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As my friend put it, "Was that a blessing from heaven or what?"
So I went home, napped a little, did a little around the house, and then made my way Uptown to spend money I don't have on things I don't need, and waste time I could be using to do productive things. FUN DAY!
My house is a feng-shui nightmare, my bathroom ceiling continues to collapse, I am in my own personal Enron-like financial crisis, and I can't stop gritting my teeth.
There was something else I was going to write about but it eludes me at the moment. More later.
How could I argue with her dreams?
I went to Socrates Sculpture Park for the first time today and I have to say I was not impressed. It is a nice place and all, and I enjoyed myself, but calling it a "sculpture park" might be pushing it as there arn't that many sculptures. And they have a little plaque in front of a few flag poles with the American flag, the Parks Dept. flag, and other flags, claiming this as a sculpture. "Nylon on alluminum flag poles."
It's by the water, which is nice, though.
I bought a pair of jeans, the biography of Eva Peron, a mirror and a bottle of generic Windex today. When I got home, I discovered the Windex had leaked out completly filling the bag, making the empty bottle and the mirror's framing both completely useless. I'm going back in a minute, with receipt in hand, thank you very much, and they will learn a lesson about why I insisted on a receipt when the printer on the cash register jammed up after I'd paid.
It is a beautiful day and I have bonded with Astoria and Long Island City.
(upon entry): "Did you know you can fly to Paris on American Airlines for 600 bucks?""Everyone's running around half naked. Are you seeing anybody? Having any sex?"
"Tell them to be happy your not pulling on your dick [when they joke you about your trich]."
"You're silly [in regards to feeling validated by other's participation in your debaucherous behavior]. There are people on the verge of death out there--you're a prime specimen."
"You're just trying to make history, arn't you? '[My last name]'s disease.'"
"You're cheery today. [...] It's not coffee--coffee just makes you on edge."
And my personal favorite: "For every pot there's a lid."
God I love that man.
And need does be, as a matter of fact, from time to time. This weekend I went to my girl K-boogie's boyfriend's birthday cookout in Cobble Hill, where kosher hot dogs and birthday cake were in abundance. As was beer. I drank, and ate, and chatted (with people mostly a generation before me) and then J-rock's man P. Schmiddy walked me over to the bus.
I took that bad boy all the way to Willy's Burg, were I rested up and headed out. Of course, Kevondrala and Scatty Arbuckle were supposed to join, but some things came up so I was solo. I believe the expression "peeing out of my butthole" came up.
On Sunday I awoke, neatly organized my things in the back room, showered and brushed my chops, and headed out to Harlem, leaving my home-away-from-home behind.
I woke up at three o'clock this morning with an unexplainable and overwhelming urge to wash the dishes. Then I cleaned the house for a few minutes and had an intense conversation with Moesha The Fish about the state of mankind. I turn to Moesha in her crystal ball--I mean, crystal bowl--for the answers to the riddles life throws at me like the games page of the New York Post.
Next, I'm at work, procrastinating and trying to figure out if I have enough time left to take the day off tomorrow.
While sitting at my computer in my underwear, I hear something on the fire escape. I turn to see that a fat old man in his underwear is descending the steps. I stared at him in horror, to let him know that I see him violating my part of the fire escape in a non-escape manuever. He only glanced in and then continued with his mission all the while smirking a perverted smirk. He picked up a pot of marigolds and climbed back up. (They were either his and had fallen from above, or they were my neighbors and he was stealing them.)
When I got back from my Brooklyn Vacation the other day, I noticed that only the bottom lock was locked on my door. I never only lock the bottom lock so I thought it must be a fluke occurrence...until I saw fat-boy climbing in the fire escape! Now I have this paranoia that he comes in when I'm not there, hangs out, leaves through the front door, and when he returns to go back up the fire escape only locks one of the locks back. I'm so freaked out. I am going to buy curtains today and add extra security to my fire escape-window.
I have to piss like a Russian race horse right now, so over and out...more later on this story as well as the continuing Apartment Crisis 2002.
From Thursday through Sunday evening, I stayed in Willy's Burg. This will forever be known as My Brooklyn Vacation. Since I cannot take time off for a fabulous vacation to, say, New Orleans or Florida, I just take little "vacations" to other boroughs. My friends K-Boogie and J-Rock's apartment is huge and fabulous, compared to what I'm used to. So I just indulged myself, laying around on the couch, sleeping in a feather bed, watching cable, and running around the neighborhood with all the trendsters and hot, hot Brooklyn Boys.
I just needed to escape from Astoria. And Manhattan for that matter. I needed time away from my usual space. I needed absence to make the heart grow fonder. I needed some time some where else for something that some day I won't have to go into hiding to find...
Next, I'm out at Luxx, where I saw a slew of people I went to college with. It's always the same with these faces from the past. We greet and mingle a bit, and then off into the crowds we dissipate. I don't think these people hate me or anything. It's just that there's this effort to be excited about seeing me when I am more or less a stranger. Less, actually, but still. You don't know me, you know?
Luxx was so fun though. It's truly one of my favorite clubs in the city. On Thursday night I fell in love with a heterosexual bartender and while the feeling might not have been mutual, he was interested in me in some non-sexual sense of the word.
Sometimes I forget that I can drink for free, when push comes to shove.
Lots of pushing and shoving, by the way, at Luxx. And a watergun. Could have got ugly. No bottles were cracked and no faces crushed under my heel though.
After the club shut down, I found myself wandering out to Flatbush in the wee hours of morning. Suffice it to say, all my dreams did not come true. That's the story of the fleeting love and long cab rides--a story for another time... The thing about those long cab rides is that their destinations always let you down.
Then it's 6:00 AM and you're in a strange 'hood looking for a black-car service, all broke down and feeling rotted out through the middle, when the Jamaican who is taking you from one place that is not your home to another place that is not your home, in a borough that is not even your borough, and at an hour that you rarely see, that's when the cab driver inspires you after you tell him where the hell you're going even though you're not quite sure:
Cabbie:What was you gonna do, walk?
Yours Truly:Um, nosirr, I was waiting on a cab...?
Cabbie:There was lotsuh cabs at tha gas station, mon. You di'nt like none them cabs, mon? Maybe this was tha cab mean't for you, den.
Ok, maybe it's not profound to you, but to me it said a lot about the world. The sick, sad world, the paths we take, and what the hell I was doing in Brooklyn in the first place, not to mention The Bush.
In other news, my skin is pealing. I'm like a snake shedding the old for the new. If only the physical shedding of skin could be mirrored by the shedding I need in my life. Baggage. Physical, emotional, spiritual. I'm carrying around trunks of experience--some good, a lot bad, and most unforgettable.
I'm so poetic.
More later...
Tomorrow on Sign Me Up: My Brooklyn Vacation...Exposed!.
How about a Clix? (I was #10 once, you know. ;) )
Who the hell is going to buy this?
Today, I feel very accomplished. (That was sarcasm.) I went to Genovese, ordered food in, picked my laundry up, and napped for a good three hours. I don't know why I feel guilty about days of lesiure like this. I have remorse for a lost day, a day I could have done one of ten hundred million fabulous things to do in New York City, but choose to do nothing that's great fun, or nothing practical for that matter, like clean this pit of despair. But I should celebrate days like this, where I have a full stomach, a good little buzz going, all the checks written and sent, and a work week starting back tomorrow. I should view this as regeneration rather than a lazy, wasted day.
And there it was. No, not Queen of the Damned. Propped up in its original mylar wrapping was the original U.S. printing of Madonna's SEX book. Only half a million of these were published. The mylar had been opened gently at the top, so I removed the book, did a quick thumb through to make sure everything was in tact, and then paid the ticket price--a measly $40. (The book sold in stores for $50, and now goes on Ebay for 200+ bucks, easy.)
I noticed that the comic book and cd that came with it were missing, but it was still a steal.
When I returned to the Office, I went in my boss's office and did a quick look through...when I discovered that the CD and comic book were in fact included, tucked inside the pages, which happen to be in excellent condition.
It was meant for me to pass by the rasta man's book table.
Today is the first day of August. When I was in high school, my anatomy teacher would tell us on the first day of each month, that we would only see about fifty or sixty more (if we're lucky) of the particular month, in our lives. The first day of each month has since become a reminder of mortality.
I saw Goldmember the other day, and it was pretty funny, but I was a little sad that Beyonce had almost no funny lines. I guess it's because Mike Myers aka Austin Powers himself wrote the script, so of course, he's going to get to be the funniest. But he could have at least thrown Beyonce a bone, since she's very glamorous and a decent actress in the movie.
In other news, I got a little burned in the tanning bed on Monday. I caved in to pressure from myself and bought a package. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity... I will say that my little intimate tan line is kind of hot though. ;)
