Friday, July 28, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
I had a dream that I was supposed to go to a meeting. I have no idea what it was for, but it was definitely a one-on-one thing, not a conference or anything. It was in a skyscraper, probably in Manhattan. None of this matters, I'm just giving you a sense of the scene. So Dream Me arrives at the office, I met a very skinny blonde woman who kind of looked like Uma Thurman. We shook hands very pleasantly and sat down facing each other across a desk. Then, she pulled out a gun and announced matter-of-factly that she was a hit-woman and was here to kill me. I tried to get out of the way, and we struggled for the gun. I managed to kick it out of her hand, but she pulled out a knife and jumped me. It was kind of like that horrible scene in Saving Private Ryan, where the German soldier is bearing down on the guy with the bayonet? And the cowardly guy could save his buddy's life, but he doesn't? So Skinny Uma Hit-Woman Dream Thurman is on top of me with the knife, and I'm trying as hard as I can to keep the tip of the blade away from my chest. And then... I tell her that there's nothing more threatening to a skinny woman than a happy fat girl. And... I somehow get the upper hand. I end up sitting on her, literally crushing her, while yelling out all the things a happy fat girl can eat. Every time I yell out a fattening food item, she gets a little weaker. So, like, I yell, "meatball sub!" and manage to pin her arms behind her back. I yell "ice cream!" and she stops kicking. And that's how I kill her, in my dream, by shouting out all the delicious fattening food items she denies herself.
I felt weird about it the whole next day, because I KILLED someone. In real life, if someone were to pull a gun on me, I would probably trip over my shoelaces trying to get away. And I can't seem to stop researching stomach banding. Grrrr.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Nah, seriously, I just surveyed the carnage in my refrigerator. A can of whomp biscuits (you know, those doughy circles imprisioned in a tube that pop open when you peel off the label and whomp them against the kitchen counter) had gotten so warm INSIDE MY DEAD FRIDGE that the dough started to rise and BURST OUT of the tube. Like, on its own accord. With the help of yeast, of course. Yowza. Scared of that.
Sing with me, "I'm gonna.rock.down.to Electric Avenue."
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Through it all, however, the uber-wealthy towns of Brarsdale and Sconxville continue to brightly gleam their gleamy glow of wealth and, well, power. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but the only towns that lost electricity BEFORE the storm knocked down power lines last night were Poor (sic) Chester, Yonkers, and Mt. Vernon. Oddly enough, when power came back on in Yonkers, Port Chester went out, when Port Chester came back on Mt. Vernon went out. Rolling black-outs for the not-so-privileged classes, anyone? Just as long as Muffy St. Moneybags can keep her cucumbers pre-chilled for poolside pampering before departing for the Hamptons. Remember when I went through my Marxist stage in college? Well, FRANKLY, I think I'm regressing.
Then again, I'm lying naked (sorry for the mental image) on my kitchen floor in the dark with a glass of lukewarm Gatorade for the second night in a row. Pretty soon, I may start hallucinating that I'm waltzing around a ballroom with Che Guevara, planning to overthrow the government. Any government at this point, as long as they have electricity in my cell in the Hague while I await my trial.
Of course, the darkness gives me a chance to admire all the little Day-Glo pawprints on my hardwood floors. Yesterday, before the power went out, the pets got into Joel's bags of paintballs. Apparently, they've given up on their quest to storm the Closet of Enchantment and Mystery, where the Dread Vacuum (and bag of spare dog food) dwells and turned their attention to the Other Closet. So I come home, locate my flashlight using the glow from my laptop, and wonder how the hell all these bath beads got on the floor when I don't even OWN bath beads.
Me: Guys? Where did all the little squashed balls of goo come from?
Bella: (yawns and stretches) An artist's work is never valued in her own lifetime.
Me: Look, you're preachin' to the choir. That creative shot I busted my ass for yesterday is lining some old lady's parakeet cage today. (swinging flashlight around apt) What the-?
Fred: (caught in beam of light, spies his own shadow): MOW! Kitty! Big black looming kitty!
Me: Dude, it's your shadow.
Fred: Pounce! RROW!
Me: SHA-DOW. It's you, only.. You know what? Never mind, just don't hurt yourself. What IS this stuff? WHY IS IT GLOWING? (stumbling over big bag of paintballs) A-HA! Am I going to have to call that ASPCA poison control hotline again? You're damn lucky the old landline phone works without a plug, dog.
Bella: It's non-toxic. I'm sure it will give me Day-Glo diarrhea, but don't I look so cute and vulnerable with my sad, cuddly-wuddums eyebrows?
Me: Save it.
Fred (running around room while I use the flashlight to locate paper towels): KITTY! I SEE YOU, BIG BLACK LOOMING KITTY!
When I got home from work, the electricity had just gone out about five minutes before. All of the food in my fridge was still good, and I was hopeful the lights would come back on in time for the much discussed Queer Eye episode. Five hours later, I was hauling both Princess Picasso and her deranged cat down three stories to sit in my air-conditioned car, so they wouldn't, you know, die and stuff.
Today it wasn't nearly as hot, only about 78 degrees compared to 99 the day before. My landlords fired up their generator and said I could plug in one thing, but not my air conditioner. :( So I opted for a fan while periodically charging my laptop, which I can use to post this entry over the landline. Of course, they have to occasionally shut off the generator to give it more propane, and they aren't running it overnight, but I'm not exactly Laura Ingalls Wilder here, you know?
Big black loomy kitty is right behind you, Fred! Run! Run away!
Plus, the shadow my fan makes on the ceiling is pretty cool. Who needs TV?
This one's for you, Con Edison.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
It's 4:00 a.m. Can't sleep. It's too hot. I'm editing the photos Joel is sending from his trip via both email and snail mail. He's doing really great work out there. I miss him, and not just because he takes out the trash, does the dishes, and walks the dog late at night. You all can look at this here purty picture while I count some more sheep.
(Sheep #104 is excited to be getting the work. Apparently people drop off usually drop off around #30.)
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Fab Five aside for a sec, I wonder exactly when it is that your Significant Other's friends become yours, or vice versa. I think we've made the crossover, actually. Right before Joel left on his trip, we had dinner at his/our friends' house, and I shared a sausage-on-a-bun with someone. I think when you end up finishing someone's chorizo while feeling comfortable enough to make penis jokes about it, you can officially think of that person as YOUR friend. Also, Michael invited Joel to crash with him and Kelly at their place in Dayton on his first night heading west, AND he invited both Joel and Joel's dad to stay with them on their way back. So....yeah. Plus, Kelly had to knock on the door to check on Joel after he slipped in her new shower. There's a blurring of the friendship line there, after something like that. It's a good thing.
Anyway, remember this guy? Who had to swat the soccer ball off the cover of my landlords' empty pool over Memorial Day?
They're a cute couple. Bravo was REALLY looking for a gamer/live-action-role-player to make over. Which Eric is, but he hasn't really been active in his medieval group for a year or so. The show really wanted to get him dueling or whatever; I don't know. I'm anxious to see the episode. I wasn't able to go, because all the "friends and family" have to RSVP to the producers ahead of time and swear on their lives not to wear clothing with logos on them. I had agreed to shoot a wedding that day for the Rich Bitch Who Punked Out On Me with Four Days Notice.
Also, I don't have medieval garb. There's a woman in the medieval group who makes really nice custom costumes. She made Tanii's outfit for the big moment. I'd buy something from this woman, but she prefers to barter rather than accept money. Which is totally cool. I offered to photograph some of her pieces for a brochure or catalogue or whatever, but she said she'd rather have me install her new kitchen flooring, which... WTF? No garb for me, then. Thanks anyway.
Anyway, I know Eric is worried that they're going to make him look stupid, and apparently Carson makes him wear pants with shields or royal lions or something on them. They had a good time, but I think the whole experience was more than they bargained for. You have to move out for a week. You have to pay really high taxes ($12,000+) on all the furniture, clothes, etc. Your apartment looks great for the reveal, because they deliver the floor models. Two days later, they take it all back and you have to wait six weeks for the actual stuff to get delivered.
In any case, Project Runway fans, when you see the Queer Eye promo that refers to a "straight squire" becoming "a knight in shining armor" and you hear Tom say "'Welcome to the knights of the round coffee table!' VO: Then Carson gets his head stuck in some armor"- that's them.
Oh, and out of curiousity, what was the moment you knew you made the Significant Other friendship cross-over?
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Yes, you are a reality show. No, I have no interest in fashion. AT All. Yes, I have to be at Pest Woint's Dedia May at Stupid O'Clock in the morning. But I can not turn you off. People are making "hats" out of baskets! And The Sternum!* It commands me to watch! I can't turn away!
*Please, please, get on Metro-North and come to my house. I will make you a sandwich. Please, God. I'm terrified for you.
Also? Finding a photo of any plus-size Barbie-like doll? Just about impossible. There is some seriously intense PhotoShop action going on to create the profile image over there, and I started with a "more realistic" Barbie-like doll in the first place. Anyway. I feel like I should bust out with something funny, but it ain't happening.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Sunday, July 09, 2006
The circumstances of the past seven years aside, I have wracked my brain, trying to reconcile a happy memory of the two of us. One where he isn't reliving World War II, making my mother miserable, treating my dad like a boyfriend he never liked, making my grandmother cry, or yelling at me for things like getting crumbs on my lap at dinner or putting ice cubes in a cup AFTER I put water in it.
Here's what I have- 1.) When I was in second grade, he drove my grandmother to my school carol concert. We got to watch a video while the other grades were performing. My grandparents came to the doorway and waved at me. He was smiling. 2.) One time, when I was 6, he was in a good mood for three hours at the Land of Little Horses in Gettysburg. 3.) He liked licorice all-sorts and let me have the blue ones.
That's all I got. The rest of the memories are things I should probably write about in my much-less-public journal, though to put it into context... I think he had an untreated mental illness for most of his life.
So I have to leave soon to go home for the funeral tomorrow. I'm surrounded by laundry, and I've had a headache since yesterday. I accidentally dropped a $1,600 lens in a creek while trying to shoot a goddamn rubber ducky race. It's insured and everything, but my editor will be thrilled, I'm sure. Joel is gone for 5 weeks on a cross-country nature photography adventure he's had planned forever. I'm surprised at how fast my apartment went from being mine, to being mine where my boyfriend is around a lot, to being ours and it feels weird without him now. He's out of cell phone range for a few days. I am grateful, in a way, because I'm not sure how I want to introduce him to my mom's side of the family.
I know if, God forbid, something were to have happened to Nanny, he would be back here in a heartbeat. He spent hours with her (and me) over the Fourth when my parents were away. I knew she was lonely, so I tried to see her as much as I could- five times in three days. At one point, we were in the elevator, weighed down by the laptop, a photo album, the cat carrier, a manicure kit, and a home-cooked meal. Another visitor said, "Oh! You must be here to do some sort of program! How nice." Well... not exactly.
And yet... Nanny has been a loving presence in my life for years. She took care of me when my mom worked part time when I was a toddler, made me pastina soup when I was home sick in elementary school, came to every school play, every spelling bee, bunked in a hotel room with me at my sister's college graduation. We talk freely about before she was married, about our boobs, about life in general.
I've felt so lucky to have that kind of love in my life that it's far overshadowed the less-than-adequate relationship with the other half of the family. The other half that needs me to turn off the computer now, iron the black pants, get in the car and drive South.