tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63440532011-08-16T23:10:58.829-04:00You're a Big Girl, Hold ItGrowing up ... kicking and screamingUsnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4371100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1104380474869868282004-12-29T23:16:00.000-05:002004-12-29T23:22:10.636-05:00We've Come to An End
2004 is almost over, and a lot of things are coming to an end. This website included. It was there when I needed it, but this is where it needs to stop.
The world doesn't need another site of single girl missives. That's right. I am now a single girl.
Besides, this was a website about growing up, and being a single girl is sort of like regressing. But I can live with Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1103560570363560392004-12-20T11:29:00.000-05:002004-12-20T13:42:15.563-05:00Subway Observation #6
Nobody flinches when a guy pulls out a switchblade on an uptown number 2 train. The guy holds the knife open, rotating it, admiring it. It's thick and long, like a steak knife. People consciously don't look at him. I stand with my back mostly to him, watching his reflection in the subway car window. I breathe a sigh of relief when I get off at the next stop, and he doesn't.Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1103495087745348002004-12-19T17:17:00.000-05:002004-12-20T12:04:50.906-05:00Happy Three Years!
My boyfriend and I celebrated three years together today. We almost didn't make it this far -- and (as the fight drags on) we might not make it much further. But I think the two of us -- as unlikely as we were -- really made an incredible team.
After all, who else encourages me to be creative? Who else finds the humor in a website, where he more often than not comes across Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1103159311736172152004-12-15T20:08:00.000-05:002004-12-15T20:08:31.736-05:00Keeping Secrets Secret
I've learned my lesson, and I can't talk about it.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102994791313574682004-12-13T21:57:00.000-05:002004-12-13T22:26:31.313-05:00Things I'm Glad About
I'm glad there's no heat in the apartment.
I'm glad it's finally getting cold.
I'm glad I'm fighting with my boyfriend.
I'm glad there's a hair salon opening in my building.
I'm glad that in order to take a vacation from work, I need to work twice as hard leading up to it.
I'm glad I have this blog ... so I can listen to myself complain ....
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102803469302470172004-12-11T17:10:00.000-05:002004-12-11T23:12:11.260-05:00(not) For All Mankind
I've heard the truism that a pair of 7 jeans can make any ass look hot. I've even seen some pretty amazing transformations with my own eyes. So while shopping at the Soho Bloomie's today, I decided to try on a couple of pairs. And I've come to this conclusion: my ass must be hopeless, because the magical jeans don't work for me.
But if I'm honest with myself, I know that Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102725684643488022004-12-10T19:39:00.000-05:002004-12-10T19:41:24.643-05:00That Kind of Day
Today has been that type of awful day when you find out that your landlord who lives downstairs is moving out, and a hair salon is moving in.
I need to save my pennies for my first Manhattan apartment ... four and a half more months! (Well, I can dream, can't I?)
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102643316234126962004-12-09T20:47:00.000-05:002004-12-09T20:48:36.233-05:00I'm ... Guess What? Edgy!
My boss told me today that I have an "edge." She meant it as a compliment too. Do I have an edge? Am I snarky? Hmm ...
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102562173011849692004-12-08T21:33:00.000-05:002004-12-08T22:16:13.013-05:00High School, Revisited
I actually watched 24 minutes of a VH1 show called My Coolest Years tonight. This episode was about geeks. My high school was 100% geeks. You had to take a test to get in. I think that says it all.
I was somewhere in the middle, I think. Luckily my best high school friend was beautiful and cool and fun and, even though she was Indian, attracted hot Jewish boys. Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102475126692763182004-12-07T22:04:00.000-05:002004-12-07T22:05:26.693-05:00Ouch
I kicked my own ass in the gym yesterday.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102271773333882772004-12-05T13:21:00.000-05:002004-12-05T13:36:13.333-05:00I Want to Date This Guy
I have every intention of leaving my apartment before it gets dark today, but I had to gush about my new best friend. Actually, I've never met the guy, but he is one of the funniest people I've read so far. And he's from South Jersey.
I'm only up to the October archives, but I'd like to quote some of my favorite lines:
"She informed me that in order to see if a boy Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102186473287178872004-12-04T13:45:00.000-05:002004-12-05T18:21:32.193-05:00The Jewish Way in Dating
The New York Times had an article today about non-Jews who join JDate because they want to meet "nice Jewish boys and girls."
For all my anti-religion rantings lately, I still feel pretty strongly about marrying another Jew. Because I realized -- on the subway, of course, where some of my best thinking gets done -- that religious traditions really are beautiful, and theUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1102046347651082162004-12-02T22:33:00.000-05:002004-12-02T22:59:07.650-05:00Bigger Me
I started thinking today about why I have this silly website in the first place. Or why I didn't decide to post commentary about pop culture, or politics, or celebrity gossip. Or about something completely inane like cooking (OK, I know why I don't write about cooking ...)
I never really meant to get too personal. The inspiration for this blog was one of my senior year TAs, who Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101954663018285432004-12-01T21:30:00.000-05:002004-12-01T21:31:03.016-05:00Forward Looking Statements
From now on, all future posts will be about my fish, Flippy, Dippy and Skippy. Enjoy!
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101778496915853692004-11-29T20:24:00.000-05:002004-11-29T20:35:19.906-05:00Opening for a Life Guide
I need my own personal etiquette counselor. So when situations crop up, I'll know how to handle them.
For instance, if a woman boards the subway, and you can't tell if she's pregnant or not, should you give up your seat?
Should you offer your boss money if you're not sure if happy hour is on the company card?
If you make an off-color (drunk) remark to someone you Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101777796445524792004-11-29T20:22:00.000-05:002004-11-29T20:23:16.446-05:00Subway Observation #5
They say stress shortens your life. Thanks to my iPod, I'm going to live a lot longer.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101777741004105852004-11-29T20:19:00.000-05:002004-11-29T20:22:21.003-05:00Subway Observation #4
Someone yelled at me for looking at her four times on the subway. Four times! She counted! Please. I just turned my back and ignored her.
OK, I admit I was momentarily unnerved. But getting yelled at for looking at someone the wrong way? That's how you learn the meaning of the words "street smarts."
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101499389110008012004-11-26T15:02:00.000-05:002004-11-26T15:03:09.110-05:00Subway Observation #3
Don't talk. When asked for directions, see if you can get away with pointing and a nod.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101499278953876592004-11-26T14:58:00.000-05:002004-11-26T15:02:08.850-05:00Do I Look Jewish?
A young girl in a long skirt. "Are you Jewish? We're giving away free Shabbos candles ..."
"No thank you," I said.
Half a block later. Two girls in long skirts. "Excuse me. Excuse me, are you Jewish?"
"No, I'm not interested in Shabbos candles."
Half a block later. A little boy. "Are you Jewish?"
"I don't want any Shabbos candles."
Half a block later. A man in a Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101265596125067982004-11-23T22:04:00.000-05:002004-11-23T22:06:36.126-05:00Big Me
I got a temporary promotion today. When my boss once-removed goes on vacation next month, guess which cute, sassy, one week past her 23rd birthday, editrex-in-training is filling in?
You got it.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101264838646981972004-11-23T21:53:00.000-05:002004-11-23T21:53:58.646-05:00Subway Observation #2
You can play MP3s on a Blackberry. Who knew.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1101044869342398462004-11-21T08:15:00.000-05:002004-11-21T08:47:49.343-05:00Blast From the Past
How's this for a time warp circa 1997? Dinner and drinks with a friend I haven't seen since high school, who is still friends with (and brought along) my ex-boyfriend; and my best friend from elementary school, who once dated this aforementioned high school friend.
We used to double date before, but as my ex-boyfriend reminded me, I wouldn't let him drink back then.
I had Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1100743409725496672004-11-17T21:02:00.000-05:002004-11-17T21:03:29.726-05:00Clippings
I really love coupons, even when I know I'll never use them. This is going to be one of my old lady quirks, I can tell.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1100743129675072352004-11-17T20:49:00.000-05:002004-11-17T20:58:49.676-05:00Subway Observation #1
It drives me crazy when people can't fit into one seat on the subway. We all pay the same price, we're all tired at the end of the day or first thing in the morning -- and I really believe in the notion of one person, one seat. Period.
On principle, I always sqoosh in next to those people. Then I squirm around to get my traveling companion's attention, all the while Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1100567926526744182004-11-15T20:14:00.000-05:002004-11-15T20:18:46.526-05:00At least I'm his type
The new editor told me today, in a fit of exasperation, "you're just like my ex."
What does it mean when your boss (albeit a youngish, twentysomething boss) says that to you? It's bad, right? No chance at a promotion next year? Certainly no chance of boardroom hanky panky.
Sigh.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1100306949397003362004-11-12T19:45:00.000-05:002004-11-12T19:49:09.396-05:00So Frustrated
No heat again.
I guess this is the inevitable come down after last night's festivities with not just one editor, but both the old one and the new. Actually, there were a lot of editors there, including one who had interviewed me shortly before he left the company to take another job.
Last night he told me, "After I spoke to you, I said, 'she's the one.'"
Who doesn't like to Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1100136105582618722004-11-10T20:20:00.000-05:002004-11-10T20:21:45.583-05:00Update
I have heat. All is right with the world. Maybe tomorrow I can go back to eating solid foods. One can only hope.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1100060059323991542004-11-09T23:03:00.000-05:002004-11-09T23:14:19.323-05:00The Weather Turns Cold
There's a freeze warning in effect, and I'm arguing with the boyfriend. I blame him. If he had just let me move in with him ... but the truth of the matter is, not having heat is my problem. The landlady going to Florida without turning on the thermostat (oh, yes, we found her) is my problem. And if I weren't so adverse to moving yet again, I'd start saving my money toUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1100049123404968342004-11-09T20:07:00.000-05:002004-11-09T20:12:03.403-05:00Grrr
I don't feel well. I am achy and feverish and my stomach hurts. (Yeah, I know, again.) And you know what I want more than anything else in the world right now?
Heat.
I want my landlady to put on the heat. I called twice. My neighbor has been calling all day. The landlady is nowhere to be found. The super, gone.
I met up with my neighbor in the hall and she told me that her poor Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099867218907290062004-11-07T17:30:00.000-05:002004-11-07T17:40:18.906-05:00Wine Habit
Enough anger and political ranting. It doesn't suit me, somehow. But I will say this: yesterday, the boyfriend and I saw the movie Sideways (which we both liked) and the whole time -- while he was thinking about cheating on me, mind you -- I was thinking, wow, people in California are as neurotic and fun as people in New York! Someday I'd like to live in California. Or at least Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099606987784301242004-11-04T17:18:00.000-05:002004-11-06T15:48:00.503-05:00You're Not the God of Me
Back to politics. So I was reading the Fox News website, to try to understand how the rest of the country thinks.
One story quotes Robert Knight, director of the Culture and Family Institute, saying, "Civil unions are a government endorsement of homosexuality."
What gets me mad -- besides the utter ridiculousness of this statement -- is that gay marriage is really a Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099599224696804242004-11-04T15:05:00.000-05:002004-11-04T15:13:44.696-05:00The Pointless and the Absurd
Enough about politics, let's talk about something completely banal.
So I stayed home from work today because I wasn't feeling well. I had a terrible fever last night, and this morning I just couldn't bring myself to move. Of course, now that the Dayquil has kicked in, I feel sort of guilty. I've been doing work from home ... like a good, industrious bumble bee.Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099536936251599452004-11-03T21:48:00.000-05:002004-11-03T21:55:36.250-05:00More on Voting
Voting in NYC was awesome. There was so much energy, and people really believed we could win (stupid, stupid exit polls.) And, in a weird way, it was nice to feel like I was part of the rest of the country ... until I realized how removed I must be from most of these people.
For a minute, I was almost sentimental.
But, really, what happened to: "it's the economy, stupid?" Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099531226171846492004-11-03T20:19:00.000-05:002004-11-03T20:20:26.173-05:00Of a Certain Age
I yell at the pundits at the television. The other night, I stayed up late writing a letter to the editor of The New York Times.
I am an old man.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099441422172223272004-11-02T19:19:00.000-05:002004-11-03T21:57:54.946-05:00Voting is Fun!
My first election when I didn't vote absentee. Couldn't stop smiling. The volunteer called me "sweetie." I did good. I deserve a lollipop.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099357897104956822004-11-01T20:00:00.000-05:002004-11-01T22:49:41.666-05:00New Friend (and not on Friendster)
I made a friend today. But I don't think it's who the boyfriend had in mind.
My new friend is 25, has a job in the jewelry business, and just moved to Brooklyn from Ecuador. We met at the gym -- we were both watching Malcolm in the Middle on closed caption while doing the elliptical machine; he was laughing, and so I was too. Later, we rode the train to 14th Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099235131577346172004-10-31T09:43:00.000-05:002004-10-31T10:05:31.576-05:00On College Friends and Strawberry Hookahs
So yesterday, just when I was feeling sorry for myself for having to stay home on the Saturday night before Halloween, I get an instant message from someone I knew in college, and we went to two bars and a smoked a strawberry hookah. Sometimes these things just work out.
I've been thinking about this meeting people thing a lot lately. Mostly because Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099168565916991582004-10-30T16:30:00.000-04:002004-10-30T16:36:05.916-04:00The Road to Nowhere
Based on the good advice of no one, I told the recruiter I wasn't interested in hearing about the open position. Dream job or not. I just didn't feel like it. Maybe I'm wrong about this. But I guess you never can tell.
What If is a fact of life.
But the new editor starts Monday. I have to give him a spin before I jump ship, right?
Besides, that gym membership Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1099008354183794942004-10-28T19:59:00.000-04:002004-10-28T20:05:54.183-04:00They Want Me
I got a voicemail today from my first recruiter. Now I'm a Big Girl in every sense of the word. Truth is, I don't think I want to leave my current job -- I like it. It's working for me. I got to meet The Donald. And, you know, I get to do other things I enjoy. But on the other hand, I'm intrigued. How did she find me? Why did she pick me? Did she draw my name off the PR Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098650467971717762004-10-24T16:24:00.000-04:002004-10-24T16:42:13.566-04:00Meeting the Donald
I don't know how other professions measure success, but for journalists, one belt notch is the celebrity interview. And for my first, I went straight to the top: yes, Donald Trump.
I was very professional, I must say.
The coolest part wasn't the five minutes I had alone with him. The coolest part was not being in the mob of women literally trampling each other to get his Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098568877793625012004-10-23T17:54:00.000-04:002004-10-23T18:01:17.793-04:00Old Lady Me
Sometimes you have to celebrate things, even if there's nothing to celebrate. I like to introduce small elements of festivity into each and every weekend. So today -- because I'm still recovering from a cold and the boyfriend is going to a funeral -- was a home improvement day. I cleaned my fan. I actually took the thing apart (using a screwdriver!) and Windexed the blades. It Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098553114934992892004-10-23T13:38:00.000-04:002004-10-23T13:38:34.933-04:00Bear cub at the Museum of Natural HistoryUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098553079958698922004-10-23T13:37:00.001-04:002004-10-23T13:37:59.956-04:00Bears at the Museum of Natural HistoryUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098553059155266672004-10-23T13:37:00.000-04:002004-10-23T13:37:39.156-04:00Rabbits at the Museum of Natural HistoryUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098494248525299892004-10-22T21:14:00.000-04:002004-10-22T21:17:28.526-04:00Romance II
"You know, I think you may be right after all," the boyfriend said after a death in his family. "I may have to get married. I don't want to die alone."
I made some sort of self-congratulatory remark.
"Yeah, but how do I know I don't want to die alone with you?" he asked.
Young love.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098402924549248292004-10-21T19:54:00.000-04:002004-10-21T19:55:24.550-04:00I'm sick.
Some days are no fun.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098018858796186672004-10-17T09:14:00.000-04:002004-10-17T09:14:18.796-04:00Bank of America's corporate headquarters ... and a church ... two familiar sights of the Charlotte skylineUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098018800179405462004-10-17T09:13:00.000-04:002004-10-17T09:13:20.180-04:00The fountain outside Bank of America's Charlotte headquartersUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098018744800375232004-10-17T09:12:00.000-04:002004-10-17T09:12:24.800-04:00On one the main corners in Uptown CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098018693123132742004-10-17T09:11:00.001-04:002004-10-17T09:11:33.123-04:00Uptown CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098018662834467882004-10-17T09:11:00.000-04:002004-10-17T09:11:02.833-04:00Future location of the Charlotte Shout festivalUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098018615650692702004-10-17T09:10:00.000-04:002004-10-17T09:10:15.650-04:00Courthouse in Uptown CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1098018580901885462004-10-17T09:09:00.000-04:002004-10-17T09:09:40.900-04:00One of Charlotte's many ducksUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942746318211622004-10-16T12:05:00.000-04:002004-10-16T12:05:46.316-04:00Nascar Racetrack, Charlotte (no races that weekend, unfortunately)Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942689165353932004-10-16T12:04:00.001-04:002004-10-16T12:04:49.166-04:00Nascar racetrack, CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942655092985552004-10-16T12:04:00.000-04:002004-10-16T12:04:15.093-04:00Nascar racetrack, CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942622343253082004-10-16T12:03:00.001-04:002004-10-16T12:03:42.376-04:00Nascar racetrack, CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942599765222522004-10-16T12:03:00.000-04:002004-10-16T12:03:19.766-04:00Nascar racetrack, CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942562449140562004-10-16T12:02:00.001-04:002004-10-16T12:02:42.450-04:00Nascar racetrack, CharlotteUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942532200933242004-10-16T12:02:00.000-04:002004-10-16T12:02:12.200-04:00Truck outside the Nascar museum in Charlotte (the museum was closed when we were there)Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097942483251560802004-10-16T12:01:00.000-04:002004-10-16T12:01:23.250-04:00Warning cone in Charlotte (but warning what?)Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097807087914537262004-10-14T22:12:00.000-04:002004-10-14T22:29:19.536-04:00The New Guy
"Are you writing the anal next week?"
"Am I writing the what?"
(I love the new editor, by the way.)
"The anal. Sorry, the news analysis. We call it the anal."
Laughter from the girl sitting behind me.
"I hear you laughing," he says, accusingly.
"That's not me," I protest. Too loud, too defensively. "She was laughing."
"You were smiling."
(I'm smiling because you're cute, Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097710108811367922004-10-13T19:11:00.000-04:002004-10-13T19:35:26.446-04:00Bad Sex
"Write about bad sex," Mr. G would say. The published poet we had for 11th grade creative writing. According to him, high school was nothing more than four years of bad sex. "Even if you're not having sex, you're having bad sex," he said. "And I want you to write about it."
I had plenty of bad sex in high school: plenty, figuratively speaking, and about four or five poorly orchestratedUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097710411647330342004-10-13T18:30:00.000-04:002004-10-13T19:37:05.250-04:00A First
Today I ran into my high school class's token published author in front of my apartment. I was wearing a silly hat. He recognized me, and asked how I was. I mentioned that I knew he was giving a reading of his new book at the Brooklyn Public Library.
"Really," he said. "Where are they promoting that?"
"I picked up a brochure," I said, then realizing how old-lady-ish that sounded. I Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097623967205542902004-10-12T19:17:00.000-04:002004-10-12T19:36:53.206-04:00Tell Me, Tell Me
My own sisters don't find me interesting. I conveniently supplied them with the URL to my website, but they never visit. They must think I'm boring. (Is this because I posted pictures of my fish? Skippy almost died! That wasn't dramatic enough for them?)
I have two younger sisters, 20 and 15, and I always wanted to be the Big Sister to them I never had. But you don't know my Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097521448195624332004-10-11T15:03:00.000-04:002004-10-11T15:05:51.660-04:00Salvation
Do I look like my soul needs to be saved?
For the second time in about a week, a woman sitting near me on the subway offered me a religious pamphlet. This time I was adamant. “No,” I said.
“It’s OK,” she said, long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders like some Shakespearean nymph. “Take it.”
“No.”
“It’s the Scriptures. Don’t you read the Bible?”
“No.”
“All the more reason Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097521396895740992004-10-11T15:01:00.000-04:002004-10-11T20:14:46.533-04:00Old Times, Good Times
Today I found myself in Tribeca, the neighborhood of my old high school. I wasn’t sure what I was doing there, but I decided to walk my old route to where I used to pick up the express bus. I was doing pretty well (“there’s Ralph’s Discount Store, there’s the pizza place, there's the Federal Office Building, a left here, a right here, and there’s the bridge to the World Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097439394440976742004-10-10T16:11:00.000-04:002004-10-10T16:16:34.440-04:00In Case You Were Wondering
My fitness goals are:
1) Be sexy
2) Get boyfriend to stop ogling other women
3) Live long and prosper!
4) Learn what kind of exercise is "Urban Funk"
5) Make the best of fourth-floor walk-up
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097434642738834632004-10-10T14:43:00.000-04:002004-10-10T14:59:16.680-04:00Breaking a Sweat
I like a challenge. This summer, it was Debt-Free by 30. Now it's the Gym.
I've taken fitness classes before (everything from squash to aerobics), but this is my first time joining a capital-G Gym. With real fitness buffs. The women don't bother me so much -- but the men with the biceps as thick as my waist -- I find them a "little" intimidating. But I think I'm going to likeUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097362624922831212004-10-09T18:41:00.000-04:002004-10-09T18:58:15.540-04:00Romance
OK, so maybe it's unrealistic to expect quality updates about me on a daily basis (my life is just not that interesting!) But I would like to report that the boyfriend and I came to an understanding today.
We had just seen I Heart Huckabees and were feeling somewhat existential. Actually, the more appropriate word would be "fatalistic," but let's not dwell on small details.
"We're Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097030203741382032004-10-05T22:31:00.000-04:002004-10-05T22:36:43.743-04:00Mouse Thoughts
My mouse experience has convinced me of the need to get married. What are men for if not for this sort of thing? But I don't know why I bother bringing it up around the boyfriend. He's taken to ignoring me whenever I bring up the issue. Sigh. He's called my bluff long ago.
Relatedly, he's back from Orlando, and I couldn't be happier. He bought me a present! I missed him.Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1097028645511080812004-10-05T21:52:00.000-04:002004-10-05T22:13:27.163-04:00Almost Older
I realized today that there are less than two months before my 23rd birthday. Twenty-three sounds like a good age. Not young, but certainly not old. Solidly adult, but not too adult. I think 23 will suit me. I'm looking forward to it.
I'm half-watching the vice presidential debate as I write this. It's painful watching John Edwards sound so young and almost shrill next to calm, Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1096937312398927712004-10-04T20:39:00.000-04:002004-10-04T20:48:32.396-04:00The Editor: Take 2
The editor's replacement is better than I could have hoped for. There's a lot of potential for this new guy. I don't mean romantic potential, but the potential for us to get along really well, and for work to remain interesting.
Or, there could be fighting. The new guy is a strong personality, not easy-going like the old one. Not fighting with me, exactly, but just a lotUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1096936563830697542004-10-04T20:25:00.000-04:002004-10-04T20:39:19.596-04:00Jews on a Mission
I knew I should have lied when the girl on the subway asked if I were Jewish. She had a faint accent, Yiddish maybe, except she was too young for it, about 19. I felt fairly certain she had been born in New York. Maybe the accent was fake.
She handed me a pamphlet. I tried to give it back. "No, it's for you."
"Thank you," I said, standing. Dully.
"Have a nice day!"
The Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1096828405511425462004-10-03T14:31:00.000-04:002004-10-03T17:55:42.226-04:00Confused
One of the people from my writing group -- actually, the one I thought disliked me most of all (She never smiled! Whenever I said anything she looked at me liked she was spaced out! She just stared!) has invited me to be her friend on Friendster.
I don't understand it. I keep waiting for it to be some kind of sick joke. I just don't get it.
UPDATE: And yet, I approved her FriendsterUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1096827943387051532004-10-03T14:23:00.002-04:002004-10-03T14:29:41.776-04:00All By Myself ... Don't Want to Be ...
Actually, there is a lot that happened.
My editor is leaving this week. Now what's the point of going to work? This is awful. Come next week, I'll be working ... and that's it. I will be working. No one sentencing me to death. No one threatening to banish me to another city.
It's a great opportunity for him. Incredibly impressive, career-wise.
I'm Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1096827616906478782004-10-03T14:09:00.001-04:002004-10-03T14:23:15.383-04:00I'm Baa-aack
There's no particularly good reason why I haven't been writing. My North Carolina friend says it's because being from South Jersey made me different and being from New York just means I'm like everyone else. South Jersey had an up-side. Who knew?
(I mean, of course it was different. I was the only one there under 35. But the point holds, I guess.)
You didn't miss much. Except Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1094331489490866712004-09-04T16:42:00.000-04:002004-09-04T17:01:45.270-04:00What's a Yuppie?
What makes someone a yuppie?
-Being a slave to Zagats (check)
-Making more money than you know what to do with (nope)
-Being a metrosexual (nope ... not dating one either)
-Eating organic food (check)
-Eating gourmet cheese (check)
-Shopping at upscale stores on Fifth Avenue (does the sale rack count? hmm ... I'm thinking no)
-Buying curtains (well, considering I have paper Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1094094907047861382004-09-01T22:49:00.000-04:002004-09-01T23:15:07.046-04:00Snobbery and Silliness
My writing group hates me. They think I'm pretentious. Academic. A yuppie. I'm the only one with a real job. I'm the only one not drifting from writing group to writing group, trying to find myself. And they love the Lower East Side -- I don't like walking around there by myself at night.
One of the writing group members, his e-mail address is Death to Yuppies. He Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093917813717842492004-08-30T21:55:00.000-04:002004-08-30T22:05:30.913-04:00I Saved a Life Today ...
... and, oh yeah, the Republican National Convention
One of my fish had a near-death experience. He swam into the filter and then I couldn't get him out. There was my fish, bleeding, suffocating, and there was nothing I could do. Well, not nothing. I had to react quickly, disconnect the filter, and then try to coax him out the bottom. For a nerve-racking few minutes, heUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093782576152844852004-08-29T08:22:00.001-04:002004-08-29T08:52:13.406-04:00My First Vacation
In less than two weeks, I will take my very first vacation since I entered the working world . And I'm headed south. I've never been to Charlotte, I've always wanted to visit North Carolina, and I haven't seen my friend Maggie since, well, New Year's weekend. Last year.
She has a swimming pool. And after we go swimming, we're going to eat pig roasted on the spit. And all sortsUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093781950812419442004-08-29T08:13:00.000-04:002004-08-29T08:19:10.813-04:00Stupid, Stupid
I do believe I'm an idiot. A bottle of wine, 75% finished, passed out in bed before midnight (clothes strewn around the room from several "costume changes" throughout the night), and wide awake at 5:45 a.m.
For the second night in a row, drank too much. I might as well be back in college. I haven't had a weekend like this in a long time.
And here I was so grown-up, I didn't Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093219774213819502004-08-22T20:09:00.000-04:002004-08-22T20:09:34.213-04:00Museum of Natural History, 200 Live Frogs!Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093219729284873512004-08-22T20:08:00.000-04:002004-08-22T20:08:49.283-04:00Frog exhibitUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093219660514423022004-08-22T20:07:00.002-04:002004-08-22T20:07:40.513-04:00Poisonous!Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093219631852451582004-08-22T20:07:00.001-04:002004-08-22T20:07:11.853-04:00Frog exhibitUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093219629830524262004-08-22T20:07:00.000-04:002004-08-22T20:07:09.830-04:00Slimy frogUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1093114783340089222004-08-21T14:55:00.000-04:002004-08-21T15:00:25.146-04:00Power Slut
"I just love men in power," I tell her, lounging across the length of my couch, tired after work.
"If you were a White House intern, Monica Lewinsky would have nothing on you."
Maybe she's right.
Then she adds, "Doesn't your boyfriend care?"
I consider this. Sure he cares ("you are my property," he likes to tell me when he's feeling particularly romantic.) But then again ... "Nah,Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092792675334954972004-08-17T21:28:00.000-04:002004-08-17T21:31:15.333-04:00A Moment Like This
"Let me get that for you," he says. My hands are full of my umbrella, my lunch, my coffee and sweater. And that's when he -- my boss -- gallantly sweeps the door open. My hero. Turning a fat, ugly day into a pretty one.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092599541079091712004-08-15T15:42:00.000-04:002004-08-17T21:27:43.560-04:00Tally
Lonely today. It's the day before one of my close friends is leaving New York for law school. Everyone seems to be leaving within a short time. My best friend from high school, with whom I was hoping to reconnect now that we're both in Brooklyn (or so I thought), is moving to Wisconsin this week. And one of my coworkers took a new (and more enviable) job at another company, leaving the Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092276362415524702004-08-11T22:06:00.000-04:002004-08-11T22:06:02.416-04:00Sea Lion in the Prospect Park ZooUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092276299943518102004-08-11T22:04:00.001-04:002004-08-11T22:04:59.943-04:00RabbitUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092276267242255562004-08-11T22:04:00.000-04:002004-08-11T22:04:27.243-04:00Kangaroo in Brooklyn!Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092276230819348612004-08-11T22:03:00.000-04:002004-08-11T22:03:50.820-04:00Mammal thing in a boxUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092276167886728882004-08-11T22:02:00.001-04:002004-08-11T22:02:47.886-04:00BaboonUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092276135768597432004-08-11T22:02:00.000-04:002004-08-11T22:02:15.766-04:00MonkeysUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092275933265958492004-08-11T21:58:00.000-04:002004-08-11T21:59:45.926-04:00we we we we we ... all the way home
We aim to please.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092177945198011702004-08-10T18:44:00.000-04:002004-08-10T23:12:17.243-04:00Updates
1) The super has fixed my shower. I don't need to get married afterall. What a relief.
2) While I am still in pain, I am willing to believe that perhaps I don't have a WebMD disease. Perhaps I have good old-fashioned PMS.
3) Also: my boss has not made a single flirtatious comment in nearly two weeks. Maybe he found my website. Maybe my boyfriend found him.
Usnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092102145225893072004-08-09T21:42:00.000-04:002004-08-09T21:42:25.226-04:00Japanese Hill-and-Pond GardenUsnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6344053.post-1092102056980265132004-08-09T21:40:00.000-04:002004-08-09T21:40:56.980-04:00Multiple colored fish in the Japanese Hill-and-Pond Garden, Brooklyn Botanical GardensUsnoreply@blogger.com