apparently, i heart nate

so, i've had sex dreams on two consecutive nights. well, they weren't exactly sex dreams, more make out dreams. i don't remember the first one too well, who it was i was frenching. but the second one—well, that's indelible: nate from 6 ft under.

and i was 3 ft high. and rising!

here's what: in the dream we thought we'd give this boyfriend girlfriend thing a go. and he picked me up, like an adult carrying a child, so my face was right in front of his (maybe the height differential accounted for the pick-up or maybe there's a freudian thing happening but i don't have the clever to figure it and also i don't really care this minute) and we tried to kiss a little, pecks really, on the lips, but there was no chemistry (which in no way would way be true in real life; peter krause and i would certainly get it on). so we agreed to be friends, and he put me down and then maya, the tyke on 6 ft under was running around and we chased her.

can't hardly wait to know what tonight will bring.

put a needle on the record

everyone's getting their ipods on. with their fancy oversized bose headsets.

but not me. last night i came into possession of a turntable because i've decided it's career change time and i've wanted to be a deejay. forever! i'm going to sample the first record i ever owned—grand illusion by styx given to me as a gift by a boy named ben when we were around 12. it is kick-ass.

nah.

here's the real deal. i got a turntable last night, left over from my folks, and they put a new needle on it. they had already unloaded on me two sets of speakers (there are in my bedroom right now six speakers in toto, a regular hi-fi pawn shop and i'll be giving two of those sets away soon enough, call me if interested). i also came into a slew of records collected over the wee years not just by me but my sibs too; so now i got ample boston, bruce, lou reed, j geils...you get the drift.

r u jealous yet?

cause right now i'm listening to etta james, which i picked up last spring at a yard sale even before i knew my future held a turntable (that's almost a brainteaser, huh?) and it sounds damn good. might be time for a dirty dirty martini.

bub-uhl-ish-us

i've been feeling not quite right since eating some 'mediterranean shrimp' at an eye-talian restaurant with great aunty last night. we were going to go across to the vietnamese joint but there were picketers out front protesting low wages and i didn't want to be a line crosser. surely i exploit people every day (only unwittingly) but what if someone more righteous than i saw me enter the joint—oh, the shame i'd feel. the humiliation! and i call myself a humanitarian. ha!

anyways, when i awoke this morning i felt itchy and my arms were a little red. now they're no longer that color but still a little itchy and i feel like i need a soda, bring up a bubble and such. maybe i've developed an allergy. and maybe i could hire someone to pick me up, over the shoulder style, like they do the babies, and burp me.

now it's warm again and everyone has done that pavlovian thing and dug out their flip-flops. i have them too. i would not wear them to work, though. my feet are nice and all but i don't need to display them on the subway and mix with the grot of the streets of nyc.

i gots no more to say. i just wants to sleep.

westward ho

i'm headed to 'fornia for a few days for work and thought my pals in l.a. would be able to entertain moi on friday night. but they're all busy or in italy or walking their dogs or some excuses. and it just occurred to me maybe this is the perfect opp to do one of those internet...i'm only in town for the evening meet me in the hotel bar the sheets are clean my legs are shaved i'll bring a condom...adverts. but there's fear i'd get only pre-verts. and i'm not in town for only one evening, after all. and wouldn't that make me feel dirty and hollow? 'tis something to chew on. but not so much that it makes my jaw sore. that'd be way too much chewing.

sublime to ridiculous

has spielberg ever made a good movie? regrettably i just saw private ryan for work related reasons and i think the answer is definitively no.

white castle

in a cab tonight, late, coming home from a bar, monsoon's on the way, raindrops already, i get in a cab cause who wants to walk these dogs are tired and my gut is distended and i got to pretend it's a little earlier than it is and the cab driver has a blue tooth on, you know, one of those ear holsters so he can talk all the time day and night nonstop til you drop and it blinks a bright blue blink blue blink and he's talking a language i've never heard. i don't think i've ever heard it. and because i don't recognize it i listen even harder to make sure and then i'm sure it's foreign. and he says something into the blink blink and then he laughs a kind of chortle heft that pops and at the same time he's eating french fries, chopping them with his teeth, i see the pasty white insides, and it's not mcdonalds i know that because when i got in the cab i said, it smells like mcdonalds in here and he said, no white castle, but it's the same smell you can't miss it. and the laugh makes him puff out his cheeks just a little even though he's roundfaced and they're already a little puffed and i feel like i've stolen a glimpse of something tender and warm and maybe he's talking to someone in another neighborhood. maybe it's his wife. or maybe it's his younger brother in another country and they're telling jokes. i have no idea because i don't know what language they're talking but the pop-laugh is so terrific and robust and honest that i i have to write about it, have to note it, acknowledge how much i love little moments when you accidentally come upon someone else's gesture or grin that wasn't intended for you and is unself-conscious, organic—you bump into something profoundly intimate and loving. that kind of moment makes me want to live.

he was speaking nigerian he told me and i told him i was embarrassed by my ignorance that i ddin't even know that was a language and he said i shouldn't be embarrassed because at least i asked and that's not ignorant and that made me gladder still.

those ukraine girls

after an arduous family-oriented afternoon and evening (mitigated by a stopever at nearby friends) i got on the subway late whereupon i sat next to an older (55?) israeli man traveling with another one. i understand hebrew fine and dandy and these two were yammering on about this girl and how she should lose weight and is he married and why not and then one of them, the one who protested he wasn't especially tired in a way that seemed entirely passive aggressive as in...i'm not a wimp like you all tuckered out at 11:15 pm, your chin drooping into you chest cause exhaustion makes you unable to keep yer head up, loserville...he said when got home he was going to call and see if so and so got in. and then it became clear that so and so was returning from ukraine where he apparently bought himself a bride! but it makes sense, he said, cause life's tough in ukraine and it's easier in america and so of course she'd want to come here. and that makes sense to me too, except buying brides seems weird and also not something particularly people talk about openly on the subway. which also reminds me that this morning i went into a cafe to read a book of short stories (lost in the city and i really recommend) and it was crowded and this dude and two women sat in the chairs near me to share our common table. and they were media folks, which was immediately apparent by what they were talking about, but also they were idiotic and it made me never ever want to have a conversation in public again. which sort of fits with how i felt this morning generally insofar as maybe i'll make a self-imposed moratorium on party going (though i just now remembered one next friday night i sort of do want to go to). maybe i should take a lesson from my friend s who just came back from an 8-day silent retreat. maybe i should just always listen and never talk.

fever in fever out

if i said i was a little sick of being the single gal at parties would that be okay? i think so. i'm sick of it. sick. of it. of. it. it. it. it doesn't mean don't invite me. it means, being the single girl...,or woman really...at parties is a lot harder than other things. a character builder for which i should win the pulitzer for best attitude or some such.

a party tonight, after an afternoonm affair which was a delight, but the evening she-bang was also delightful but somehow i felt myself in a twilight, in another zone, in the zone of self consciously talking to men whose girlfriends or wives or whatevs were watching and then artfully bringing drinks or introducing and there's nothing wrong with that, introducing, after all, i don't know you you should tell me your name what you do how our paths have crisscrossed and such but at the same time there's a distinct sense of subtle otherness. or is it pariahhood and am i the only one who feels it and even if i were in a couple i think it would feel it, which means it's not about being a single at all, is it? after all. i'm sick of it all.

my little sister's in a production of death of a salesman, she did music arranging for it (i know, it's not a musical, but there's music in this prodxn. it's a new world. welcome!) and she's got a crush on the fella who plays biff. but what she can't figure is does she like biff or the actor who plays him?

it's a puzzle. i'm sick of puzzles even though i haven't done one in years.

also—i am sooooo sick of coming home and this little house smelling like pot. can i live somewhere where your neighbors' weed problem don't stink up the joint and your other neighbors don't ask you to take down their garbage or other favors which make you feel like a bitch for not wanting to oblige straight away? can i live somewhere without stink? where? can you recommend someplace? time might well be nigh to pick up stakes and move on. nyc is getting on my last nerve. and anyway, i only have one.

and another

juju.

i have no truck for that word which i thought gained traction via grey's anatomy where i first heard it. now it's everywhere. and it's overdone, like a tough old sirloin. stop. the. mad. ness. i doubt grey's really gave it the amplitude it now possesses. at least i hope that show don't have that kind of mojo (that word i have no beef with).

get the feeling of food?

i posted again on a dating site. what for? my oomph seems to be on vacation right now. i look at people i could write and don't bother simply. i need a shot of adrenaline. where can i score that?