rich and fancy

Besieged

2010-04-13T17:52:00.000-07:00

I went to the pharmacy to pick up a couple of prescriptions this evening and the clerk asked me my name and my address.

370 West Bedbug Central, I wanted to say.

I only said it in my head, though, as the mere thought of bedbugs will throw anyone residing in the city of New York into a frenzy. And I live right in the part of town that has had the worst bedbug problem. And...I think...they are in... my bed.

I know a couple of people who have dealt with this, now my trusted advisors, who -

We interrupt this blog entry to note how dreamy Desmond on Lost is. Oh, I am so taken with him! We now return to your regularly scheduled blogging.

- to know if you have them for sure, so there's still a possibility that it's something else, but what else would have exactly the same -

Really, he has such a nice face. So attractive, even with that crooked nose. And there's this air of innocence about him; a purity, if you will.

- just itchy everywhere, and I know that it is probably mostly psychosomatic, but -

He's just got this kind of calm confidence that is such a draw. And his voice. I just love his accent. That gorgeous accent coming out of that gorgeous face!

- and I haven't been traveling, so I don't know how they got -

And the way he calls everybody "brutha..." Mmmmmmm.

- crap, is that...?! Oh, never mind. It's just a fleck of black pepper.

A return, finally

2010-03-11T18:33:00.000-08:00

I got my sister a giant royal blue Pez dispenser as a gift. A battery operated one. It played songs and made noise and generally entertained. But then it started beeping. I turned it off, but it kept going. I took off the back of it and pulled a battery out. It kept beeping. I took the other battery out, but still, it kept beeping.

"I can't make it stop," I said aloud, and woke myself doing so.

It was my alarm, which apparently had been going off for forty-seven minutes this morning.

Forty-seven minutes.

It's been a tough week. Work has been incredibly busy. I've worked forty hours already this week and it is only Thursday. I'm so busy we've had to send someone else to court.

So it was a challenge to wake up this morning. And when I finally did, I was forty-seven minutes behind schedule. In order to get to work on time, I decided to get a cab. I didn't want to - well, I did want to - I want to take a cab every day, but I don't let myself. I didn't really have a choice this morning, because I simply can't be late to work.

The weather here has been relatively warm and spring-like, and you know what that means - it's time to bring back the green overcoat. I've been wearing it all week with little to no weird attention, which is a good thing, as I don't really have the energy for it right now.

Several cabs passed me this morning as I was trying to hail one, and I was starting to get really frustrated. But one finally stopped. When I got in, he was laughing. "I stopped for you," he said.

"Yes," I said. "Several other cabs didn't."

"They must be blind not to see you. But I see ok. I see your green coat. Can't miss that green coat!"

At last, that damn green coat got me the kind of attention I wanted.

Magnetic

2010-02-16T18:41:00.000-08:00

It was a fairly bleak day in New York today. Sleet and snow that didn't stick, so, no fluffy white, just grey grossness outside. Naturally, I had to go to court.

I had to go to not one, but two courts today, Civil and Criminal. Fabulous. I went to Civil first, to hand deliver some courtesy copies of documents that had previously been filed. When I got where I was going, they told me to go to another room to hand in the papers. When I got there, they told me they couldn't accept them.

Some guy: "Judge X won't accept any papers until five days before they are due. This isn't due until April first. Boy, you are WAAAYYYY too early!"

Me: "What?"

Some guy: "Judge X won't accept any papers until five days before they are due. You'll have to come back then."

Me: "Is this just for Judge X or for all the judges?"

Some guy: *Stares*

Seriously, he just stared at me. So I went back to the place where I started and asked the slightly crusty guy at the desk what was going on. He went to speak with a portly gentleman further back in the room. I couldn't really hear what they were saying, but their conversation was pretty animated, and the slightly crusty guy seemed to dislike the information he was getting. He returned to me, rolling his eyes, and apologized. He explained to me that this was a new rule in effect since Friday. Friday? The courts were closed on Friday. And Monday. So it really went into effect today, and there was no way we could've known anyway. Slightly crusty guy was so apologetic that I couldn't be upset anymore. I thanked him and headed out for Criminal Court.

Now, I HATE Criminal Court - here's why: they treat you like a criminal when you go there. They are impolite and disrespectful. Now, I understand that Criminal Court is probably a hard place to work, you know, 'cause of the criminals and all. And I know that these guys don't have any idea who I am when I walk through the door. For all they know, I've got a knife or gun or prison shank on me. But what they don't realize is that I would NEVER bring a knife or gun or prison shank to Criminal Court. I mean, it just isn't done. No, I leave my prison shank where it belongs, in my silverware drawer in case I need to slice a grapefruit or stab Big Sal when he tries to attack me in the shower.

Of course today I wore bracelets and they set off the metal detector as I went through. Twice. So, guess who got wanded? Yep, me. Front, then back. The wand beeped as it came across my bracelets, and then again across my behind. And then again across my behind. Then again.

"You have something in back?" he asked.

I lifted up my coat. "No. Just a big butt," I explained.

I went on my way to the Summons office to see if I could get more information on a ticket one of our clients received.

"Can you tell me if you have the paperwork on this yet?" I asked.

"No, we don't have anything on this," the clerk answered.

"Well, can you at least tell me what the violation is?"

"No. It'll say that on the paperwork."

Helpful. So I was unsuccessful in both courts today. One long, cold, wet, nasty trip and what do I have to show for it?

A big, magnetic butt.

Snippets

2010-01-12T17:21:00.000-08:00

I find it ironic that I am eating a pie while watching The Biggest Loser. So I'm changing the channel to The Office.

***

I apologize for not posting in so long. I was too stressed out and tired to post anything, and I fear that my posts would have been something like this:

ROAR! RwaroarawOAR! ROOOOOOAOOOOAOOOOAAARRRR!!!!

But I've had a vacation, so I am better now. See?

mew.

***

New York City is bitterly cold this evening. I thought it was supposed to be warmer (relatively) tonight, but I guess I didn't figure in the wind chill. I have, of course, retired my green overcoat until warmer days (somewhere in the future, probably about 9 million months from now. Maybe.) and have been wearing my white coat. It is a little too big, but that's good, because I can layer up underneath. The only problem is that instead of having four good, solid buttons, it has three buttons and...a snap. A snap? Really? On a winter coat? The snap is just below my waist, so naturally if the wind is blowing, it magically unfastens that snap and blows the bottom of my coat up in the air.

It occurs to me now how ridiculous my coat situation is. My green coat attracts wackadoos, my brown coat is too small to wear sweaters underneath (and even smaller than that, after all the celebratory Christmas eating), and my white coat flies up like The Flying Nun's wimple.

***

Do you suppose I could somehow parlay this blog into several new coats?

***

So I was out shopping with my friend on Sunday, and she had to go to her office afterward. I went up in the elevator with her so that I could use the restroom, and then she offered me a cup of tea to take with me on my way home. I accepted her offer and made myself half a cup of tea, put the lid on and made my way out and to the subway. I had to wait for a little bit, but the train came and I was able to get a seat next to this woman. A woman who was wearing a big, fat fur coat. She completely freaked out when she saw me sit next to her. "Watch your coffee!" she instructed me, nastily. I ignored her. But the longer I sat there, the more my impish side took over, and I moved the (almost empty) cup of tea closer and closer to her fur coat. She was sighing and murmuring and huffing and puffing in her seat, but I just continued to pretend to ignore her while my cup hovered dangerously (not) over her sable. Luckily for her, I got off at the next stop. But that short ride sure was fun for me. Hee hee!

In which I think I'm going to have to get a new overcoat

2009-10-24T18:00:00.001-07:00

I worked today. I don't love working on Saturday, but it's ok for two reasons:

1) Overtime pay; and

2) Nobody bothers me and I can actually get things done.

But it is still work and after eight straight hours I was ready to go home. When I left the office it was drizzling a bit and I had left my umbrella at home but I thought I would be ok because I was wearing my green raincoat. Just when I'd almost forgotten the adventures I've had in that thing...

I was a few blocks out when I realized that I was supposed to pick up a prescription from the pharmacy by the office today, so I turned around and went back. It began to pour and I got drenched pretty quickly. I mean drenched. Soaked. Sopping wet. Rain dripping off my hair. I think it even rained into my purse. So I was happy to get my prescription and get to the subway.

I waited briefly for the 7 train and took it across to Times Square, where I waited for the uptown 1. Luckily the platform was pretty clear and I could sit down on one of the benches. I was still dripping wet from head to toe and desperate to get home. But no sooner had I sat down then I gentleman approached me. And when I say gentleman, I mean a weird looking guy wearing ...some sort of goggles. Sort of like a scuba mask, but maybe they were really racquetball or squash goggles. Remember how adorable Hugh Grant looked in Notting Hill when he wore his scuba mask to the movies?

Yeah, it was nothing like that.

He (the weird guy, not Hugh Grant) said "Do you want to come back to my place and party with me?"

"No, thank you," I replied

"Come on, come back to my place and we'll party."

"I don't think so."

"Just come to my place with me," he insisted.

"No, thank you," I said, firmly.

"My roommate's a faggot." I suppose that was intended to make me feel comfortable about going home with some random guy I met on a subway platform who was WEARING GOGGLES. It didn't work. I just got up and walked away from him and he went on to torment someone else, I suppose. By that time I had lost my seat on the bench, so I was waiting by a pillar.

Oh, but wait! He came back.

"I didn't mean to bother you, I just wanted to-" I walked over towards a group of men who were NOT wearing any sort of eyewear. He went away for good this time.

The train finally came and I got home fine. I just wonder what it is about me that attracts the wackos. I think it might have something to do with that damn green coat.

2009-10-21T20:12:00.000-07:00

Dear ET*:

Thank you for your order for a new blog entry. We would like to inform you that your request is currently being processed, and we will notify you as soon as said blog entry is available.

We here at Rich and Fancy welcome the opportunity to serve you. We also would like to remind you that we strive to provide you with quality blog entries (see: toilet paper; hemhorroids), which sometimes take a little longer than normal to develop, and we therefore appreciate your patience.

We realize that you have a choice of blogs and we thank you for choosing Rich and Fancy.

Sincerely,

Fancy Pants

RichandFancy.blogspot.com

*ET is my sister. I have not lost my mind and begun writing blog entries to martians.

In which I throw you a rambling, senseless bone

2009-09-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

I am in a pickle. I love that saying "in a pickle," because it makes absolutely no sense. How can you be in a pickle? You'd have to get all meta-physical and start talking about how our atoms really exist in multiple places at once and then we'd have to talk about parallel universes again, and before you know it, you're scraping your brains off the wall.

Anyways, in a pickle I am. Because I have run out of toilet paper. I don't really know how it happened, but I came home this evening and went to the bathroom and used the last of it. The very last of it. No tissues or paper towels. Not even any coffee filters. Suddenly I am living like a GUY. (Once my friend A and I went over to these guys' house. They had two bathrooms. And no toilet paper in either one. No tissues. No paper towels. NO APOLOGIES. Gross.)

This did not happen because I can't afford to buy toilet paper (although that might have been a possibility a few weeks ago). I actually forgot to get some on the way home from work is all. Oooh, I need toothpaste, too.

I realize that I am just being stubborn by not going out to get any tonight, but I won't, because of those five flights of stairs I have to walk up. FIVE. I already walked up them once today. I'm not doing it again. Listen, if you had to walk up all those effing stairs, you would weigh your options, too. When I run errands on the weekends, I try to do everything that needs to be done before going back home, usually laden with grocery and drugstore bags. By the time I get to my door, I'm sweating and panting, but at least I got it all up to the top.

My one big treat that I occasionally indulge in is having my laundry picked up and dropped off. Man, I love that! They come up and get it, then they bring it all back, up all those stairs, and it is CLEAN and FOLDED. Keep your speed boats and Cristal. That, my friends, is the definition of luxury.

Ok, I just located a paper napkin and am checking my purse for kleenex. I'll let you know how it goes.

Keeping my fingers crossed to make it till morning!

In which I get a whole compliment

2009-09-16T16:54:00.000-07:00

My mother called me this morning while I was at work. It always freaks me out when my parents call me during the weekday. I usually assume someone is either in the hospital or dead, so I get really nervous when I see the phone number. I missed the call and it went to voicemail, so I called right back. My mom answered.

"Did you call me?" I asked

"Yes, I did," she replied. "I left a voicemail."

"Well, what did you say?"

"Just listen to the voicemail."

And we hung up.

Uh, ok. Weird. So I waited for the voicemail to pop up on my phone. And waited. And waited and waited and waited. Just when I was about to call her back and make her tell me what she said, the voicemail showed up on my iPhone (greatest invention EVER, with fire coming in a distant second).

My mom greets me and then identifies herself by saying: "this is your mother." Yeah, thanks Mom. Because I had no idea it was you, seeing as how I haven't heard that voice at least once a week for the last, well, let's just say over thirty years. I'll bet the entire internet two hundred and fifty thousand dollars that my mom just replied "yeah, WAAAYYY over." She's a charmer, that one.

Really, both my parents a pretty quirky. For instance, they always split things at meals. Like the world might end if one of them ate an ENTIRE piece of fruit or drank a whole soda at lunch.

"Honey, do you want to split this Dr. Pepper?" my dad will ask.

"Sure. Do you want to split an apple with me or an orange?" my mother will answer. Then later, before dinner she'll ask my dad: "Honey, do you want half of this beer?"

"Yeah, I'll take half that, sure," he'll respond.

Then, after dinner, they'll fight about who will clean up. And I don't mean they throw down and argue, accusing the other of never doing things around the house, I mean, they fight because they each WANT to clean up.

"No, Bob. You sit down and read your paper."

"No, I'm happy to clean up."

"I can do it. It's fine."

"Joyce, sit down and relax. I'll clean up."

"No no, honey. Don't you want to watch your news shows?"

It's seriously twisted.

But getting back to my mom's message. I guess she had just read my last blog entry, because she said,

"This is your mother. And I think you're incredible, too."

Thanks, Mama. I love you, too.

In which I pull yet another crackbrained move...incredibly

2009-09-07T17:53:00.000-07:00

Cognitive therapy is all about changing the way you think and is especially helpful if you have a lot of negative thoughts. You know, like when you make a mistake and all you focus on is how stupid you were and what a boneheaded move it was and now, well, your life is over and you should just die. If you have a flair for the dramatic. Like me.

But please. Let me illustrate for you the result of two years of cognitive therapy.

So, we all knew it was going to happen: I did something wrong in my new job and I got yelled at. I deserved it really, because what I did was pretty stupid, and I knew it was the wrong thing when I did it. Hey, cognitive therapy helps change your thinking, it doesn't keep you from making idiotic snap decisions.

I'd love to tell you what I did, because it's pretty laughable, but work blah blah blahbitty blah you know I can't. So we have to leave it at I did something dumb and knew it was a mistake WHILE I WAS DOING IT. Anyway, I went to my boss to confess it, because I cannot stand knowing that I did something wrong and just waiting for the ax to fall.

"I think I just made a mistake," I said.

"What did you do? What happened?" he asked.

I told him. It was clear he wasn't happy, and he expressed it in his classic lack-of-a-finished-sentence style. I stood there, feeling like the bottom was dropping out.

"No. You can't do that. You can't just do that kind of...this is a very sensitive...you can't do that. Don't ever do...don't ever do that again. You can't...how can you? Why would...look, I know that...initiative. And you're incredible. But you can't do that kind of thing. Don't ever do that...don't do that again. You can't...can you undo it? Can you stop...?"

"Yes. I think I can. I'll try. I'm sorry. I won't do it again." I replied. I ran back to my desk to fix the situation as best I could. Then, as usual, I did an instant replay of what my boss had said to me, and the one thing I focussed on?

Incredible. He said I am incredible.

And I focussed on the positive.

I'm positively incredible! Hee hee!

New York-y

2009-08-31T20:33:00.000-07:00

Only in New York will you see a Mini Cooper limo. A PINK Mini Cooper limo.

And we've all lost socks in the dryer, but who has ever seen a flyer for one?

Only in NYC.

(Ok, it is ultimately an ad for a new store, but pretty clever, no?)

********

Lately I've had my air conditioner (a window unit that was a housewarming gift from my friend S) on all the time and the windows closed to shut out the heat and humidity. It sort of makes me feel isolated, because I can't hear the city. No voices or music or laughter. But the weather has cooled down considerably, at least for now, and it is feeling very fall-like. So I turned off the AC and the fans and opened all the windows last night. And I remembered what I've been missing: the drunken yelling, the honking, the sirens.

Ah, New York.

In which (insert something witty about decorating here)

2009-08-17T18:08:00.000-07:00

BEFORE:

Ugh. That was pretty sad. And uncomfortable. But, we do what we have to until we can do better, right?

DURING:

Definitely better, especially the bed. But it's not done yet. This photo is my inspiration:

And it also happens to be the view outside my window.

I was thinking maybe a couple of these on the walls. Would zebra print throw pillows be too much? What should I do about lamps?

Any other ideas on how to bring the outside in?

...and STAY out!

2009-08-10T18:07:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned that I have a new position at my job. The first week was pretty dramatic - lots of rushing around, staying really late and running (literally running) to court to file stuff. You understand, as I have explained before, I won't really talk about work, as I would prefer to keep my job at this time. So you'll have to be content to know that I deal with things, stuff, items, papers, pleadings, and any other synonyms I can come up with.

Ok, so, I had to go pick up this order that was supposed to be signed when I got there, only it wasn't. I had to walk it to the courtroom and ask the judge to sign it. I freaked out a bit and called the attorney for whom I was working. I had to talk quietly, as I was in the echoing marble hallways of the courthouse.

"I have to take it to the judge," I hissed. "What do I do if he asks me questions?"

"Ok, here's the deal," she began, and proceeded to detail the case to me in case I got questioned about it.

I went over it in my mind, and by the time I got done, I was pounding a lectern like Jimmy Stewart in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Meanwhile, in real life, I dropped off the order with the clerk and was told to come back to pick it up. "The judge has a jury trial," she said, "so come back in about thirty minutes and we'll have it ready for you."

Hmpf. No grandstanding for me. No applause. Just waiting on a bench for a signature. Waiting. And waiting and waiting and waiting. And waiting. For hours, literally, for the lawyers to stop talking so I could get in there and get my signed order.

Finally, I went into the courtroom to wait, thinking that maybe my presence would speed things along. So I sat inside and waited. And waited and waited and waited oh my god with the waiting. The bailiff presented the judge, who looked like he was about 178 years old, with my order and he shrugged it off. He announced he didn't have time to read it as he had plans to go out of town. Out of town! Without signing my order? Nuh-uh.

The bailiff brought the order over to me. "He can't sign it tonight. Sorry. Come back Monday."

"Monday? I can't wait till Monday," I replied. "We requested this be expedited. It really needs to be signed today."

"Sorry."

"Listen, I understand the Judge has to go now, but, please, if there is any way he can sign this tonight, I'd really appreciate it. You see, our client-"

"Sorry. The Judge is leaving. You'll have to come back Monday."

"Please. Please. Can you please just ask him if he can just take a few minutes to look it over?" I begged.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." He wouldn't budge.

"But we need to get this signed right away. Our client is trying to -"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The judge is a busy man, he doesn't have time to read your order. I told you to come back Monday. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the courtroom. Now."

It's not like I got escorted out by my elbows, but there it is. I got thrown out of court.

I'd like to say I left there with a signed order, but I didn't. That stuff only happens on television. We didn't have to wait until Monday, though. I went the next day with some backup (0ne of my bosses) and we got the order signed by another judge. It took a couple of hours and there was some hoop-jumping, but we ultimately got what we needed.

And I got to flirt with the Ex Parte clerk. But that's another story for another day.

In which I write a post that would be great if you could fry it up and dip it in ranch dressing before stuffing it down your gullet

2009-08-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

I had a plan to come home this evening and start writing the story of when I got thrown out of court, but note the time, please. I just got home from work about an hour ago.

I'm really liking my new position in the litigation department. I feel like it is a little more intellectually stimulating than what I was doing before, so I'm enjoying it so far. Of course, I haven't gotten yelled at yet, so we'll see.

In the meantime, it's a lot of work and it's really cutting in to my sitting around time, so tonight's post will have to be in note form:

I had a greek salad for dinner at work tonight. My breath smells like onions.
I traded out my regular deodorant for the aluminum-free kind, but I think I forgot to put it on today. I kept smelling food all morning, and then around noon I realized that it was my armpits. They smell like onions.

I have to go to bed now and dream of, you guessed it: onions.

In which I recount a story that is totally not funny AT ALL

2009-07-29T20:39:00.000-07:00

So I have several stories to tell, but I'm not sure in which order. I suppose chronological is best, so maybe Fancypants: Kat Killer should be first.

I mentioned that I was house/cat/fish sitting a couple of weeks ago. While the fish were plotting world domination, the cats, Lucky and Grey Kitty, mostly hid from me. Lucky would show up and let me give her her thyroid medicine and pet her for a bit while I watched cable (cable!), but then would usually disappear for the rest of the evening. Grey Kitty was generally nowhere to be found.

Wednesday evening before I went home, I stopped in to talk to the head of the litigation department to let him know I was interested in a position that was rumored to be opening up. We talked for a bit and I headed for the fancy apartment with all the free wine. I found Lucky and gave her her medicine, after which she went away from me and hid. I thought this was weird, because usually she hung around after the medicine for a little attention. But whatever, I mean, cats are weird. I'm a dog person myself. They're all waggy and they follow you around and loooooooove you. Cats eye you suspiciously and then get in your face and make you sneeze and then purr in that sweet kitty-cat way and then shun you. So I don't really know how to read them.

Anyhoo, I went to bed early, as I had to run an errand to court as early as possible in the morning to file a thing. Naturally, I woke up late, and therefore HYSTERICAL, as I was supposed to be AT COURT FILING A THING, for heaven's sake! I freaked out, ran to the bathroom and got in the shower. When I was done, I noticed that there was something on the bath mat. One of the kitties had obviously peed on the mat, and there was blood in the urine. Neither of them was anywhere around. I got ready and ran out of the apartment and down to court (to file the thing). When I got to the office, I called my boss for whom I was house/cat/terrorist fish sitting, and left a message on her voice mail asking for the vet's name and number. Since I wasn't able to reach her, I started looking for an emergency vet. In the meantime, a coworker came to me desperate for help with a time-sensitive project, so I had to enlist the help of the office receptionist to find a vet for the kitty.

Now, never mind that I didn't know exactly which kitty was the bath mat pee culprit. For all I knew, it could've been that big blue fish with the yellow tail trying to mess with my head. I did suspect it was Lucky, because she had been acting so strangely the night before. We found a vet that was very close to the apartment, but they told me they couldn't treat Lucks without proof of ownership or permission from the owner.

"What am I supposed to do if I can't get a hold of her?" I asked.

"I don't know ma'am. I'm sorry. We just can't do it. It's the law," she replied.

It's not the law. Of course it's not the law. I suppose it is their right to have their own rules, but it makes me question whether they really have the animals' best interests at heart. I mean, what am I going to do, abduct someone's cat and take it to the vet for a rabies shot WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION? It just doesn't seem right. Snobbish upper east side animal hospital. Anyway, the desperate coworker I was helping called her vet (she was sympathetic, as she is a cat person), explained the situation and got me an appointment. No proof of ownership needed, and they would bill my boss. Nice.

I worked through lunch, drank a lot of coffee and finally got to three o'clock, when I left to get the cat for the appointment. When I got home, she was laying on the living room rug wheezing and she had thrown up all over the entry way, poor thing. No doubt Lucky was the sick one; I found an old towel, scooped her up and ran outside to get a taxi. Luckily we got a really sweet cab driver who got us there without jostling us too much, though Lucky cried and wheezed all the way.

When I got to the vet, the receptionist knew who I was and took us back to the exam room immediately. The vet could tell right away that Lucks was pretty sick, so she took her away for a chest x-ray and some blood work. I waited in the exam room, then in the waiting room. When they finally called me back, the news wasn't good. Lucky had a collapsed lung, fluid build up around her heart and lungs and blah blah blah de blah de bad stuff is wrong with her systems are failing recommend euthanasia.

Euthanasia.

Shit. I have to put my boss's cat to sleep, I thought.

It all made sense, of course, the cat was in pain, that was obvious to me without a visit to the vet, but to put her down? The whole idea was horrible to me.

I called my boss and got voice mail. "The vet said that Lucky's in pretty bad shape and she -" my voice caught, "she thinks that," my voice cracked, "she's recommending," my voice broke, "euthanasia." Then I finished brightly, "so, give me a call back!"

She called me back pretty quickly: "Let me talk to the vet," she said. I handed over the phone to the vet and continued to pet the wheezing Lucky, who was now on my lap. The vet brought the phone back to me and my boss said, "I'm really sorry about all this. Please give Lucky kisses and tell her goodbye for us."

Then I started crying. I did as I was told and then the vet gave Lucky a shot to tranquilize her as I kept petting her.

I won't recount her death (the cat's, not the vet's), but suffice it to say that she went before she was ever euthanized. I continued petting Lucky until after she was dead, and I cried like she was mine.

Then I went back to work covered in cat hair. Dead cat hair.

Did I mention I'm allergic to cats?

On the upside, I think my boss felt so bad that she accepted my suggestion for a name for Grey Kitty. She has now been deemed "Lucy". And she has apparently become much more friendly than she ever was when Lucky was around.

Hm. Suspicious.

Maybe Lucy was the one plotting, not the fish.

Spent

2009-07-20T19:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know you're expecting something here, something witty and clever but it is 10:54 pm and I just got home from work. I'm exhausted. I can't even think of the next sentence.

I will tell you that in this past week, I have:

1) become a "Kat Killer"

2) done a film

3) gotten a new position at my job (I think, but without giving up my old position. Caution: this can lead to a 13 hour day)

4) engaged in an altercation with an automobile and the yahoos in it.

I have been busy.

You might also be looking for a new post here; I will update that one soon, too, I promise.

Go do some cat sitting while you are waiting. You could get a really good and morose story out of it.

In which I might have had too much wine

2009-07-13T16:49:00.000-07:00

I am house/cat/fish sitting this week for one of my bosses. She's actually one of my favorite people at work, because she's, well, awesome. She used to walk around the office saying "I LOVE ME!" and kissing herself on the arm. We should all have such good self-esteem. By her own account, she didn't have an easy young life, but she put herself through school and worked extremely hard and now is in a pretty high position at my workplace. She also has a husband and kids and cats and fish all in a nice apartment on the Upper East Side. She only left me the cats and fish for the week. And some wine.

Things are going well so far. One of the cats gets medicine and takes it very easily, so that's good. The other cat is supposedly one of the scared-y variety, but spent yesterday evening hanging around me and getting attention.

The only thing is - the fish. There are a number of them; saltwater, and they are beautiful. I am one of those people who is calmed by watching fish, and these are really lovely. They are all blue and purple and pink and yellow. Gorgeous. Except for I think they are plotting against me.

Look, I don't know what their plans are, but I know they are up to something. You know when you walk into a room and people stop talking in hushed tones and look at you? You know they are talking about you, right? Well, imagine walking into an apartment and looking at the saltwater fish tank when you come in and all the fish disperse. You can practically hear them say, "Cheese it! The Fuzz!" And then they swim around looking all innocent. Yeah, right. I know what's going on. I'm going to wake up one morning with a fish head on the pillow next to me, aren't I?

It's all the doing of that little stripey red fish. He always hides when I walk by the tank, swimming into the little caves, going under the coral, but I can tell he's the ring leader. It's always the innocent looking ones that are really out to get you. I SEE YOU, RED FISHY. I AM HERE FOR FOUR MORE DAYS. DON'T MAKE ME HAVE A FISH FRY.

In which I have an untapped ass-et

2009-07-06T17:41:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that there's a lot of crazy around New York City. Apparently it was out in full force today.

I've taken to wearing my yoga pants to and from work, because I am either walking for exercise or I am all hot and sweaty from running to the subway because I'm late. Usually it is the latter. Anyway, I was coming home from work this evening and got off the bus at my usual stop. I was struggling a little because I was carrying a small box of stuff and my pants were sliding down a little bit. So I juggled a bit, pulled down my shirt and hiked up my pants, and about ten seconds later I heard a woman's voice say:

"If you want, I could represent your ass. Very nice."

Wait, what?

I looked back to see this tiny older woman behind me. I thought for a second that she might be on the phone, but she wasn't. And then, because I am sensitive about my size, I assumed she was being derogatory. Don't acknowledge her, I thought. Don't engage the crazy. So about two nanoseconds later, I whipped around with, "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME??!"

"I'm an agent," she said. "I could represent you."

Another woman walked by and said "No, she's not. She's..." as she made the international sign for wack-a-doodle-ding-dong-doo.

The older woman kept walking, saying "Lovely. Just lovely."

Creepy.

But now that I think about it, could my butt make some money somehow? I mean, of course there is always the obvious, I know, but I'm not desperate enough for that. Could there be some sort of fully covered ass modeling that I could do? Could I teach it to do tricks? Sing songs? Play the French horn? I'll have to see what I can come up with.

In which I get a haircut and a new name

2009-06-30T20:07:00.000-07:00

You might ask me, "Fancy Pants", for that is what you call me, I know - "Fancy Pants," you might say, "why the hell haven't you updated in forever?"

And I might say, "oh, shut up."

Or, you might ask me "Fancy Pants, how is it you are able to maintain your fanciness when you are broke? Broke-ity broke broke!"

And I might say, "Well, dear reader, I am quite creative. Par example, I saved $80 on a haircut this weekend."

Impressive, no? I'm verah clevah.

I went to my usual New York walk-in salon at noon on Sunday and was told that they could take me at 3:00 pm. It's not a walk-in salon, I think, when you have to make an appointment to, er, walk-in. So I went to the barber shop by my apartment. Yes, I said BARBER SHOP. I stepped in, expecting to see Andy Griffith and his wacky gang of Mayberry friends, but the shop was empty. I called out and a gentleman appeared from the back. "Can you trim my hair?" I asked. He nodded. "You pick chair," he said. So I sat.

"What you like?" he asked. "Um, trim it, " I replied. My hair is short anyway - pixie-ish - like a boy's, so I figured he could do it.

"Where you live?" he asked.

"Right next door."

"Oh! You neighbor! Good. I am from Russia. You look Russian."

"No. Part of my family is Czech, though," I offered.

"Oh! Czech! Close enough," he replied.

He was a sweetie. By the end of my trim, he had taught me an Uzbekistani history lesson, assured me I would find love and given me a fairly decent haircut. For 15 bucks.

Who says rich and fancy has to be expensive?

In which I have a few things to say...confidentially

2009-06-15T17:48:00.000-07:00

Confidential to Chuck Bass on Gossip Girl:

You are a bad, bad boy. With a heart of gold, though. I am really pulling for you and Blair to get together in the long run, but in the meantime? CALL ME.

Confidential to M:

Please stop emailing me after work hours because I feel obligated to answer even though I am not on the clock and that really annoys me.

Confidential to Self:

Stop checking your email after work hours.

Confidential to dooce.com:

Congratulations on the new baby! In the past, I have really enjoyed reading your blog. I think you are a very clever, witty writer. I even posted a link below in my blogroll (now removed). I'm pretty peeved at you right now, though, considering you have been blogging about preparing for the baby, whom all of your readers have been anticipating meeting, and now you are holding off on photos and the baby's name.

Now, listen: if you and your family want a little privacy, I totally get that. And I think even if you do blog about your life, you are entitled to keep an event like this private for a little while. But don't tweet all through your labor, announce that the baby has arrived and that you are going to announce the name soon and then STILL don't post anything twenty four hours later. Either post a photo and a name, or say "hey, we want to share this with you, but give us a little bit of privacy for a few days first." You know we are waiting. DON'T refuse to show the readers a photo of your baby and instead give us a pic of that shitty green jello and then post that everyone is "annoying". Your behavior, Heather, is annoying. You are being manipulative and incredibly disrespectful to your very loyal and supportive readers.

Confidential to Jon: CALL ME, YOU TALL DRINK OF TEQUILA.

2009-06-09T17:45:00.000-07:00

Just watch this - it is Eddie Izzard set to Legos.

I don't know - is just awesome: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sv5iEK-IEzw

In which I budget

2009-06-07T17:15:00.000-07:00

It is hard to be rich and fancy on a budget. I have been having some trouble making ends meet, what with all the money I spend on fancy stuff. So this weekend I got tough with myself and got rid of cable and Netflix and downgraded my internet. I still have to blog, you know. Can't let my readers down.

One of my problems is cosmetics and hair products. Now, I am out of foundation and am just doing without. Luckily I have lots of eyeshadows in lots of colors. What? I bought them BEFORE the market went sour. Thanks to me, the government will not have to spend millions to bail out MAC. See? I contribute to society. You're welcome.

But the hair. I am afraid that in LA I developed an addiction to spa quality hair products. From Italy. Yeah. And now I am out of the shampoo and conditioner.

I'm sure you just think I like to spend money (it's true, I do), but the reason I really like these products is that they don't aggravate my eczema and they don't make my scalp break out. The drugstore brands irritate my poor little head. Really. Also, I think there might be a pea under my mattress. Could someone be a love and come remove it for me? Thanks ever so.

Luckily, one of my friends works at a major fashion magazine and is very generous with the freebies she gets. If she can't use them, she passes them along to her friends. She gave me a few products recently, so I used them to make tonight a spa night for myself.

Firstly, conditioner:

Nice. My hair is very soft, and no hint of a breakout.

Next I addressed my need of a mani/pedi. I miss getting one in the salon, but I can do it just as well at home. My friend gave me OPI Miami Beet, which is supposed to be really hot for this season.

So I did my toes up with it.

How do they look?

Maybe not salon quality, but FREE!

Now, what to do about shampoo? Shall I try to make my own?

In which I should have had some tasty, tasty water

2009-06-01T17:57:00.000-07:00

I love New York. This weekend was gorgeous, weather-wise. Not too warm or humid, perfectly blue skies, lovely breeze. Just like Los Angeles, only I got to have human contact TWO DAYS IN A ROW with people who actually have SOULS. Nice.

On Saturday I shopped and coffee'd with friends and on Sunday I my friend S offered to take me out. She is awesome and I adore her, but we hadn't seen each other in months (literally), so I was very excited about our late lunch.

We started out with drinks and then...we drank some more. See my tweet in the sidebar? Um, I don't remember doing that. Now, I really don't understand what happened. We only drank champagne. With a shot of grapefruit vodka in it. So, four of those isn't really that much, right? Or is that really like eight drinks? I don't really know how to gauge it, except to show you this:

I believe this was supposed to be a visual aid to show S that I was tipsy enough to have crossed the line (see the line there?) between funny and obnoxious. I'm pretty sure writing on your palm (when you are older than, you know, ten) is a pretty good indication of drunkenness. Or lack of a notepad. In my case it was both.

After the drinking, and some eating, to er, soak up the drink, I went home, sat on my fire escape pondering the beauty of New York and then fell asleep for three hours. In my bed, that is, not on the fire escape. I was then treated to a number of incredibly wild dreams, including one where I was presenting an award at a reformed Jewish temple where they sang Catholic hymns. Next I dreamed that I had an extremely large office with windows, balconies and wrought iron railings, but couldn't decide where to put the desk. Then I dreamed that I was holding a toddler who darted away from me, then saw a baby floating nearby who turned into a little glowing mohawked, punk rock kid who was shaking his head at me, telling me no. Little brat. Then I woke up myself up screaming.

After that delightful dream, I woke up every hour rather than actually sleeping through the night, which is what made me so miserably tired last night.

Maybe I'm off the mark here, but I think it might have been the champagne. And the vodka.

I think next time I'll just stick with tequila.

In which I should have spoken up

2009-05-28T19:47:00.000-07:00

I was watching an Oprah episode yesterday that had Suze Orman's guide to surviving the economy. She talked about having an 8 month savings and contributing to your 401K and all that. And she said that you should understand the difference between your needs and your wants and don't buy anything you don't need.

Turns out you don't need a lot of stuff. Dangit.

I ran into one of my big bosses in the kitchen this afternoon. He was looking for money. Aren't we all, bub?

"Do you have eighty-five cents?" he asked.

I patted myself down and said, "Not on me, sorry."

"Well, usually I can only get what I want if I have exact change," he explained. "I only have bills today. Let's see what happens." He put his dollar into the machine and successfully got his eighty-five cent Wheat Thins. "You know," he said, as he began to make a cup of coffee, "you should just be able to forfeit your change."

"What?"

"You know, forfeit your change so that you can get what you want if you only have a dollar."

"Suze would not like that," I pointed out.

"Who?" he asked.

"Suze Orman. She says you should save your change and put it in your savings account," I explained.

He looked nonplussed. "But I should be able to get what I want. "

"Ah ha! Suze says that you have to figure out what it is you need and what you just want."

"Well, I could come to your house and take away a lot of things you have that you don't need. I mean, you probably only need a couple of outfits-"

I wear the same pair of pants every day, so close enough, right? I'm on board with that.

"-and probably only one pair of shoes-"

Check. I wear tennis shoes every day, because otherwise I walk like Frankenstein.

"-your makeup-"

Ok. That'll save me some time in the morning.

"-jewelry..."

Whoa. Wait a second, there. "Jewelry?" I asked. "You want to take my jewelry?" I hid my hand behind my back. "You can't have my flower ring. No."

"See?" He smiled. "We all want something."

"Fine. I said, "You can have your Wheat Thins. I'm keeping my ring."

"That's what I'm saying. You should be able to have what you want."

That's when I left. But now I realize I should've asked for a raise. Or at least some nachos.

In which I play Nancy Drew

2009-05-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

I have always been nosy. In fact, I like to list it as one of my best character traits. I can eavesdrop anyone under the table (even with the ringing in my ears), as well as read upside down. That, coupled with the fact that I am good at reading people and my very active imagination make me a damn good detective. My sister used to call me a busybody, like it was a flaw or something. Of course, she was a teenager then and I was annoying. Who can blame her? She didn't know that I was training to be AWESOME in my future life.

I'm so good, in fact, that I used to be able to tell my boss who would be getting fired next. "How do you know?" he'd ask. "I can smell it," I'd say, and I'd be right. Really, all you have to do is pay attention to what's going on around you and what people are saying here and there and you can piece information together fairly easily.

The other day one of my colleagues looked at me and said "you keep your ears open and your mouth closed, don't you?" She was right for the most part. I do have a history of being verbose, as my mother will be happy to prove by telling stories about my behavior in church, but I know how to keep other people's secrets. I think my ability to dig up a good story is equally valuable, though.

It is precisely this skill that got me a compliment at work the other day. Part of my job is to do research on possible jobs to see if there is something scandalous lurking in the background. My love of the internet and nose for news told me something was up with this one particular person. So I snooped and snooped until I found it - a good old fashioned scurrilous scandal. The information was so scandalous, though, that my bosses decided not to follow through with the deal. This has not happened in all the time I have been involved in doing this research, so I was shocked when I got the email. The phone rang a few minutes later. "Who did that background research?" my old boss from LA asked. "Was that you?"

"Yes, " I admitted, figuring I might be in some kind of trouble.

"Good job. Thanks," he said.

Wait, what?

"That was a really good catch and we wanted to thank you. Good work."

And for once I was kind of speechless. But not for too long.

Oh, what's that? You want to know what the scandal was? Sorry. See above. I am a big talker, but an excellent secret-keeper. Get on the interweb and dredge up your own scandal.

In which I issue a cry for help

2009-05-18T18:26:00.000-07:00

Hey, 'member when I used to be funny? Those were the days.

*********

I have been trying for well, years, literally, to get up early in the morning. Like at 7. Which is not really that early, compared to you know, when babies get up and stuff. So you'd think I could do 7. But I can't.

Unless, of course, it happens to be the weekend. For some reason, it is easier for me to get up early on the weekends. Sure, if I can sit around and drink coffee and watch some bad movie or The Universe or something, THEN I can get up at 7. But not if I actually have to be somewhere in a timely fashion. No, then I can only wake up in a slobbering panic 30 minutes before I have to leave.

Am I the only one who has this problem? Any suggestions on how to fix it?

In which I am making big plans

2009-05-11T19:36:00.000-07:00

When I moved from LA I shipped all my belongings to my office here, and they have been in storage ever since. I have brought some things home bit by bit, but one thing has been sitting on my shelf for a while now.

My scale.

Duhn duhn DUHN!

I weighed myself when I got home tonight and I wasn't surprised. I weigh the most I have ever weighed in my life.

That's why I've made a decision. I am going to lose weight and get healthy. Finally. And to help out, I'm going to blog about it. I am starting a new blog here to tell all my wacky weight loss stories and make a lot of jokes about doughnuts. (oooh, doughnuts!) Yes, that's right, now I'll have two, count 'em, TWO blogs to ignore! Where will I find the time to not update BOTH of them??

In which I tell you things you may not know

2009-05-07T18:24:00.000-07:00

You may not know:

If you wash your Metrocard, it still works. I don't know what happens if you dry it, too.

Smoked gouda with jalepenos on rosemary flatbread is not as good as it sounds.

When you forget to change your address on Netflix, they send your DVD three thousand miles away from where you live.

If you leave your home on a slightly cloudy New York morning and leave the window over your bed open, then you will be sleeping on a wet pillow that night. Whoops.

No one cares about your Nip stories.

Or any of your other stories, for that matter.

If you wear anything other than that pair of pants you wear to work every day, people will notice and tell you you look good. Even if it is only a belted nightgown.

When you listen to the same song over and over again because you are obsessed with it, and then you watch the video from DWTS over and over again, you can't get upset because that song is running through your head.

If you don't update your blog more often, people will stop reading. Sorry. I'll try to do better.

In which there is fire, ice and probably too many "quotation" marks

2009-04-27T18:05:00.000-07:00

(I started writing this post last Monday. Let's pretend I finished it then and posted it, too, 'k?)

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

"Is it possible to hate everyone all at the same time?" SK asked me at work this morning.

"Of course," I answered. "It's called 'Monday'."

**********

It was exceptionally hot this weekend, so I broke down and bought a fan from the local hardware store. I got the "Blizzard", which has three speeds, oscillates, has a timer and features two breeze modes. I'm not really sure what that means, but if it makes it feel like a blizzard in my apartment it's worth it. I spent the evening yesterday trying to stay as close to the fan as possible. I took it to bed with me, setting it on the floor so that it would blow onto my face or on my back, depending on which side I was sleeping on. I woke up this morning to an odd noise, and once I was mostly conscious, I attributed it to my blanket getting caught in my fan.

"That's not good," I observed to the Blizzard, and easily pulled the blanket away from the fan. I heard the noise again snapped to the fact that it was coming from outside my window. I peeked out to see what was going on. I saw firemen (mmmm...firemen) tromping around on the roof of the building across the street, shining their flashlights everywhere, and when I looked down into the street, I saw three fire engines, paramedics and a couple of other support vehicles all with their lights flashing. The sound that woke me was actually the firemen cutting the lock off the door of the mexican restaurant across the street.

There were no flames, but there was the requisite smoke, firemen with hoses and evacuees from the building above the restaurant. Two more fire engines showed up. I deemed the situation 'under control' and went back to sleep.

When I left for work this morning, I saw two Con Ed trucks outside the restaurant and therefore surmised that the fire must have been electrical. Or, perhaps someone was just making some really hot nachos.

Mmmmm...nachos. And firemen. A pretty good way to start the day.

Insomniac Haiku #3

2009-04-22T02:03:00.000-07:00

Still awake. Again.

When was the last time I blinked?

Guess I'll nap at work.

In which I crave coffee with a side of horseradish

2009-04-20T17:17:00.000-07:00

The office in New York is filled with artistic types. We have actors, artists, writers and dancers. And the really great thing is that we all support each other by attending each others' shows and reading each others' plays and looking at each others' websites. The other night, several of us went to see one of our former colleagues in her dance concert. We weren't able to sit together, though, so I ended up sitting next to several older women with some serious New York accents who apparently had some rather unfortunate friends. During intermission they were talking to each other, and I was eavesdropping, as usual. Eavesdropping is actually one of my best skills. That and reading upside down. I still think I'd make one hell of a spy. But as I was listening to their conversation, I couldn't figure out what the odd clicking sound was that I kept hearing in between sentences.

"What about Pete?"

*click* [What is that noise?]

"Pete?"

*click*

"You remember Pete?"

*click* [What IS that?]

"The one who makes his own horseradish?" [Who makes horseradish? How do you even make horseradish?]

"Yes! I think we still have some in our fridge."

*click* [Could it be ill-fitting dentures?]

"What happened to him?"

*click*

"I think he died."

"Oh." [Wait, from the horseradish?]

*click* *cough* *choke*

"Are you ok?"

"Oh, yes...oh. *cough* What a way to go! On a Nip. Oh."

*click* [Oh, good heavens. Is that it? She's sucking on coffee flavored candy?]

"Do you want one?"

*click*

"What?"

*click*

"A nip?" [Because her clicking and choking are such a ringing endorsement for Nips.]

*click*

"No, thanks. Oh, Sue. Do you remember her?"

*click*

"She used to come all the time."

*click*

"I wonder what happened to her."

*click*

"I think she died." [No doubt by choking on a Nip.]

*click*

In which I may have lost my mind

2009-04-13T18:09:00.000-07:00

Flink flink flink flink.

I know, I know. I've been staring at you for an hour and a half.

Flink.

Yeah, I know. But I just can't think of anything.

Flink. Flinky flink flink.

Right, Cursor, that's true, but isn't it better not to write anything than just to write a bunch of nonsensical dreck?

Flink, flink flink flink flink flink.

Wait, what do you mean that would be a change? I try to write posts that are somewhat entertaining, yes, but I also like them to be uplifting and informative.

Flink flink flink flink!

Oh really? Have you ever tried to write a blog? It's not as easy as it looks.

Flink flink flink flink!

That's not funny.

Fl-fl-fli-fli-fli!

Stop laughing at me!

FL-FL-FLI-FLI-FLI-FLI-FLI!!!!!!

Oh, come on! Like YOU do anything important? You just sit around flinking your flinker all the livelong day. "Flink flink flink." Very creative.

Flink flink flinker flink. Flink flinking flink flink FLINK.

There is NO. NEED. to get personal.

Flink. Flink flinky.

Hmpf.

Flinky flink. Flink?

Ok. Truce.

Flink flink. Flink flink flink flink!

I'll try to think of something for tomorrow night, ok?

Flink flink.

Good night.

Flink.

In which I have to drink tepid water out of a GLASS, for God's sake...

2009-04-05T15:02:00.000-07:00

I am so happy I moved back to NYC. I do love being here. I'm close to my friends, my social life is much more active and I am able make fantastic use of my green raincoat. But I am exhausted. My ankles and knees are sore and swollen. I'm tired all the time. I don't have any money and I'm struggling to find a second job, as well as figure out ways to cut costs in this expensive city.

Officially? New York is kicking my ass.

KICKING. MY. ASS.

HARD.

I mean, I felt compelled to order tea instead of some lovely wine at my book club meeting today to save money. How many more concessions am I going to have to make, I ask you????

At least I have my friends to commiserate with. I was having dinner with C and M the other night, and we collectively decided that the recession stinks. We all liked it better when we felt like our jobs were secure and we could drink champagne out of our Christian Louboutins. Not that I actually ever had Louboutins. It's more like Nine Wests or Banana Republics for me. Maybe flip-flops, although it seems like it might be hard to keep the champagne "in" them. Probably you'd have to lap the champagne off the inside of the... oh, never mind. This is getting gross.

Well, at least I still have a job, I still have friends and I still have the skills to get that second job. I still love New York. It may be kicking me, but I'm still kicking back.

IN WHICH IN WHICH IN WHICH SOMETHING

2009-03-29T23:47:00.000-07:00

MY SISTER IS HARASSING ME ABOUT POSTING SOMETHING PROBLEM IS I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING TO POST ALTHOUGH YOU'D THINK I COULD COME UP WITH SOMETHING BECAUSE I WENT TO THE PERSIAN PARADE AND THEN TO JERSEY FOR A MOVIE AND DINNER WHERE I HAD THREE GLASSES OF COKE/DIET COKE/CHERRY COKE/COKE ZERO AND SO NOW I AM ALL JACKED UP ON CAFFEINE AND SUGAR AND I CAN'T EVEN CONSIDER THE IDEA OF SLEEPING AND MY BRAIN CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING CLEVER TO WRITE ABOUT SO I GUESS PERSIAN PARADE IT IS SO I WENT TO THE PERSIAN PARADE WITH A COLLEAGUE WHO IS HALF PERSIAN AND WHEN I ASKED HER QUESTIONS SHE WOULD SAY "I DON'T KNOW I AM ONLY HALF PERSIAN" AND I SAID "DOES THAT MEAN YOUR ANSWERS ARE ONLY HALF RIGHT?" BUT SHE DID NOT THINK I WAS FUNNY AND I SAY TOO BAD FOR HER.

THE PERSIAN PARADE HAD FLOATS AND HORSES AND FLAG BEARERS AND BELLY DANCERS AND TRADITIONAL DRESS AND DIFFERENT KINDS OF FLAGS AND FUN MUSIC AND ARMENIAN DANCERS AND PICK UP TRUCKS AND ONE GUY IN BLACK FACE WHICH WHAT WAS HE THINKING I STILL HAVEN'T FIGURED THAT OUT.

TOWARDS THE END OF THE PARADE WAS A FLOAT THAT SAID "THE CHILDREN OF ADAM ARE LIMBS TO EACH OTHER..." WHICH WHAT A COOL THING TO SAY AND I THINK IS AN IMPORTANT STATEMENT ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING OUR CURRENT POLITICAL CLIMATE OH AND THE MOVIE WAS GOOD TOO I LAUGHED A LOT AND HAD BUTTER ON MY POPCORN AND THEN WE HAD FATBURGER FOR DINNER AND THAT WAS GREAT AND I HAD LOTS OF-

*CLUNK*

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

In which I get more than I bargained for

2009-03-17T19:51:00.000-07:00

Before I left LA, I spent a lot of time getting the right clothes for New York. I bought coats and sweaters and boots in preparation for the rest of the New York winter. I also purchased some slammin' rain boots and a green trench for the spring. Meanwhile, I have worn the same pants to work for the last five days. But that is neither here nor there, as this is a story about coats. COATS!

The coat I have worn the most since I have been here is my ivory wool coat. Now, I knew ivory wouldn't last long in New York before needing to be cleaned and I was right. The thing is filthy. Also, I've had to re-attach the buttons about ninety times. I decided it was time to switch to another coat.

It's been warm enough, for the most part, to wear my green trench, so that has been my overcoat for the past couple of weeks. The other night I went to a gay bar with a friend. I got so much attention because of my coat - those gay boys loved me - proving once again that I am a gay man trapped in a straight woman's body.

Really drunk guy: That coat really makes your eyes look green.

Me: Thanks! My eyes ARE green.

Really drunk guy: Oh.

On Sunday, I joined some friends for brunch. While walking to the subway, I was offered a tour of the city by one of those guys that stand around Times Square looking for tourists. My friend, SK, said they offered me a tour of my own neighborhood because I was wearing a green coat.

Me: What does that have to do with anything?

SK: New Yorkers don't wear green. They wear black.

Me: I'm a New Yorker and I'm wearing green.

SK: Look over there - see that family?

I did. They were carrying maps of the city and wearing various shades of green. Obviously tourists. Fine.

At Macy's the other day, I was darting through the throng of cologne sprayers when a couple of the sprayers sashayed towards me. I panicked, remembering the time I went to Bloomingdale's in LA to find a perfume and the saleswomen practically molested me with atomizers and coffee beans.

Molesting Saleswoman: Excuse me-

Me: Uh oh.

Molesting Saleswoman: She (pointing to the other saleswoman) loves your coat. Where did you get it?

Me: Oh! Target!

Saleswoman 2: I'm going there right after work!

Molesting Saleswoman: It looks great on you!

Me: Thanks!

Tonight I was coming back from an American Idol party with my friend M. and her boyfriend S. We got on the train to come downtown, and at 96th, a gentleman with a guitar got on the train. He was trying to sing for his supper, and he dedicated his first song to the girl in the green jacket.

Me: No.

Guitar Guy: I'm singing this song for the white girl in the green jacket.

Me: No.

Guitar Guy: I've got sunshine on the number two train....

Me: No.

Guitar Guy: When it's cold outside, I've got the white girl in the green jacket.

I can feel my face flushing as I laugh.

Guitar Guy: I guess you'll say what can make me feel this way? The white girl in the green jacket who looks like Ellen DeGeneres.

Me: (SHREIK!)

My face is in flames as I wipe away my tears of laughter.

Guitar Guy: White girl in the green jacket who looks like Ellen.

Train Conducter: 72nd Street

Me: Thank God!

S: Bye, Ellen!

It's supposed to be 60 degrees tomorrow. Maybe I can get away with a nice black cardigan.

In which I realize I may have left whatever writing skills I did I have back in Los Angeles

2009-03-09T18:22:00.000-07:00

Aaaaaaaaaand we're back to crack den:

Excuse me, that's "crack HOME". I don't want to be politically incorrect or anything.

So, if you haven't guessed, I found a New York apartment - love it, love the neighborhood. It just might be a while before I get some furniture. Do you see that pile of books in the corner, though? Doesn't that make me look like an intellectual crack head?

But seriously, what crack head has this view:

Hello, New York.

I am paying for this view, though. I have to walk up five flights of stairs to get here. It's fine, except my ankles are terribly swollen, my arches throbbing and my knees are quite angry with me. I've been hobbling around the city like Frankenstein.

I remember when I lived here before I used to walk around peering into other people's apartments, thinking "oooh, look! What a great apartment. If I just had my own apartment, I'd be so happy."

I am very pleased with my apartment. Now when I hobble around the city and look in people's windows, I think "oooh, look! I bet they have an elevator!"

In which I am a cover girl

2009-02-19T17:11:00.000-08:00

Previously on Rich and Fancy, I pined over the loss of my Los Angeles hair salon and stylist. Before I left LA, I asked Thy how I should find a new salon. Since she is Sassoon trained, she recommended I try the Sassoon salon here in NY.

"Stop by there," she said, "and ask if you can have a consultation with someone. If you like them, make an appointment."

After brunch last Monday, my friend and I were going to look at furniture when I noticed we were right by the downtown salon. I convinced her to stop in for a second. We went in, and before I had even asked about a consultation, Vidal Sassoon himself* walked up, gasped and said "You are the most beautiful blonde I have ever seen! You must let me do your hair!** And then! Then you must model for me. You will be my cover girl - my supermodel. Work it, girl!"

"Oh, Vidal,"*** I said, "of course I will! I would be honored to represent your work on the runways and in magazines! I'm a bit shy, though, but I will get over that for the joy of working with you."****

Then Vidal*** asked me to come back on Wednesday night for a runway show***** to show off his new gorgeous model.****** I went back and walked the runway through a flurry of flashes, the audience applauding me and cheering my name.*******

I waved at the crowd and took in their love.******** Then I slipped out the back door into my limo and drank champagne all the way home.*********

* A stylist named Ericka

** "Can I bleach your hair for my training? I would do it for free."

*** Ericka

**** "Uh, ok."

***** A training class

****** My platinum blonde hair to the new trainees from the uptown salon.

******* Sat in a chair while Ericka talked about how she made my hair the color it was. The trainees stared at me like I was a bug.

******** I tried to be funny, but no one paid any attention to me. (Their loss.)

********* Couldn't get out the front door because it was locked and had to wait for one of the trainees to let me out. Walked home in the rain.

In which I give you my top five

2009-02-18T18:18:00.000-08:00

Without further ado, here are the things I will miss about Los Angeles:

#5. Do I really have to explain this:

Or this?

Yeah, it's pretty.

#4. My apartment and the building in which it resides.

The courtyard is really beautiful and my apartment was truly my refuge - it was the only place I felt completely safe and protected.

#3. My neighbor - she is from New York and is wonderfully able to exist successfully in LA while being genuinely kind and friendly. A great friend to have so close by. You know my New York neighbors probably won't even talk to me.

(A parenthetical pause to note how gigantic my head is. Wish I could have left that in LA. It's like a Frankenstein head. Yikes.)

#2. My hair salon. I know, I know, that sounds really shallow, but don't forget I lived in LA for nearly three years. Shallow waits around the corner from the Coffee Bean so it can take over your soul while you are busy drinking your organic beverage. But seriously, ChopChop, is the very best salon I have EVER been to. Every single person in the salon makes you feel like a rock star from the minute you walk in the door. All of their stylists are exceptional, although my favorite is Thy (pronounced like tea) because I can tell her I want a concept, and she understands exactly what I'm looking for. I told her I'd never find that in NY, and she was all, "don't be Negativa - you'll find someone!" I don't believe her.

#1. My therapist.
I really don't even know what to say about her. I would not have made it without her help. She was the perfect balance of compassionate friend and challenging teacher. She helped me begin to change a part of myself that I didn't like, and most importantly, she laughed at all my jokes. Although I am not completely sane, it was well worth the co-pays.

In which - sigh - whatever

2009-02-16T19:00:00.000-08:00

I'd forgotten how busy New York is. You leave home in the morning, go to work or run errands or what have you, and you don't get home until everything is done. In every other city, home can be a pit stop between work and the grocery store and your laundry and your dinner date, but not here. Either you live too far away from all the things you have to do, or you have to walk too many stairs to get to your front door and want to keep those trips to a minimum. By the time you get home, you are too exhausted to come up with anything to blog about.

You see where I am going with this.

I do have stuff I want to talk about, such as:

A) The things I miss about LA. They are few, but they do exist.

B) The fact that I have been in town a week and I am now a Vidal Sassoon model.

C) Really swollen feet.

I am too tired to write about these things right now.

I will tell you that I got quite the welcome at work. I got Welcome Home signs and cookies and cupcakes and cakes in animal shapes. I got hugs and welcome backs and a crapload of work. I've been out for dinner or drinks virtually every night this week, mostly with work friends. I had brunch (brunch!) today with a friend I haven't seen in months. My life has completely changed. I love it.

In which I wonder whose idea this was

2009-02-10T20:08:00.000-08:00

Oh, hi. I am in New York now, in case you were wondering. I've been meaning to post something, but my feet hurt. I know that has nothing to do with typing a blog post, but it is hard to focus on anything when your feet hurt.

My first day here I walked myself nearly to death. I wanted to check out a particular neighborhood and go to Crate and Barrel to see if they have the glassware I want (never mind that I don't have an APARTMENT yet) and then to H&M to see if they have the earrings I like, because while I don't have my own place, I do have my own ears and I like to decorate them. So I ended up walking about 100 blocks. Ish.

When I got back to my friend's apartment, I told her that I was too old to live in New York and what was I doing here, this was a huge mistake. She reminded me that most people who live here don't walk 100 blocks at a time, was I crazy? I conceded that she had a point.

It feels weird to be here. It is both familiar and strange. A lot of things have changed, but some are exactly the same. My bank is in the same place, and right across from H&M, thank you. Some of the train lines are different, but I can still find my way around. The place where I love to go for lunch is still in business, but right across the street there's a new Starbuck's and a bank. My old friends are here, but I have met some new people already. We went for a drink after work today to a nicer place than we used to go and spent a lot more than we used to spend.

It's not the New York I used to live in, but it is still New York.

In which I thank her

2009-02-04T19:29:00.000-08:00

Dear Sandy,

Thank you so much for flying to LA to drive across the southwest with me. I really appreciate you helping pack my suitcases, running to Target with me at 9:30 pm to buy another suitcase, for talking me out of the suitcase, talking me into space saving bags, packing my clothes and then talking me down so I could sleep.

Thanks for waking up at 6 am, cleaning out my fridge, packing my car so brilliantly and then helping me carry my mattress across the street. Thanks for folding yourself into my tiny, fully packed car and keeping me company with good humor and so much patience.

Thanks for the hospitality of you and your lovely family when we finally reached Albuquerque. Thanks for taking me to Target to buy that suitcase we so easily dismissed on the first night. Thanks for helping me pack my suitcases and the car again. Thanks for telling me to keep everything I'd use in one suitcase so that I wouldn't have to take all the stuff out of the car over and over again.

I couldn't have done this trip without you.

Love,

Liz

P.S. Do you happen to know where my red flats are?

P.P.S. And also, can you come here and help me re-pack my suitcases and my car?

In which I move Part Deux

2009-02-02T20:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's drive with my friend took us first to the Grand Canyon, where we walked around a bit (and when I say walked, I mean drove the Rim Road to the places where we could walk five yards to an overlook) and took a lot of pictures - more to come on this later, as I left the camera in the car and I just don't have the energy to go back out and get it.

After the GC, we went on to Flagstaff, seeing this view along the way:

A good introduction for me to the cold weather of New York.

In which I move

2009-01-31T20:44:00.000-08:00

We barely made it from LA to the Grand Canyon, mostly because of this car, which had the nerve to go the speed limit:

We were racing to get there before the sunset and made it with just minutes to spare.

Tomorrow: more Grand Canyoning, then off to Albuquerque.

In which I give you too much information

2009-01-26T20:17:00.000-08:00

I want you to know that I thought about this before I posted it. It is incredibly embarrassing and a little gross, but ultimately I feel like it is too funny to pass up. So I offer up myself and my flaws to you so that you may laugh.

You're very welcome.

I sold my couch finally on Sunday to a woman named Nancy. When Nancy saw the couch in person for the first time, she proclaimed her undying love for its scarlet beauty. She told me that she was buying it for her office and that the girls* she worked with loved the photo and that they would be excited to have a couch to sit on. I have to say, it is oddly comforting to know that someone who is buying something that belonged to you loves it as much as you did. Anyhoo, buy it she did and she and the guy she brought to help her carried the couch out my front door and down to their truck. About 10 minutes after they left she called me to ask if she could come back up and use my bathroom. Of course I said she could - far be it for me to withhold the ability to use a bathroom from someone else. That's just mean.

I showed her where the bathroom was, she used it, politely said thanks and then left. A little bit later I had to go, too, so I went into the bathroom. That is when I discovered what I had done:

Yeah. Pretty damn embarrassing. Feel free to laugh, though. Ok, that's enough. I SAID, THAT'S ENOUGH. Ok, fine. I'll wait.

Finished? Good.

Do you suppose Nancy and her girls* are laughing about this? I have to admit, I would be if I were them. I'd be calling me the "hemorrhoid girl" or the couch the "hemorrhoid couch". Maybe the "H.C." for short. I'd sit on it and then pretend my behind itched and then run away screaming "HEMORRHOID COUCH!! HEMORRHOID COUCH!!" or something equally ridiculous. Of course, I do have a weird sense of humor. And a bit of a wicked streak, too.

I guess I can bear the embarrassment, though. My hemorrhoids and I just deposited a nice chunk of cash money, courtesy of Nancy and her girls.*

* Do you suppose that Nancy runs an, er, escort service or something? Just who are these girls?

In which I introduce my new bedfellows

2009-01-21T21:40:00.000-08:00

I'm so excited about moving back to New York that I dug out my old subway map. I have unfolded it and looked at all the different neighborhoods at least seventy jillion times. And now I want it nearby all the time, like some kid who drags around an old magazine because it has one pretty picture in it. I just keep opening it and going, maybe I could live there, or maybe I could live there! It is all very thrilling until I remember that I am not rich and will most likely end up living in a box on the banks of the East River.

The blue things are wrist guards that are supposed to help with my carpal tunnel syndrome (that I also have in my feet, but whatever). I thought they would be really uncomfortable to sleep in, but they're not that bad. They have a bean bag under the palm to keep your hand stable, so it ends up feeling pretty comfy.

There are really only a couple of problems with the wrist guards. First of all, when I am in bed, I can't read a book because I can't hold it, much less turn the pages. And I can't change the channels on the TV because I can't manage the remote. I have to click the remote with my thumb, so I inevitably press the wrong button and accidentally land on some shopping channel and then can't get back to The Daily Show. Or I end up turning the volume up really loud, which I'm sure my neighbor appreciates.

The other thing is that the wrist guards have velcro closures. When I am sleeping, they tend to come apart and, because I sleep in a fetal position, they end up getting attached to each other. And then I wake up at 4 am with my arms stuck together, which is an...odd feeling. You know how it is when you wake up in the middle of the night and don't really know where you are or what's going on? Add your limbs stuck together and see how freaked out you get.

The wrist guards usually get peeled off about 6 am when I have to get up to pee. Then I inevitably go back to sleep without putting them back on, and I wake up with numb hands. And late for work.

Oh well.

In which all my hard decorating work is undone

2009-01-20T23:49:00.000-08:00

I'm selling all my furniture in preparation for moving to New York, so my apartment is looking a little bare. I've sold my bed, my kitchen table and chairs and my coffee table. My apartment, which just last week was very warm and inviting -

now looks like a crack den.
Although, maybe they don't fold their blankets in crack dens. Or have sheets on their mattresses. Fortunately, I wouldn't know.

Luckily, it is only ten more days.

In which we all get a new accessory

2009-01-20T20:18:00.000-08:00

What an unbelievable day. What a momentous occasion. The very first day...

that I got to wear my brand new ring!!! Gorgeous, no? (Banana Republic, not on sale, but the sales associate gave me a discount anyway. Why? Because I am adorable.)

Oh, and this, too:

Sigh.

He's so dreamy.

All nonsense aside, what a great thing to see today. And every time they showed some middle aged African-American man crying, I cried, too. I couldn't help thinking how those who grew up being told they were less because of the color of their skin must have felt today. How proud they must have been! How satisfied! Finally, finally all the years of suffering, all the years of fighting have paid off. All the misery is rising out of the ashes to become hope. Hope for us all.

In which I am outwitted by a German shiny thing

2009-01-14T19:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was day one of a three to five day migraine headache. This is bad enough to deal with, but at the same time, I needed to find and change the brake light bulbs in my car. My neighbor offered her husband's help, but he sort of shrugged and told me that if I went to Auto Zone they would help me find the bulbs and then he would install them. Off to Auto Zone I went, and one of the whopping two salespeople in a busy store gave me the wrong bulbs. And how was I supposed to know? I am a girl and I don't know anything about light bulbs, let alone cars.

Now, I am a modern woman. I take care of myself and I don't depend on anyone else. Yes, I make mistakes and I do stuff wrong and I am a poor money manager, but I do pay my rent and buy my own meals and make my own bad financial decisions. And a lot of the time I don't really mind being without a man that much. But there are some things that make me hate being alone. I don't like being sick and having to go to the pharmacy for medicine or the grocery store for soup myself. I also absolutely cannot stand having to deal with car stuff. EVER.

Also, the spiders.

I guess this week I am lucky, because Leopold is apparently long gone, so I just have to deal with feeling bad and stupid car nonsense all by myself. So I bought the proffered bulbs, not knowing they weren't the right ones, and waited for my neighbor's husband to stop by and offer to install them. Only he didn't stop by. And here's where I get all confused, being a modern woman and all. Do I go over and ask him to do it? It can't be that hard, certainly I could do it myself if I wanted to, which, make no mistake, I DO NOT. But he didn't really seem like he wanted to do it. After all, his wife just volunteered him without asking him or anything. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. And I should be able to take care of myself. What am I supposed to do?

Do you see my dilemma? No wonder I have a damn headache.

So I waited, thinking he might come by. He did not. I was putting all my furniture for sale on craigslist so it was late when I gave up on him. When I finally got around to changing the stupid bulbs, it was midnight and that's when I realized they were the wrong bulbs. FABULOUS. So last night I went back to Auto Zone, got what I thought were the right bulbs, because clearly I can't trust the guy at the store, got them home and then figured out that they were STILL THE WRONG BULBS. Back to Auto Zone, where I finally got the right bulbs. I came home, put them in, but still can't be certain that they work. Who knows? Turns out there are two different kinds of light bulbs in four different sockets on each side, and I don't know what goes where. The manual isn't very clear, because it is for several different models of the same car and this is the brake bulb for the M class, but I don't have the M class and which one is my brake bulb because all those panels are red and I am confuuuuuuuuuused! Now it looks like maybe one brake light is working but not the other one. I can't tell, AND I DON'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND TO STAND BEHIND THE CAR WHILE I PRESS ON THE BRAKE PEDAL AND TELL ME "THEY WORK" OR "NO DICE" AND MY HEAD HURTS!

In the meantime, whatever I did do in there changed the turn signals, because they used to go "click, click, click, click" all nice and steady, but now when I want to change lanes they are all "clikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclik" like they are jacked up on methamphetamines. I don't know what I did in there, but it sure got them riled up.

Whatever. I guess it is a trip back to Auto Zone this weekend to get more lights.

And then maybe I should put a post on craigslist for someone to come install them for me. "Wanted: male to come deal with changing my brake lights and also that door handle that kind of sticks. No shirt necessary."

What can I say? I am a modern woman.

In which I am busy

2009-01-12T23:31:00.001-08:00

I would love to blog tonight, but I can't because I am busy working.

See?

Ok, fine, yes. There is a wine glass there on the table, but it was red wine, ok? It is good for your heart. Helps clean out the arteries and such. And that is really beneficial for me on account of all the Fritos.

In addition to the work, I am trying to sell everything I own on craigslist, so I have been juggling the work and the emails asking about the furniture. Who knew you could get people to be interested in your old junk? My only question is, do you think I can get someone to buy all those plastic grocery bags I have in my kitchen drawers?

In which you shoulda put a ring on it

2009-01-08T20:49:00.000-08:00

I can't seem to get this song out of my head.

You're welcome.

In which blughucky. Ugh. Part II

2009-01-07T21:49:00.000-08:00

OH. CRAP. Where did you go, icky creepy spider? Where are you?

I have to confess a sense of disappointment because I had big plans for the two of us. I was going to name you Leopold and blog about you and we were going to be such friends. Why did you have to let me down so?

Hmm.

(shudder)

Dear Leopold,

Please don't be in my bed.

Love,

Liz

In which blughucky. Ugh.

2009-01-06T23:23:00.000-08:00

Don't get too comfortable, icky creepy spider. You have a date with destiny.

In which I digest the indigestibles

2009-01-06T20:19:00.000-08:00

See what happens when I try to eat healthy? I was about done with my salad today when I noticed that the second tine of my fork was broken. And then my stomach hurt, so I naturally assumed I had swallowed the broken tine. Surely I would have noticed it, right?

It reminds me of the time I dreamed that I was eating mini-marshmallows and woke up to find one of my earplugs missing. It was rather distressing to think that I might have swallowed it in my sleep. And I was really thirsty when I woke up, but I was afraid to drink anything in case the earplug soaked up all the liquid and expanded in my stomach and then I'd have to go to the hospital. Luckily, after about twenty minutes' worth of worry, I found the earplug in my bedclothes. No hospital stay necessary, thanks.

If I did swallow that broken plastic, I wonder what kind of damage it could do. Of course, I have watched enough doctor shows on TV to make some assumptions. Like it could get embedded in my stomach, or perforate my intestine, or... hey! I think there was a House episode about that. So if I come down with some mysterious disease, make sure you tell the doctor about the broken fork.

In which I want to eat my lunch all by myself

2009-01-05T20:00:00.000-08:00

The other day for lunch we went to Century City mall, where they have not a food court, but a dining terrace. They have tons of great restaurants in there, but none of the classic food court stuff like McDonald's or Taco Bell. There are also a few full service restaurants in the mall, so we decided to go to one. We chose Houston's, which has been one of my favorites since I lived in Houston and ate there.

I used to go with one of my friends who always got the same thing - filet mignon and a salad. She loved that salad, but she always wanted me to eat half of it. She was incredibly bossy. So bossy, in fact, that I had to break up friends with her. Sad, because I know that she was good hearted, but she used to not take no for an answer. Literally. If she wanted to do something and I said I didn't want to or couldn't afford it, she would call and call and call and bug me living daylights out of me until I would give in. And I got tired of giving in. But she was right about that salad this is what I was craving the other day.

We had several different servers, so when one came to take our order, I got the soup and salad. They brought my yummy, yummy soup first and then my coworkers' food, and then some other girl walked towards us with my salad. She didn't know I was watching her. I saw her hand move from the top of my salad back under the plate. When she set it down in front of me, I could see there was something brown in her hand. It had to be either bacon or a crouton. I watched her as she walked away and saw her hand go to her mouth and her jaw start working.

She was eating my salad. My salad that she took from my plate, right in front of me! MY SALAD.

I stared at my plate, and then told my coworkers that she had taken something from my plate and eaten it. One of the servers came by and asked if everything was ok. I told him what had happened and he was appropriately horrified. He immediately took my salad away and said he'd get me a new one. Then another of the servers came over and asked what happened. When I told her, she laughed, and then apologized for the laughing and the snacking. I laughed too and told her that when I waited tables, we only occasionally picked fries off of people's plates, and only in the kitchen, NEVER in front of the customer. Then the server who delivered my food came over and told me she didn't eat any of my salad. "I saw you put your hand in my food," I said. "I didn't," she replied. "I didn't eat your food." But she apologized anyway.

They did bring me a new salad, with LOTS of stuff on it and I was finally able to enjoy my whole salad without anyone's help.

In which I plot my return

2009-01-04T16:21:00.000-08:00

I've been having these really weird dreams lately. They're not frightening, just incredibly vivid. And I mean VIVID. The dreams are crazy complicated - there are plots and subplots, costumes, an enormous cast of characters, multiple locations, special effects, and in one instance, molasses cookies. I think there might even be a foley.

Most of these dreams lately have been about traveling - packing up, trying to get to the airport, missing my flight, taking a later flight, missing that flight, getting scheduled for another one, etc. In last night's dream, I think I was packing everything up into a few boxes and putting them and the tin of molasses cookies (delicious) into a little red wagon.

The airport dream must have been about waiting to hear if I could move back to New York. I asked many months ago and have been waiting, waiting, waiting to hear if I would have a job there. The flight delay makes sense. The waiting has been hard.

I just heard on New Year's Eve that I can move back on February 1st. There is so much to do I am overwhelmed to the point of inaction. The only thing I have been able to do so far is buy a coat and snow boots on Overstock.com.

Do you suppose I could get a little red wagon there? And also some molasses cookies? Those were tasty.

In which I buy a lemon (in the strictest sense)

2008-12-29T19:50:00.000-08:00

It was a tough day at work today. I wish I could talk about why, but you know I have that thing about not talking about work. Stuff was going on that wasn't really about me, but was creating a significant amount of anxiety, so much so that I just wanted to stuff my face with carbs. But we all know that food as a drug does not really make anything better, at least, not for very long. So I decided to stop and get a lemon on the way home from work so that I could drown my sorrows in a proper martini.

Ah! Much better.

(Don't you hate it when you are reading a blog and the blogger is all "I have something going on, but I can't tell you what it is"? Like, just don't say anything to begin with. You can't say "Oh, guess what? I have a SE-CRET," and then expect people to respect that. People are generally pretty nosy. I should know, I'm one of those people. An honest to goodness nosy parker, that's me.)

So, since I can't talk about my anxiety, or eat or drink it away, and I am still out of Xanax, let's talk about shoes instead. I had a great weekend shoe-wise. I got several gift cards for Christmas gifts, so I was able to buy two pair of flats, and then...

THESE:

Banana Republic. I have been coveting these shoes for a while, and was able to get them with the gift card and not ANY of my own money. I love that.

This evening I arrived home with my lemon and my neighbor popped out with a small Christmas gift for me. A gift card. To DSW Shoe Warehouse.

I think I've found my new drug.

In which I stalk - sort of

2008-12-23T18:49:00.001-08:00

A couple of Saturdays ago, I braved the holiday traffic to make a very necessary Target run. On my way down La Brea, I saw a Toyota Prius. The several bumper stickers on the back made it fairly apparent I was following a liberal. My favorite of the stickers was one that said "I Never Thought I'd Miss Nixon." I laughed out loud when I saw it, and was suddenly possessed by the need to tell the driver how funny I thought it was.

I followed her for a bit and finally was able to pull up beside her at a stoplight. I rolled down my window, and honked for her attention. She rolled down her window and I said, "I LOVE your Nixon bumper sticker!" She laughed and said "Isn't that great?"

I knew immediately who she was. One of my favorite vegetarian hippie TV mothers, Abby from the show Dharma & Greg.

We agreed that the trying times were soon to come to an end, laughed again, rolled up our windows and moved on.

Thanks for the great laugh, Mimi Kennedy.

P.S. My very favorite episode of Dharma & Greg is the one where they go to a bunch of different places for Thanksgiving to placate all their friends and loved ones and they have to eat everywhere they go. It makes me laugh a bunch of times every time I watch it. This is towards the end of the episode: Thanksgiving Until It Hurts. My favorite part is around 2:43. Here are parts one and two if you are interested in watching the whole episode.

P.P.S. Please note that Mimi Kennedy appeared on the show House. All things can ultimately be connected to Hugh Laurie and House.

In which I de-funk

2008-12-21T17:12:00.000-08:00

GUESS WHAT? I think I am out of my Funk, thanks in no small part to this song (this is the only video I could find of the original song, so sorry if the lights give you seizures), which I heard Friday night and spent all day Saturday trying to figure out the name of it. It's "Christmas Wrapping". By The Waitresses. See? I just needed a fun Christmas song.

GUESS WHAT ELSE? I changed my settings so now you can actually leave a comment if you like.

In which I am overtaken by the Funk

2008-12-18T23:44:00.000-08:00

It's official. I am in a Christmas Funk. And I don't mean I'm surrounded by musicians with sunglasses and saxophones.

I don't know what it is. I don't want to decorate or make cookies, and I don't want to listen to Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas". I don't feel like singing "Santa Baby" in my living room with the couch as the audience. What? Doesn't everyone do that? Never mind.

Maybe it's because I don't get to go to New York this year, the first time in six years I'm not there during the holidays. No Rockefeller Center tree, no Bergdorf Goodman windows. No snow in Central Park. Obviously they decorate in LA, and they do it nicely. It's just not New York.

Maybe it's because I won't be with family this year. It's certainly not the first time, but it seems extra bitter this year because, well, because of the Funk, I guess.

It will be fine, though. It's only one day, it's only a week away, and then it'll be over. And I'll just have New Year's Eve to contend with...

Oh dear.

Insomniac Haiku #2

2008-12-17T01:52:00.000-08:00

oh still wide awake

wooly sheep I cannot count

sandman not in sight

Insomniac Haiku #1

2008-12-17T01:33:00.000-08:00

should I watch CSPAN

or The Soup is on at two

curse insomnia

In which I enact the plan

2008-12-11T01:13:00.000-08:00

6:24 AM I'll just lie here a few minutes and think before I get up. Awareness of the global community, that's the plan. It'll be so nice to do something that will really help people. Fighting for the rights of communities around the world. Standing up for women who have been silenced all their lives. Prosecuting people who take advantage of the environment. This is gonna be great.

7:51 AM NO! Overslept. Late. DAMN IT.

8:05 AM Race to work. Do makeup in car. Why can't anyone in LA move with any kind of speed or purpose? Why does everyone drive so slow ALL THE TIME? Geez. So pleased with my plan. It's going to be really nice being all altruistic and stuff. After all, everyone deserves to be treated with respect and I can be a part of that. Oh my god, these people. GET OUT OF MY WAY. And the busses. Every day with the slow busses. I fail to see how public transportation helps traffic if it slows the rest of us down. They should just get rid of it.

8:35 AM Arrive at office. The papers. Where are the papers? I look around the elevator lobby for them. An employee from the office next door pokes her head around the corner "Oh, I'm really sorry," she tells me. "I accidentally spilled my coffee on your papers. Since they were mostly ruined, I threw them out." She disappears back around the corner. I need those papers for my FUTURE. How am I supposed to be up on world events when you spilled coffee on my information source??? Ok, ok. No matter. I will read them on line during my lunch break. That'll be fine.

10:20 AM I wonder what it'll be like when I am a big, famous human rights attorney. Maybe I'll get interviewed by the Times or Vanity Fair. Maybe even Vogue! They might put me on the cover, too, with some great title like "Human Rights are Sexy". I wonder if I get to keep the clothes from the photoshoot....

1:00 PM Lunchtime! Got my lunch, ready to read the news. Oooh - Golden Globe nominations are out. You know Heath Ledger's probably going to win. Those poor guys in that category don't have a chance. I'll just take a quick look and move on to the news. Cholera epidemic, water shortage, nasty bribery case with that Blagojevich fellow. That doesn't look good. Looks like something's going on with that Casey Anthony case. This is all very depressing. Isn't there something happy to report about?

2:05 PM Hahaha! I was just reading about this - wait - how did I end up on People.com? Alright, well, I did read a little bit of news, so that's good. A productive lunch. Got to get back to work.

7:00 PM Alright, now, where is that Frontline episode on Darfur? Where - no, oh no - shoot. I must have deleted it. Did I ever watch it? Dang. Oh! Oh, great. I still have last night's Ghost Hunters to watch. Excellent!

9:58 PM Ok, now really time to buckle down and take a look at that LSAT study guide.

"There is no penalty for guessing on the LSAT, meaning no points are deducted for wrong answers. Therefore, you want to make sure you-"

Oop! I think its time for Celebrity Rehab! I can finish the guide after.

1:00 AM Huh. Guess I must've fallen asleep on the couch. Must be time for bed. I might have done too much procrastinating today. I'm going to have to figure out what to do about that tomorrow.

In which I come up with a plan

2008-12-10T19:51:00.000-08:00

Well, in case you were wondering, the review went fine and I didn't cry. I didn't get exceeds expectations in everything, but I got either meets or exceeds in every category, and all my reviewers gave me exceeds in the overall category. So that's pretty ok. My New York supervisor gave me meets in some categories.

Him: I can't give you exceeds in everything. You know I can't do that. Nobody gets that.

Me: Sure, yeah, I understand. Nobody's perfect.

My Soul: OF COURSE YOU CAN. PLEASE. I WANT TO BE PERFECT! WAHHHHH!

And then I ate four cookies.

As my cousin so kindly noted earlier today, if I were evaluated on my accessories, I would always exceed expectations. I do have some great rings. There's nothing in my 401K, but at least I have some rings.

I've been feeling kind of bored and useless at work lately, so I've been pondering what I could do instead. I'd like to work for some really worthwhile organization, like Amnesty International. The thing is, they're really not into hiring you because you're kinda funny and have a stunning collection of shoes. You have to have some sort of experience in that field to prove that you are thoughtful, selfless and socially aware. I was thinking maybe I could join the Peace Corps. You know, really help people, build some bridges, teach some kids to read, get some experience so I can impress those folks. But then, I don't think they let you shoe shop in the Peace Corps. And wearing all my rings would probably get in the way of digging wells and things. Also, I'm sure you can't successfully carry water from the river back to the village in an Yves Saint Laurent Downtown Tote, no matter how cute it might be.

I think I'm going to need a different plan.

Maybe what I'll do is go to law school. Or better yet, get a combination law degree and a masters in global public policy. Ha! Got it. Brilliant.

Except for I don't really know anything about public policy. What if they ask me questions about that on my application? I don't even really know what's going on in the world. I can't see Russia from my house, so I'll have to think of something else. Well, easily remedied. I'll just read the papers we get at work. The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal are very respectable papers. I should be able to get some good stuff out of them. Ooh! We get The Economist, too. That should be informative, if I read past the first paragraph of an article this time. I'll try that. I should probably also watch that Frontline on Darfur I've had saved on my DVR since August.

It might be good if I worked on my foreign language skills, too. No one will be impressed by my weird hybrid of Spanish and French. (I took the classes one semester after the other in college. Big mistake. People don't take you seriously when you accidentally order chile con fromage or ask to try on the gauche zapato. Oh my god! I don't know how to say "ring" in either language! Time to enroll in Berlitz.) I doubt I can make any headway with the sad little bit of Yiddish I picked up in New York. They'd just think I was meshuga.

Naturally, I'll have to follow through with taking the LSAT. I was going to take it last weekend, but I cancelled because I just...never studied. But if I take it seriously this time, maybe even take a prep course, I could do ok. And I might have to take the GRE again. Well, no "might" about it, I definitely will, since I got like a 9 on the math part last time. Of course, I wasn't really prepared for it either, seeing as how I took it approximately one month before I received my graduate degree. I do know how to work the system sometimes.

Ok! Great! I have a plan in place and ready to go. Starting first thing tomorrow, more focus on the global community. I'll get to work before anyone else does so I can read the papers. And I'll check out GRE classes instead of TMZ, watch serious news, not just The Daily Show, and crack open that LSAT study guide.

Ahhhh. It feels good to have a purpose in life.

In which I stall

2008-12-09T20:09:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I spent about three hours working on a couple of posts last night. I was working on one of them when Blogger just gave out, kicked me off and lost half my post. And it was a good post. Clever, witty, you know, the usual. I would spend time trying to recreate it tonight, but I am busy obsessing about my review at work.

Also, I am lazy.

Tomorrow at 7:30 AM I have my year-end review. During my mid-year review, I cried because I didn't get "exceeds expectations" on everything. And I didn't even give MYSELF "exceeds expectations" on everything.

I guess you could say that my expectations, well, exceed expectations.

In which...I don't know.

2008-12-02T19:28:00.001-08:00

I must still be in a post-Thanksgiving stupor or something, because I just don't even know what to write about.

I'm contemplating digging the candy I threw away out of the trash. I won't do it, but I'm thinking about it. Is that the kind of thing you want to hear? 'Cause that's all I've got.

OH MY GOD. I just wrote and erased three different things because they all sounded dumb. You're just going to have to give me some time to regroup, unless you want to hear about any of the following:

a) the episode of House I just watched. (Hi, Mama!)

b) the mythical apartment that I am decorating with the mythical furniture that I am going to buy with all my mythical money

c) that damn candy.

Uh huh. That's what I thought.

OOH! I think that I have a piece of chocolate that my nephew gave me in the bottom of my bag! Trash-free candy! SCORE!

In which I fully regret the decision to begin every blog entry with "In which I"

2008-11-19T19:11:00.000-08:00

Hm.

Well, I told everyone about my blog and got lots of kind responses about it being funny, etc. Now I am feeling a certain amount of pressure to write something really good. GO!

*crickets*

Right.

The problem with blogging is that you start thinking of your whole life in terms of narrating your blog. In beginning, you think everything you write is delightful. Soon every thought that crosses your mind is brilliantly hilarious. Before you know it, you're driving around town thinking "...and then I turned left!" AH HA HA HA HA HA HA! But a little time goes by and you come to realize that you might be deluding yourself, and then your desire to write is stifled by your desire not to be humiliated. And you ultimately find yourself lying on your living room floor singing the El Pollo Loco song in an operatic voice just to distract yourself from the paralyzing terror.

Not that I would have any experience with that.

Anyway. Last night I watched The Universe. It was a great episode about parallel universes. I am still scraping my brains off the wall. It's pretty mind-blowing to think that every time you make a choice, at exactly the same time in some plane you make the opposite choice and BANG! you are walking around in a whole different universe. Well, something like that. Like I said, still trying to get those brains back in my noggin.

Perhaps in another universe I have been blogging for years. In some universe, I never even started. But, luckily for YOU, I'm in this one, with many friends and loved ones to just flat out make fun of me and this blogging nonsense. Take for instance this email exchange I had today with my boss/friend Clay:

Clay: Why did you (do this wrong)?

Me: Because I am not perfect.

Clay: Are you going to make a blog entry for: In which I am not perfect...at updating changes of addresses?

What am I supposed do with that?

In which I am shocked and horrified

2008-11-17T20:07:00.000-08:00

I had to go back to the neurologist today so they could see if there is any nerve damage in my hands and feet. I passed the time while waiting for my test by observing the office. It is rather, well, laid back, I guess would be the term. They leave the door between the waiting room and the exam area open. The doctor wanders around asking the staff why there isn't any foam on his cappuccino. The receptionist eats breakfast at the front desk, while asking the gentleman waiting what his name is for the third time.

It is super classy.

When it was finally my turn, the receptionist invited me back to the exam room and gave me a lovely paper gown to wear. Then the doctor came in, fumbled around with the machine, mumbled to himself, walked back out into the hallway, came back in, more fumbling and mumbling.

Then he proceeded to shock the crap out of me. Literally. He stuck things on my hands and one of my feet and then shocked me with this thing that looked like the heating element on my mom's old electric skillet. I burned myself on that thing once. It hurt. A LOT. This was less fun, mostly because I kept getting zapped over and over again. I can see how electro-shock makes a good torture method. I was ready to tell anything.

"36-22-36!" I yelled.

"What's that?" he said.

"My middle school locker combination? I thought you were trying to get information from me..."

He just mumbled.

Mild carpal tunnel syndrome was the diagnosis for my hands. No answer as to why my feet are numb and/or tingly. My regular doctor's original diagnosis was anxiety, so without a full diagnosis of all the symptoms, I guess this gives her free license to go ahead and stamp my chart "CRAZY!" KA-CHUNK!

But my question is this: am I really required to accept the opinion of a doctor whose office machinery looks like this?

Right there, next to the latex glove and that sterile looking tube thingy - yes. That is a piece of popcorn.

Popcorn. Now I am a major fan of popcorn, but...

POPCORN?! What, did he get hungry while shocking me? All that hard work made him need a little nosh? Call me crazy (see above), but it seems a bit unprofessional to me that there would be food on your medical equipment. Seriously, how did that get there? Did they project a movie on the eye chart during the previous day's lunch? When the doctor saw it, as he must have, why didn't he GET RID OF IT? And if he didn't see it, what does that say about his, I don't know, eyesight? How do I know he read the machine right if he can't see well enough to catch that piece of popcorn?

And if my numbness is because of anxiety, why didn't my entire body go numb with horror at the very moment I found that piece of popcorn? ANSWER ME THAT, DOCTOR.

In which I offer employment advice

2008-11-12T18:28:00.000-08:00

Fair warning here: I am really cranky lately. I know, I know, but I mean EXTRA cranky. It is mainly because I'm not eating. Well, more like I'm not eating the foods I want to eat, like bacon and birthday cake. I have lost four pounds. And also my sense of humor.

It doesn't help matters that work is pretty quiet these days, and by quiet I mean BORING. And boring means I need some sort of entertainment, which, in the good old days used to be snacks. But oh no! Not anymore. Now I have to do things like THINK and HAVE MEANINGFUL CONVERSATIONS with people. I'm not going to last very long.

But in this god-awful economy, a currently boring job is a lot better than a currently non-existent job, so I have to suck it up. In case you are in the same boat, I offer you some ideas on how to keep from getting fired in this difficult time:

DO NOT, upon starting your computer in the morning, ask loudly "IS IT ONLY WEDNESDAY?"

DO NOT, when asked to perform a task, roll your eyes and say "God! I am so TIRED of people asking me to do stuff!"

DO NOT call your client and ask why they aren't spending all that money they have. Misers. Like we're in an economic crisis or something. Pssh.

DO NOT yell "we're all gonna die!" every time someone asks you a question.

DO NOT answer the phone "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam". Unless, of course, you work at Dunder Mifflin. And your name is Pam.

DO NOT, when writing your weekly update for the office health program, send an email saying "Who cares? The world in going to end in 2012 anyway. Eat whatever you want and then take a nap."

DO NOT blog about work, lest you suffer the consequences.

In which I am glamourous, as usual

2008-11-10T18:37:00.000-08:00

I didn't want to get up this morning because, I don't know, I never want to get up in the morning. The worst is trying to figure out what to wear. I had a brainwave in bed and remembered about my black suede boots; it's cool enough now to wear them. So I got up (late, as usual), took a shower and got dressed. I put on my purple Gap dress, which is so soft and the design so simple that after I purchased it I was unsure whether it was a dress or a nightgown. It is a little thin (being a nightgown and all), so I put my Spanx on underneath, to cover things up and er, smooth them out as well and then threw a belt over the dress. I dusted off the boots, which are still in really great shape from last year. I sat down on the bed and put the left boot on and pulled it up to my knee. Then I pulled the right one on. Sort of. I couldn't quite get my heel in it, so I lifted my leg and the boot straight up in the air and pulled. No luck. I stomped on the floor with my right foot, but nothing. I stood up and leaned against the wall and tried to slide my heel in. Nope.

Much swearing.

Finally, I grabbed the heel of the boot and wiggled it and the heel of my foot. Something gave and my foot slid all the way in. Loud sigh and residual swearing. Then I tried to pull the boot up to my knee. Huh-uh. It got stuck. Try as I might, I couldn't get it over my calf. What the hell? I mean, I know I've gained weight, but all in my right calf? I tugged harder. No dice.

Now I'm really late for work, so I just give up and figure maybe I can fix it in the car. I grab my bag - the new one from H&M. I love this bag - black patent faux crocodile. It was really inexpensive, is trendy and fairly well put together. I assumed it was a handbag when I bought it, but after I got home and looked at the receipt I saw it was a "Toilet Bag". I don't know what that is, but I assume it is supposed to be a bag for your toiletries when you are traveling. It doesn't have an inordinate amount of pockets or anything, though. And it looks like a handbag, so that is what I use it as.

So I rush to work, alternately yelling at slow drivers and busses (3 of them! All in front of me!) and trying to pull up my boot at all the stop lights. Still unsuccessful.

I arrive at work and make my way down through the parking garage and to the lobby, walking quickly so no one notices my boot, which is now slouching dejectedly around my ankle like a sullen teenager. Once I get to my office, I put my leg up on the desk (hoping that all the blood will run into my hip, thus making my calf smaller), then simultaneously check my email and dig through my bag for some lotion. Maybe I can slather some on my leg and pull the boot up that way. While I have my body contorted to keep my leg up on the desk I feel my Spanx rolling down. More swearing. I find the lotion and try it, but no luck. I'm going to need some sort of industrial strength lubricant. I try hand sanitizer. It burns my freshly shaved legs, but doesn't help the boot. I search my desk and find Sortkwik. It can't hurt to try, I think. It always works when I'm going through the bills. But this doesn't do the trick either.

Maybe I need to stretch the calf of the boot out - like it shrunk over the summer or something. I scan the office for an appropriate stretching implement. My beanie baby? No, it'd be really hard to explain to anyone why I had a pink bunny hanging out of my right boot. Ah! My Staples button! It is the perfect shape and is firm enough to stretch something. I stick it in my boot and go about my work. Every time I change my position or cross my feet under my chair, I hear "THAT was easy!"

I give up.

I pull the boot up as far up my calf as it will go. I check myself out in the window of my office. One leg looks great, like a catalog model. The other looks like there is bread baking in my boot. This is when I notice my hair is sticking up. Now, my hair is supposed to sort of stick up in the back a little bit, kind of like a tame punk rocker. Instead, it's sticking up in the middle and I look like Tweety Bird. Every time I try to mash it down it just pops right back up.

Whenever I stepped out of my office today, I had to yank up my boot, mash down my hair and tug on my Spanx. I made it through the day in this uber-glamourous state and scurried out of the office with relief only to realize that I had to stop at the pharmacy on the way home. I sighed as I pulled into the parking lot, got out of my car, made a failed attempt to smooth down my hair, pulled up my boot and hiked up my Spanx.

I made my way into the store, found what I needed and then saw Tom - a guy I met at a party and er, made out with. A couple of times. I kind of still have a crush on him, although he is, how shall I say? Less than honorable. Best to just keep my distance, I thought. So I ended up lurking around the sale racks until he left in order to avoid being seen by him. I realize this is not really a very mature thing to do, but, when I run into old flames, I want them to see me looking sexy and sophisticated, not like Tweety Bird in a belted nightgown with one slouchy boot, carrying a toilet bag.

While I was hiding from him, next to the bags of leftover Halloween chocolates, I developed an attachment to a bag of miniature Hershey bars with almonds. I knew it would love me no matter what I looked like. I grabbed it and went to the register, completed my purchases, went home and gratefully changed my clothes.

In which I miss New York

2008-11-09T19:20:00.000-08:00

The weather changed here and it feels like fall. There is a chilly (and rather loud) wind blowing. Tomorrow there will be palm branches all over the place and one or the other of my plants will probably get knocked over or off my balcony. I can smell someone's fireplace. It's probably Selma Blair's, who apparently is a neighbor of mine. I blame all the loud-ass neighborhood parties on her, too, because I know she is a wild child. I bet they're great.

Autumn makes me ache for New York City. This is the best time of year there, it always seems storybook-like to me. The leaves turning and time to get out your sweaters and boots and scarves. I love how my nose gets cold and pink. Darting into the nearest Starbuck's (one on every corner!) to warm up. I love cuddling up under the comforter for the night with one window cracked just to keep the air moving. Of course, when I lived with 80 plus year old Frances, she didn't like it when the wind made the door rattle and wanted me to stick a kleenex in the door to keep it from moving. She even offered to show me exactly how to fold it up.

The one thing I didn't have in New York that I have here (other than privacy) is the electric heater in my bathroom. My apartment has a tendency to be very drafty, so it is a benefit on cold mornings. I pad into the bathroom and turn on the heater, then get back into bed for a little bit while the bathroom warms up. After my shower I inevitably end up getting too warm and have to crack the window. Or turn on the air conditioning.

It was like that on the subway, too. I always had a significant amount of trouble with temperature control. It could be freezing outside and I would always end up with sweat stains under my arms from being on the subway in my coat. It was a daily battle trying to figure out what to wear, what to bring, if I remembered to shove my umbrella in my bag. Living in New York is difficult like that - even small things are hard to do. But, oh, how I miss the struggle.

In which I chronicle my election night

2008-11-04T19:00:00.000-08:00

I arrive home from work after Pennsylvania's been called for Obama. I change my clothes and turn on the TV and get on cnn.com to watch the electoral map. Shortly after that, Obama is projected to win Ohio.

6:45pm: Flip between MSNBC and Fox News. If neither one of them can be neutral, I can at least figure out the truth between the two of them.

7:02pm: MSNBC announces that Obama is home eating dinner with his family. WHAT? How can he eat at a time like this? What did they eat? Macaroni and cheese? Do you think they ordered pizza?

7:03pm: Ooooh, pizza...

7:06pm: Staring at electoral map of Florida, willing it to turn blue.

7:07pm: Turn blue.

7:08pm: Turn blue.

7:09pm: COME. ON.

7:10pm: Open wine.

7:20pm: Turn to a rerun of House. Wonder who House would vote for. He probably wouldn't vote, because he is all bitter and sad. You know, because of his leg and all. OH MY GOD! On the show House just said "it's a shame I don't vote"! I was right! HA HA!

7:28pm: Can't believe how close the race is in Virginia. Yes, I flipped back to MSNBC . WHAT? It is an historic election. HISTORIC. Besides, I've seen that House before.

7:51pm: Changed to episode of Frasier - Frasier is wearing blue and Roz is wearing red. Doubt Roz would vote for McCain, though.

7:59pm: Oh, for God's sake, Florida, do you have to torture us like this in every single election? Decide already. Do it!

8:02pm: West coast polls just closed - MSNBC just called the election for Obama. They are showing pictures of people screaming with joy. I am crying with happiness and relief.

8:17pm: Oh, fine, Florida, jump on the bandwagon NOW. You and Colorado and it looks like Virginia, too. Can't believe it. John McCain's concession speech is lovely and gracious. Brit Hume looks depressed. But then, Brit Hume kind of always looks depressed.

8:25pm: Wonder if Sarah Palin will pose for Playboy. Surely she's had an offer by now.

8:32pm: Feel so proud of my country right now. So many people voted - the races were so close in some states. I feel like we truly spoke and really changed the course of the nation.

8:35pm: Wait, is the Dancing With the Stars results show gonna be on? They really need to get rid of Lucci.

9:24pm: Obama's acceptance speech, beautiful and inspiring. One of my neighbors leaned out her door and screamed with excitement. I feel like running around and hugging everyone.

9:25pm: OVERJOYED.

In which I smell good

2008-10-27T19:11:00.000-07:00

Thwarted.

What, you can't read that? Fine. It says: "We gladly issue a store credit for unused, unopened product returned within 14 days of purchase accompanied by a receipt." So, if I wanted to return the body wash, which I did, I really did, I could only get store credit. And if I was going to get store credit, then I would use it for the body wash, because who wants to spend $28 on body wash? That's ridiculous.

I kept the body wash, but returned the shoes and also the new lip gloss and lip pencil that I got at Clinique, which I am unfortunately allergic to. So I really ended up in the black on this whole deal. Sort of. But I smell good! And I don't itch!

In which I face a moral dilemma. That makes me itch.

2008-10-22T19:21:00.000-07:00

Right, right, right, right, riiiiiight. I have a blog. Sorry. I've been preoccupied with this:

A friend gave me some sample sizes of this and I LOVE it. It smells wonderful, feels great and doesn't irritate my skin, which is a real issue for me lately. Seems like everything I try makes me itch like crazy. So it's the perfect shower gel. EXCEPT:

I know the image is blurry (really, I was trying not to shake, however, I apparently have no control over my limbs) but, yes, that price tag does say $28.00. TWENTY-EIGHT DOLLARS. Twenty-eight dollars for body wash? Seriously? I mean, maybe fifteen is ok, if it's really good. Dove is only four or five dollars (makes me itch) and the Whole Foods grapefruitty kind is about the same, maybe a little less (smells great and makes me itch), so I think that twenty-eight is, er, high. But it doesn't make me itch!

I knew it was too much when I bought it on Sunday, but I was possessed by the thought that I was rich (someone remind me to tell my therapist about the delusions) and I just went ahead and bought it. Because it smells so good! And doesn't make me itch!

When I got home I put it in the shower for Monday morning, but then I heard my dad's voice saying "live simply so others can simply live" (someone remind me to tell my therapist about the voices) and was gripped by guilt. I removed the bottle from the shower and placed it on my dressing table, where it has been staring at me ever since.

"C'mon," it whispers. "Aren't you going to use me? I smell so good. And no itching."

"You are TOO EXPENSIVE," I respond. "I am taking you BACK. The END."

"Then why have I been sitting here for three days? You can't let me go. Besides, who is going to pay those poor kids in Taiwan who make my bottle? And the marketing people who made you buy me? They have hungry children. What about the people who pick the lemons they squeeze into me to make me smell SO GOOD? How are they going to get paid?"

And then I go turn up the re-runs of House to drown out the taunting of the body wash. But I can still here it whispering "I don't make you iiiiiiiiiitchhhhhhhh." (Someone remind me to tell my therapist about the hallucinations.)

Seriously, I have to take it back right? I do. I will.

Ok.

But, now, what to do about these?

They were $27.90.

In which I rant

2008-09-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

I have been keeping a big secret from everyone. I have been trying to pretend that everything is ok, and that I am normal, like everyone else, but it's not true.

I have to be honest, and I hope you will still love me even when you find this out:

I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO WORK TECHNOLOGY.

I can barely use any of the following:

My iPhone

My MacBook

The Internet

Dental floss

(seriously, once the dental hygienist asked me to show her how I floss, I did, and then she was all "huh-uh" and I still don't know what I was doing wrong. Hope I can figure out how to work dentures).

I do, however, know how to work my DVR. Can't miss an episode of House.

This is really an embarrassing situation, mostly because I feel like everyone else knows all these things and that I have somehow been left in the dark. It is as if everyone is walking around knowing how to use the newest applications, and I'm still trying to figure out how to download a damn photo.

I was at a seminar recently where they said the Gen Xers are sort of caught in the middle - that Baby Boomers don't have to know how to use the newest technology, and Millennials have grown up using computers and email and video games. Gen Xers feel like they should know how to use computers with ease, but they often don't and instead try to fake it. This is my life.

I recently purchased this MacBook and I really like it. But I have learned the three things I know about computers on an IBM and not all of that transfers to Apple. I try to figure it out, I really do, but how are you supposed to do anything when you CAN'T RIGHT CLICK? Seriously, right click is my go-to command, and I can't do anything without it. Combine this with the fact that Blogger is all stupid and won't let me drag photos into my posts makes my blogging life generally miserable.

I think I am beginning to have paranoid delusions that all technology is plotting to TORTURE me.

I'll bet if I set my alarm for 3 am I will wake up to find my laptop, phone and wine opener sitting around laughing and drinking my Grey Goose, the dental floss smirking quietly and smoking a cigarette (not one of mine - I don't smoke - but that wine opener has a death wish). The ziplock on the bag of gluten free tortillas probably brings the snacks.

I suppose that I could have worse problems than modern technology. At least I am not waiting for the wagon to come with that big block of ice so I can be free from the worry of ptomaine poisoning. I guess I'd rather have to figure out how to hook up the printer than have to type on carbon paper. I'd probably never pay a bill on time if I actually had to put it in the mail, rather than paying on line.

If only they would make a computer that could floss my teeth.

In which I give you my final words of wisdom

2008-09-09T19:43:00.000-07:00

It is my understanding that the world might end tomorrow. Actually, the world could end anytime, with or without notice, but tomorrow might seriously be it. We may actually get sucked away by a black hole.

So it is my intention to address the burning questions you might have before we all go to the great beyond. Questions like, what is the meaning of life? What is our purpose here? Why do both good and evil have to exist? How can I get rid of this bunion?

Unfortunately, I don't know the answer to any of those questions, so let's talk about nachos instead. Having grown up in Texas and New Mexico made me an authority, nay, an expert on Mexican food and anything pretending to be a variation of Mexican food. Seriously, the FBI could call me in as an expert witness in a Tex-Mex vs. California Mexican food showdown. I can tell you exactly what's in that guacamole. I will make a mean chili con queso any day of the week. And I know nachos. Boy, do I know nachos.

Now to me, nachos are what my mom used to make for Superbowl parties, or when my Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Kathy came over. Top plain old tortilla chips with real cheddar cheese and one pickled jalapeno slice on each chip, then you slip them in the oven till the cheese melts. They were NOT those awful things you get at the movies or the high school football concession stand.

Generally, if you order nachos at a restaurant in the United States, they come with sour cream and guacamole and pico de gallo and beans or some combination thereof. If you order them in Iceland, this is what you get:

The nachos above were found in Akureyri, the second largest city in Iceland. They were described on the menu as being corn chips served with cheese and salsa sause (sic). I had to try them. Can you see the dusting of red powder on the chips? Those are Nacho Cheese Doritos, my friends. Nacho Cheese Doritos with Icelandic football stadium sause and flavorless salsa.

Oh, don't think for a second that I didn't eat them.

But I figured surely that would be it - nachos, as it were, only in the densely populated, often visited cities.

I was wrong. On our long driving day from Akureyri to Skaftafell National Park (which I haven't written about yet, don't even try to look for it), we stopped in Egilsstadir for lunch and guess what was on the menu?

These were at least a little closer to the real thing. I think they used regular Doritos instead of the Nacho Cheese, which was quite an improvement. See the melted cheese on top? Yes! That's the way to do it - real cheese that you melt, rather than a gloppy glob of orangey chemicals. Underneath - salsa and fresh vegetables. Interesting, I thought - and I liked the veggies. I think it was carrots and zucchini, but who cares, with all that cheese?

I planned then to try and find them in the next town, but to no avail. Honestly, that was probably in everyone's best interests, seeing as how the rental car was pretty small and, well, you know what happens when you eat too much Mexican.

So, now you know all about Icelandic nachos. Aren't you glad you learned that before you get swallowed by a man made black hole? If we do ever get devoured by a black hole, I hope I am in my mama's kitchen, devouring a tray of her nachos.

In which I figure out how to post the rest of the photos that I wanted to post in the last post

2008-09-01T22:40:00.000-07:00

If you squint really hard, you can see a puffin. It's there, I promise.

Me at the Arctic Circle.

On the way back to the mainland.

In which I lose my breakfast and all sense of dignity

2008-09-01T17:06:00.000-07:00

Oh, the day was filled with so much promise. Clay and I were on our way to the isle of Grimsey,north of Iceland, which is crossed by the Arctic Circle. This was my idea, because I wanted to be able to go to the Arctic Circle simply so I could lord it over others who hadn't been there. Because not that many people have. I have been to the Arctic Circle, HAVE YOU?

Honestly, no one seems terribly impressed.

We got up super early and went to breakfast in the hotel, where Clay ran into Ruth from Iowa. The elevator opened and out stepped Ruth from Iowa and her husband Bill, causing Clay to exclaim "Ruth from Iowa!" He proceeded to chat with her and Bill as I tried to hold the elevator door open. My bag got caught and I nearly lost an arm as I wrestled with the door, but old friends Ruth from Iowa and Clay were barely disturbed by this. Except they weren't old friends. Clay just happened to read her tour group distributed name tag out loud instead of in his head and was therefore forced to chat with her while I was nearly digested by an Icelandic elevator. We eventually made it safely back to our room, sans Ruth from Iowa and Bill, of course, where we busted out the Dramamine for Clay. I had purchased it before we left New York, because he told me he got seasick and had been the last time he was on a ferry.

"I never get seasick," I bragged, "I only get a little dizzy, but I've never thrown up." However, Clay's tales of vomit made me decide to take a pill just in case. The last boat I was on was the ferry to Catalina, and that was in Southern California, not the North Sea. I thought it best to be as prepared as possible, and it made me feel good to head off any possibility of throwing up.

We found the ferry docked in Dalvik, which is on Eyjafjordur in the northern part of the country, parked the car and made our way on the boat. Soon as we got going, Clay and I went on deck to take pictures of the beautiful fjord and the mountains surrounding it.

Oh, hey look! Those clouds. They were the precursor to the storm that decided to move south as we traveled north. Clay and I were sitting in the cabin and I could see the increasingly rough seas were starting to make him feel bad. Thank goodness I took that Dramamine, I thought, because I feel ok. But poor Clay. And then I got sympathy nausea for him. Only it wasn't sympathetic so much as it was the real thing. I decided I might feel better if I went to the restroom in the bottom of the boat, which was being rocked by waves. I was so off balance I could barely stand up. I went back to my seat and leaned over to Clay. "I think maybe I should take another pill. Do you have them with you?" "Let me look," he moaned. "No," came the answer. "I left them in my suitcase." Bad news indeed.

Seconds later, I was puking into a trash can I had spotted earlier. "I never get seasick; I never throw up" my own memory mocked me. The woman who had checked us in on the boat appeared and offered me a bag and some paper towels. Then she offered to take me out on deck. "Let her help you, Liz," Clay whimpered, "because I can't." She put me in a deck chair facing backwards and brought me a blanket. I felt so humiliated throwing up in front of all of those people. I bet Ruth from Iowa wouldn't have been sick. Everyone else seemed fine. Until I started looking around. I thought the gentleman standing next to the railing was enjoying the view, then I saw him lean over the side and let loose. A couple came outside holding the same little white bags the woman had offered me and sat on a bench looking utterly miserable. I took a nap.

Once we landed, of course, everyone was fine. Clay and I started up the walk to the Arctic Circle. The island was cold and wet, but still beautiful, filled with puffins and arctic terns. I'd post a picture of them, but Blogger won't let me (0r, I don't know how to work Blogger is a more likely explanation). We made it to the Arctic Circle and took photos next to something that looked like a burial mound, then headed back down the island to find some lunch.

After lunch we found Icelandic candy, bought more seasick pills, mailed some postcards and then reluctantly returned to the boat. As we boarded, Clay told the nice lady with the little white bags that he wanted us to take the smooth route back. She laughed and agreed.

The trip back was beautiful - the storm was long gone, the sea was calm and the sun was bright. I saw dolphins swimming alongside the boat. It was so amazing that I leaned my head on the seat in front of me and fell asleep. We made it back to Dalvik and then Akureyri without incident. Next time, I think I'll go by plane.

In which I offer an excuse...again

2008-08-26T22:50:00.001-07:00

I am trying to put together my first post about Iceland with pictures, but I am having a lot of trouble actually getting the photos in the right place. Be patient with me, I guess, seeing as how I am pretty new at this. I think the key might be placing the images where I want them first and then typing the text around them. I have been doing the exact opposite of that the last two nights, which explains the eight new wrinkles on my face. And also the rash. At least, I hope that explains it.

Rest assured that I am preparing a scintillating commentary on our trip to the Arctic Circle complete with delightful ferry rides, puffins and retired Iowans.

Stay tuned.

In which zzzzz(snort)zzzzz

2008-08-19T19:14:00.001-07:00

Jet lag n. - a condition caused by traveling across 75 time zones* in a couple of days and pretending like you can still go to bed at the same time you always go to bed in LA. Symptoms include somnolence, loss of appetite and poor sentence structure.

I have been suffering from this condition since returning from Iceland, the most beautiful place I have ever seen in my whole life ever. Yesterday was a particularly bad day - I was talking to the receptionist at work and suddenly felt like I was going to fall over. Also, I hated EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO CROSSED MY PATH because they were there and all rested and conscious and I was not still in Iceland.

Since I mentioned Iceland, perhaps you are interested in what Iceland is like. Well, I will tell you. It is full of ice. Lots of it. Ice EVERYWHERE. Icy, icy, ice. ** Here's a photo:

Brrr!

*There are only 24 time zones, so you can see it was quite a trip.

** This is a big fat bald faced lie told by a jet lagged liar. More pictures to follow.

In which I am an athlete

2008-07-23T20:03:00.000-07:00

My favorite sport is sitting on my couch watching reality television. Badminton comes in a close second. But I have been hearing a lot about interval training, so I decided to check it out. Interval training is "repetions of high speed/intensity work followed by periods of rest or low activity", according to my favorite source, Wikipedia. This is usually applied to running or cycling, but can be used with any exercise. Benefits include supposed "rapid" fat loss, especially in the mid-section (the big draw for me), as well as an increase in endurance.

As a beginner, I read that I should start off with 6 sets of 30 second high intensity sprints followed with a 90 second recovery period. You can look at a guideline on this page to see what might work for you. Make sure you warm up first, then stretch thoroughly to avoid injury. Last night when I got home, I put my workout clothes on and lightly jogged to the longest, least bumpy sidewalk in the neighborhood. The area where I live is an obstacle course of cars, celebrities and people walking their dogs, so getting around at a quick pace can be tricky. My biggest worry was spraining my ankle or falling and breaking my arm, so that was my focus for the first set of sprints.

Rep 1: Don't get hurt don't get hurt don't get hurt don't get hurt don't get hurt

Recovery: Whew. I didn't get hurt. I can do that again. Of course I can do that again!

Rep 2: La la la! Easier than I thought. I should probably go faster. Hey, look out, buddy! What, do you think you can just back out of your driveway whenever you want??

Recovery: Ok, so that was a little more challenging. This is a pretty good workout.

Rep 3: Faster, faster, faster - watch out for the dogs!! Watch out for the - HI PUPPY!!! Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy!!!

Recovery: Hm. It might be time to re-focus. Wait, is that Hayden Panetierre?

Rep 4: Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh

Recovery: Huh, huh, ok. Huh, huh, huh. Two more. Huh. I can do two more.

Rep 5: HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH!

Recovery: HUH. WHEEZE. HUH. WHOO!! HUH. Ok. HUH. I don't know HUH. If I can HUH. Do a sixth. HUH HUH.

Rep 6: HUH HUH Nope.

Recovery: HUH WHEEZE. HUH WHEEZE. HUH. That was HUH. A good HUH. First try. HUH HUH WHEEZE.

Badminton sounds great right now.

In which I be stoopid

2008-07-16T19:45:00.000-07:00

ARGH. So frustrating. I had a great idea for a post last night as I was going go sleep, but now I can't remember what it was. It was really cool and funny, of course, but who knows what it was about.

I am actually starting to get worried about my brain. I think it is starting to atrophy, as I can't remember, you know, what are they called? Uh, words and things. I think it is directly related to the constant reality television viewing, so I am trying to read a little bit more. Right now I am enjoying David Sedaris' When You Are Engulfed in Flames. After that, I have a book that was recommended to me by my boss, who has a PhD in philosophy. Wish me luck getting through that one.

I do have to say that I have cut out some shows. Well, not so much cut out as they are finished for the season. It's a good thing, too, because I very nearly lost my capacity for language after watching "Farmer Wants a Wife." I wonder if reality TV should come with a warning, like cigarettes do: WARNING: WATCHING THIS SHOW WILL LIKELY CAUSE STARING, DROOLING AND GENERAL STUPIDITY." I do try to balance my crap TV watching with some good stuff - I love "The Universe" on THC and I sometimes watch "Nova". Occasionally, I will catch "Nightline". I like Charlie Rose, but, depending on who is on his show, I can usually only understand 3 out of every 10 words, so I often have to change the channel after a few minutes. You should hear the sigh of relief when the remote lands on a rerun of "Friends". WHEW.

I also have a tendency to talk back to the people on reality shows. Honestly, sometimes they do really stupid things, so I like to try to warn them. "Oh, Lauren, I wouldn't go to Les Deux - Heidi is gonna be there!" "Jeff, WILL YOU PLEASE just chill out? Geez, you're wasting your life stressing out about stupid stuff. And quit being so mean to Jenni." Right. And I think THEY are the ones that need help.

Actually, I think I should just turn the television off. And I will. Right after I watch the first episode of this season's "Project Runway".

In which I am honest

2008-06-17T21:34:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't posted in about a hundred years, which means my friend Scott is currently hiding his rage at me right now. The truth is, there are reasons I have not written anything, which are as follows:

1) I can't write about work. It is a giant chunk of my life, filled with ridiculously good stories that I CAN'T TELL and that irritates me. Seriously, I've got some doozies, but I signed a piece of paper that said I wouldn't, so I can't. I could write about the rest of my life, but:

2) The rest of my life is pretty damn boring. What am I going to write about, the giant spider I found in its web on my blinds this morning? That's about all I have to say about that.

3) I am lazy. I admit it. It is very taxing to be creative, and it really cuts into the time I have allotted for watching Farmer Wants a Wife. I have to have priorities, you know.

In which I consciously choose self-torture

2008-05-28T20:23:00.000-07:00

Oprah is doing a 21 day vegan cleanse and I decided to join in. No animal products, no caffeine, sugar, alcohol or gluten. I know it is a bit extreme, but I have been struggling really hard with my weight for the last few months, dieting during the week and then bingeing on the weekends. It seems so out of control that it feels like it is some kind of disease, the symptoms of which include eating an 1800 calorie quesadilla and sitting in front of the tv with my head all the way inside a bag of candy. It's tragic, really.

I know that it is sick to say it, but sometimes I think it would be better if I were anorexic. At least I'd be thin. But I know it would just be a different side of the same problem. The eating disorder I really wish I could cultivate is exercise bulimia. It seems like a reasonable disorder, you get to eat, and then you get to exercise. A lot. The only problem with it is I hate exercising, so I suppose that renders my candidacy moot.

Another reason I wanted to do the cleanse is to see if I might have some food allergies. I think that I may have a wheat sensitivity, because when I eat a lot of bread and other wheaty things, I tend to get very congested the next day and also my eczema acts up. Charming, no? Maybe this cleanse will help me figure that out. Or maybe it will drive me into a family size bag of Cheetos and a bottle of Prosecco. We'll see.

In which I obsess

2008-05-12T23:59:00.000-07:00

As a resident of southern California, I recently decided it might be prudent to care about earthquake preparedness. Now, the building I live in was built in 1941 and seems to be in fairly decent shape, so I'm not really concerned about that. Check!

I'm not worried about food - I have enough gorgonzola and 5 year gouda to keep me busy for a couple of days, and after that, I won't have to worry about going to the bathroom. So, check, check!

The one thing I am worried about is water, so on Sunday I purchased the requisite one gallon per person per day for three days = three gallons of water. When I got home, the dilemma began. The logical place to keep them is the kitchen, but where in the kitchen? In the cabinets above the counters or down below? What if I put them up top and then the ceiling caves in and I can't get to them? What if they are in the bottom cabinets and those get blocked by debris? What if I can't get into the kitchen at all? Should I keep the water in a different room - what about the bathroom - in the closet? Maybe I should get six more gallons of water, three for the closet, three for the bathroom. Keep some under the bed. Right. Pretty soon my apartment, filled with plastic jugs of water, is going to look like some bizarre art installation in Chelsea. One day I won't show up for work and they will find me prostrate on my living room floor buried under the nine hundred water bottles of water I had to store on the bookshelf JUST IN CASE.

These are the kinds of things I worry about. And this is me medicated, folks.

Last night, I watched Nightline and they were recapping the day's events in China where thousands of people, including many children, were killed in an earthquake. After that report was over, I finished reading Elie Wiesel's Night and then laid there thinking how lucky, lucky, lucky I was, even if it was only for that moment, to be safe, warm, comfortable and hydrated in my own bed.