April 2005 Archives

So we are back to looking for apartments. As much as there is to like about our little place, there is also the wafting of smoke from cigarettes and pot that comes into our apartment ALL THE TIME from the 20-somethings that live below us. And unlike the loudness issue, it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that could be fixed by talking to the landlord (their stepfather). Also, we took a walk around Windsor Terrace, which is where the apartment is that we’re looking at tomorrow, and it is quite nice. We immediately assessed the advantages to being away from 4th Avenue and closer to the park. The apartment sounds nice in theory (don’t they all) but there are two distinct things that have me worried. One: “wall-to-wall carpeting.” Who has wall-to-wall carpeting in Brooklyn? Who has a vacuum cleaner? What if it’s mauve? Actually, J has been very clear that if the carpet is mauve: it’s a deal-breaker.

Two: it is three doors down from a funeral home. It goes law office (apt above), optical wear store, beauty supply, funeral home. And it’s not really the dead people that skeeve me out, but the fact that I’d have to see mourning people all the time. Lots of sad sad people dressed in black. How often would I encounter this? Would I get used to it? Would it slowly eat away at my soul?

Of course this is all moot anyway if the apartment is shitty, but these things are good to keep in mind, whether one could comfortably live next door to a funeral home. It is also right across from a giant Catholic church. Do Catholic churches have loud bells on Sunday?

Moving: ugh. It’s such a weird thing, too, because part of me expects to move into a home once J and I are married. That’s what I picture: us being married in a house and the future there in front of us. However, the reality is that if we stay in New York, we’ll be renting for a long time. I also refuse to even think about kids while renting an apartment in New York, so the future I see in these apartments remains shortlived. This of course contrasts elegantly with the future I see with my job, which I love and want to stay with for a long time.

My thoughts get so tied up in knots when I try to unravel what we’ll do in one year, two years, 5 years, that I always come to the conclusion that I have to wait for them to relax over time and unwind themselves. I feel like at some point, I’ll find my thoughts in a nice uncomplicated string and I’ll know it’s time to move to Arizona and open a cafe or buy a house in Maplewood or whatever. It doesn’t stop me from getting worked up and prodding the knot now and again hoping it will reveal itself.

I’m somehow on every single wedding-related mailing list and get all sorts of great things in the mail now. We have a great photographer, who’s also a good friend, lined up to do our wedding, but I must say I was awfully tempted by this little postcard:

I’m not sure what the car is doing there in the first place, but please note it actually appears to be ON TOP OF the water. I mean, seriously. Can it get any better?

UPDATE: It just occured to me to go to their website. Glory!

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UPDATE: my brother's car was found. The locks were drilled out and the radio gone, but otherwise in good condition. My mom says he was a little bummed--might have been angling for a new car.

We had a real torrential downpour yesterday and I ran into a friend as we were both slogging through midtown. I had a clunky umbrella that was so soaked it was actually beginning to rain in on me from the inside. He was decked out in a simple Gor-Tex rain jacket and was able to maneuver fairly well around the clot of umbrellas--which everyone uses--and bags. It made me think about how when I lived in Tacoma, we never used umbrellas. Ever. Everyone was the perfect stereotype of the outdoorsy hiker with their fleece and rain gear. Is that because we were on a college campus, in the North West, or is it because umbrellas are city things?

Also, I'm still being a blog bum and have nothing of consequence to post. For some reason, you guys seem a bit ehhh on the whole cookies and cats pictures, so instead of my rainbow and glitter photos I was planning on posting, here's some deep dark secrets to keep you occupied.

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Bah. You get pictures this week until I can get around to writing a real post. Everyone loves cat pictures, right? Instead of real writing? Guys? Here's Pinky craning her neck to give Max the bath she feels he needs.

And here's Max very daintily touching Pinky's haunches.

Here's Heather's roommate's cat. He is gi. normous. Mr. Bones big, but with the long hair.

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Kelly brought some EL Fudge cookies to the dance party and we noticed they had some distressing messages printing on their backs. They ranged from declarations of existance ("Elves live!") to pleads of mercy.

This guy just wants to go with as little suffering as possible.

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Krista's dispatch from Humboldt, Iowa, cont.

We walk in right as the rodeo is starting. The stands are filled with people of all ages wearing cowboy hats and studded shirts. It's not a big place at all, just so you know. Probably the size of a high school gym. So we walk in and there is no room left in the stands...and you could feel the eyes on us. I guess we looked a bit different. None of us were wearing cowboy hats and I was wearing cashmere. So we stand in the middle of a break in the stands and the announcer begins the rodeo by introducing the first act. A woman enters the dirt arena, riding a horse and carrying a giant American flag, which she proudly waves above her studded American flag satin shirt. This is where things go downhill.

Now, you can imagine that two East Coasters, such as my mother and I would find this sight slightly amusing, but we were being good. Then the announcer, who has this perfect deep western twang, begins to tell the crowd that the woman on the horse is little Levi Boggs’ mother. Little Levi Boggs died this summer and the family is sponsoring the Rodeo.

Now, this is sad. Okay, I'm not the devil, this is sad...and I was feeling for this patriotic woman who lost her young son. But then the announcer, in his slow, western, and very dramatic drawl says something like, “Yes folks, little Levi would have loved being here tonight, but he lost his young life this summer. Little Levi would have been here tonight if he hadn't fallen off his pony.”

And this is where I lost it; this—horribly, I know—made me want to laugh....and I looked at my mom and she was covering her mouth with her hand and had the most pained look on her face. That's when I knew she was trying not to laugh too. And then I truly lost it. While it felt like all 300 people in the stands were staring at us, and I know the mother of little Levi was definitely looking at us, my mother and I proceeded to laugh…and laugh hard. One of those laughs that hurt just because you know you shouldn't be laughing...you know, a good church laugh. The worse part is all the while this is happening the announcer keeps going, keeps talking about Little Levi and his pony and everything he says makes me want to laugh harder. It was really the worst thing I've ever done. It's a miracle my mother and I weren't chased out and beaten outside with horse manure.

The tribute finally ends with the announcer saying, “Little Levi, this one's for you...” and I'm pleading with my parents, ”We have to leave...we have to go...” because I'm sure the minute I look up I'll have hundreds of horrified Iowa eyes peering at me. But we didn't leave, we just huddled together until the rodeo started and enough time had passed and Budweiser had been drunk by the crowd that we hoped everyone had forgotten our terrible terrible tragic laughing.

If I ever go to a rodeo again I'll be sure I go in 15 minutes late and have a cowboy hat to cover my face in case I'm ever struck hysterical again by a young boy's tragic end.

This one goes out to little Levi.

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The crime streak continues! My brother’s car was stolen yesterday. I’ve never known anyone whose car has been stolen. It’s such a BIG thing to steal. Also, it was my high school car, which makes me kind of sad. Who wants to steal a ’91 Toyota Camry anyway?

I have a big treat for all you city kids today. Krista is currently in Iowa, on a trip to rest and “recuperate from life.” (Don’t we all need those trips?) I’m proud to bring you a two part dispatch from the heartland, so we all might recuperate from life a bit and breathe in some grass-filled air, blog style.

Humboldt Iowa, Day 7

The first thing I noticed about Iowa is the fresh air. At first I couldn't put my finger on what was different. I asked my Mom, "Why do I like breathing here so much...and why is it so easy?" I forgot what nature smelled like and how it's easier to breath when you don't have car exhaust for oxygen. Everything is blooming here and greener than one of Trump's golf courses.

I've seen less people in the week I've been here than in one afternoon walking to the Chinese restaurant in Brooklyn. [ed note: the dead one.] Yesterday I asked my Mom where all the people were. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Krista, not many people LIVE here." I had a hard time processing the fact that all the people weren't just hiding from me.

I've spent the past week lying in the sun on my parents back porch. The Iowa Gods have smiled on me and gifted me with a bright sun and a temperature in the high 70's. When I'm not lying in the sun I'm playing board games. My family is a big board game family. If we don't focus our attention on dice and pop-o-matic bubbles we focus it on each other...and nobody wants that.

So far I've played two games of scrabble (lost both), four games of SkipBo (won 2, lost 2), two games of Phase 10 (won one, lost one, although I'm pretty sure my mom was hiding phase 6 in her bra), one game of Mexican Train dominoes (beat both my parents asses, boy am I good at matching little colored dots), and one game of CSI (Mom won. It was Russell Crews who killed his wife with an exotic snake he borrowed from Joe Primo. And yes, there is a CSI board game complete with little Det. Grissom figurines and notebooks).

Other than playing games I had the great opportunity to go to a rodeo! Yes, a real rodeo folks, with real bronco riding, barrel races, calf roping, and bull riding. It would have been a great night except for the fact that my mom and I did one of the worst things we've ever done...ever. I'll try to explain.

Tomorrow: "A woman enters the dirt arena, riding a horse and carrying a giant American flag, which she proudly waves above her studded American flag satin shirt. This is where things go downhill."

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Lest you think my credit card theft/metro card scam was an isolated incident, Kelly’s credit card was stolen Friday night only hours after that blog entry. Lucky for her, she’d been feeling vigilant and noticed her card missing only moments after some suspicious behavior around her purse. She cancelled the card, but not before several metro cards were charged on it. As you can imagine, we spent a better part of a phone conversation revamping the way those automated metro card machines operate with credit cards.

In other news, we wished Abby a happy Aries birthday and I finally got to meet the illustrious Mr. Bones, who is BIGGER than he appears in photos. He seemed pleased to meet me and expressed his hospitality by shredding up my arm. A loving shredding, I’m sure.

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I realized my debit card was missing yesterday when it wasn’t in my coat pocket I’d been carrying it in. I cursed myself because I JUST replaced the card a couple months ago after losing it at a bar. But because I hadn’t really been anywhere this week, it was easy to retrace my steps to the last place I used it: J’s and my favorite Chinese restaurant in the slope, Red Hot. After a frantic search of the apartment last night, I gave them a call, which was pretty much:

RH: Hello, Red Hot, can I help you?
Me: Hi, I think I might have left my credit card there the other night…?
RH: Ten dollah minimum order.
Me: Wha…no, I think I left my card there?
RH: Oh, when?
Me: Tuesday.
RH: No. No card.

She seemed a little quick with the “No” so we wandered over to the restaurant to ask in person. After asking again, one woman behind the counter said, “HSBC? Yes!” which is my bank, so that was good, but then started speaking Chinese and pointedly jabbing her finger at an empty space on the shelf, which was not so good. They told us to come back in 15 minutes, which completely irritated me, because WHERE WAS MY CARD?

As you may have guessed, when we came back in fifteen minutes the status of my card had been downgraded to “gone” and “not here.”

Me: Are you telling me it’s been stolen?
RH: Yes. Stolen.
Me: Seriously?

Augh. I had checked earlier in the day for any wayward charges and had seen none. Based on a scam that had befallen my previous boss’s mother I learned that the first thing New York thievers do is run to metro card machines and buy millions of expensive metro card passes. Since this didn’t seem to be the case, I vacillated briefly between canceling the card and waiting because it had probably fallen behind the register and would be returned swiftly. The only reason I hesitated at all is that I had JUST gone through this and it took ONE MILLION years for the new debit card to come, which meant I had to actually do things like go into a bank, fill out things called “withdrawal slips,” and interact with “tellers.” Very strange and time consuming. In the end, caution won out and I called the bank this morning to cancel the card.

Bank: Can you verify the last charge on the card?
Me: Well, there will be something from Red Hot and an order from Amazon I placed yesterday.
B: Two $10 metro card charges?
Me: What? No!
B: A $25 metro card charge?
Me: Augh! No!
B: A $100 metro card charge?
Me: Sigh. No.

It wouldn’t have been as bad if it had been a real credit card, because then it is sort of hypothetical money, but as it was, they were stealing real dollars from my debit account, which INFURIATED me! My whole dollars! Of course I’m not responsible for the charges, but what’s worse is that I can never go back to Red Hot again. We eat there at least once a week. I have an unhealthy addiction to their broccoli and tofu. But, damn. I love me some Bean Curd Orange Flavor, but they either let a customer steal my card, or more likely, stole it themselves. As J said, “They are dead to me.”

So if anyone's in the area, I'm in the market for a new favorite Park Slope Chinese place.

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I received three months of Netflix as a gift in December, and am now an official junkie who is going to pay for it. They intrigued me with the "friends" aspect of it, but then totally got me when I realized they generate little quizzes for you on your friends' taste! Which I keep getting wrong! No matter; it will take more than wrong answers to deter me from online quizzes about my friends. So now I'm feeling very whorish with my Netflix friendships and I want more more MORE! Let me know if you want to be Netfliends (hmm, I thought I'd be able to jam that into one word) and our movie tastes can co-mingle. --------

I know I promised pictures, but I’m having camera issues, so you’ll have to be patient.

I’m in a severe state of wedding denial. We’ve been luxuriating in this long engagement period, thinking there will be plenty of time to think about things later. But suddenly it is “later” and I’m not really thinking about things. High on my concern list now is finding an officiant. Which, if you want a civil ceremony, is not so much handed to you on a little wedding pillow. Didn’t any of you get married in New York and have the best civil ceremony officiant ever? I would like to hear about that, please.

Honeymoon? I think we’ve narrowed it down to a trip around Barcelona, a road trip around California wine country, a New England bed-and-breakfast jaunt, or something involving a free RV in the Midwest. So we’re practically booking tickets and throwing clothes in bags. Maybe I can win some sort of vacation between now and then.

I’m putting together a panel on writing and publishing the short story for June’s seminar, which involves a lot of contacting authors and waiting to hear back. Since I do most of my contacting by email, I receive most of my replies the same way. But every once in awhile, someone will call my cell phone, and it is the most disorienting thing. Because when you’re rushing out of your apartment on your way to work (say, this morning), the last person you expect the “Unknown Caller” to be is Joyce Carol Oates. But sometimes it is. And you are left to sort of flub over your words while she politely tells you she’ll be in England, but thanks for the invitation.

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Angry “Apprentice” Chris arrested for disorderly conduct at the Hard Rock Hotel after getting upset over a $20 cover charge at the bar. News like this just makes my day. Honestly, I ask so little from life: just give me a reality television star going crazy now and then.

This morning I did a rare stop-in at (one of) the Starbucks in Union Square and was horrified to see that they have adopted a new customer service treatment where they ask customers their names and then shout orders like this, “Jennifer would like a tall latte, no foam!” This is annoying and creepy, not down-home friendly. I felt tempted to give a fake name, but at 9:00 a.m., even a fake name didn’t seem funny. The Starbucks people don’t care what your name is, you don’t want to give them your name—this is a lose lose situation. Maybe they sensed my disdain, because by the time I got up to the register, they didn’t ask me my name at all. Which was a relief. But also, do they hate me? Do I smell? Was I doing that Turret’s thing again?

The dance party completely wiped me out. It has been a long, long time since I stayed up half the night dancing with abandon. J and I prepped beforehand by watching important dance scenes in “Newsies” and “Napoleon Dynamite” and by listening to all the best dance songs we could think of. Our half-hearted plan to choreograph a dance fell short when we realized neither of us knew how to choreograph a dance. We did learn the beginning of Neopleon’s dance, which the spirit of the party made J perform. That, coupled with the wearing of a crazy tiger striped pantsuit, won him a “Best Effort” trophy. I have pictures, which I’ll load in tomorrow.

Here is what it’s like in my hometown right now. Filed under: Things I Don’t Miss About Denver.

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I had to get another entry up to get the Pope off the top of my page. And for all you who still don’t get the joke, please put “Citizen Kane” on your Netflix queue. Seriously, I’m embarrassed for you. Remember two entries ago when I saw “Flashdance” and understood the Paula Abdul video 10 years too late? Don’t let this happen to you. Actually, don’t you think you could build a whole college course around researching the sources of all the social and historical commentary on say, “The Simpsons?” The reward of the class would not only be that you would be very well educated, but also very amused.

My friends are throwing a giant dance party this weekend with prizes for such things as “Dirtiest Dancer” and “Best Choreographed Dance.” I think this is great, but have been too busy this week to work on a proper routine (you’d think all the watching of the dance movies would have prompted some spontaneous attainment of dancing skills, but sadly: no). But last night I got a sneak preview of the trophies and, lo, they are fabulous. Engraved. With things like Championship Dance Party 2005 Dirtiest Dancer. And then? As if I didn’t already want a trophy? They also purchased the dreaded green Participant ribbons. You remember those from grade school field day, don’t you? The “Nice try, loser, here’s a scrap of cheap fabric that I know you’ll treasure because you are loser and don’t even know the value of grand things like trophies or blue ribbons” ribbon.

We’re also working on snacks with hilarious punny names. Like, Fred and Ginger Snaps, Dirty Dancing Martinis, Foot Loose Babaganoush with Move Your Feetas Pitas, Chocolate Waltz Balls, and Jig Newtons (submitted by Abby AS I was writing this).* This makes for a weird collection of snacks, but we’re definitely aiming for humor over homogeny. Please submit your ideas below. Your hilarious ideas.

*When J first came up with the idea, for a while the only things I could think of—incongruously—were Saturday Night Beaver** and The Roger Rabbit. Like we’d get some wild game and cook it up fancy for our guests at the dance party.***

**After writing this down, I see it is a much better (and probably taken) name for a skin flick.

***The Joy of Cooking has numerous recipes for both rabbit and beaver.

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From The Onion. J says this is in bad taste, but I can't stop laughing.

Also great: deaf karaoke (via Krissa).

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God I love the spring. It makes everything just feel GOOD again. Lalala! Who said anything about moving; I LOVE New York!

Monday evening, J and I had planned to meet up in the west village to see a play with my cousins. I reached the meeting point before he did and I gave a call on his cell phone to see where he was. As it rang, I realized the meeting place we’d picked actually could be interpreted as correct from several locations and I wandered around craning my head to see if I missed him standing elsewhere. Across the way, a guy wearing sunglasses and holding up a bike waved in my direction. I ignored it, left a message for J, and positioned myself in the most noticeable place possible.

I stood there for a bit in the warm air letting my thoughts roam, when suddenly sunglass guy was gliding towards me on his bike. “Shoshana?” He asked. Startled, I just shook my head. He paused for a minute then nodded and circled back to his position across from me. All of a sudden, I was flooded with these awful memories of my brief internet dating attempt. All the build-up and disappointment, the weird embarrassment and awkward meeting. I didn’t believe in emailing forever before meeting, thinking it basically amounted to a giant waste of time if you didn’t have any chemistry the first time you met. So the dates I had were brief drinks, a dinner here and there, a walk through the zoo. Aaaand none of them worked out very well. Mostly because within 10 seconds of meeting them I would know that there was no chemistry. But instead of doing anything about it, I felt obligated to be nice, and would self-consciously go through with whatever charade we’d planned.

So standing on the corner, “Shoshana” nowhere in sight, I suddenly got very panicky that sunglass guy would think I really WAS Shoshana and had dismissed him on sight. What if Shoshana never showed up? Then he would really think I was her and that I’d been awful. Poor sunglass guy! Also, why was he wearing sunglasses at 6:30 at night in a shaded area? It was creepy. I began to think he was STARING at me, willing me to be Shoshana and grow up already, and FACE THE BLIND DATE! I called J again and told him to hurry up.

When he finally did get there, I was overcome with relief and was all, “Oh hel-lo, lover!” kissy kissy, which translates roughly to: Hey sunglass guy, I’m not your internet date that stood you up and also I am a desired woman who doesn’t go on blind dates anymore, which is why I’m kissing this guy, who belongs to me.

I know some people have really good experiences internet dating, but I realized somewhere between the neurotic paranoia and the over-affectionate assertion of non-single status, that it mighta scarred me a bit.

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Q: How sucktown was Blogger yesterday? A: Oh, very. I couldn't actually log on to post this in a timely manner.

Q: So this is really a post about the weekend?
A: Yes. Deal.

Q: Well, okay then. How was your weekend?
A: It was great! I headed up to Great Barrington, MA on Friday night to spend time with some old friends, including heartbroken Willow.

Q: Did J come?
A: J did not come. It was kinda a girl weekend and J spent time at home building things out of wood and watching “Alien Vs. Predator.” I’ve been trying to get him up to Great Barrington for some time, so I will continue those efforts. I think he’d like it.

Q: Did all you girls get really loopy the first night and take pictures of yourself in pajamas pretending to be asleep in various locations in the house?
A: What? Who told you that?

Q: Never mind. I hear there was a movie marathon of sorts. Please list the movies and relative consequences of watching each movie.
A: “Being Julia”: Annette Bening impressions, discussion of satisfying revenge.
“Fame”: Much dancing consisting of general rocking out coupled with grand jetes, followed by disappointment at general amount of dance scenes.
“Flashdance”: Increased excitement due largely to profusion of excellent dance scenes, including bonus breakdancing and ice skating scenes. Life-altering realization that final audition scene was the inspiration for Paula Abdul’s “Cold Hearted Snake” video. Overall regard for “Fame” diminished.

Q: How is Willow’s heart?
A: I think being away did her good, but heart status is still broken.

Q: Did you have any driving adventures?
A: On the way to the train station, the car broke down and had to be pushed to a gas station, where Willow and I sorta hitched a ride with a local heading in our direction. It is my only hitchhiking experience to-date. There may have also been an illegal u-turn in the middle of a highway. My memory is fuzzy about that.

Q: Are the Target and H&M stores as hectic, stressful, and picked-over as they are in New York.
A: Wonderfully, no. Many purchases were made.

Q: Which was better? The homemade pesto calamata olive pizza on spelt crust or the homemade omelette quesadillas with red and green chili?
A: Damn you. I would lie down and die for either right now.

Q: Did you learn anything interesting about annoying internet video memes?
A: Yes. Videos like this and this apparently have a wide secondary audience of two-year-olds who find them completely entrancing.

Q: What's the link to the "Bottle Rocket" short that Willow would like to put on her blog? A: In all it's glory.

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Jennie's got a scoop for us ANTM watchers. She says:

I saw spikey-haired America's Next Top Model Naima hostessing at Coffee Shop in Union Square. Or maybe that was her twin sister, and Naima was the one with platinum curls working in the front room. Either way, I guess this means she didn't win?

This is disappointing. Adjust your bets accordingly! --------