OMG! I haz a blogger!

Hey, so I had this crazy dream that I had a long-neglected blog and what do you know, it was TRUE! Whoa. Luckily the dream about me having to re-take my PSATs pants-less was not true. Whew.

Sorry friends, I'm in the midst of moving from Brooklyn to Queens (yeah, for reals) and hurriedly constructing holiday presents and it's sucking up all my brain power. I'll be back by January with something wittier than this, I swear. Maybe I'll make some naively optimistic New Year's resolution about it.

In the meantime, dry your tears and look for me here or here. Or maybe here. Hah, just kidding on that last one. We both know I don't own a flatiron.

HAPPY HOLIDAAAZZZZE!

Alive

Two years ago on this day at this time I was lying in a bed surrounded by lots of people and being pumped full of morphine. Not as awesome as it sounds, since I was broken in nine places and burned in others and completely in shock. Actually, around this exact time of night I think I was getting my face stitched up by a hottie plastic surgeon, so things were getting a little better.

It was only TWO years ago that I got smashed up by two large vehicles, and yet it seems soooo far away that sometimes I almost forget it really happened. Seriously. If it weren't for the scar on my leg that looks like a map of Asia and a part-titanium arm that predicts the weather, I would have to pull out my medical records to prove it. Sometimes I'm just so shocked that I'm still standing. And still jumping, running, eating, dancing, laughing, and brushing my teeth. Holy shit.

I'm still a typical girl in that I rarely look in the mirror and love everything I see; I probably criticize myself far too often. But every now and then I think "whoa, I just walked up all those stairs" and "damn, I just put my hair in a ponytail" and remember when those things seemed impossible. And then I think "thank you, knees, for bending properly" and "thank you, arm, for stretching so high." Thank you knees. Thank you arm. Thank you shoulders and teeth and lungs and fingers. Thank you EMTs and nurses and surgeons and physical therapists and person who donated the B positive blood that got transfused into me (weeeeird). Thank you brain for being functional enough to let me write this.

And - at the risk of getting all motivational-speaker and Chicken-Soup-for-the-Soul on you - I think you should do the same thing. Look in the mirror and say "thank you feet and hands and spine and brains and hips and teeth." For just one second, appreciate how insanely awesome it is that your body works because you never know when it might not for awhile. Or forever.

Now go be alive. Do it.

October is also boring

These past five weeks have apparently been so monotone and event-less that I couldn't even update my blog. Or maybe I've just been lazy. That could be it.

*Sigh*, OK, here are some things that happened, in brief:
- Mono went away... mostly
- Went to an awesome picnic with some PPK folks and stuffed myself with veggies and baked goods
- Saw Hair for the second time and Equus for the first time - lots of naked
- Continued the quest for a new apartment... still looking
- Made a sweet Fall music playlist to help me survive the cold (really, I'm excited about it)
- Turned 25 and freaked out a little about the idea that I have reached a quarter century and have no idea what I'm doing with my life
- Hung out with my sibs and sis-in-law in Ithaca where highlights included yelling at the presidential debate, seeing real live nature foliage, and eating the best apple crisp ever

And now: I'm sick with a cold, procrastinating doing real work, and thinking about how cluttered my room is with un-folded laundry and books.

Happy Wednesday!

I promise to have a real post about something interesting... soon. I promise.

Mono is boring

That Citrus Smirnoff in my freezer is getting awfully iced-over and lonely.

(I know... Smirnoff... I'm poor, OK?)

Alright, liver and spleen, listen up: I have spent roughly 17 days sitting in bed being bored (with the occasional outing to the supermarket or the dollar store - yahoo) and I'm ready to move on to more thrilling and grand activities. I would even settle for going to the gym so I could watch cable on the treadmill.

Last night - a lovely, cool, end-of-August Friday - I celebrated by eating ice cream, watching all the rest of the "Upright Citizens Brigade" I had from Netflix, and reading three-quarters of a Calvin & Hobbes compilation. Wild.

And today, instead of going to the beach and a sweet birthday party, I will probably make my bed, re-arrange my iTunes playlists, and watch the last disc of "Six Feet Under" - Season 4. Maybe also make a bunch of cupcakes and eat them all while pouting at the wall.

Get it liver & spleen? Calm down, stop threatening to explode, and let me return back to society in the very near future. OK? OK??

At least I can finally stomach coffee again.

Shameless self and not-self promotion

Someone call Elite. I'm starting my look book:

I'm on an album cover! Looking really excited! Because I am!

If you have not yet experienced the joy that is Pretty & Nice, drop everything you are doing and listen to their tunes. Right NOW. Their new album, Get Young, comes out this fall and it's going to rock your face off with it's falsetto-singing, drum-banging, guitar-wailing power.

Yeah, I kind of suck at reviewing albums and music and such. I am much better at describing music by describing the activity I would most like to do while listening to it. For example, Belle & Sebastian = making breakfast; Queen = putting on makeup and drinking gin; Joy Division = crying. See what I mean? So in that vein, Pretty & Nice =
- pretending to do gymnastics
- running and then sliding down the length of a polished wood floor
- eating frosting out of the can while bopping my head
- dancing around throwing paint on things a la jazzy Jackson Pollock
- jumping around barefoot (as you can see)

These all involve motion because you cannot stand still when you listen to Pretty & Nice. Or at least I can't. But they can, for some reason:

They are so oblivious. Even when I multiply myself. Hmm.

The boys are on tour through the beginning of September so check out the dates here and then go to a show and dance around. You won't be sorry. And if you go to a NYC show, you will likely see me looking much like these photos. Minus the romper and hat. Maybe.

(PS: the awesome album artwork is by Andrea Morales and Kelly Assaf and the press photos are by Brian Tamborello. Check them out too!)

Another $20 and 6 days later...

I knew this "virus" was more exciting than it appeared to be... I have MONONUCLEOSIS! Also known by it's hip street name, "mono," - or, if you're thirteen, "the kissing disease" - it's characterized by an intense need for sleep and... more sleep. And then some sleeping.

While maybe perhaps I have been partaking in some spit-swapping, I think my body is actually paying me back for packing my schedule full of every possible event and then marinating it in vodka. And trying to do it all on five or six hours of sleep per night. But my liver says NO.

Yes, my liver is Russian and looks like that guy. I'm not eating those crazy mushrooms, though... sorry liver.

I'm a little bit lucky because I haven't been experiencing the extreme, swollen sore throat that seems to be common with the virus, but it still sucks. These are the last sweet, beautiful days of summer! I should be running around in the parks eating Mr. Softees and drinking mimosas! I suppose that's kind of what got me here though. Instead, I am lying in bed reading cheesy magazines and watching old "Jim Henson Hour" clips on YouTube because going to the grocery store down the street is the biggest excursion I can handle.

Happy early vacation to me! Yay.

Good things about being really sick

According to my doctors I have a "really bad virus," although I'm not convinced it's that simple. When I shell out a $20 co-pay, I want to be told that my headache/fever/vomiting/frighteningly large glands are the result of something with a much better name than "really bad virus." And require better meds than Tylenol.

Alas. It looks like even after a week of fighting, my body is being left to fend for itself. While the battle of the insides rages on, I figured it couldn't hurt to think positively. Here's what I've been enjoying for the past few days:

- Getting to sleep with multiple blankets - even in the middle of August!
- Eating like a picky four-year-old. The staples of my diet are primarily saltines, popsicles, white rice, applesauce, and animal crackers. Actually, I was also able to stomach some carrots, green beans, and avocado today. Gold star!
- The realization that nausea might finally help me drop those last 5 pounds!
- Floating through work and having no idea how I finished those projects or where the time went (so... kind of like every day).
- The best dreams EVER. Including (1) the one where I am in the middle of tech for some show and I'm all pissed off because Miley Cyrus stole my sequined gown for the saloon scene and I realize it's because her dad is the director, even though everyone calls him Paul and he looks suspiciously like Adam McKay AND (2) the one where I "wake up" in a small room within an Australian airport to discover that some guy has taken my blood samples and possibly some of my organs to sell and that's why I'm so sick. YEAH. (That second one was so great and dramatic because I kept yelling "Look how sick I am! What have you done??" and the guy was crouched on the floor crying and yelling "I cahn't tell yuuuu" in an Aussie accent.)

So yeah, fun times all around. I guess while my face keeps sweating profusely and my glands continue to freak me out I can at least hope for some more awesome dreams. And since I probably can't truly blame some Aussie organ harvester, I'll go the usual route and blame the cats:


Damn you, flu cat! I said GET OUT!

Don't worry, no one else wants it

Sometimes, when I am feeling extra bratty, I don't like to eat really good candy in front of other people because then I will have to share. It's inevitable that in the rare moments I unveil a gleaming bag of Jelly Bellys or M&Ms at my desk, my co-workers will have smelled it from their desk in the next room and will magically appear over my shoulder with puppy-dog eyes. But I think I've found the solution: ugly candy. Specifically, this candy:

That's right, the humble Chick-O-Stick, which I re-discovered during a recent morning excursion to Economy Candy.

Yeah, bad news: I learned that Economy Candy is just a quick stop off the F train, meaning I can stop there on my way to work and only add about 15 minutes of commute time. The good news: I can stop there on my way to work and only add about 15 minutes of commute time!!

But really, look at that thing. It looks like an old carrot chewed on by a rabid dog and left under a haystack. And even if someone was brave and asked for a piece anyway, all attempts to break off "just a small bite" leave a pile a crumbs. But luckily no one asked me for one. In reality, this stick of ugly is the best thing ever. It's like the inside of a Butterfinger compressed into stick form and spiked with coconut. I don't even like coconut that much and I think it's genius. And - for those who care - it's even vegan. Here's what Wikipedia has to say:

The Chick-O-Stick is the Atkinson Candy Co.'s most well-known candy, having been manufactured since the Great Depression. It is made primarily from peanut butter, granulated sugar, corn syrup, and toasted coconut, with colorings and preservatives added, and contains no trans fats.

Do you hear that? No trans fats! It's practically organic!! Um... minus the "colorings and preservatives." *Sigh,* I'm in love. But, damn it, just when I was starting to eat healthily again, the Atkinsons drop in to guarantee a future wardrobe of elastic waistbands.

24/7/365

Oh my god, you guys, take a look to the left. Yep, right there. Yep, I added Twitter. Since I can't seem to get my ass in gear often enough to post something longer than a paragraph, why not just limit myself to 140 characters? Plus, now I have a whole new way to obsess about myself and then share it with the world.

You can continue to check it out here on my sidebar or you can also get the action straight from my spanking new Twitter site. I spent all day working on it. *Ahemaherrm*, I mean, in between taking very important phone calls and filing very important papers. Let me tell you, it is SO hard to find that perfect shade of yellow for your sidebar when people are talking to you about, like, money and stuff. Gahhhhd.

Enjoy! (Oooh, and subscribe!)

Recipe for an illusion of total health

I have discovered the key to reviving myself on a Monday morning when I'm cranky and fighting the end of a bad cold:

1 part soy cappuccino (home brewed, extra strong)
1 part generic brand Dayquil
1 part Emergen-C packet

Blend well with stomach acids. Try really hard to not to jump up and down and sing showtunes for the next 5 hours.

Bonus points: add a "fun size" packet of Sweet Tarts that you totally forgot you had in your bag.

Note: it's probably best to not ingest all of this at once. I had all of that over a period of roughly 3 hours and I'm still bouncing off the walls. Which means that I will either crash and burn in another couple hours or you'll be getting another post from me at 2am when I'm wide awake and cursing my methods.

Musics!

I totally cleaned up at this amazing music sale today. If you are reading this post right as I am posting it (um... why?) then you have roughly 17 hours to get yourself down to the ARChive of Contemporary Music and go crazy. It will blow your mind. Seriously, I spent $23 in roughly 20 minutes and had to pull myself out of there before I convinced myself that rent money was expendable. The spoils:

Vinyl:
- A compilation called The British Invasion: History of British Rock, Vol. 2 (highlights include Donovan and The Zombies *that link is to the CD version, which has more than what's on the vinyl, poo)
- The Who - Live at Leeds (yesssss)
- The original soundtrack to an amazing-looking movie featuring Danny Kaye and Louis Armstrong (I am surrendering this to my dad for Father's Day)

Sadly, I can't listen to any of this for awhile because I don't actually own a turntable, yet I keep compulsively buying vinyl for that magic day when I finally buy myself a sweet stereo setup. Donations accepted!

CDs:
- Lady Sovereign - Public Warning (you know it)
- Junior Senior - D-D-Don't Stop the Beat (WHAT)

OK, if Junior Senior hadn't been $3 I probably would have passed over it, but it's way more exciting than I thought it was going to be. If you have no recollection of Junior Senior, perhaps this little ditty will jog your mind back to 2003. WOW, right? Insane flashbacks abound.

But for serious, the rest of the album is a complete crazy-pants dance party. It's like Nosebleed Island meets Calvin Harris meets a glitter-filled pinata. It's totally going to be one of those albums that I turn on at 9am on a Tuesday morning to get me motivated enough to get on the subway. Where I will then lead everyone in a giant conga line and I'll be wearing gold hot pants and Skittles will burst out of the clouds. YEAH!

Ahh, social networking

So The Boss is my newest Facebook friend (no, not Bruce Springsteen, the other The Boss). Along with his boss, also known as The Big Boss. Which means they are now each one degree away from this blog.

Uh... hi bosses! Don't read the archives!

Just kidding!

Maybe!

Just to warn you...

I stink.

Not in a gross-body-odor kind of way, but in an oh-shit-I-spilled-perfume-on-myself kind of way. Because that's exactly what it is.

I have this perfume I got in Florida, which is supposed to smell like the orange fields. It's a little bit tacky and, while it does smell a lot like oranges, it also has a subtle scent of old lady soap. BUT it came in a bottle shaped like an orange! AND it makes me think of my elderly aunt in Florida! AND AND I already dress like I'm guest-starring on the Golden Girls, so why not go all the way and smell like it too!?! Sure.

But that's a problem when I'm tired and hungover and spill it all over myself. Because now instead of oranges and floral soap I smell like ORANGE PEELS AND OLD LADIES ALL UP IN YOUR FACE. Well, all up in my face, really. And it's definitely not helping the hangover headache.

Bottom line: if you're going to be hanging out with me within the next 24 hours, you may want to keep a safe distance. Unless you have a Bea Arthur obsession or something. In which case, stay away from my plastic beads and slip-on shoes too.

Must. Not. Roll. Eyes.

I was in Starbucks yesterday, in line for a FREE coffee when I was unexpectedly shocked out of my morning stupor.

(Sidetrack: I got a card from The Boss - that I think actually came from the NY Times but he tried to pass off as a thoughtful gift - for a FREE coffee on Wednesdays at Starbucks AND it's REUSABLE every Wednesday through May!! I LOVE FREE. AND CAPS LOCK.)

If you haven't been to a Starbucks in awhile (look at you, pretentious-non-consumer-face), you've been missing out on their crazily expanding music business. Not only do they play hit tunes in their cafes, but the name and album is displayed on a hot flat screen TV. AND if you have an iPhone or some such nonsense, you can download the song right there. And, oh my god, there is this thing called "e-mail" where you can send people letters without paper.

ANYWAY: my line-waiting-mood was lifted as the magic screen was playing "Que Onda Guero" by Beck - great morning song, in my opinion. The girl in line behind me asked what was playing, but the barista didn't know and the screen was blocked so I said "it's Beck, 'Que Onda Guero,' from Guero."

And she responded with a blank stare "Um... Beck? Is he, like, from the U.K. or something?"

I am sure my nostrils flared about six inches and steam came out of my ears, but I took a deep breath and said "Uh, no, he's very much American." There were so many other snarky words trying to get out, but I was very lady-like in containing them. This girl was my age; not 15, not 85, but clearly living in a cave of bad musical influences.

We re-convened by the milk and sugar station and she said, "Wow, thanks, I'm going to have to look for this guy!"

I said "Yeah, you should really go get every single album he's made." Although I should have said "YOU'RE WELCOME for saving you from the cave of bad music and years of awkward silences at hipster parties!"

Another day saved by Molly, musically opinionated sassbasket.

PS: doesn't Beck have the creepiest website ever? Damn.

The post where I get all girly

I'm pretty sure that it's a bad idea to "accidentally" wander into the clearance area of DSW...



... but I'm also pretty sure that if these shoes could play music, they would play the entire Summer of Sam soundtrack.

Thanks, IRS!

I just got my tax refund yesterday and already I have spent nearly half on the following:

- Fancy mascara and lipgloss
- Improv classes
- A bottle of Tanqueray, some tonic, some limes
AND
- A bunch of groceries at Whole Foods

In other words, I bought me:

- Some pretty
- Some funny
- Some liver damage
AND
- Hopefully a small percentage of healthiness

I also intend to buy some new running shoes to redeem the rest of my soul.

THANKS AMERICA!

Finally catching up with the club kids

OK, I know I'm way late in jumping on the Kala train, but I just noticed that M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" completely rips the main riff from The Clash's "Straight to Hell." You're probably all yelling "DUH" at your computer screens right now (all three of you), but you would think I'd just discovered that eggs come from chickens, given my amazement.

I still give props to M.I.A. for turning it into a hypnotizing song with a gunshot chorus - and if you're going to sample, you might as well do it from a worthy band - but The Clash wins points for that one super-serious bass note, "It ain't Coca-Cola - it's rice." It makes me giggle (sorry Joe and Mick, probably not what you intended).


I'm going to have to keep playing the first 20 seconds of each song over and over until the novelty wears off.

Easter candy ingested thus far:

Malted milk Robin's Eggs: 8
Marshmallow peeps: 6
Lemon cookies: 2
Giant chocolate-covered s'mores thing from Economy Candy: 1

Prognosis: Diabetes

They're the people that you meet/When you're walking down the street...

In one of those rare but beautiful moments that makes me feel like all of New York City is my own tiny neighborhood, I saw the same pair of people twice on the train today. It was a young-ish mother and her young son, who was probably about 5, and this woman blew my mind a little. Apart from the fact that she had some amazingly huge false eyelashes, she also made child-rearing look as simple as making pancakes.

When I saw them this morning, they sat across from me and I got sucked into watching the mom trying to get her son to eat a banana. She peeled it for him - even carefully peeling off the icky strands of quasi-peel - and broke it into manageable pieces. Which her son promptly dropped onto the floor. Well, all but one piece that his mom rescued while he looked hopelessly at her. She just sighed and picked up the pieces and held on to them. She didn't even shoot him a dirty look.

And THEN, when I got on the train tonight (after the gym, which included 30 minutes of the let's-kill-your-abs class, thank you very much) I saw them AGAIN. Crazy. They got on right after me and the moment they entered the little boy started crying about something. When his mom asked him what was wrong, he of course just kept bawling for no reason. She just sighed again and let him cry against her coat. Wow.

I am still in awe of this woman's patience. Usually when I hear screaming children on the subway, I fantasize about them disappearing to somewhere really cold, but this woman just took it all in. Which is why I've practically got the boarding pass for the train to Hell and this woman will get a walk-in closet in her Heaven suite. Seriously though, it was a magically sappy moment.

In other news: I can't guarantee more sappiness, but I'm guaranteeing more posting. Because I suck at it lately. Did you hear the one about the doll people and the alligator? No? Good, because I'm going to tell you. As soon as I do my taxes...

More lessons

Last night I learned that if I eat turmeric, the almost-oh-so-subtle clear elastics on my braces will be permanently dyed a lovely shade of electric piss. That's the price I pay for obeying my compulsive need to make authentic curry vegetables at roughly 10:00 at night. This is how interesting my life has become.

I don't think anyone really stares that closely at my teeth anyway, but if they do I'll just tell them that I glow in the dark.

And in lesson part 1.5, completely unrelated, I learned today that I should not have waited so f-ing long to buy M.I.A's Kala. Of course, it helps that I got it for only $10 today at a Virgin sale, but DAMN, I am roughly 9 months behind the rest of the world. I had heard the major singles, but who knew there was a mashed up cover of the Pixies in there?? DAMN again.

M.I.A. just may help me pick up the mess that was January and give a glimmer of hope for February.

January = doom

I was going to write a cute, snappy intro to take the load off this entry, but screw it. It's late and I'm a bit of a wreck so I'm getting right to the point: first Brad Renfro and now Heath Ledger?? What the hell is going on?? I can't say I was ever completely infatuated with either of them; I never had lip-gloss-kiss-covered posters of them or anything, but... damn. I suddenly feel like pieces of my youth are being torn away. And I was just starting to gain some respect for Heath Ledger. Maybe this just hits me so hard because I worked another shitty, 10+ hour day and didn't sleep well again. But... still.

The Boss threw out the foreboding warning that these things happen in threes and someone was bound to be next. And then I got home and found out Bill, my old Lighting professor from college, died last night. He had cancer and we all saw it coming, but that doesn't make it any better. Maybe he doesn't complete the celebrity triumvirate The Boss was darkly predicting, but he's a celebrity to anyone who went through his fundies class at UVM. He scared the crap out of you on the first day, but by the end of the semester you were asking him to please please let you hang from the ceiling to focus that Leko.

OK, I'm going to attempt to rescue this post from the pit of depression it's sliding into. Let's remember the people who are still living and still get along and love spending time with one another:


Wait... what? I think this was taken in a parallel universe where January = happy happy fun time. (Thanks, NY Times. Look at me, crediting your image)

Here's hoping that tomorrow brings happier news...

At least I'm not punching someone's teeth out...

When I have one of those shitty, 10-hour, nonstop days, sometime I think about that group therapy scene in Fight Club. You know, the one where Ed Norton is at one of those sad groups where people are dying and they're all doing guided meditation and that lady is telling everyone to "go to your caaaaavvvvve." And then Ed disappears into a silent icy world with a giggling penguin as his "power animal." Awww. So I that's exactly what I did after my shitty day today.

That is, if by "going to my cave" we mean cooking a massive batch of blondies AND ginger cookies, drinking gin and orange juice (with my mind on my money and my money on my mind), and catching up on old podcasts of All Songs Considered. Yeeeeeah.

So... maybe not a cave at all, but I'm still holding out for Helena Bonham Carter to show up.

"Le vrai Moleskine n'est plus"

I finally, finally got my 2008 Moleskine last Friday and I swear I am a much better person now. My heart rate has slowed, my cholesterol is lower, and I can speak Czech again. It's amazing.

I've learned my lesson for sure, though, that I cannot wait until after the start of the new year to buy one next time. Being the cheapskate I am, I thought that this would ensure me scoring one at half price, especially with the abundance of them in a large city like New York. Riiiight? Nope. Instead it ensured a NEAR EXTINCTION of them which led to ensuing panic that I would not be able to organize my life on one full page per day for all of 2008. OK, by "NEAR EXTINCTION" I mean impossible to find at major bookstores and many art stores between Houston and 70th St of Manhattan. It doesn't take much to make me panic.

ANYWAY. After calls to multiple Barnes & Nobles and a wild goose chase on foot to multiple locations, I finally found it at Lee's Art Shop on 57th after some divine intervention from a woman at Borders who directed me there. I snatched it up with a gasp as soon as I saw it, afraid that someone else might take it first. Although there were about 10 others on display. And clearly no one cared about them but me.

And so, Lee's Art Shop, thank you for selling Moleskine planners, thank you for putting up with my exhausted ramblings of joy, and thank you for being YOU. Everyone: go shop there.

Shall I continue my ramblings? Sure. In going through the process of transferring the many important dates from the old planner to the new, I came across some words I scrawled across the page of Sunday, May 27 . I often use the Moleskine as a journal/diary/whatever when I really need to get something out of my brain and onto paper. I have no idea what the circumstances were here, probably 365-related, but I appreciate them in retrospect:

Why do I have this sudden rush of cocky euphoria? A confidence to do everything and be awesome and say fuck you to everyone in my way? But I'm happy about it too, whatever "it" is. Even though half my electricity's out and I just ate about 18 cookies and 3 glasses of wine and I've spent half the day on the subway, I still feel generally euphoric. It's like, I'm going to be amazing at life. HA.

I don't know if the "HA" is meant to be self-doubting or an "in-your-FACE" kind of thing, but I wish I felt generally euphoric like this more often. And had cookies and wine so close at hand. Good thing I got a larger-sized Moleskine this year - more room for random scrawlings. Get ready.

Happy 2008 (minus a few days).