Still want that eggplant parm hero

I'm working overtime, my legs are killing me, got shows and classes, gotta clean the house....and so much more exhausting bullshit I don't need.

The delivery guy is often the pizza chef. Tall, grizzled blondish guy, fortysomething.

Maybe I need a HERO.

Nah. Just a hero.

add message, then mix

1207 AM:

Me: "I got the (divorce) papers in the mail today."
He: "Can I come over and meet the new kitty?"
Me: "Now?"
He: "Yeah...I'm in the subway."
Me: "You'd have to sleep over, that's crazy (etc)"
He: "I'll sleep in the bathtub. I want to meet the kitty. (muttering, repeating, etc.)"

Although the offer of a eggplant parm hero was tempting, I remain solo this evening, albeit a bit hungry.

"Wow..it's got seats!"

I love love love Pimp my Ride! Out of my demographic again, and even more so since I Don't DRIVE. (I also love "Car Talk" - go figure.)

First off, it's the anti-"Sweet Sixteen" - These are people who, dammit, clearly need a damn ride, or a break. I can't imagine being in California, carless. No rich bitches here!

Second, Xzibit is mad adorable. He's got this way of telling you what the sh*t is - how much of a piece of shit your car is, even how over-the-top the millions of video screens or crazy paint jobs are - with an amazing, subtle, near-wink. He's hilarious. I've never heard his music, but he's a hell of a host.

Third, the new garage - GAS - and the garage in general, is a happy fucking place. Like a tricked out Santa's Workshop where ANYTHING can happen. These dudes are hot, quirky, mechanical - and they can do weird shit like sew, paint, install a pottery wheel, for fuck's sake.

Fourth, people are genuinely happy at the end. The mechanical hotties take huge pride in their work; the pimp-ees get a load of free crap in addition to their astounding over the top vehicle. Did you ses the ice-cream truck one? It had a DVR and a robot arm for handing out ice cream. 'Nuff said.

I'm in love. And wonder when the NY edition happens so I can get my brother's disgusting limping Toyota pickup pimped out. I'm thinking lots of monitors, a sweet tape/CD deck (he's scared of the iPod), and a nice cow pattern painted on.

Get Pimp'd!

Rock on.

Meet Goldie.

3 years old, abandoned, adopted from those kitty-rescue people at Petco.

She is currently doing laps around my apartment. I think she hates expensive pet food (thrust into my bewildered hands by Jodie, Kitty godmother). I almost escaped the adoption area, but this girl kitty (no name known) looked so sad and longing in the last cage on the way out. Seriously.

I think she likes me. I've got to go locate her now.

Fear is the mind-killer

WARNING: Upsetting rant ahead.

Yesterday I yelled at a guy for slapping me on the shoulder. Granted, he didn't mean it as an act of aggression, but it was the second time, he was a jerkwad, and my blood is thinner, as my friend DJ Southern Belltower notes, than 'onion juice.' Besides you shouldn't touch anyone, at anytime, really.

The fact is, I am terrified. Terrified.

I went to the hospital last week, because I had a blood clot in my leg. I knew as soon as I felt the pain in my calf, that I was doomed; anxiety set in, fear and anger. Lots and lots of anger.

I was in the hospital five or six days, depending on how you count them, getting my blood thinned, as well as removed from my body in great bruising quantity.

This sucker is still in my body, it is potentially mobile and can yet kill me. At least that is my reasonable belief.

When my lungs got clotted, at least I knew they were already there, safely and surely keeping me from breathing.

Now, I don't know if the shortness of breath and tiredness and achiness are clot-related, hospital-inactivity related, or depression and anxiety-related.

I feel like a fucking ticking time bomb. And I am afraid. And I am furious.

I cannot manifest vulnerability without becoming defensive and angry. And I am very much both right now. I don't know what to eat, drink, whether to stand up or sit down. I don't want companionship but I am terrified to be alone. I don't know who to unload all this to; people get bits and pieces, if they don't get torn to bits and pieces.

Ticking. Time. Bomb.

But I will not stop going to my Delaney class. Because if I dropped dead in the middle of a fantastic, truthful scene, played to the top of my intelligence, I'd consider it a life well spent.

Somebody please read the notes at the funeral.

************************

Did you ever have 'die happy' moments? Moments that you realized, if I died now, got hit by lightening, whatever, I would be content and complete just because of where I am, what I'm doing, who I'm with, or some combination thereof?

I had one with my husband once, listening to a chamber music concert at Temple Emanu-El a few years ago. The music, the setting, the feeling of warmth and happiness, perhaps the notion of being in a spiritual (Reform, sure, but whatever) place made me think that particular thought.

I've had a few more since then; I don't care to share them all.

But I equate being supremely happy with being ready to die. What's wrong with me?

******************
My doctor had me call him today for test results. He hasn't called me back. Fucking compliance.

I am scared to inform my temp agency that working in Newark would be a physical hardship right now. Because, quite frankly, it would be. Usually, I'd play through. I play through pain.

Am I taking care of myself? Or am I just an incredible pussy?

********************

More than anything else, I want to lift weights. I want power.

*******************

Apologies once again for you three people who read this thing. It was not a plea for sympathy. Maybe just a little understanding. I don't know. My family doesn't really get it; I don't know what friends to tell. Do you call everyone, say hey I'm not quite dead yet? Email? Is there a card for this? Still haven't figured this out.

Certain People are on my case for not being quick enough to acknowledge sympathy; for crying; for expressing fear; for venting anger. I don't know what to do with them. A fair amount of them are related to me.

But honestly, I don't think anyone can understand, aside from a couple of people who I am eternally grateful for.

I will not cry in public, I am going to drink my coffee and use all the expensive Internet access I just got.

In conclusion, Starbucks can blow me.

stolen from someone who stole it from myspace who probably doesn't even read my blog anymore.

Get more meta (or techno-dull) then that, then call me.

SILLY MYSPACE/BLOGPOLLS FOR THE TRULY BORED OF MIND

#1
1. My ex is... working right now, one would think.

2. I am listening to... the annoying strains of "Family Guy" from another room.

3. Maybe I should .. go to bed.

4. I love ... my nephew.

5. My bestfriends ...are few and precious.

6. I don't understand ... why I do the things I do.

7. I lost ...several Palm Pilots this year.

8. People say ... Do I care what they say? Oh probably.

10. Love is ... scarey

11. Somewhere, someone is ... jerking off.

12. I will always ... be a little hopelessly in love with a few people.

13. Forever seems ...unlikely

14. I never want ... to say never.

15. My cell phone ... is serviceable and overused.

16. When I wake up in the morning ...I am a grumpy bitch

17. I get annoyed... too much.

18. Parties ... aren't my strong suit unless I am throwing it.

19. My pet is... recently deceased.

20. Kisses are the best when ... I am getting them

21. Today I ...shopped and hosted a fairly succesful show.

22. Tomorrow I will ... catch up on things, if possible, and deal with my blood.

23. I really want ... to go on a long trip.



#2

Subject: 4 things for FUN!!

A) Four jobs I have had in my life:

Lawyer
Social Worker
Lab technician
Card/gift shop assistant

B) Four movies I would watch over and over:
All that Jazz
A Mighty Wind
The Blues Brothers
Bull Durham

C) Four places you have lived:
Bethpage, LI, NY
Baltimore, MD
New York, New York
Bronx, NY

D) Four TV shows you love to watch:
The Wire
Pee-Wee's Playhouse
Project Runway
Real World/Road Rules Challenges (shut up)

E) Four Places I have traveled to:
1. London
2. Toronto
3. Chicago
4. Miami

F) Websites you visit daily: (or semi-weekly):
The IRC
Fox Sports Net
Literotica
Gawker


G) Four of my favorite foods:

Mac & Cheese
Sashimi
Bibimbop
an amazing steak

H) Four places I would rather be right now:
In bed with a reasonably but not ridiculously cuddly person
Jersey Shore
Las Vegas
Ireland

The secret word is FUN!

Hooray! Pee Wee's Playhouse is back!

Cool flash site: www.peewee.com

Sometimes it's just the little things that are Awesome!

Not quite finalized

But I'm very tired and bruised. Anticoagulants and needles, not a bad date.

"I am fucked. Fucked is me."
- Det. Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West), "The Wire"

Last and final rest

homeboy
Feb 1991 (approx) - June 29, 2006
go in peace

The 4:24 on the Ronkonkoma Line

...kicks ass if you live in Bethpage, or need to get there in a hurry. No Jamaica, not even Hicksville, let alone Mineola, Carle Place or any of that other bullshit. First stop Bethpage. Pre-electrification, trains were slow and chuggy and houses were cheap; changing at Jamaica was mandatory to get to my hometown. Now, you can whiz right in practically directly. We've even got a 7-11 in the parking lot where the gas station used to be, another place for loser youth to congregate (used to have to truck into Farmingdale for a damn Slurpee); it hasn't driven the Dairy Barn (drive up beer and smokes and chips and Twinkies and a carton of milk convenience store) out of business.

The Dairy Barn was the second-most mystifying concept to people about Long Island when I described it to people at college; the first was my actual accent. Fuck 'em if they can't take my cawfee tawk.

The funnyish thing was, yesterday I was coming from a VH1 audition where I had to be a "long island housewife" type, basically, although the accent was never specifically requested. I bigged up my hair and wore sweats plus East Hampton tee, did up my eyebrows nicely. My friend and colleague Becky appeared with a terrific matchy running suit and a wicked top ponytail; found out she was from East Meadow, just up Hempstead Turnpike, prime senior-year cruising road in my friend Lisa's '71 Beamer. (Lisa's family was divorced but slightly mysterious; how did they afford that? No matter, it was awesome, and capable of seating six and blasting Huey Lewis and the News at top volume).

My accent gets thickish as soon as I board the train, standing-room only, behind a large (in number and density) family just come from Police Academy graduation. I try to discern relationships - who's the parent, stepparent, parent of the smallish children, parent of the graduate, girlfriend? sister? brother or babyfather? Family friend or new partner? I smiled at the matriarch, with drawn-on eyebrows, three-inch wedge espadrilles, capris and a pack of Marlboro Lights 100s tucked smartly into her bra. We chatted about the lack of air and movement. Seriously. I wanted to congratulate, tell them my dad was retired on the job, but found it far more interesting to observe than to intrude. I counted the tattoos of the newly minted officer as he tentatively flashed his shield (free train ride) and inspected the baseline of his incredibly fresh haircut.

It takes almost exactly 7 minutes and 36 seconds to get express from Westbury to Bethpage, because that's when I snapped on Billy Joel's "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant." I used to be able to play it on the piano; probably still could. I certainly know all the words; my brother and I have been to the restaurant (he pulled the name and location off a bootleg live concert tape. Yeah, it's like that. It's a pretty good red-sauce place if you know what I mean. (As opposed to the Olive Garden where I was going with my family once I arrived. Sigh. Family friendly chains...it's the pasta Red Lobster. Stick to breadsticks. But I digress.)

The Hicksville-Bethpage passage is something I know quite well. I was slightly dismayed to see the weird old coffee shop by the Hicksville station replaced by a Dunkin Donuts. I was slightly bemused to see that light industry marches on, and there's a Kozy Shack pudding factory in Bethpage (Do they have a thrift shop like the bread and Hostess bakeries, I wonder? Ick.) Much remained the same, on the train ride and the drive to the restaurant - the odd stand alone tavern/grill, the weird churches (the kind with Vacation bible schools), the regular churches (the kind with Catholic schools and Bingo), the satellite malls that orbit the big ones, the little bridal shops and lumber yards.

I just made the 10:44 back to town.

For shits and giggles, here's a photo of a photo of me in front of my childhood Bethpage home, circa 1985 (dieted way down by Dexatrim, stress, and Andy Capp's Hot Fries. As well as a fair amount of Lycra.) Yum! Happy prom girl! My gay best friend was likely in the bathroom, hiding from my dad who'd just flashed his .38. Good times! I am flanked by my aunt and mom who dashed over for photo opps.

Love the hat and sleeves! (Invisible are the 3" red pumps and purse with Lord knows what in it. Fortunately my prom date was roughly 6-2.)

Kitty update

That healthy-looking little fucker below (therein, about 14 pounds or so) now weighs barely 8 pounds, is severely dehydrated, anemic, infected and is in the throes of kidney failure. According to the very nice vetereinarians, his kidneys are 'lumpy and bumpy.' None of this is good in an approximately fifteen-year old cat.

I am, in turns, rational and weepy. I was never what you'd call an 'animal person.' So I'm kind of confused, and weirded out right now. I did raise him. I totally loved him. I gave him up to the ex mostly out of guilt, but I knew he loved him a lot and would be lonely.

Just when you think things suck, they suck worse. Sorry for those who read this cause it's usually mildly amusing.

Please think happy thoughts for my cat

If your're the sort of person who does that sort of thing.

Thanks.

So much for that plan.

I had daytime nightmares that I couldn't breathe. I literally thought I was going to have to call 911 in my sleep.

I am letting people, places and things get to me far out of proportion to their importance. I think. I'm not sure.

I need to see the dentist.

And I can't get close to a beach this weekend. It's going to rain buckets. Buckets.

PS - Cheap toilet paper really, really isn't worth it. But it makes OK Kleenex.

Ha ha, indeed. an effort to de-downer things.

You never know who will, surprisingly, put you in a good mood.

(doesn't mean I'm not still mad. well, a little. kinda.)

(pouts, stamps feet, smiles anyway. fuck!)

But thanks. Seriously.

In other news, as un-PC as this sounds, I need a tan. Fucking SPF 15 can blow me. Whatever happened to Hawaiian tropic oil? yum! sizzle sizzle.

variations on a theme by eliot

We are the damaged men
We are the wounded men
Drawn to you like moths to a flame
Broken and bruised, heartsick and aching,
Knocked about by life's lack of parity and conscience

We come to you, our iceberg-tip of fury
lancing you through the heart
yet covered in soft puppy-fur
smoothing your cheek

Our eyes blaze blue like the sky
blinding you with sunlight
burning you as sunstorms dance across your soul

We wrap you in our spidery arms
burrow into your skin
injecting our venom
paralytic and soothing
until you thrash from withdrawal
or tolerate to its effects

This is the way our pairing ends
This is the way our courtship ends
This is the way our love ends
With a bang
With a cry
And a whimper.

Get a job

For my bad movie-money, you can't beat Twin Peaks-Fire Walk With Me. Great soundtrack and effects combined with a ridiculous prequel-plot and phenomenally bad acting, most notably a living Sheryl Lee who displays terrible, terrible emotions by contorting her giant mouth into a series of deep, dark lipsticky black holes.

Top that off with a replacement Lara Flynn Boyle (a disturbingly bland Moira Kelly) - gold!

Disarray

I just realized that the ultimate act of self-loathing is to sleep on top of your clothes.

I mean, this is the stuff I put on my back everyday to look good, and I make nests out of it.

Ever since I was a kid, I've thrown it in piles, on chairs, desks, on the bottom of the closet. What gives?

I've got to fix that. Before I wake up hugging another skirt.

SPAMMARKETING - DO NOT CLICK ON 'RINGO"

SERIOUSLY!

If anyone sends you a link from the photo service RINGO - DO NOT CLICK ON IT! DO NOT SIGN IN USING YOUR GMAIL ACCOUNT!

It spammed my whole Gmail address book.

I am angry.

I am usually smarter than this.

It's in my head!

Sometimes I can't resist this crap:

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Black Comedy

In your life, things are so twisted that you just have to laugh. You may end up insane, but you'll have fun on the way to the asylum. Your best movie matches: Being John Malkovich, The Royal Tenenbaums, American Psycho

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

Long Island Verite

Tommy: No, Jerry is allright. Saved my life once.
Debbie: What, he was gonna kill you but he changed his mind?

- Steve Buscemi/Chloe Sevigny, "Trees Lounge"

imdb