Since it’s Thursday night, obviously I’m out having a great time, however if I were home I’d have to say that The Kardashian True Hollywood Story is making me cry a little!
Also, the girl in the photo below is Blake Lively who plays Serena on Gossip Girl.
And lastly, my dad is fine, everything went well, thanks for the kind wishes!
Oh and one more thing. New York is getting kind of hot. I hate that. Or maybe it’s just my apartment which I’m totally not in right now because I’m out being social.
Also, I like the show. But it’s more about the dog. In fact, I wanted not to like the show after New York did their “Best. Show. Ever.” cover story, because I’m contrarian and also because I HATE. PERIODS. AFTER. EACH. WORD. It’s up there with announcing the number of words you’re going to use before using them such as “Two words: mechanical pencils”
(no relevance, mind you, it just happens to be my writing implement of choice, which may surprise you because most people I know prefer some kind of rollerball bullshit, but not I, unless I’m filling out forms or writing checks or something. ANYWAY) This was going to be a post of TV shows I like, however I’m going to cut myself off at the pass because I’m procrastinating, and because you are enabling me with your codependence and your cohabitation and your copayments and your comb overs and your codeine binges and your cones and rods (you have excellent eyesight) and your enmeshment and your herring. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. See, I am on deadline(s) again and so there’s no time for us to talk about The Hills, which I’d probably rather talk about than Gossip Girl.
Also, my dad is having a small procedure today (all over lipo and he’s getting a new face grafted onto his face) so I am slightly distracted, although I’m sure he will be totally fine.
These ones above makes me think of Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown, but that’s probably because most things make me think of Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown, Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas or Facts of Life.
Check out my banging red 4-runner rental in the bottom of this shot. “You have fun in that thing, now!” said the security guard as I drove off the lot and then got totally lost and ended up somehow going the wrong way down a one-way street trying to exit the airport. I’m an adult, I should be able to do this! I told myself. Sadly I had to repeat that shameful mantra the following day when a quick coffee run went disastrously awry. Apparently “take a right at the light” short circuits my mental faculties and results in my going about 40 minutes in the wrong direction. But it’s not a clean “in the wrong direction.” It’s muddled by self-doubt which causes u-turns and then thinking I had it right the first time and then thinking, no, I didn’t, it’s the other way and ultimately the kind of defeat that makes me call my mom to ask for help. But she was at the movies, forgetting our unspoken arrangement that for the entire time I’m in possession of a rental car she’ll sit by the computer in case I need to call for directions.
This, which was posted on The Activity Pit, is pretty awesome. Clearly I have the most creative fans ever. I bet you guys can fashion a birdcage out of popsicle sticks and bee spit. I bet you can make a lanyard in your sleep. I bet your doilies are unstained and your china unchipped. Okay, those last two things have less to do with being creative than just being old and fastidious which none of you are unless you have kleenex wadded up and tucked into your sleeve in which case you might be an old lady, which is cool. I might be one too.
And since many of you asked: I ended up working until about three in the morning last night and then I got up earlier than I wanted to and finished the story. I’d kind of forgotten about this aspect of being fully freelance (I’m now freelance and am writing for Page Six as well as a bunch of other magazines). Actually, I think I’d forgotten about this aspect of writing—the necessary day of procrastination which isn’t really procrastinating at all but taking in an synthesizing all the info you can via research and thinking about the transcription before putting it on the page.
Whoa! Look who’s all fancy and hoity-toity and writerly. Did I tell you’ve I’ve taken to writing my stories with a quill dipped in ink? It’s damaging my computer screen though. Not sure how I’m going to deal with that going forward. Also, I’ve been carrying around very tiny notebooks so I can jot down important observations like earlier today I wrote “this notebook is too sma”. Unfortunately the rest just got on my hand.
Also, in the elevator there was a sign that said that someone has taken to putting a padlock on the “sauna” room and using it as storage and if they don’t phone the office immediately it will be cut and emptied and my response to this is: We have a sauna room? Also, what’s a sauna room? I find it hard to believe, since this building barely has heat. It’s like that dream where you discover there’s a secret room you never knew about in your house only this happens to be a room I don’t care about. Like if I found a room filled with TVs broadcasting sports. Or a room full of vitamins.
If I fuck around after every paragraph that I write, I will never ever ever ever ever (fighting the urge to write an infinity numbers of evers just to avoid doing real work) get this story done. It’s like I’ve never done this before, when I’ve done it a million times before! I am a bad writer. BAD! It’s 9:40pm and I can feel an all-nighter of my own creation coming on. Ugh. So not happy with my work habits right now.
Great, now it’s 9:42. I just stared at a blinking cursor for two minutes. Hooray for me!
…that shitake mushrooms smell like socks.
I forgot how much I hated Kinko's!
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Whenever I arrive in cute pictaresque little town I always think 'I would love to live in a place like this. I can breathe here, I can relax here, I can wear a hula skirt and eat poi balls or shoot them at people or pack my winter coats with them, whatever onw does with poi balls. (This last thought only applies to hawaii.)' And then after a few days or weeks of breathing and relaxing in the adorable sleepy place I realize that actually I could never live there and why does everything smell like mackeral? The only places I've ever been and thought 'I could really see myself living here' and that thought only intensified the more time I spent there were san francisco and new york. I almost moved to SF after college actually, but that's a story for another airport. I was interviewing a couple yesterday who are from the east coast, went to grad school together back there but always had a plan to escape to wyoming, montana or idaho. I told them that I, too, am starting to think about my escape from new york, but …oh, screening time!
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Of course you do, you 4/20 observing weirdo. This one’s from the vault. Incidentally, I find pot and pot smokers boring at my advanced age. Unless you happen to be one in which case, I take it back.
Perhaps I’ll write more—not about pot—from the airport.
I’d like to send positive beams of loving energy into the world, or something, however the quite large woman next to me is bouncing her legs up and down and rubbing them together like a cricket and it’s driving me nuts. I feel bad for her—apparently perhaps her appendages are falling asleep, however it’s eat or be eaten on an airplane and bitch has a middle seat and she isn’t observing the middle seat code which involves basically understanding that in the caste system of the airplane, you are the lowest of the low, and if you even get an armrest you should feel lucky. But this large cricket next to me is helping herself to my personal space AND IT’S NOT OKAY WITH ME. Earlier I tried to stake my claim by just leaning against her and trying to out creep her, thinking that all humans try to avoid close physical contact with a stranger and so if I could stand my ground she’d retreat, but I got tired of it. To her left is a woman with a toddler who’s alternately yelling and then coughing in a way that sounds really wet and full of germ-packed baby sputum. I just bet this little wet he beast is contagious. I better not get a diaper rash.
But back to the leg-pumper. Her name is MIM, or her initials are. I know this because Delta has online multiplayer trivia, which is kind of cool, and so I decided to play and then the cricket decided to play and so we were both playing and glancing at each other’s screens. Even though this obviously would have bee an opportunity to actually talk to each other, I steadfastly held my ground. “Suck it, Mim!” I’d yell in my head when the scores would come up (after every question) and I was ahead. But then they’d ask questions that you’d have to be over 50 to know, and the silver fox to my left would edge me out. Bitch.
Perhaps part of the reason I’m so agitated by my personal OH MY GOD I FEEL LIKE I’M GETTING FELT UP BY A GRANDMA AND I CANT STAND IT! THE FEROCIOUS LEG PUMPING! Space being violated is because of the street encounter I’ve been referring to. So anyway just the other day I was reading Noelle Hancock’s blog about the various things people say to you on the street in NYC—one of them being a scam where guys stop you to ask you where you get your hair cut and then, flattered, you sputter something and then they try to convince you to come to their salon for a discount haircut and you feel like a big tool for explaining that actually you just moved to NYC and get it cut in California, if you were me the first and only time I fell for this.
So I’m outside Starbucks and there are two guys doing this and I screw my face into the hardest firm jawed “don’t even talk to me” kind of face I can muster, which is actually just my face at this point, and they don’t talk to me and I feel triumphant because with lustrous locks like these, you can imagine that I would be an obvious target. I mean, they are human after all.
So then I’m coming out of starbucks holding an iced coffee in one hand and a sample of the new pike’s place coffee in the other. I had an ex (not the button sewer but a different one. I get around) who would refer to my habit of ordering espresso and then putting milk and equal into it until it resembled just a smurf sized coffee, or smurfspresso. That sentence didn’t work. But anyway, this was like a smurfspresso, except it wasn’t espresso based, it was coffee based. Anyway, again it looks like I’m going to eke past the hair guys who are taking over about half the sidewalk, facing each other and attacking the people who pass in between then so I’m not going in between them but trying to go behind the one guy and just as I’m about to do it…
I interrupt this story to say that I just heard the best dialogue from two flight attendants pushing the beverage cart.
First guy: well, it is what it is
Second guy: it is what it is
First guy: she changed her mind [about a drink order] women’s prerogative!
First guy: can I get you anything ? winning lottery ticket?
Second guy: five hours of sleep would be nice
Okay anyway, back to the street story. So I’m about to go by the hair guys unnoticed when the one who’s farther away sees me and starts yelling “JOE! JOE! JOE! JOE!” as if Joe is fucking on fire so Joe shoots his hand out behind him as if to palpate my uterus and also to stop me from going by, which is only an acceptable gesture when you’re trying to prevent someone from flying through the windshield and even then it’s still kind of annoying. In the process, Joe bangs his hand into my coffee though and it goes flying all over my coat and purse. I just looked at him like “that did not just fucking happen!” and he said something like “oops, my bad” which belongs in the hall of fame of insincere apologies, right up there with “Shame on me” and even “I apologize” (I’m sorry is more sincere. It just is). I didn’t say anything but what was going through my head was “And no, I don’t want to a fucking haircut!” So I stared at him uncomfortably (for him, I think, because I was obviously livid and taken aback) for too long and then I went on my merry way, wondering if I should go marching back to chew him out. What a fucking idiot though, right? I still get mad thinking about it! It’s not okay to physically accost people and then try to sell them something. Weird how this is still pissing me off so much!
But MIM stopped pumping her legs, so that’s good.
Okay, I just reread that whole post. Early-to-mid-morning me is so angry! Late afternoon me is much more mellow. Almost asleep, really.