Me: I get it. You're done.
Mom: Believe it or not, I wasn't pushing that plate toward you as a hint.
Me: Oh no (loading dish into dishwasher).
Mom: You're not our little slave.
Dad: You're our big slave.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Good Shabbas, Bitch
My dad's best quote this week, "Good Shabbas, bitch!" This is in relation to the neighbor at my old apartment who may or may not have reported my dog to the coop. We're B-----s, we don't need such a prosaic and pedestrian thing as proof! They are very religious Jews which led to a conversation about compassion, lack their of, and smiling faces in the hallway paired with a certified letter from the coop board. My dad suggested a new greeting the next time I see my neighbors, which I hope will be never. I also have to share that four years ago the walls are so thin I could hear this couple yelling at their son non-stop, shit like, "Because I'm your mother" and also having sex, and then the woman crying afterward. Sadly, I heard the same exact sounds a couple of weeks ago - as if their lives had become frozen in time.
Do whatever the hell you want but do I have to hear about it?
Makes a couple of barks and yips not seem so bad to me.
Do whatever the hell you want but do I have to hear about it?
Makes a couple of barks and yips not seem so bad to me.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Something Awful Just Happened in There
After the first date-yoga date we went to Bark for hot dogs. Can you spell romance? But it was fun. Date was able to do yoga @Park Slope Yoga Center, near the infamous Nazi food coop, but at one point, while sweat dripped down his chin and plopped onto his masculine gray mat with the palm tree silhouettes, he turned back to me and raised his eyebrows. After, I asked if he was okay and I told him he did great (true) and he responded that it was no problem, really, tomorrow we were going skiing. Insert devilish cackle....mwa ha ha.
Down the block we ate at Bark, casual. I found a dog with cheese and bacon tasty (pig on pig), but the kraut dog better and the fries just the proper consistency. After all the water I drank, I needed to use the bathroom, and a woman was leaving as I was going in. She stopped me, placed a hand to my upper arm and looked into my eyes,"Something awful just happened in there."
But, when you gotta go.
Down the block we ate at Bark, casual. I found a dog with cheese and bacon tasty (pig on pig), but the kraut dog better and the fries just the proper consistency. After all the water I drank, I needed to use the bathroom, and a woman was leaving as I was going in. She stopped me, placed a hand to my upper arm and looked into my eyes,"Something awful just happened in there."
But, when you gotta go.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
No Nonsense
No Nonsense? Sheer Endurance? Beautifully STRONG, Beautifully SHEER
Pantimedias Transparentes y Fuertes
My mom left a package of these in my old room. Hint anyone? I'm afraid peach pantyhose is not sheer, unless my skin is now orange. It's more of a pasty white like milk or bleached bread. And in this environment it's only getting more translucent. Speaking of unhealthy glows, I had my third interview yesterday in which "my office" would be in a basement.
I hate basements! In this last interview the director told me that she was excited that the whole organization would be moving across the street this week.
"Great," I said then asked, "so does that mean your office wouldn't be in a basement?"
"Precisely," she said, big smile. "But my staff would still be in the basement."
I glued a huge smile on - thank you Crest Whitestrips - and said, great!
I think she believed me.
On the crosstown bus at 116th street in Harlem a little girl next to me asked her mom if noses have hairs inside. Then, as if on a great escapade or research project, she began to pick her nose in earnest.
Love the bus.
Pantimedias Transparentes y Fuertes
My mom left a package of these in my old room. Hint anyone? I'm afraid peach pantyhose is not sheer, unless my skin is now orange. It's more of a pasty white like milk or bleached bread. And in this environment it's only getting more translucent. Speaking of unhealthy glows, I had my third interview yesterday in which "my office" would be in a basement.
I hate basements! In this last interview the director told me that she was excited that the whole organization would be moving across the street this week.
"Great," I said then asked, "so does that mean your office wouldn't be in a basement?"
"Precisely," she said, big smile. "But my staff would still be in the basement."
I glued a huge smile on - thank you Crest Whitestrips - and said, great!
I think she believed me.
On the crosstown bus at 116th street in Harlem a little girl next to me asked her mom if noses have hairs inside. Then, as if on a great escapade or research project, she began to pick her nose in earnest.
Love the bus.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
fancy hangover
Two dates a week goes cross-country. Last night, fancy cocktails at a fancy bar with fancy man. Now, I have a fancy hangover.
It's official: I can only drinks two drinks. I hear you: did you specify Grey Goose, drink water, eat dinner? Yes, yes, and yes. But I have no tolerance.
Exercising helps hangovers, or so I read so...I tried to sneak in the gym this morning, but they have a thumbprint system to gain access. I pressed my nose to the glass, hoping someone would see me and let me steal some exercise. But no luck. Gym was empty.
So, last night, Temple Bar. Aside from needing a flashlight to see, I love this place and remember it from years ago with the popcorn and salty sticks in tiny bowls (thank you, A. for jogging my memory), elaborate cocktails, post-work Brunette Quartet times. The cocktails are now $12 and well made. Also, chicken wings: messy but worth it and guacamole: I've had better.
My date was incredibly good company, albeit 25 minutes late. Since I'm often late, I didn't really mind and he was traveling from Washington Heights, which to those of you not in NY, is far, quite far. I hovered over a party that was on their way out and snagged their chairs. I wasn't going to pay for my beverage, so why not get the most spendy? Lemon Drop for me, extra sugar on the rim please.
My date was lovely. Divorced. Not a hair on his head. Cute glasses. Funny. Smart. Touched my arm at multiple intervals. He was a journalist and switched careers, as I did, so we had some common ground and he's funny. He may be more friend than husband material, but that remains to be seen. And shouldn't there be some overlap?
This afternoon it's on to Date 2. Different guy. It's a first date yoga class.
Om.
It's official: I can only drinks two drinks. I hear you: did you specify Grey Goose, drink water, eat dinner? Yes, yes, and yes. But I have no tolerance.
Exercising helps hangovers, or so I read so...I tried to sneak in the gym this morning, but they have a thumbprint system to gain access. I pressed my nose to the glass, hoping someone would see me and let me steal some exercise. But no luck. Gym was empty.
So, last night, Temple Bar. Aside from needing a flashlight to see, I love this place and remember it from years ago with the popcorn and salty sticks in tiny bowls (thank you, A. for jogging my memory), elaborate cocktails, post-work Brunette Quartet times. The cocktails are now $12 and well made. Also, chicken wings: messy but worth it and guacamole: I've had better.
My date was incredibly good company, albeit 25 minutes late. Since I'm often late, I didn't really mind and he was traveling from Washington Heights, which to those of you not in NY, is far, quite far. I hovered over a party that was on their way out and snagged their chairs. I wasn't going to pay for my beverage, so why not get the most spendy? Lemon Drop for me, extra sugar on the rim please.
My date was lovely. Divorced. Not a hair on his head. Cute glasses. Funny. Smart. Touched my arm at multiple intervals. He was a journalist and switched careers, as I did, so we had some common ground and he's funny. He may be more friend than husband material, but that remains to be seen. And shouldn't there be some overlap?
This afternoon it's on to Date 2. Different guy. It's a first date yoga class.
Om.
Friday, February 4, 2011
He Has a Car!
What do you do when a man you’ve been on two dates with asks you to go skiing in Vermont for a long weekend? Please keep in mind, I understand this is a good problem to have. But! This was the French guy who wanted to by friends. That other F-word. No man wanted to be my friend when I was in my 20s.
This perplexes me. I received the email invite to Vermont which then morphed into Maine, both starting as roadtrips and ending with cheap JetBlue flights. Now, French man is afraid of flying. So, would this mean that as the doors closed, I’d be left with a guy I’ve been on two dates with, who wants to just be friends, having a panic attack on me?
But, as any New Yorker knows, an invitation to flee the island is huge. And a car?
I, of course, ran this by my mother: two dates, friends, trip to Vermont, four days. Her response? I have skis and boots in the basement!
Perhaps I overreacted and my joie de vive was in limited supply. My own Law-N-Order-SVU addicted mother would go! Then, I asked my dad if he knew about my recent invitation and his response: I’m really glad you decided not to go. You don’t know this guy. What if you don’t get along? Then my brother’s response: I’m not a good person to ask, I’ve just watched 3 episodes of 48 hours and it’s all about these missing women and these guys who they thought were really nice.
I get a text while at Wal-mart from French man. I tell him: I’m at Wal-Mart, don’t judge. I need to time to think about this trip. He’s offered to pay for most of it…this guy that claims to want to be friends. Hm. After an hour and a half he texts again: Over an hour at Wal-mart? Now I’m judging.
Lesson? Not really.
I just decided not to go. It’s not that I have any scintillating plans here , but I’d rather be a little bored and comfortable in my environment than in a car with a virtual stranger who may or may not want to stop at a bathroom every two hours, listen to bad 80s songs, eat copious snacks, procure Coffeemate for me, understand my need for a fan, melatonin, earplugs, eye-mask, lavender balm, noise/sound machine and a warm cup of milk at bedtime.
Maybe he didn’t think it through.
This perplexes me. I received the email invite to Vermont which then morphed into Maine, both starting as roadtrips and ending with cheap JetBlue flights. Now, French man is afraid of flying. So, would this mean that as the doors closed, I’d be left with a guy I’ve been on two dates with, who wants to just be friends, having a panic attack on me?
But, as any New Yorker knows, an invitation to flee the island is huge. And a car?
I, of course, ran this by my mother: two dates, friends, trip to Vermont, four days. Her response? I have skis and boots in the basement!
Perhaps I overreacted and my joie de vive was in limited supply. My own Law-N-Order-SVU addicted mother would go! Then, I asked my dad if he knew about my recent invitation and his response: I’m really glad you decided not to go. You don’t know this guy. What if you don’t get along? Then my brother’s response: I’m not a good person to ask, I’ve just watched 3 episodes of 48 hours and it’s all about these missing women and these guys who they thought were really nice.
I get a text while at Wal-mart from French man. I tell him: I’m at Wal-Mart, don’t judge. I need to time to think about this trip. He’s offered to pay for most of it…this guy that claims to want to be friends. Hm. After an hour and a half he texts again: Over an hour at Wal-mart? Now I’m judging.
Lesson? Not really.
I just decided not to go. It’s not that I have any scintillating plans here , but I’d rather be a little bored and comfortable in my environment than in a car with a virtual stranger who may or may not want to stop at a bathroom every two hours, listen to bad 80s songs, eat copious snacks, procure Coffeemate for me, understand my need for a fan, melatonin, earplugs, eye-mask, lavender balm, noise/sound machine and a warm cup of milk at bedtime.
Maybe he didn’t think it through.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
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