My night in Hoboken

Hmm, so i'm kinda buzzed right now, after i'm figuring 4 beers, one shot, and a sip of a cosmo...with little on my stomach. It was Sullivan's first, then Madison's. Most of my eye-rolling focuses on Madison's, where I was instantly infuriated upon being told to take off my hat once inside. I've blogged about my fondness for hats before. It's just OBSCENE that a Hoboken bar thinks they're SO upper crust that I can't wear a hat. FUCK THEM. So I was ill-at-ease to begin with, worrying how my hair, thus face, looked sans hat. Ugh. Nightmare. It's Self Esteem 101...when you LOOK good, you FEEL good. And I did NOT feel my best without my hat on. I dunno, I had fun tonight...just a lot of things irritated me. I'm glad I went out, glad I drank, liked the music, liked the company. The whole thing, though, just didn't mix well. I'm WELL over standing around in a too-crowded bar, trying to look suave and dapper, when i'm actually going deaf, can barely hear the conversations around me, am paying far too much for drinks, and don't even feel like the people i'm with give a shit that i'm there. This sounds far worse than it was. I was just with the wrong people at the wrong time. I should NOT be with 3 single girlfriends on a Saturday night. I don't share their history, nor their interest in scoring with the men in the room. So it's just annoying. And I fear I come off as 1) shy, 2) boring, or 3) full of myself. And i'm...well, ok, i'm #3, but not in a bad way. I just had NO desire to be there. Situations like that bored me TEN YEARS AGO, let alone now. I'd rather be home, in comfy clothes, bitching on my blog, shoving food down my throat. Give me a booth or bar stool I can sit down at, with friends I can talk to and HEAR easily, and cheap(er) beer, and i'm good to go. Or even a dance club where the POINT is to DANCE. But none of this standing around, packed like sardines, the music ungodly loud FUCKING BULLSHIT...WITHOUT MY HAT!! Again, i'm not getting old. I was rolling my eyes at this shit at fucking twenty-three. Everyone just seems like a bunch of drones, desperately chit-chatting and drinking to fill the voids in their lives. And to think they do this EVERY Friday and EVERY Saturday. I'd rather stare at a blank wall. Maybe i'm overanalyzing...probably not. And don't get me started on the reaction to my cell phone and disposable camera. You'd think I whipped an entire Atari system, complete with joysticks, out of my pocket, the way 2 chicks reacted. Yes, my phone is archaic...I know that...and I DO hate my phone. But updating it so I look good to others isn't my first motherfucking priority. If you need me to dial 911 for you, will you reconsider once you see my phone? "No, I'd rather die than have EMS alerted via THAT phone!" It fucking gets the job done...end of story. I'm often accused of being FRASIER-esque, but the bottom line is that i'm ridiculously down to earth and sensible. Really, though...I DID have a fun night! Thank you, Lord, for this glorious month of March!! Entertaining from start to fucking finish!

Don't you love it when you spy neighbors who annoy you loading their shit into a moving truck?

The neighbor in question annoys me simply because he's always invading "my space." He's probably in his late 30s or early 40s, always in a hat and out-of-fashion shirts, pasty white, glasses...and FOREVER smoking a cigarette out front late at night when I'M trying to enjoy the wee-hour solitude!! I WANT to sit on my front porch ALONE...and here he is -- 2am, middle of January, for example -- lurking a mere 2 houses down. He makes me feel incredibly self-conscious...as I'M just SITTING, gazing up at the sky. Now and then, i'll also have a smoking prop of some sort, but generally, my fingers are clutching nothing. I've long contended that one needs a cigarette, dog leash, or, lately, cell phone in hand in order NOT to look shady while loitering. I've actually faked cell calls when people walk by me at odd times. Yes, to me, the cell phone's best reason-for-being may be as Manipulative Prop. I gesticulate and everything...where's my Emmy? But this man is now loading his things into a big ass truck...YES! I've even had a couple awkward encounters with him at ShopRite, where I pretend not to know him. Such a pain in the ass. I've said hi to him a couple times, maybe, late at night when i've walked past him after parking the car...but don't recall him ever saying hi back. Thus, HE'S the weirdo, and my actions are totally warranted. WHO doesn't say hi back?!?! WHO?! Well, today or tomorrow, I'll be rid of him for good! He'll be the latest of a bunch of agitating neighbors who've moved away. Praise Jesus! Get the FUCK away from ME!

Two days in a row!!

Today, a 2ND chick at work expressed shock at my age! Yes, i'm bragging. Yes, i'm thrilled. VERY thrilled! Today's chick guessed twenty-five. 25!! God, I love it! I really, REALLY love it! OK, I'm probably being annoying. So since i'm being annoying, i'll also say how I haven't stopped eating all day long. All I do is eat. Anything. Good food, bad food. Dunkin Donuts...a few of them. Candy. TONS of candy. Granola bars. Ice cream. Potato chips. English muffin. Coffee. Tea. More coffee. More tea. Some green tea. More regular tea. A hot pretzel. String cheese. I could go on. I'm still hungry. Still thin as a rail. TOO thin, I often think. I know i'm hated for it. But you wouldn't have wanted to be me in high school...I looked like an Ethiopian, except i'm white. So things even out for some of us. And i'm happy to be peaking as an adult, not a teen.

I look 24?!?!?!

God BLESS my new co-worker, who expressed shock after I told her my age. She guessed I was "a couple years out of college." Seriously...shock. I almost had to summon a medic. Actually, I may have been the one more shocked...with delight! Made my bloody day. And it was a LONG one. So let me repeat...a co-worker thought I was like 24. TWENTY-FOUR. And she works closely with me all day. In clearly lit rooms. So she has the ability to intently study me for wrinkles and brown spots. And she doesn't need a seeing-eye dog. 24!!!!!!! After we parted ways at Grand Central, I skipped like a little girl down 42nd Street...

There should be sale dates on EVERYTHING!!

WHY must I struggle with the Emerald peanuts container, breaking a sweat as I search in vain for a clear-cut sale date?!?! EVERY single item you find in a supermarket should have a "sell by" date. PEANUTS. Salt. Pepper. Tea bags. Candy. Gum. Not just the usual suspects like milk. Good God, it's frustrating! It all stems from the "worms in my Rice Krispies Incident" from 1980 or so, which also was the last time I EVER bought anything beyond lunchmeat, a paper, or lottery ticket from a deli or corner store. Though that was dad's fault. And he DID take it back, after I burst into tears upon seeing the scores of white worms...AFTER I'd had most of the cereal. Christ, I wanna vomit NOW, 27 years later, upon thinking of that awful morning. SALE DATES!!!!!

Ever, when stuck in traffic, stare at a cemetery's gravestones and go, "Hmm, that'll be ME someday"? That's how I spent five minutes today. Lovely.

And am I alone in thinking $3.99 is too much for my brush at ShopRite?! I'm holding out for a sale!

Do I have the hair of a black man?

I'm looking for a new hairbrush tonight in Kmart and I soon notice that on all the kinds of brushes I want -- like a solid layer of bristle for the "flattening down" portion of my hair care routine -- there's black people on the packaging. Not that I care. But let's be honest...you generally only see SOLELY black models on items geared to the black community. There was also some, um, black lingo in the copywriting that made me feel like humming ACROSS 110TH STREET. Very, very odd...though amusing. No, I didn't buy a brush there. They didn't have my old reliable Conair brand. But I walked out feeling BAD ASS!

Happy Sabbath! Now let's be gruesome about the death penalty...

So a lovely story about a horrific murder greeted me this morning on the Yahoo home page. A 19-year-old Texas college student was cut into pieces by her ex-boyfriend. Horrific, right? Well, it gets worse. Then he cooked her...ALL of her...on the patio barbecue grill. To the point where she does NOT exist anymore. There are NO REMAINS. She was cooked that thoroughly. Enjoying this cheery Lenten story? Horror doesn't get worse than this. SO...we KNOW who committed this atrocity. WE KNOW WHO DID IT. And WHAT he did. So this is where I'd like to wonder WHY we must bother with the time and money of a trial? I mean, seriously. Fuck a trial. JUST KILL HIM. NOW. Or, wait, will he learn something by sitting in prison for the rest of his life? Does he need time to think about what he did, like some 7-year-old who said a bad word? Yeah, we really need to teach him a REALLY good lesson! Bad, bad boy! Dicing up your ex like that, then burning her into ashes! Oh, WHAT are we gonna do with YOU?! This is the perfect example of evil personified, where we KNOW the killer's identity for sure. In other words, THIS is where the death penalty works. There is NO lesson to be taught, merely swift punishment. There is NO excuse...no "oh, he had an awful childhood" or "your honor, he's mentally retarded...oh, excuse me, CHALLENGED" or "he's insane." Yeah, he IS insane...and the world's better without him. Imagine that poor girl was your daughter, sister, cousin, friend. IMAGINE that. Knowing how she died. This isn't where I say "you're a better person than I am" for wanting them to "suffer" in prison for 60 years rather than be given death. You're not better than me. You're just stupid and/or gullible. Let us pray.

Ridiculous breaking news...

I bought tartar sauce tonight for the first time EVER. I wasn't even sure what aisle to find it in...though I guessed correctly -- "condiments." I've just never been a big fish eater...but it's a new year, dammit...let's mix things up! What spurred this was actually the fish my parents gave me last night to take home. Coincidentally, it was half-price week on all Gorton's items, so I put my faith in the Gorton's fisherman and procured some crispy fish sticks. It's sad, but true, that I felt very exotic buying the fish. Even a mass-produced boxed item. Exotic IS what you make it! It MAY have also been the first time EVER i've bought fish, but I can't confirm that. So HOW pathetic is this posting? Yet I'm honestly tickled about these fishy goings-on.

Would I like to proceed in ENGLISH?!?!?!?

OK, I know this is not a rant unique to me, but it's one that canNOT be expressed often or loudly enough. I'm referring to when you call any 800-number and they ask you right off the bat if you wanna proceed in English. Um, YES...I'M AN ENGLISH-SPEAKING, LEGAL AMERICAN!!! I'm calling from NJ, not FUCKING GUATEMALA!! Jesus fucking Christ, I can't express the extent of my rage upon hearing this. I wanna hurl the phone with all my might into the nearest piece of glass. Then I wanna go down to FUCKING PSE&G headquarters (the catalyst for this blog's rage...I repeat, PSE&FUCKINGG) and shove my social security card down someone's fucking throat, knock them to the floor, then plant an American flag deep into their fucking ass. I'll make sure to bring a fan, too, so I can turn it on and watch Old Glory flail majestically out of their twitching, bloodied anus. THERE...does THAT express how much this PISSES ME THE FUCK OFF?! QUIT catering to the foreigners and illegals! When I call a utility, I EXPECT it to be in MOTHERFUCKING ENGLISH, with NO extra work involved in what's already an exasperating, 27-step process to get my balance!!

Can I LOVE MySpace stalking MORE?!

No, no I canNOT. It is ASTONISHING in its endless discoveries!

THREE'S COMPANY turns 30 this week...HEAVY sigh

Safely back at home, let's recap the last 24 hours

I'm alarmed that I keep setting new standards for exhaustion. Here's what I endured:
1) walking an hour in pouring sleet...
2)...with a heavy bag around my neck...
3)...only to be told the party I came for was cancelled
4) no, I didn't get the messages...but I was almost there anyway
5) there was precious little food to eat in the house
6) desperate for hot apple pie, I walked a few blocks to Burger King at 11:15pm...again, in driving sleet...only to see only the drive-thru was open till midnight
7) that's right, I walked up to the drive-thru window...and was promptly waved away by a greasy bitch with a broom
8) stood in the empty parking lot for a minute, getting soaked by sleet, pondering where to get food at 11:30pm without a car in a ferocious sleet storm
9) briefly mulled stepping into one of the many trashy blue-collar bars within walking distance for a much-needed beer
10) decided not to walk several minutes to Dunkin Donuts, instead sludging back to my parents', where I binged on girl scout cookies
11) slept in my old bedroom on a flower-powered chaise longue that was too short for my body because, years later, it somehow still hasn't been converted to a guest bedroom
12) finally got to sleep around 4am, after stumbling upon the end of CARRIE, which mildly depressed me for reasons I can't begin to get into
13) woken up roughly 3 hours later by dad, who, naturally, proceeds to start loudly chipping away at the ice accumulation...
14)...which he should NOT be doing due to his little heart condition
15) never really get back to sleep, instead hearing increasing number of shovels and ice picks, along with worrying over dad's shoveling exertion
16) once up, after an abbreviated breakfast, proceed to spend about 90 minutes shoveling/ice picking out the driveway, side alley, and car on street -- sweat and agony ensue
17) hear of dad having "an episode" of some kind while shoveling this morning -- upon questioning, learn it involved dizziness.
18) yell at dad
19) just as I sit down to enjoy corned beef and cabbage dinner, dad rises, mutters something, walks into living room..."something's not right"
20) informs me and mom he feels lightheaded and tired, probably due to nerves
21) no, does NOT wanna go to the hospital
22) my dinner becomes an ulcer-inducing, high-tension monitoring of dad's every move...
23)...as he paces, sits, paces, sits, has a Scotch, swears he'll be fine, vows never to shovel again after we all mutually agree it's his assinine decision to exert himself that is somehow causing this latest "episode"
24) I yell at him repeatedly and suggest he be tranquilized for his nerves...and that I should be, too, probably
25) casually reminds us of the guy across the street who, a few years ago, shovelled, went inside, and dropped dead
26) mom casually informs me of the Irish hymn she wants played at her funeral
27) I thank them both for a lovely, relaxing meal
28) despite being depleted on every level, still must endure ShopRite for a few things
29) naturally, begins to snow shower my entire ride home, adding to treacherous conditions
30) unable to easily get into parking space, spend another 30 minutes shoveling/ice picking
31) crestfallen to see Dipshit's home, walk inside, turn on tea kettle, and am instantly annoyed by him, despite a curious, though welcome, lack of direct talking to me
32) sip tea, drink Pepsi, eat various things, relax all night long while NEVER having been more glad to be home...despite Dipshit's always-grating presence

FADE TO BLACK
ROLL CREDITS

Nothing like a pointless hour walk in driving sleet...

...only to be told, once I reached my destination, "ooohhhhhhhh, noooooooo, you didn't get our message?! The party's cancelled!" OK. Great. Wonderful. Refer to this post, please, when I bitch about how I've been exhausted for WEEKS straight and you go, "WHY?" YOU try walking through driving sleet for an hour. With a bag of shit draped around your neck. One of endless logistical nightmares I face. DAILY. But i'm not gonna rant about the snow and sleet. I LIKE the snow. Particularly late-season, shocking, 2-days-after-it-was-almost-80 snow. I'm merely pissed at...well, no one in particular. That i've wasted time, energy, and money on getting somewhere...and then it's cancelled. And NOW i'll likely have to endure a night over at the parents'. Just what I love...HOURS of my time wasted. Nothing to do. Nothing to organize. Not my own bed. But you don't need to know all this. I'm just venting as I inhale pizza that I demanded be ordered and sipping my 2nd cup of post-walk tea. In fact, the more I write, the more i'm getting aggravated. So I will stop.

Good LORD, i'm exhausted...but allow me to BITCH about 2 old reliables...

Because the following two things canNOT be bitched about enough. #1, enduring cell phone conversations while trapped on a train or bus. #2, shuffling dolts in my way on NYC sidewalks. On my way home from my brief New England getaway, I was forced to listen to a large, ghetto, black bitch yap on her fucking cell until she got off at (surprise!) 125th Street. Pertinent pieces of information about her unemployment checks, her friend's drunk driving, and something to do with the word "pussy" were bandied about at top decibal. Why, why, WHY do SO many humans have ZERO common sense, respect for others, and a sense of decorum?!!?!? NOBODY cares to hear your FUCKING pointless phonecall. Got it? Surely not. And let me be clear (notice I say that a lot?)...ALL races, ages, economic classes are guilty of this. ANYone, no matter your plight in life, can learn manners and how to conduct oneself. Then there's the sidewalks of NYC. Oh, my fucking Lord. This ain't motherfucking Baton Rouge. MOVE! I know I walk fast...VERY fast...but i'm talking about people just strollllllllllllling along at THE most maddeningly slow crawl. It seriously almost makes me wanna start sobbing. I can't tolerate much, but slow MOVERS...on foot OR in a car...are absolutely in my Top Three Pet Peeves. I just wanna SLAM the fuck into them, knock them to the ground, spit on their stunned, hopefully bloodied face, then dart ahead of them. Really, I YEARN to do this. REALLY. And when either umbrellas or scaffolding is involved, it's just triple the agony. Because NO ONE walks fast in a designated, narrow scaffolding passageway. EVER. This is why you'll often find me on foot in the bus lane on 42nd Street lately. I'm urban-savvy, thus don't fear being run down. I get a kick out of watching the lemmings move molasses-like, while Thinking Me adds time to my day. OK, i'm weary...just wanna watch FRASIER in a reclining position...so i'll end my latest rant. This has been YET another ungodly long day...fun, interesting, productive, but WEARYING. This Ides of March...

Greetings from The Country...

I'm nestled in bucolic and tony Fairfield County, CT as I write this, comforted by the sound of...nothing. I wish I could stay longer than i'm going to (one stinking night), but the irritating logistics of my life continue to fuck me in the ass, even when they're GOOD things. It's been a GREAT day, though...made even more so by the wondrous weather...though i'm stunned tonight to see that it approached EIGHTY DEGREES in Newark...yet where I am it was like in the low 60s. DAMN sea breeze effect!! But I've just had a FANTASTIC day...sooooooooooo needed. A long seaside walk, tending to a newborn, Chinese for dinner, relentlessly mocking others, 2 friendly black dogs, and a cat with a shaved ass...just perfect! I EVEN spent a few minutes soaring high on a swing. Sigh...WHY do I have to leave so soon?! I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my most-gracious New England hosts...I KNOW you'll be reading this. But where the hell's the volume button on this computer of yours? Don't worry, i'm sure it's just me being an idiot. Soon, I will retire to my welcoming guest bedroom...

Do I REALLY need a YOGA MAT?

Yes, yes I do, I ultimately determined, as part of my THREE-HOUR wandering through K-Mart today. Or is it Big K now? Or K & Kinda Sears? All I know is that 3 hours wasn't NEARLY long enough. There remains SO much to browse and buy! And I went in mainly for bedding...yet got none. All I know is that K-Mart is a VERY exciting place to shop...honest. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to surf the late-night net while taking in the soothing scent of Martha Stewart's Summer Beach candle...

My first "full week"

I haven't been this overall SATISFIED in AGES. EONS. Though I admit to being utterly depleted. But I'm still awake -- and online -- close to 1am, so my legendary stamina remains intact! I even have a couple beers and 2 hours of socializing in me. Not to mention endless walking. IN the near-record, windy March cold. But i'm still hanging in there. YES! Though hot cocoa while laying in bed with FRASIER beckons. **BTW, after a week of being infuriated by not being able to type anything but the subject lines here...I randomly hit "refresh"...and now it works. WHAT the fuck?

Joyce DeWitt has an underrated RACK

Noisy people should be...yup, SHOT

Let's go to a fresh example, shall we? The fucking cunt who was just out front in her minivan, HONKING her horn, off and on, for a good 10 minutes...while SCREAMING "AAAAAAMY!!!!!" I mean, honestly, WHO the fuck does that? Who SCREAMS for someone at night in early March in an urban area? This person was clearly TRASH. An uncultured piece of fucking trash I would never want to know on any level. Again...a fucking cunt. I have zero tolerance for OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD people. People who HONK HORNS when they're not in danger of an accident. Have I made myself clear?

MARCH dawns splendidly!!

Like i'm a new man! That's so damn cliche, yet it's true. I also re-realized this morning that, despite detesting mornings more than I can properly express, the reality is that I get a HELL of a lot done before I trot off to work at an ungodly early hour. I have a full breakfast. I make my bed. I shower. This morning, I even managed to put away a few dishes. Because one MUST have the foundation of a solid meal in them, as well as the structure of a made bed to come home to. Hooray for fucking ME! Me, me, ME!! Goodbye, winter of my discontent! That fucking calendar page has turned! Time for a shot of whiskey!