I Ate New York

1. We had dinner with Chris on Friday night. He is one of the Minnesota Escapees: a smallish group of people who evacuated our lovely land after college graduation. And we want him back.
Chris comes up with ideas like quantifiying fun (My six fun at dinner totally beats your three fun at the museum) and storing porn on iPods. We three went out for Thai food at Jing Fong, a place on Elizabeth and Houston (they pronounce it "how-ston" which is another of many ways to spot a tourist in this city) and then
2. To Tom and Jerry's--even the dive bars are packed with people and have twenty-foot television drop-downs.
3. We concluded our evening out at Loreley with some drinks on a frigid patio and Chris' stories of scream-vomiting and other oddities of city living.
4. Brunch in Chelsea yesterday. Vento. They played Nick Drake and Pavement and made the meanest Eggs Benedict I've ever ingested. And even when I ordered Decaf Earl Grey, she brought me English Breakfast because she just knew I wanted it more.
4. Last night we had dinner on a bed. It was 14 fun. The purple awning is their only indicator. Walking down the street 27th and 10th, you find only three labeled buildings (Home, Guest House, and Scores). We knew we were in the right area, but we called three times in a one-block radius. If you have to ask... We rode up in an elevator and on the other side, beautiful, costumed people awaited us. Superhumanly beautiful. Ehhh. Can't. Talk. Beautiful. So Matt and I waited at the bar with the most expensive mojito this side of the Mississippi. And eventually we were led to the bed where another couple was already seated, removed our shoes, put on the Bed Socks. [Occassionally when I'm eating really expensive food, I think (and this is also a function of my extreme cheapness), "I would rather just have some T-Bell." Not at Bed.]
5. We went and found Chris at a Halloween party. Best Costume went to Franzia. A girl went as boxed wine AND WINE CAME OUT OF HER COSTUME. That is inspired. Matt and I went as People Who Just Ate On A Bed And Were Really Enjoying The Decadence Of New York City. It wasn't a huge hit. But then we snuck Chris away for a pitcher of Stella Artois and said our untilwemeetagains.

New York Crazy

It smells like maple syrup in this room.
That's about the only nice thing I have to say.
(According to rules once dictated by my mother and other holy people, I should say nothing that is not nice). Mom and the holies, please don't read on.
So we're in New York (Surprise! It was all very spontaneous. We didn't confirm a place to stay until Thursday night. Surprise, again.). We're staying with this woman who rents out rooms in her $3 million apartment to buy the place from her ex-husband. She brings strangers in her room every night, but she's also sure that he is paying off the doormen to rat her out: "I know it was the black one. That one there."
It's all very dramatic. And racist.
She picked us up from the airport and then gave us her tour of NYC, all the while narrating her various skills and celebrity connections:
"I'd like to do stand-up. I'm very funny."
"I once got hit by a cyclist."
"I'm writing a book and a screenplay. The script is about a couple of dog walkers who fall in love in Central Park. I'm calling it 'Central Arf'."
"I'm a great driver, but I've been doing it since I was 16."

Matt is Not a Robot (and how I did not get beaten by a Robot...or Matt, a human)

[Disclaimer: There was no abuse. This is not a cry for help. This is a cry for carpeting at work. ]
I fell down the stairs yesterday.
Hard, cold stairs.
Face first.
I had time to grab the railing while my body wrapped over and my left leg mangled itself under the rest of me.
The woman walking down the hall behind me played it so cool, pretending not to see me until she got within a few feet. Why do we do that? Why do we ignore each other? Whyyyyy aren't we all Good Samaritans....whyyyyyy? I needed her help to get up.
And now I'm wearing pants that are too long. I started off with double-sided tape but now I have a rhinestone brooch (on the inside, of course!) pinning up one leg to make them short enough so I don't have to wear heels and risk another tumble. Not that one leg is longer, but that one leg was staying up with double-sided tape until I got to work.

A Diagram for the Visual Learner

This is from Elise, who is the foremost authority on matters of classification. International press conference pending...

Jack O'Confusion

Merh?
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

For Halloween.
And Bob.

Gifts of Paper Should Be Sent To:

I just realized that it's Our First Blogiversary! I want to take this chance to say publicly that I love you, deletedeletedelete.blogspot.com. It has been a beautiful year. It seems like just yesterday that I was merely stalking Dooce, pretending we were friends and that's why I knew her legal name and the various phases of Leta's development-- when I met Blogger and agonized over a name and a user name and a web address. Those were the days (the anxiety-filled, short-entry days, don't-tell-anyone-about-this-blog-but-secretly-please-do-because-I-secretly-love-blogging days).
So. Let's celebrate. A year. A twenty-third of my life during which time I wrote regularly. I feel something akin to pride. Yep. Yep, it's pride.

Keeping Vital Fluids To Myself

How it should have happened:
"But this is good blood! People want this blood!"
As they drag me away from the donation tables,
"You can't not want me!"
And then I re-open my finger prick wound with my teeth and spray my good blood over all their precious recovery foods.
And then I get arrested for being too giving.

How it happen-happened:
"I'm sorry. Your iron content is 37%. We need at least 38."
"Uh. But what if I take a multi-vitamin and come back after lunch?"
"It won't make enough of a difference."
"[mumbles]"
"Beg your pardon?"
"Oh...nothing...I was just...I'm a failure. [sigh.]"
"No. You're not. Just eat more green leafy vegetables and some red meat and come back in the spring."
"If I eat them today...?"
"No difference."
"Right."
"Right."

Stop Judging Me!

I packed a lunch today. I never do that. Not since studenthood or my brief-but-hideous stint working downtown for Corporate School America.
This morning I had a few extra minutes before I left the house and I thought that this would be a good day to try staying at work the whole time. But I need time away. It was like trying full day kindergarten.
Oh, it's so pathetic, but I must tell you everything, Internet. You are always pressuring me. My lunch:
1 pear
1 peanut butter sandwich on Johnnie bread
2 mini York Peppermint Patties (yum eeyum yarmmmahrrghh)
1 bottle of Sriracha
1 baggie of Tostitos lime tortilla chips
I gave the rest of hot sauce (certainly too much to throw away, but not enough to take home) to my co-worker who thought he'd try some on his chicken. I assured him that just a little would suffice for each bite. A minute later: "Woo. Wooo! How! This could slow down my chicken eating a little bit. I mean you could only eat so much at a time. Yeow. Wow."

Unfiltered

We suspect he thinks no one notices.
Our neighbor has been "quitting" for the last 5-10 years. Apparently he's very close now. He steps outside to smoke and hunches behind his SUV to smoke, or strolls a few feet down the block, as if his family doesn't see out their picture window. As if they've lost their collective sense of smell and can no longer recognize the nasty stink on him when he comes back inside.
He stood and marveled at the fresh air in Minnesota. While he smoked.
Aaahhhhhsome.

Just A Small Town Girl

More people getting married, more people drinking heavily and more people singing loudly to Don't Stop Believin'.
My mom wants to know about the resurgence in popularity of Journey. I say their popularity was never in question in my mind.
Matt and I did a duet (not to Journey. We're talking about something else now). A song I've been preparing mentally for about a month and vocally about a week. Let me tell you about waiting a month to get one chance at one song for your friends' wedding. You start to think it is the most important thing you will ever have to do. You start to sweat during unrelated conversations when it occurs to you that you'll be singing into a microphone for people to hear. They will all forget about it as soon as it's over. But you do not know that.
You can only think about the amount of alcohol/caffeine/spice you should be refusing in order to preserve your voice for this one moment. THIS FLEETING MOMENT.
Until you see the video cameras.
Oh, God.
They are going to videotape it. Somebody might see this again.
And then your heart stops beating for thirty seconds.
The next thing you know the song is over and you will stop shaking sometime in the next hour. Until you remember the video camera.
So you find your girls and you find the DJ and you play the air guitar.
Until you see the video camera again.
Now you've been caught singing and 'dancing'. So you change your name and skip town.
(Posted by Anonymous. Totally Not Posted By Sriracha.)