night when I saw a holiday-related lid reading "Happy Holidays"... complete with holly leaves and berries and snow. OK look, Corporate American Advertisers and Marketers. Halloween hasn't even occurred yet! See those dogs up there in the photo? Images of pumpkins, scarecrows, and ghouls might be appropriate now. But Christmas? Thanksgiving? OK, maybe Thanksgiving. But Christmas?!

This happens every year: "Only eight billion shopping days until Christmas!" But it seems like the start of the season keeps getting pushed further and further ahead. I do remember getting excited as a kid that Christmas was nearing, but that was usually on Thanksgiving Day. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd prefer to not be sweating my balls off in the New York City July sun when I begin thinking about what Old St. Nick will be bringing my friends and relatives. Well, since you asked...

For my thirsty little M-K.

For my moist little Fergie.

For my lovely, SJP.

For Miss Nasty, JJ.

For TC and Katie Holmes (aka, TomKat) and their future magic.


Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Oh no you didn't...

A thugged out girl tests all of her ring tones as loud as possible for a solid minute.

Preppy girl: Are you serious with that? Can you do everyone a favor and stop?

Thug girl: I know you're not talking to me. You messed with the wrong girl.

Preppy girl: I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Your screaming phone made me deaf.

Thug girl: I'll f her up. But then she'll call the cops; her people love the cops. Go back to where you came from!

Preppy girl: I'm trying to. That's why I'm on the train, you stupid bitch. Look, you got a new cell phone and that's great, but figure it out at home.

Thug girl: I'll f you up. You're f-ing with the wrong girl. Don't be fooled by the pretty face.

Preppy girl: Pretty face? Where?

--N train

I stand corrected. Sometimes the subway ride CAN be worthwhile. [via Overheard]


Look! the 'camel toad'-friendly Look Book entry for today. M hmmmmm.

Oh, Gaby. A stylist? For shame.


Movie or Catastrophe: The Saga Continues

So my friend Cool Brooklyn (CB) just emailed me the following:

I just watched a car catch on fire on madison avenue and then EXPLODE! it was wild and crazy. we think it was an accident followed by the fire/expolsion. yikes. i hope people got out safe.

My natural response was, "They were probably filming a movie."

Damn you, New York. So 'wild and crazy' that I have no idea what's up and what's down. Gooh.


Beware the Inbred, Murderous, and Retarded West Virginians

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So this past Saturday night I was supposed to go to my friend H's birthday party downtown. However, due to a torrential downpour and the malfunctioning subway (shocker!) I was forced to stay in... stay in and watch the most. NON. PC. MOVIE. EVER.

At first, it seemed like a good time killer. A teen horror flick with as much naked flesh as gorey chopping-up scenes. Indeed, it was a good time killer. Everything was going great and predictably. Cute twenty-somethings make a... wrong turn... off the main highway and into the woods of West Virginia mountains. Where, presumably, monsters would hack them to pieces.

It was only when I realized who the 'monsters' were that my jaw dropped in awe at the level of inpropriety and political incorrectness. The monsters were non other than inbred and genetically disfigured... West Virigina... backwoods living... hicks.

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Oh. My. God. Could mine eyes be deceiving me? Is it possible that this movie was actually produced without a lawsuit from the West Virgina Board of Tourism?

Four out of five stars... one star withheld only because it just feels so indecent to take pleasure in giving it five.


Lies, all lies

If I had a dime for every rich, beautiful, lucky, and successful celebrity that touted how sexy it is to be 'normal-looking,' I'd have enough money to afford a boob job and teeth straightening for every actress that was told she's not f***able behind her back. Give me a break.

Oh, and for the record, Hilary 'Mr. Ed Choppers McGee' Duff...

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Uh huh.


Drunk = Sexy

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Do any of you remember this post of mine? Well, if not, here's a quick re-cap from a night out on the town...

...The funniest aspect of the evening was when R and I were saying adios for the night. Outside a bar, R and I saw a pretty awesome looking 1981 Corvette that someone had completely tricked out... This car was so awesome that it garnered attention from many bar goers who were outside smoking. One fine gentleman proclaimed that, 'Anyone who drives a car like that is a douche bag.' I couldn't really disagree even though I really did like the car for its oddity. However, one fine drunken girl piped up (in that all too familiar I'm-about-to-fall-over-I'm-so-drunk-slur), 'No way, man! I love this car! If I drove this car, would I be a douche?!'

...I took it upon myself to play a little cat and mouse with the girl. She turned out to be from Milwaukee. I simply could not resist, so I whipped out my digital camera and cajoled the Wisconsin-ite to pose White Snake style in front of the car. Which she JUMPED at the chance to do. Cla. SSIC...

My dear friends, the drunkest, errr, sexiest girl from Milwaukee that night...

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Thanks to you, the Milwaukee White Snake Video Goddess, for these unforgettable shots.


On the road again

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It's not 100% official yet, but I'm signing a lease tomorrow for my new apartment! In my looong list of impending annoying moving-related tasks to come, there's one down. You know, the actual GETTING an apartment.

I'm no fool. Annoying dramas to follow: acquiring the keys in time for my move; picking up the UHAUL; actually getting my heavy crap out of my current place and into my new place (a third floor walk-up); etc etc etc. Only when I have a signed lease, have keys in my hand, and am moving into the new place will I be relaxed.

Nonetheless, I'm having a party the night before with friends to bid farewell to my current place. Then, said friends are sleeping over and helping with the move. Instead of housewarming gifts, I'm requesting that guests bring power tools (with which to dismantle my furniture), muscles (with which to carry my furniture), and keen eyes (with which to guard my furniture when the UHAUL is parked on the curb so that this doesn't happen to Drone).

Here's to the hurricane of headaches to come. God, I love moving.


Monday, October 24, 2005

Sweet dreams are made of these

Oh, man. My back is all stretched out and... reflexologied. My face is all oxygenated, unclogged, and moisturized. The gift certificate to the spa was uh-may-ZING.

The Drone's not one to get pampered very often. In fact, I often take pride in getting beaten down by this abusive boyfriend of a city known as New York. I enjoy crawling back for more each and every time my big apple slaps me in the face and tramples all over my spirit. But Sunday was different. Sunday was a four hour marathon of relaxation.

First, Wanda kneaded all of the knots out of my tired back, legs, feet, and hands. Then I scuttled from my massage room to the 'lounge' in my complimentary terrycloth robe and Haviana flip-flops where I ate vegetables and guzzled free Coronas. By the time my facial was ready to go, I was buzzed and flying high.

Then, Christina kneaded and cleaned my face for an hour. Please be reminded that this was all courtesy of my ex. A rediscovered birthday gift certificate, found whilst cleaning my apartment. Let that be motivation enough for you, too, to clean your own personal heaven.

After that, I met up with Gina for an awesome vegetarian meal in alphabet city. All in all a good weekend. Still don't have a new apartment, but I'm always on the lookout.


Friday, October 21, 2005


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Like the corners of my mind...

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Misty water-colored memories...

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Of the way...

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We werrrrrre...

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Come back, M-K!!! We miss your dear sweet soul.

A Venti coffee just isn't the same without you.

Balenciaga bags have lost all meaning.

Prarie skirts are dead to me... well, ok, some things remain the same, but the fact remains... the Drone and all of NYC want you back!


80% Chance of Depression

From Showers early, becoming a steady rain later in the day. High near 55F. Winds ENE at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 80%. Rainfall near a quarter of an inch.

Sounds like a slumber party kind of weekend. Speaking of which, last night Gina and I had these grandiose plans of meeting up at my newly cleaned apartment to watch cable and consume my homemade feta cheese, spinach, and tomato frittata. Well... we made good on the meeting up part.

So after looking at a ridiculously small apartment with a lofted bed space for a mattress that was one block away from Gina's place, I met up with G. Once we were cozed into her place, we nixed the idea of walking 17 blocks north to my place. Then we slowly but surely arrived at the point where we were nixing the homemade meal in favor of order-in burritos. Order-in burritos were accompanied by a viewing of Back to the Future II on TBS. The two of us were curled up on a futon under a wool blanket watching the most awesomest movie from my kindergarden days. Never wanted to leave! And realized at that moment how good it was to be five, carefree, and not have to work for a living. Sigh.

So, after texting, emailing, AND leaving a VM message for the broker of my current 'apartment on hold,' I received the following text:

sent app in afternoon. call you in am.

Great. Thanks so much. Do you realize that I'm going to be homeless if you don't get on the ball, retard? Do ya? Make that a 95% chance of depression.


Thursday, October 20, 2005

"And the card attached would say..."

Blanche: Sophia, by placing this pearl necklace between my bosoms, does it make me look like I'm a sex-starved slut who is in need of a man to bed?
Sophia: Yes.
Blanche: Good, then I'll wear it.

So my friend Cool Brooklyn and I are corresponding via email when I mention that (for one reason or another), I'm becoming verklempt. To which CB responds:

...that's so golden girls blanche of you to say that! if you were a GG you would be dorothy for sure. i would be sophia, or rose...

In response to which I, after Googling the show to recall who's who, said:

I am NOT the tall dyke. I'm Sohpia. And dear GOD... Look at the characters' supposed full names on IMDB...

According to CB:

here's the breakdown

Dorothy = smart wise
Sophia = witty
Rose = naive
Blanche = whore

OK, fine. Apparently I'm Dorothy "Pussycat" Petrillo Zbornak Hollingsworth.

And PS: when I was a kid and my mom was watching Golden Girls on TV and the theme song was playing in the background, I thought it was saying, "And the heart attack would say..." Fitting, really. Given the characters and their respective lots in life.



Conductor: Attention passengers: for future reference, "Stand clear of the closing doors" does not mean "stick your head out the door."

--R train

...I heart the subway...

...but not often.

And remember when I made the statement that New Yorkers would rather logically jump to the conclusion that a film is being made than a crisis actually occurring?

Man: My friend asked me if they were shooting a movie, and I said,"Yeah, it's called Bombscare."

--Astor Place

[all via Overheard]


Extra! Extra!

The sky is blue.

Well, at least I can take solace in knowing that "Manhattan is not the most expensive place to own an automobile." Terrific.

This article makes me all the more frightened; for I've just been informed that my current studio (on the market for all of two days) has rented for $75 more than I'm paying right now. I have to be out in one month's time and do not have a signed lease elsewhere.

I wonder if it's expensive to be homeless?


I for ironic

I'm not sure if you guys see the same ads I do, but featured above are links for "Spacious Manhattan Apartments." While I have agreed to entertain the above ads because they're usually interesting and/or helpful to me on other people's sites, I do not have any control over what the ads are for. Is it a happy coincidence that these ads are for real estate in NYC, or are the Google ad folks mocking me?? Drone will not be mocked, Google! Heh.


Thank G-d for texting

And thanks to G and E for getting me drunk after class last night. Last night after my class with the miserable, old, crotchety teacher I was invited to join friends G and E at a museum opening (where, most notably, there was to be free booze).

"Yeah, I'll be there in five."

Ended up hitting on someone I recognized from my daily routine. After I asked this special someone (A.) out on a date, I learned that A was to be moving to Chicago in twelve days...

"So, I guess I'd better call you pretty quickly."

When I got home at 11, I decided a wittily worded text to A would do the trick... and it did just that. A and I are going out Saturday night. Something tells me neither us are banking on a longterm love. Just a hunch.

In apartment news, I'm still waiting around to see if my current situation pans out. I can feel all 25 of your prayers for the ol' Drone. Keep those fingers crossed!

In... free massage/pampering on the sucka ex's dime news... I can't wait for my four hours of reflexology, facials, and whatnot on Sunday. I NEVER do stuff like this (read: I'm poor), so this will be awesome. And the whole time I'll be snarkily thanking my ex in my mind. Heh.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005

No Xians Permitted

Well, if I can't find a place on my own I can always shack up with this guy.


Tuesday, October 18, 2005

I'd like to break some brokers

Drone: Hi, I'm calling about the advertised $1,200 studio...

Bloodsucking Vulture: How much do you make?

Drone: I'm sorry?

Bloodsucking Vulture: How much do you make?!

Drone: [divulging information]

Bloodsucking Vulture: Sorry, you're a bad candidate. You need to make 90 times the monthly rent.

Drone: Sorry. Not to be rude [right], but what kind of asshole making $108,000 a year (i.e., 90 times $1,200) wants to live in a 150 square foot studio on the lower east side...

Bloodsucking Vulture: [silence... then] Click.

Trust me when I say that the above does not even come close to representing the worst of my interactions.

There was the crackhouse a broker took to me to in order to view a 'real steal' on the lower east side. What transpired was meeting a transient in his underwear that was squatting in the crackhouse's 6th floor walk-up apartment that featured no electricity and expansive views of refuse strewn all about the apartment. Then there was the 'cottage' apartment in the backyard (seriously, in the back yard) of an actual apartment building that featured a shower in a closet and seven-foot ceilings. Unreal, people. Unreal. Brokers suck. They lie. They cheat. They deceive. And they make massive quantities of cash for doing absolutely nothing. If you are a broker in New York City and you're reading this, then you invariably lie, cheat, deceive, and do not deserve your 15% commission.

On the happier side of things, I have (like I may have already mentioned) an apartament deal that is in the works. I'm losing sleep and crossing my fingers every night; for, in 30 days I'll be officially homeless if I haven't found something. Hurray!


Monday, October 17, 2005

Homme Improvement

So, this weekend. I had so much fun with friends and really enjoyed my measly 48 hours off. More specifically, I resolved to move out of my current apartment. I want to be closer to work and want to pay less rent per month. The former will allow me to officially break up with the subway (read: I will walk to and from work) while the latter will allow me to drink more. A win win.

Fingers crossed, I lined up a place that meets both criteria. As the story goes with Manhattan rentals, nothing should be believed until you see it (and, more importantly, until you have the keys in your hand). I let my current landlord know the news and thereby committed myself to leaving. Once I told him, he was already commissioning the bloodsucking vultures of the Manhattan real estate market (known by some as 'brokers') to whore out my apartment. So, I spent my entire Sunday cleaning and purging my place from top to bottom. It now looks sparkling clean and better than when I first moved in. It's a showroom, if you will. The vultures will have no problem finding a taker. So, that's the scary part. I had to commit to leaving before I actually had a definite go-to. That's the way it goes in NYC. Gotta take your chances. I'm 99% confident that my apartment in waiting will not fall through. Please pray for the ol' Drone, though.

Like I said, I spent the entire day on Sunday weeding through papers and clothing. I scrubbed surfaces and swept every square inch. The place is not merely organized but legitimately clean. All of my laundry is done and neatly folded and all of the dishes are clean and neatly stored. I threw out at least 6 large trash bags of crap that I don't need. I really performed a pre-move purge so that I'm now move-in ready. There is really nothing extraneous in my place at the moment. It's an amazing feeling really.

Pouring over old birthday cards, photos (yes, real photos that were like printed on paper at a store) and handwritten notes yielded some very interesting moments. Mostly, I would get very happy to see a card I had forgotten or be reminded of a time that had passed and escaped my memory. The remainder involved coming across photos of my ex C and me together in Miami, LA, New York... you name it. I even found the following: a picture of us both on our second date where we both look hot and happy, and; a note that my ex wrote me after our first date that almost made the harsh and unfeeling Drone well up. Oh well. The best thing I found was an old birthday gift from my ex C: a gift certificate for almost $400 worth of spa treatment here.

I'm not quite sure why I didn't use it, but the fact remains that I never did. So I called the spa right up and booked almost 3 hours of back to back massages, facials, and other pampering treatments. Can't wait for next weekend to get it! Heh. Thanks, C. Sucka!

After turning my apartment into a sparkling ode to cleanliness, I took about 50 pounds of change (coinage) to my local grocery store in order to convert it into paper with the Coinstar. Much to my surprise, the Coinstar read: OUT OF ORDER. Sweet... I knew my good spa fortune of earlier would have to be addressed by the kosmos in some fashion. So I happily trudged back to my showroom with the 50 pounds of change. Hurray for inefficiency... and Coinstar machines sucking butt.


Uninvited Guests Need Not Apply

If only this available apartment's description were a joke. Alas, it is not. Amazing what the selling points for affordable Manhattan real estate have become. What's next? 'No smelly old people whose apartments smell like urine that are grandfathered into the building' ???



Why, God. Why? So sad.

Oh well. I have a lot to say about my new apartment search and this past weekend. Will update ASAP. Let's all reconvene when our M-K withdrawal tears have subsided.


Friday, October 14, 2005

All the live long day

Uhhhh! I was toiling away last night at my job until 10:30PM and got to work this morning at 7:30AM. It was fine, though. I'm meeting a deadline, and those are to be expected. Much like when I was in college, however, I do not enjoy crunch times. I prefer to get an assignment, jump on top of it, and finish said assignment as quickly and efficiently as I can. Usually.

This late night was a result of my boss informing me of said deadline a day before the deadline. Hence, I was ill-infomred (ney, uninformed) so there was not much I could have to done to have avoided the crunch. At any rate, my awesome boss and I worked side by side and have completed the task(s) at hand.

Speaking of getting on top of things, I have decided to move from my current abode to one more conveniently located to 90% of my friend and, more importantly, to my job. I might never, dare I say it, have to take the subway to work! Imagine, if you will. Drone liesurely walking to work each morning, never again having to pop a neck vein whilst taking the subway. One can dream. I've already looked at a handfull of places and, let me tell you if you're not already well aware that, real estate in Manhattan is out of control. Ridiculous. Absurd. An alternate reality. I don't know quite how else to capture it, but the prices are so nuts in relation to what one gets. I understand that right now is a particularly hard market and that vacancy rates are at an all-time low, but still. Fourteen hundred dollars a month for a piece of shi-ite? No. Sorry, but no. So, I'll continue the search and hold out hope that I can break up with the subway.

No big plans this weekend. It's supposed to rain the whole weekend long. Hurray! But I hear it's supposed to clear up just in time for my subway commute to work onMonday morning. How... lovely.


Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Bad = Hilarious

I'm not going to set this up. Just have fun chortling.


I'll have Malayalam on Rye, please...

After reading this job posting from a daily E-mail which I still (for some reason) receive from my alma mater, I uttered a mental 'Whu?'

We are looking for a Malayalam translator/interpreter toassist us on Oct. 25th in the evening for a television shootand one other day (flexible schedule) translating previouslyshot footage. We will pay a negotiable day rate for both daysand travel if necessary.
Qualifications=Fluent in Malayalam, willing to travel (withtravel stipend paid for).
Duration=1-2 day Oct. 25th and flexible second day

So, we're all amongst friends here. How many people knew (specifically) what the hell Malayalam was before I posted this?

And just because these E-mails are so endlessly entertaining to me, here's another:

Looking for an assistant to help a pleasant elderly man (78)in good physcial shape to organize his life. Duties willinclude companionship and administrative tasks -- organizingpapers, finding lost keys, walks to the store, etc.Qualifications=Must be smart, patient and kind. Experiencewith senior citizens preferred. An interest in the arts aplus.duration=10-12 hrs./week, spread out over 3-4 days any day ofthe week.Compensation=$10-$15/hr depending on experience.

Dude, I can't even organize my OWN life. 'Nuff said. (By the by, I suppose if you live in the vicinity of Manhattan and are actually interested in the above positions, I can provide the contact information.)


New York, New York

Ever have one of those 'Don't f*** with me' days where you walk around with that 'Don't f*** with me' look on your face? So have I. Well, I'm not having one of those days today. But. Have you ever NOT been having one of those days and SEEN a person that clearly IS having one of those days? That happened to me this morning at the Times Square subway station where I begrudgingly transfer from the world's crappiest subway line to a pretty reliable subway line. While in the station, I could see this oncoming 'Don't f*** with me' individual from a mile away. The emotionless face and the bee line hyperdrive walk just threatening to body check anyone who got in her way. I kind of smirked from afar and felt her pain. Boy, have I been there.

I definitely wasn't smirking in a condescending way. It was more an empathetic smirk of comradery. 'Did the subway just piss her off?' I wondered. Was she perhaps just breaking up with her boyfriend? Did she just realize that her rent to monthly earnings ratio is dangerously approching the number one? Regardless... I'm there with you, sister. And that's why I now present you, my loyal 20+ readers, with the following lists:

Top 20 Things I Hate About Living in New York
20. The Subway at rush hour.
19. Hearing a broker say, "$1,300 is a STEAL" in reference to a 200 sq. foot studio in a 6th floor walk-up in Chinatown.
18. Paying $1,400 to live in a 350 sq. ft. studio on the Upper West Side, when 90% of my friends live on the Lower East Side.
17. The Subway on Saturdays.
16. Paying $12 for a snack and a magazine at lunchtime.
15. Realizing my rent gobbles 62% of my annual post-tax income.
14. The Subway when it rains.
13. Dating (read: knowing that others will always look over their shoulders looking for the next best thing).
12. Explaining to people who don't live in New York how expensive New York can be.
11. The Subway late at night.
10. People like this.
9. Peddling on the Subways ("Ladiesandgentleman, I am TRY-ing to make money for my basketball team... blah blah blah).
8. Being exposed to the most amazing things in the world (i.e., food, fashion, entertainment) and yet not having enough resources to afford them.
7. The subway's rising prices despite the fact that it's quite literally falling apart.
6. The pressure of knowing that there are probably 2 million people that are hotter than I am... within a 10 mile radius.
5. $12 "cocktails" (read: thimbles filled with vodka and soda).
4. The fact that most employers offer young professionals about enough money to pay their rent.
3. People NOT MOVING IN ALL THE WAY... on the Subway.
2. The fact that the City is crippled by anything remotely resembeling anything out of the ordinary (read: rainstorms and beyond).
1. And the number one reason? THE SUBWAY!!!

Top 20 Things I Heart About Living in New York
20. Being able to walk just about anywhere I want when I've had it with the Subway.
19. Cabs (though I can't afford them).
18. Bars that are open until 5AM (ahemBostonahem).
17. Dating (read: the right to 'hold out' for that unrealistic vision of a mate because there are 8 million people constantly coming and going).
16. Take-out maragaritas.
15. Not having to justify to other New Yorkers why you're broke.
14. Sarcasm.
13. Misdirected anger (as long as it's not at me).
12. Finding an apartment that doesn't require you to either a) walk up 10 flights of stairs, or b) share a bathroom.
11. Overhearing shit like this.
10. Pretending you're oblivious with your iPod on when really you're listening to shit like number 11.
9. 24-hour delis.
8. The fact that online dating is beyond mainstream.
7. Laughing to yourself when you tell your mom from New Mexico that you met your mate on-line.
6. Crossing the street into oncoming traffic with reckless abandon.
5. Sushi on every fifth block.
4. The fact that you never have to see your ex- ever again if you don't want to... despite the fact that you live two miles apart.
3. Celebrity sitings.
2. Rooftop parties.
1. And the number one love? Borough pride (i.e., reFUSing to move to Brooklyn).


Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Let the rain fall down

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Or not. I'm sick of this weather. My favorite part of the forecast? The part where it rains bloody murder until next Monday morning at 9AM. Just in time for the work week! YESSSSSSS!

Seriously, all this greyness is affecting my demeanor. My usual bubbly, bright spirit is made surly and pessimistic. Er. OK, trust me. The weather is taking it's toll.

It's no secret that I've been in a funk as of late. Spoke to my father about my money woes, and apparently he thinks I'm in great shape (financially speaking). OK. Whatever. My love life still pretty much sucks. However, I did have a good date on Sunday night that will lead to a second date this Thursday night. Any suggestions for what we should do that's not a burden to follow through with are much appreciated. As I mentioned to Gina last night over dinner in her apartment, I have no problem with first dates. In fact, I've become quite good at them. I look at first dates sort of how I look at job interviews. If I can just get my foot in that proverbial door, I know I'm getting a job offer. The problem is everything between the first date and the point where where I'm cuddling on a rainy Sunday over reruns on the The Food Network. Seriously, dates two through 11 are always pretty challenging terrain. How you navigate can seriously affect the road ahead.

OK, so my love life is getting interesting (at best). As for my social life, that's pretty blah too. One of my best friends has fallen in love... [yack]. No seriously, good for him. But. That means I don't get to see him very often. Waaaaa. I mean. I'm so happy for you, Cool Brooklyn. Is it only Tuesday?????


Monday, October 10, 2005

Anna + Fur = Tofu Pie in the Smug Mug

The pictures on Pink illustrating this story are pretty much priceless. (FAB, make sure this doesn't happen to you on Halloween night...)


Sex and Rhodesians (but not together, please)

Just think about the ramifications of this propostion for future E-mail viruses. Gee-yikes. Would we all not be raped?

To wit, if one of Lindsay' s ideas were brought to fruition, everyone I know would see something like this:

To: Gina
From: Drone

We sould talk more about this. Because, as much I like sex, I really don't think I like it as much as other people do. I believe that I'm somewhere smack dab in the middle of the spectrum. Between those who'd rather not have sex and those that wish to have it all the the time (nymphomaniacs, I suppose). I like it, but most of the time I'd rather kiss or just eat yogurt and granola. Having said that, maybe I've just never met someone who blows me away in bed to the point that I'd want to have it all the time. Dunno. Hey, I saw a perfect puppy Rhodesian last night. SO. CUTE!



Get out of my dreams [and into my studio apartment]...

I do not have the patience for sentences, either. My weekend was pretty much a big fat BLAH.

Had a post-Friday drink with a friend after work, then went straight home. Bought groceries, gorged, and passed out. Stayed in bed all. day. LONG. At about 6PM, went for groceries. Back to apartment. Gorged. Crashed. Woke up on Sunday. Did my laundry (in the building) and then begged Gina to get coffee with me so that I wouldn't turn into a blob.

Met Gina at an alternate Starbucks, as our usual was packed with soccer moms and stroller-pushing grannies. The second wasn't much better, but we just narrowly beat the rush and got a table. Talked about the universe, relationships, our quarter-life crisis states in life, and then saw a dog get hit by a car. Not fun. Luckily, the pooch was OK. The funniest part of the incident involved Gina thinking that the impending action outside the Starbucks window (i.e., screeching taxi cab wheels, squealing woman writhing in dramatic motions, and gawking on-lookers) was all part of a movie set that was clearly in the 'hood: "I think they're just filming a movie," said the jaded Gina.

"Wow. Good actress." said the Drone legitimately who thought that this squealing woman really showed genuine emotion. Der. That's 'cause she weren't doin' no actin', maw. Oh, New York. Watch a man get gunned down, and without batting an eye you're likely to say, "Oh I think they're jhust shooting Law and Order."

After that, I had a coffee date with someone of the exact same name and age of my ex. How's that for unlucky in love. The date actually was good and ended with me getting some makeout action in the front seat of a car that was dropping me off at my apt. How 11th grade of me. Then I bought groceries, gorged, and crashed. Ugh. The leitmotif of my weekend is not promising.


Thursday, October 06, 2005

Oh my God

Gymnastics with our Lord and Savior, anyone? Gooh. [via Pink]


What It Means When He Tells You He Can't Give You What You Need

In honor of Gina's newfound class assignments to write a girlie magazine instructional article for her like-minded class, I have decided to expose the scenario in which your boyfriend or girlfriend tells you, 'I can't give you what you need.'

Remember, if you will, way back to yesterday when I informed you that my ex- C told me just that. C wrote me in an E-mail the following excerpts:

...I have been thinking a lot about us. I do not feel good about where we are... I am sorry for telling you this by email, but I can put my thoughts down more clearly than if I were to see you in person... I do not think our relationship is one of friendship, but of lovers. For me that means that ou[r] energy is more than just friends. I cannot give you what you need. I hope you understand and can forgive me. You are too special.

Just to give you the thumbnail sketch: C and Drone dated and lived together in bliss for exactly a year (yes, we broke up quite literally on the year anniversary of the day we met). This marked the longest, most committed romantic relationship Drone has ever had. After a year, Drone and C started to do the nondescript, vague act of growing. apart. Blah. So, I decided to move out of C's place and back into my apartment (thank GOD I didn't get rid of my apartment). I hadn't really seen the inside of my apartment for almost six months when I returned because C and I were always at C's place. It was a little time capsule for which I had been paying rent and was happy to have once C and I decided to separate on a trial basis. Our trial separation turned into occassional meet 'n greets for dinner and then sex. That happened for about six months. Which brings us to now, when C and I began to get awkward and feel more like 'friends with benefits' than a couple. I was dating other people and, presumably, so was C. I was ready to give it another chance with C, but clearly (from the above E-mail) C was not.

So. Let's go back to the E-mail:

...I have been thinking a lot about us. [K. That's always a good thing to hear.]

I do not feel good about where we are... [Whoa. With the above lead in? I'm shocked!]

I am sorry for telling you this by email, but I can put my thoughts down more clearly than if I were to see you in person... [That's OK. I understand. I'm more intelligent than you are, so you fear my Jedi-like brilliance and extensive vocabulary. You'd be intimidated by my dashing good looks and want to have sex with me on the spot if you tried to tell me your 'truth' in person.]

I do not think our relationship is one of friendship, but of lovers. For me that means that ou[r] energy is more than just friends. [Brilliant deduction, C. Brilliant.]

I cannot give you what you need. I hope you understand and can forgive me. You are too special.

Ok, so the last comments. You cannot give me what I need? Something about that statement just feels so condescending and prickly. What is it I need, C? Seriously. Tell me because I've been trying to figure out what I need for about 25 years. If you have all the answers, spill it. I need and crave your love and support? And you can't give it to me? Is that it? Hm. That's where you're wrong, C. You can't give me what I want. I want: sex with you, and; maybe a committed relationship if you weren't so in your head all the time. I don't really need it, per se. I can forgive you for not wanting to give me what I want. Got it. No problem. And, PS, "You are too special" is not an appropriate conclusion to an E-mail. It maybe belongs somewhere in the body. But the last sentence? Eh. That makes you a bad writer and therefore is not giving me what I need.

So, ladies and gents. When a former 'lover' tells you "I cannot give you what you need," drop him or her like a hot potato. It shows that they believe you NEED them (see narcissism). And, it's just another fancy way of saying, "Later." Sweet. Who woulda thunk? Another girlie magazine instructional topic that boils down to the same advice: get over it.

So, in other news, something good happened last night. I left work to go to my class with the horribly crotchety old lady professor. Arriving at school, I was informed that all classes were canceled for Rosh Hashanah. YES! Thank Jesus for the Jews! Er. You know what I mean. So I took the opportunity to go to the gym.

After the gym, I went home and gorged on food and endulged in not one but TWO guilty pleasures. I trimmed my nose hair (hot!) and watched a cheesy movie on DVD (Stepmom). Damn, I'm such a catch. Where the hell are all my suitors?


Wednesday, October 05, 2005

I guess I've got 2 outta 3

Please read Gina's post for clarification.

I haven't been posting lately becuase I've been in a real funk lately. Money's been tight, and my "love life" (or lack thereof) has been annoying to say the least.

Money's been extraordinarily tight lately. So tight that I called my father during my work lunch hour yesterday in full on freak-out mode. He listened patiently and was of great help (psychologically and emotionally speaking). I'm praying, however shamed it may make me, that he'll pull through--yet again--financially for the ol' Drone. As a supplement to my income, I've picked up a brief stint as an SAT tutor for a friend's son. I used to tutor said son and son's brother when I was in college. Quick cash with people I like. Not too bad. And just in the nick of time.

And in additional wonderful news: my ex- and I have officially cut ties (romantically speaking). It all transpired through a short series of E-mails. C said what C needed to say, and Drone said what Drone needed to say. The end result? We shan't be engaging in physical relations any longer. We've come to the conclusion that being "friends" isn't really a possibility right now (because, you know, "friends" don't really make love on a bi-monthly basis). So, we're basically not speaking or communicating which, for me, is odd. I've never really loved someone the way I loved C. I mean, I spent a whole year (or 1/25 of my life, if you will) with this person. Now we're not talking? Hm.

OK, so I've got great friends and a great job. If only my job paid me more and I were getting laid by someone extremely hot and cool. Two outta three ain't bad.