Tuesday, January 29, 2008

There's such tender wolves round town tonight.

How could I possibly ignore a plea along the lines of e.e.'s comment to this post? All I can say is aw, shucks. Thanks little lady.

Yes, that was my most recent post. And yes, it was posted over two months ago. Two months! Where does the time go!

I guess the answer is...nowhere in particular. It's all a big snoozefest around these parts these days. Not that I'm complaining or anything. Life is good, relationship is good, job is good. All that adds up to...good. If not a little boring.

That said, I realize I need to fight to keep from becoming complacent and dull. So maybe I've gotten some much needed rest these last couple of months, and maybe I'm revving up to come back out of hibernation and shake things up a little bit.

Or maybe I'll just yawn, scratch my balls, roll over, and nap a little while longer.

Only time will tell. But man is my bed warm, my dreams sweet and inviting...

Monday, November 26, 2007

And we'll love and we'll laugh, in the time that we have.

I am a delinquent blogger. Eh. Oh well. No plans to hang it up just yet, though.

Thanksgiving was lovely this year. Totally relaxing. Great food, great company, lots of great conversation and catching up. Oh, and lots of Guitar Hero... Lots and lots of Guitar Hero.

The highlight of the weekend was probably when, after much effort, my brother and I beat Free Bird on Hard in Cooperative Mode (total dorks, right?) and my Mom, referencing an episode of South Park I had related previously, announced to us and everyone gathered in the room, "Congratulations! You're fags!"

I love my family.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

This submarine behavior.

I've been functioning in a bit of a haze lately. (Hence the writing embargo. My hazes do not generally lend themselves to self expression.) Not really sure why, except that I've been over-worked and under-slept. And maybe a little depressed. Though nothing to be alarmed about.

As an example of said haze that has existed between myself and my surroundings of late, take this occurrence from my commute this morning. Arriving at my office building, I apparently rode a near-empty elevator standing next to a co-worker (there was one other woman in there with us) and did not even notice his presence until we stopped at our floor, exited the elevator, and I turned around thinking, "Who the hell just followed me off the elevator???"

It was funny and we had a laugh, but part of me was like, man, was I really in that much of a daze? I don't even remember what it was I was so immersed in thinking about, but it surely wasn't anything important or even particularly pleasant...

Thursday, September 20, 2007

These days I seem to think a lot about the things that I forgot to do.


I've been so incredibly busy at work this month that I've barely had time to focus on anything personal at all when I've been in the office. Hence the lack of updates.

The good news, however, is that hell month is almost over, and that once it is I plan on catching back up with the world around me.

In the meantime, how's about a little music talk? I've been really feeling MIA's new tunes, and can't wait to see her at the new Terminal 5 on 10/18. There's been far too little live music in my life lately, so I'm pretty psyched about this show. No doubt she'll tear it up.

What's everyone been listening to lately?

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Leave all our hopelessnesses aside (if just for a little while).

A dream.

Another tragedy the likes of 9/11 has occurred.

I am experiencing all of the same emotions all over again: confusion, fear, sadness, anger, anxiety… Only this time, unlike then, I also feel completely and utterly alone.

Though I am aware of the fact that I am still in the “city,” it looks a lot more like an unidentified countryside. I wander listlessly over green rolling hills, desperate for some sort of purpose, some sort of connection. Some sort of outlet for all of the things I am currently internalizing and experiencing by myself.

In my wanderings, I come upon a church. And though in reality it looks nothing like it, I identify it as the neighborhood church that in my waking life sits on the corner of my block.

I approach the door, and I hesitate. What if I’m not welcome here? I can hear the sounds of gospel music coming from inside, and I’m reminded of the fact that this is a “black” church, with what seems to be a loyal and devoted community. How could I possibly fit in? And what right do I have to attempt to share in, to intrude upon, their own expressions of sadness and grief? A stranger in the midst of something that is at once so deeply personal and yet so powerfully communal.

Ultimately I decide to enter, such is my desperation. I cross the threshold at the rear of the church and am immediately struck by how much smaller it seems on the inside than I anticipated from the outside. There are probably only six rows of pews leading up to the pulpit where, sure enough, two preachers and a gospel choir are gathered together joyfully praising god. That’s not to say that there isn’t great sadness—there most certainly is. But in the face of all that sadness, this community is choosing praise and thanks as a way of processing their despair. It moves me.

I look out among the pews, and am surprised to see that while everyone gathered around the alter is black, everyone seated in the pews is white. And not just white, but super white. Bleached. Starched, uptight, and proper to the extreme. And they’re all really…old. Suddenly it almost seems as though the singers and preachers at the front are…performing. It unsettles me.

But as I look closer, I realize that although the old white people are not expressing it in the same way as the younger black singers and preachers, they are in fact getting something similarly meaningful and comforting out of this. I detect it in the eyes of one older woman in particular, and I am drawn to her. I approach her and sit down at the end of her pew.

Sitting there, listening to the music and watching the singers’ intense mingling of joy and sadness, something breaks inside of me and my grief is finally able to come pouring out. I sob quietly and uncontrollably, conscious of the relief inherent in this release. And I begin to sink into that relief, and am content to just be there. Here.

At some point I realize that I am no longer crying.

And then it happens, the thing that I now realize I have been afraid of since entering. A woman approaches in the aisle, a white woman, although she is not quite as old as the other white people scattered among the pews. Somehow I know that she’s in a position of authority—she is somehow connected to this church. Somehow, I know that she “runs things.”

She sees what has happened, what I have gotten out of this experience, out of being here. And I fear that she wants to capitalize on it. And sure enough, as she arrives at my side, I see the paper in her hands. The sign-up. I now know that she has come to evangelize, to proselytize. Damn it. I look into her face, and I know that I have to leave.

I rise. She understands. I look once more toward the choir, and then turn and look back towards the open door through which I entered mere minutes, hours, days, months, years ago.

I see the rolling green hills once more, and know that once again I will wander. But somehow, after this respite, the hills look just a little bit greener. The wandering, a little less lonely.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

I used to be sad, now I'm just bored with you.

My boyfriend has not had a phone since August 13 (he took a swim with his in his pocket). Him being him, he has yet to replace it.

This was livable for the past week-and-a-half since he at least had his work phone during the day--though I have to say I did find it extremely irritating that I couldn't get in touch with him in the evening if I wanted to.

However, yesterday was his last day at his job. I currently have no way of getting in touch with him. He has no home phone, no internet access, and nowhere to be during the day. So our communication is currently reduced to the off chance that I am available to pick up the phone on the off chance that he summons up the desire and energy to find a phone and call me. Oh, and he would also have to remember to have my phone number on him, because who actually knows anyone's phone number these days?

This situation bothers me. And what's more, it seems to bother him that it bothers me. Apparently, I should be fine with the prospect of completely one-way communication that is dependent upon him to take action (not his strong suit) and me to simply wait passively for him to do so (not mine).

Sounds like some twisted game of power and control to me.

Am I a complete fucktard for putting up with this?

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

I am in the twilight of my youth (not that I'm going to remember).

Amazingly, I did survive my long weekend of birthday shenanigans.

It was relentless, even by my standards. But so much fun.

Friday night was just-the-two-of-us night, starting with drinks at Death & Company, which I can’t recommend highly enough. The drinks are expensive but incredible, and the bartenders take their craft very seriously. It’s like Milk & Honey, but without all the pretension and weird little affectations.

After that, we headed to The Orchard for dinner. I had never even heard of this place before last week, but holy crap was it good! Several of the dishes pretty much rocked our worlds. And when they heard we were celebrating my thirtieth, free champagne was brought to the table. Score!

Later, much havoc was wreaked on the streets of the Lower East Side and East Village. I think we were drunker than we realized at the time... At one point my little monkey man actually made a random woman scream in fright as he grunted in her ear. I’m not kidding. And I later found myself picking him up off the ground after he slipped on an onion and fell on his ass. For real.

Saturday was spent preparing for the party that I would host on Sunday, and then partying on another friend’s rooftop downtown. What was fun about that party was that it was held on the rooftop where the monkey and I met almost exactly two years ago. So that was a fun little trip down memory lane. And it was probably the last party I’ll attend there, as I don’t think I’m going to know anyone living there much longer.

Of course, what’s a summer rooftop party without lots and lots to drink? In fact, we got so silly that when we left later in the night, we actually took a bottle of wine with us and proceeded to swig from it while walking down the street and riding the subway. Thanks for not booking me on my birthday, NYPD! Actually, when we got on the train, we encountered a punk rocker passed out with a bottle of vodka and felt right at home.

Somewhere in there, we also got really stoned. And it was in that hyper-sensitive state that I “realized” that I could “actually” feel my kidneys and liver straining to process the onslaught of toxins I was relentlessly tossing their way. I decided I should probably slow down a bit. Until I forgot. Hand me that bottle of wine!

Sunday started with sleeping too late and feeling too hung over. But the hair of the dog fixed us right up, and got us on our way. I mixed up two huge jugs of delicious cocktails, packed up a picnic, and headed over to the park to frolic with friends on the grass. There was an abundance of food and drink, and it was lots of fun. Until it started raining, that is. But honestly, I think I had had it at that point anyway, and the rain was as good an excuse as any to pack it in and call it a night. Headed home with my two favorite people, chilled in front of the Simpsons, and played a little Katamari before passing out cold.

Yesterday I spent most of the day being completely useless at work, and putting all of what little energy I had into appearing otherwise.

The way I see it, if you make it through your thirtieth birthday celebration without feeling at least twice that old, you're doing something wrong.