peep show

i'm disoriented. small things are out of whack—i hear a beep when there isn't one; the water tastes soapy; there's a stale smell in the hallway. it's been like that all week. and there's techno weirdness too: my work computer is screwy and a tech dude has to fix it. and my computer at home is, at 4, old. so old it appears i can't get wireless. and still no blinds on the windows and i feel so naked in there and yet nobody's even looking.

in a strange way, i feel like i am in another country, taking myself out to dinner by myself because the fridge is fucked and i await a new one, but getting to my fav sushi place i take a new route, pass buildings i've never passed before and though they're fairly unremarkable, they're still entirely unfamiliar. i go to target after a beer and try to buy something or other to make my house more homey but am stumped by choices and the neon lights and the help there who might mean well but really know little and i should know enough not to ask for help because it becomes another exercise in frustration and by now i'm practically an olympian in that regard, and then i leave again emptyhanded, a little queasy from having to walk down a halted escalator. before that i went to my old apartment to clean out. a jar of plum jam someone once gave me but when i tried long ago to open it, sliced my hand on the metal lid; skippy peanut butter a visitor once bought; a tupperware of frozen berries for oatmeal enhancement. my upstairs neighbor and i chatted. she's been in the building 26 yrs. she told me the couple on the first floor are firmly in the a-a community, which makes me feel like a bit of an asshole for bringing beer the night before i left there when they invited me to dinner (well, takeout, but the kindly intent stands). and though she (the dinner host) said, 'we don't drink,' i said, kind of glibly , 'well, you can save the rest for guests.'

too much is going on in my brain today. the subway trip across the bridge this morning felt so long, long enough for two engrossing daydreams: one having to do with occupying a loft right next to the bridge and dancing in front of open windows oblivious to the subway passengers, and the other, i can't recall anymore. felt like i had been asleep. the guy next to me had really long fingernails and blew into the white plastic lid of his tea. the guy standing in front of me had even longer nails, the kind a drag queen might have. i wanted to ask both if they were banjo pickers or maybe cokeheads. but neither question seemed like a good conversation starter so early in the day.

seems like i haven't had a vegetable in weeks.

someone have mercy on me.

drink yr age

ordered a half-decaf-half-caf this morning. oh, woe, lo, what has become of me? soon i'll forswear even that half as too much! too much!!

lovin' spoonful

so here's what i done: left my cell company for a new concern with a new cellphone which came with a charger all its own. bought new toothpaste. wore an old bra. (mundane accounting, i know, but read the previous post to get why it's mentioned). very slowly the joint comes together. though i'm still without blinds and the light at night is high. and the fridge makes this soft but distinct and vaguely eerie (like fright night movie eerie) sing-song that makes me look for the little boy with the red devil eyes who's going to strangle me when i least expect it. also, it doesn't seem to be at all cold enough. already one yogurt's gone bad. i called the landlady about it. got to nip the bad fridge in the bud and get a new one. but my pal a.l. came over yesterday and helped me wash lots of dishes and i scrubbed here and there. and nailed there and here. and some art-ish stuff is on walls. some cds are in the player. even got some mail at the new address when i came home from tgiving which was a few days away in washington at the home of k, mi amiga d'espana. we did many things. including watched many hours of television (have you seen desparate housewives of the oc? FABULOUS and i cap seldom, and bold even less, so you know it's for reals) followed by a double feature of inside man and dave chapelle's block party which led to a long discussion of who'd you rather sleep with...clive owen or mos def. it is a terrible, impossible choice. i love them both so—it makes my heart hurt.

top hat bullshit

my movers dropped a box marked 'fragile' and broke an antique vase i bought in budapest which was dear to me. it's true i could be a single mother of 10 in sri lanka or some such, but i'm not, i'm a sometimes unhappy yuppie-wannabe (in the emploi of a nonprofit after all) in brooklyn. and i'm overtired from insomnia and my place is chaotic and no phone service yet. and no internet (i write from a friend's) and my cell service stinks and is in any case out of juice. and i can't find where i packed toothpaste, cell charger, bras, soap, and it all feels way too overwhelming and exhausting. there are no shades/curtains/blinds in my new place and it's too light at night. and what if i can't sleep again? my italian friend called me yesterday to see how it's going. isn't that kind? few of my local friends did that. and that includes folks i've helped move. so now i have beefs, though it shouldn't be quid pro. helen mirren will be on tv soon so maybe that's the salve i need.

peu and le

when we were kids, we had, among our sets of monopoly, stratego, clue, a game called profit and loss; a capitalist's dream game. somewhere along the line it got abbreviated since it was too much work to say the full name and we took to calling it peu and le.

i just sold a piece of furniture to a nice young lady from bay ridge. she and her friend hauled it down my warped stairs (i was once bidden to please not take them too fast lest i fall and sue) and now, with that dough, i ordered dinner to be delivered cause the kitchen's unusable and i'm hungry. and i even got sushi. fancy days are here again.

today, while packing, i had general hospital on. guess what the story line is?? can you? it's luke and laura. again. all these years later. it's like back in the days of peu and le. except they both have 'extra padding' now. and laura appears to be a little forgetful. not unexpected for a woman just emerged from a many-yeared coma.

and i'm in a mood for mischief.

my little life

on the elevator coming back upstairs from getting what was billed as a 'really good' chicken sandwich (but which turns out to be in dire, disappointing need of honey mustard) a tall, skinny q-t pie smiled at me when i held open the elevator door. that's the kind of classy dame i am. i hold open elevator doors. and it gets me sly smiles from academic-ish q-t pies. and i had a little thrill. i tiny teeny one. that was quickly ushered off the stage of my imagination by this more deprecating thought:

my life is so empty that sly smiles from strangers evoke tiny thrills. the patheticness of it all! oh god—you devil! (george burns has never felt quite this a propos).

prints matchyourbelly

foolishly i turn on the telly. i am without cable. and so the bachelor is on. i can barely believe that show still exists. and the bachelor is some dude they keep saying is a prince. the heir to the borghese cosmetic fiefdom. so he must have access to sophisticated broads from around the world. unless that family is like estee lauder, kind of invented their aristocratic bona fides.

any case, he's wooing some 23 year old named sadie who is not really too sexy. she's saving herself til marriage. and that is a non sequiter. he respects her decision. she keeps asserting she's a 'classy conservative lady' and he says 'that's what i like, a classy conservative lady.' i say, 'they keep stating there is so much chemistry between them but i don't see it. not at all, not even with my 20/20. all i see is girl who pronounces 'well' as 'wool' and a bad blond dye job.' but he's got pinstripes. she's playing dress-up. that's class. fourth grade if memory serves.

crying foul

not sure if it's a combo of p-m-s, a-d-d, hunger and under-rest but i'm in a mood to growl. packing's not done. you always forget about little things like power cords and magnets (and i'm not even at the stage yet where those bits are getting thrown together). falling in love is not done. did i even brush my teeth today? i can't remember. i did, i'm sure, but that's the spirit of this monday and there's so much to do besides all that (there's work, for instance, the kind that pays my rent) and feeding myself and buying new undergarments cause all mine are all old and ratty and last night i had the choppiest night's sleep, with images of my new, professor-like dentist in it and an editor i used to work with who told me, in the dream, he'd just come from his lunchtime crochet group (and he pronounced it with a hard 't') and that now he had three children. i just want a bowl of chicken noodle soup and to go to sleep under a warm blanket with rain hitting my window and the feeling that i have no obligations for weeks and weeks.

big sigh

my back aches from bending and lifting and taping boxes and lifting and moving and assessing and taping more boxes and lifting and labeling and books and assessing and moving. and having to do it all alone is a big drag. and right now i'm feeling somewhat angry at how long it takes and how much yet is to be done. and by now i just want to be moved. this week coming is going to be a little bit overrun with anxiety.

on the lighter side, my friend b says not to dismiss people who wink, even virtually. she may have a good point.

i have some codeine or percocet or something left over from the summer dalliance with extraordinary pain. i might have to take some to make my back feel less crummy. or i might pep myself up by going to buy new running kicks.

back to it.

dance 10 looks 3

karaoke: does a body good. did some of that shizza last night in red hook and instead of anthemic rock stuff with janis joplin/patsy cline thrown in, we sung showtunes. then i got home round midnight and read for an hour. here's something a wee embarrassing. i'm reading notes on a scandal which i was prompted to pick up by an online advertisement for a movie trailer of a flick coming out starring blanchett et densch based on this novel. it looked good, that trailer. and i thought, will read before i see the movie so as not to ruin the lit s'perience. but it was already ruined by the trailer cause the main characters in my head are now blanchett et densch, not women of my own conjuring. still, suspenseful.

the thing about that song, dance 10 looks 3, is that sometimes it accurately reflects my self image. i am a killer dancer. really. come to the disco tonight to check it out. though, this weekend it'll be more like 'i'm sorry mama, i never meant to hurt you...i never meant to make you cry but tonight, i'm cleaning out my closet.'

somebody 'winked' at me online on a dating site. i think that's dopey.

when i was in 8th grade i lived abroad for the year with my family. and we lived in a wadi (i mean, there were houses there, built in it) but across from us there were no houses. just rugged, rocky terrain. sometimes there was a guy who roamed around and i guess he sometimes exposed himself. i don't remember that. i do remember my pops called him the wadi winker. he slightly mocked him. which is kind of ironic because yrs later when i went to a movie (household saints, no less) in nyc one night with friends and realized the fat man two seats away was having at himself under his raincoat, i told my dad and mum about it. pops said to have sympathy for the dysfunctional oaf who feels the need to jerk off in public. next to nice gals like me. those guys are unwell. i am supposed to pity them. have 'rachmonos' he said, using the hebrew word for compassion. but i do not, and that is why neither a social worker nor a shrink i be.

failed, on purpose, to mention

it's election day. why did i fail to mention it earlier? didn't wanna jinx the outcome. but i'm getting nervous on account of reports of lots of machine failure, harrassment, etc. i'm sure my five readers will vote, right, faithful five?

i went this morning and even in my dem 'hood, there was a problem with the voting booth lever. it does not inspire confidence.

nor does the following quote from a christian person arguing that god does exist:

'You can't see the wind or the cold, only the effects. You can't see someone passing gas, but if you're close enough you will know it.'

the ever convincing flatulent proof of the divine.

pet peeved

non-dating news: you know what rivals public fingernail clipping in gross things that make me move away from you if you do that on a subway—that utterly disgusting sound of expectorating and then swallowing. if you're five years old and have a profound tissue aversion, maybe it's forgivable or at least understandable. if you're 35 it's simply unacceptable. and so this morning i forfeited my seat because of a very well-dressed fellow next to me who was doing just that. almost gagged in horror.

as for dating—the only people who have written me are, get this, married men. good grief—what makes them think i wanna be a mistress?

updated up-dater

my friend, who lives in another time zone and has time to be my biggest fan (stalkers notwithstanding), said they did not get to chevys in the end.

'instead we fooled around at his Grateful Dead concert poster clad bachelor pad and ate Safeway frozen pizza and drank beer. It was a class act!!'

only the best for our little princess.

up-dater

my friend, who'll do anything for a free rock show (or not, she's actually busy that night but if it were, say, radiohead or grace jones or bauhaus i bet she'd cancel her plans in a jiff), says her for-the-time-being-fella cooed that he'd treat her like a 'princess' and take her...to chevys.

at first i thought she quoted, 'i'll take you in a chevy,' which would be equally excellent, no?

and reminds me that i once thought it'd be damn funny to set up an internet date and when time came to decide where to meet, what darkly-lit pub or nook for a smooch or under the radar coolio tapas joint far from the clamoring masses, i'd suggest...'oh, there's this place i really like. it's on broadway and fourth, i think, wendy's? you know what i'm talking about?'

at the time it seemed like a grand idea. it no longer quite does.