Tomorrow I am going to ride up to the Cloisters.
Tomorrow I am going to have pizza.
Today I just walked and walked. On the lower west side, where I hadn't walked before. I liked it there. It was sunset, and I was very moved by the way the light lit up the solid brick apartment buildings down there. Like safe fire.
I walked on the Highline, which is a (I think) new park built on top of an old elevated train track. Runs over top of the meatpacking district. I wonder if they still pack meat there.
Matt- would you like to go up to the Cloisters tomorrow? It's free, and reportedly pretty serene.
It's almost cold here. To me. Which is probably perfectly comfortable for 98% of everyone else.
I have seen more teensy picky little dogs than I thought possible.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Errrr.
1. Joseph's roommate, Brianne, likes to shriek while she blowdries her hair. Says it helps her to "get out all the crazy."
2. New Yorkers are hideously stingy with their Diet Coke.
3. Cocoa butter is amazing.
So tonight, I exit my building. I turn to head down the steps and am immediately whistled at. You know, the sort of whistle you get from truckers, or tacky men in their cars as your are walking to the Barksdale to do the laundry. And one of these whistles is usually 90% annoying, the other percent secretly complimentary. You figure, they would not whistle at my grandmother, after all.
I of course decide not to turn around to examine who is whistling at me, and carry on. But this man keeps on whistling. And whistling. I began to think perhaps it was an attack of Turrets that just happened to kickoff when I stepped onto the porch. At any rate, this man has no doubt whistled his way to a very uncomfortable tonsillectomy.
I evaulate what I am wearing that is causing such a fuss. Blue sundress that zips up the front (which I hear can be very attractive--unzip, and there you go) but that zipper is currently hidden under my very sexy backpack strap. Flat filthy pink crocs. And then I realize- I brushed my hair. That must have been what did it.
Anyhow, I walk briskly to the 7 train which is a staggering 3 blocks away and not outside my bedroom door like the E/V. But there is a sign at all the E/V stations that essentially says, "For the duration of Audra Honaker's holiday in New York, all E/V trains will not run between the hours of anytime convenient-when you have no business being outside."
I take the train into the not-numbered section of Manhattan.
I arrive at Spring St. No idea. Glance at the wall map to see if I can get a handle on where I am. The map has a helpful circle that says "You Are Here." This circle encompasses, at minimum, seven city blocks.
So I cockily jounce up the steps thinking I can surely figure this out. And walk for twenty minutes before I break down and call Sam after having encountered a gaggle of policemen surrounding a small Korean woman lying flat on her back in the middle of Kenmore Ave. Nothing appeared to be drastically wrong. She seemed to have just decided she needed to lay down. People were being sent for ice.
So I find this bar Epistrophy. Which is no small miracle even given that I had the address and explicit directions. Sam tends to favor all the bars and cafes in this city that do not have their title on them anywhere. The first day I got here he gave me text directions to his favorite cafe, Cafe Ost. I walk directly to this corner and see it nowhere. A few days ago we passed this corner and he points it out to me. I tell him that this is obviously an abandoned building with a few chairs inside and ask why there is no sign. He tells me oh but there is and under careful scrutiny, on tip toe, squinting, with those special night vision goggles from Jurassic Park you can make out
cafe Ost
This bar Epistrophy was no different. Elite, I suppose. It was nice though, with necessary tables outside and couches and magazines inside. Not too dark, and wine everywhere. I asked to see a menu just to see if one existed. It did. In an entirely different language. Ice cream was phrased, "Illettimontitti Parufsnial."
Sam is stationed on a couch directly inside and to the right next to what would happen if Joseph and Matt Shofner had a son. And then the son grew up and wore tight mahogany pants and glasses you are pretty sure he doesn't actually need.
I approach the bar and ask for what I ask for anywhere I go, "the biggest Diet Coke you've got." With smile.
The forlorn waif behind the bar does not smile back. She looks completely crestfallen and tells me, "it's pretty small." She then hands me a munchkin sized glass bottle of diet coke with a small glass cup and three pieces of ice. I thank her and go to sit on a velvet cushioned window seat. I set the glass and ice aside and have my shot of diet coke. Put the bottle directly into my backpack. Maggie will be appropriately horrified by the size of this bottle.
From my sateen seat I commence meeting all of Sam's friends all at once. This is sort of his "going away" party, even though not really because he's only going to be in Connecticut for three months.
Turns out Maseph Shopa is the man who wrote the music for "Saved." Don't know what that is. He is also currently working on a show about porn which requires him to diligently fly out to San Diego four or five times a week to watch pornos being made. He watches things like, a woman having sex on a couch and then inbetween takes getting a phone call telling her she has lost custody of her children. Resume sex. X.
Then next in the "Get To Know Audra Seat" on the couch is an older gentleman with whom I discuss being shy at parties. He tells me he is shy too but has just made himself mostly get over it. I told him I agree with that, and for all my time here I just remind myself, "this enormous room full of people you have never seen before has no idea that you are shy and sit in the corner eating cake barefoot at parties." So I smile and strike up conversations. I think they have yet to find me out. This man's name is Bruce and he is, according to Maseph, the most brilliant orchestrator in New York. I'll believe him.
Then a VERY HANDSOME man comes and sits next to me. I sort of recognize him, and so I figure that will be a good way to meet him. So I say, "you are the man naked with the cats." I am right. This is a long story. This man is very hairy. But has a beautiful face. He is in Sam's dance/theatre/dramatic flailing company Witness Relocation. I discover he is also the man I have seen a clip of tossing a woman around on a yoga mat to a recording of the Moses/Nefritiri scene from "The Ten Commandments."
The woman from the yoga mat is there as well. She turned thirty last weekend and threw a bevy of parties for herself. Parties titled, "Turning Thirty Sucks! Come Wipe Up My Tears."
Also a boy named Juan who Sam went to college with. Juan looks like he is on a ten from dance rehearsal for "Anchors Aweigh." NO ONE should wear shorts that small and white and then put their leg up on a bench like they have just founded the New World when one's legs are that burly and hairy. NO ONE. Looked like a walrus popping out of a condom. Maseph and I snicker about this. We have stationed ourselves in the corner as we have realized that neither one of us know anyone there except Sam and are doing our level best to meet people and then inform the other.
A scruffy looking man wearing a long scarf and winter hat comes in. Stands still, extends his arm, points at Masesph and says, "asshole." I correctly guess that they are acquainted. This man turns out to be Dan, who runs Witness Relocation and has a storage unit where Sam is storing his Buddha, his Virgin and his seal.
Ali comes in, who is Sam's friend who SINGS and is wheelchair bound due to a traffic accident when she was two that appeared to have left her scratchless until that night in bed she suffered a spinal seizure and was paralyzed from the ribs down. She is beautiful and is wearing my pink high-top Reeboks. I say, "Ali. I have your shoes." She stares for about twenty seconds. Then laughs. She has thought I meant I have stolen a pair of her shoes. Am always curious about how people with that sort of paralysis deal with things. Like, do they lift their own legs up to get out of their chair/into a car? How heavy do they feel? Sam says she is very agile and will crawl with her arms up the stairs to go onstage when necessary. Many people throughout the evening are seen kneeling before her very reverently. Also there are Jo and Anistasia, who are both very thin, and currently lesbians. Anistasia is pronounced "Ahhhhhhhhnistahhhhhhhhhhhhsiahhhhhhhh."
But MOST IMPORTANTLY- Many of you may not have seen the 80's miniseries "North & South." Well, thanks to a friend of mine, that miniseries and "The Temptations" on VH1 were what I did from tenth to twelfth grade. And there is an outstanding character in "North & South" of whom both Joseph and I are fond. And her daughter was there. Is a friend of Sam's. And I......spoke to her. I did not bring this up, the fact that I would like to meet her mother. If you have seen that miniseries, the character is Ashton.
So Joseph breezed in pretty late in the proceedings- he had been seeing "The Family Goes To Hell While Alice Ripley Makes Throat Sausage" with Ali T. Chase went to see "Our Town" I think. They got here yesterday at about 1:45 and have seen four shows. I have forgotten that there are shows here. Really just want to see "In the Heights" again.
2. New Yorkers are hideously stingy with their Diet Coke.
3. Cocoa butter is amazing.
So tonight, I exit my building. I turn to head down the steps and am immediately whistled at. You know, the sort of whistle you get from truckers, or tacky men in their cars as your are walking to the Barksdale to do the laundry. And one of these whistles is usually 90% annoying, the other percent secretly complimentary. You figure, they would not whistle at my grandmother, after all.
I of course decide not to turn around to examine who is whistling at me, and carry on. But this man keeps on whistling. And whistling. I began to think perhaps it was an attack of Turrets that just happened to kickoff when I stepped onto the porch. At any rate, this man has no doubt whistled his way to a very uncomfortable tonsillectomy.
I evaulate what I am wearing that is causing such a fuss. Blue sundress that zips up the front (which I hear can be very attractive--unzip, and there you go) but that zipper is currently hidden under my very sexy backpack strap. Flat filthy pink crocs. And then I realize- I brushed my hair. That must have been what did it.
Anyhow, I walk briskly to the 7 train which is a staggering 3 blocks away and not outside my bedroom door like the E/V. But there is a sign at all the E/V stations that essentially says, "For the duration of Audra Honaker's holiday in New York, all E/V trains will not run between the hours of anytime convenient-when you have no business being outside."
I take the train into the not-numbered section of Manhattan.
I arrive at Spring St. No idea. Glance at the wall map to see if I can get a handle on where I am. The map has a helpful circle that says "You Are Here." This circle encompasses, at minimum, seven city blocks.
So I cockily jounce up the steps thinking I can surely figure this out. And walk for twenty minutes before I break down and call Sam after having encountered a gaggle of policemen surrounding a small Korean woman lying flat on her back in the middle of Kenmore Ave. Nothing appeared to be drastically wrong. She seemed to have just decided she needed to lay down. People were being sent for ice.
So I find this bar Epistrophy. Which is no small miracle even given that I had the address and explicit directions. Sam tends to favor all the bars and cafes in this city that do not have their title on them anywhere. The first day I got here he gave me text directions to his favorite cafe, Cafe Ost. I walk directly to this corner and see it nowhere. A few days ago we passed this corner and he points it out to me. I tell him that this is obviously an abandoned building with a few chairs inside and ask why there is no sign. He tells me oh but there is and under careful scrutiny, on tip toe, squinting, with those special night vision goggles from Jurassic Park you can make out
cafe Ost
This bar Epistrophy was no different. Elite, I suppose. It was nice though, with necessary tables outside and couches and magazines inside. Not too dark, and wine everywhere. I asked to see a menu just to see if one existed. It did. In an entirely different language. Ice cream was phrased, "Illettimontitti Parufsnial."
Sam is stationed on a couch directly inside and to the right next to what would happen if Joseph and Matt Shofner had a son. And then the son grew up and wore tight mahogany pants and glasses you are pretty sure he doesn't actually need.
I approach the bar and ask for what I ask for anywhere I go, "the biggest Diet Coke you've got." With smile.
The forlorn waif behind the bar does not smile back. She looks completely crestfallen and tells me, "it's pretty small." She then hands me a munchkin sized glass bottle of diet coke with a small glass cup and three pieces of ice. I thank her and go to sit on a velvet cushioned window seat. I set the glass and ice aside and have my shot of diet coke. Put the bottle directly into my backpack. Maggie will be appropriately horrified by the size of this bottle.
From my sateen seat I commence meeting all of Sam's friends all at once. This is sort of his "going away" party, even though not really because he's only going to be in Connecticut for three months.
Turns out Maseph Shopa is the man who wrote the music for "Saved." Don't know what that is. He is also currently working on a show about porn which requires him to diligently fly out to San Diego four or five times a week to watch pornos being made. He watches things like, a woman having sex on a couch and then inbetween takes getting a phone call telling her she has lost custody of her children. Resume sex. X.
Then next in the "Get To Know Audra Seat" on the couch is an older gentleman with whom I discuss being shy at parties. He tells me he is shy too but has just made himself mostly get over it. I told him I agree with that, and for all my time here I just remind myself, "this enormous room full of people you have never seen before has no idea that you are shy and sit in the corner eating cake barefoot at parties." So I smile and strike up conversations. I think they have yet to find me out. This man's name is Bruce and he is, according to Maseph, the most brilliant orchestrator in New York. I'll believe him.
Then a VERY HANDSOME man comes and sits next to me. I sort of recognize him, and so I figure that will be a good way to meet him. So I say, "you are the man naked with the cats." I am right. This is a long story. This man is very hairy. But has a beautiful face. He is in Sam's dance/theatre/dramatic flailing company Witness Relocation. I discover he is also the man I have seen a clip of tossing a woman around on a yoga mat to a recording of the Moses/Nefritiri scene from "The Ten Commandments."
The woman from the yoga mat is there as well. She turned thirty last weekend and threw a bevy of parties for herself. Parties titled, "Turning Thirty Sucks! Come Wipe Up My Tears."
Also a boy named Juan who Sam went to college with. Juan looks like he is on a ten from dance rehearsal for "Anchors Aweigh." NO ONE should wear shorts that small and white and then put their leg up on a bench like they have just founded the New World when one's legs are that burly and hairy. NO ONE. Looked like a walrus popping out of a condom. Maseph and I snicker about this. We have stationed ourselves in the corner as we have realized that neither one of us know anyone there except Sam and are doing our level best to meet people and then inform the other.
A scruffy looking man wearing a long scarf and winter hat comes in. Stands still, extends his arm, points at Masesph and says, "asshole." I correctly guess that they are acquainted. This man turns out to be Dan, who runs Witness Relocation and has a storage unit where Sam is storing his Buddha, his Virgin and his seal.
Ali comes in, who is Sam's friend who SINGS and is wheelchair bound due to a traffic accident when she was two that appeared to have left her scratchless until that night in bed she suffered a spinal seizure and was paralyzed from the ribs down. She is beautiful and is wearing my pink high-top Reeboks. I say, "Ali. I have your shoes." She stares for about twenty seconds. Then laughs. She has thought I meant I have stolen a pair of her shoes. Am always curious about how people with that sort of paralysis deal with things. Like, do they lift their own legs up to get out of their chair/into a car? How heavy do they feel? Sam says she is very agile and will crawl with her arms up the stairs to go onstage when necessary. Many people throughout the evening are seen kneeling before her very reverently. Also there are Jo and Anistasia, who are both very thin, and currently lesbians. Anistasia is pronounced "Ahhhhhhhhnistahhhhhhhhhhhhsiahhhhhhhh."
But MOST IMPORTANTLY- Many of you may not have seen the 80's miniseries "North & South." Well, thanks to a friend of mine, that miniseries and "The Temptations" on VH1 were what I did from tenth to twelfth grade. And there is an outstanding character in "North & South" of whom both Joseph and I are fond. And her daughter was there. Is a friend of Sam's. And I......spoke to her. I did not bring this up, the fact that I would like to meet her mother. If you have seen that miniseries, the character is Ashton.
So Joseph breezed in pretty late in the proceedings- he had been seeing "The Family Goes To Hell While Alice Ripley Makes Throat Sausage" with Ali T. Chase went to see "Our Town" I think. They got here yesterday at about 1:45 and have seen four shows. I have forgotten that there are shows here. Really just want to see "In the Heights" again.
Tomorrow have a lunch date at Artichoke. So excited. Would like to-oh just everything- with that pizza sauce.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Jason, your life is plenty interesting.
It's a beautiful, rainy night in Brooklyn and I am Put Out.
Due to:
1. I may have to break down and throw out my high school gym shorts. Which are the most comfortable shorts I have ever owned. Washed them in gum. Oh well. I remember taking great pains to write my name in Sharpie on the name tag area in a way that I would, as an adult, think was very mature and awesome.
2. The moving walkway in the subway stop is turned off. X. Huge X. I am not above running into Queens for some lint just to ride on the moving walkway.
Other than that, it's a lovely night. It is a bright night- you know what I mean, where even in the middle of a field in the middle of the night surrounded by only trees you could see clearly.
Not the kind of bright night you get on 42nd St. where you can learn intimate details about the pores of people living in Cincinnati.
Today I painted Sam's apartment. Was very relieving to be covered in paint spatter again. At one point lost my balance on the pink and green glitter stepladder and fell completely into the freshly painted wall. Wish I had a camera.
Then a group of three girls came by and together with Sam chit-chatted and traded spices and vintage tops from the 80's for about twenty minutes. I felt like Mathilde the cleaning woman in the corner with my paintbrush quietly humming to herself while the younguns had their little visit.
Cold. Well, nippy. Wonderful. Jeans and long-sleeved shirt. Don't know if I can go on wearing this long-sleeved shirt though, because that thing has happened where one of the drawstrings around the neck has come out much farther than the other, and I have been unable to fix it. And I don't think I can handle it.
While browsing through Perry's DVD collection tonight I noticed "The Silence of the Lambs." Mentioned off-handedly that I used to put myself to sleep at night reciting the Hannibal/Clarice scenes in that movie from memory. With the voice.
Joseph thought that was one the most disturbing things he had ever heard.
Wrote a fan letter to Anthony Hopkins once. Was obsessed with that movie. Never heard back. Whatever.
Tomorrow Chali is coming for a visit. And Cha will want to go to Cosi. That is where he always likes to go. Chali will then go see 9-5 after which Chali, Poseph and I will adjourn to a lovely large apartment somewhere in Chelsea owned by two men named something like Stringfellow and Bundlecrunch. They have some type of dog that Joseph will not tell me about. I guess for fear I will not go over there. So it must really be something else. Am not afraid of dogs. Might be a Pomeranian and he is afraid I will steal it.
Watched the first episode of "Dexter" tonight. Liked it very much. Went home directly after that because x walking in the hurricane to get to the train in the middle of the night, but was offered on my way out the door to attend a favorite bakery of Joseph's in the morning.
Now- this bears discussion.
While this bakery will doubtless feature buns and muffins and donuts and all of the things I hold most dear the name of this bakery is-- wait for it--- PETER PAN.
I think we all know why that would be a problem for me.
Do tell him if you see him- any of you who work at the Theatre IV. Tell him he is enough to put me off my Danish.
And then let me know what he says. Cause that's really saying something.
Ate a bowl of beans tonight.
Am very exicted about receiving my prize from the Navy.
Did 20 push-ups today. Feel like I have an angry cat situated inside my armpit.
Sunday night there are plans for a minor-incredibly intense going away hoo-ha for Sam. At some bar in the East Village called---wait for it again---this one is worth a long wait---
Epistrophy.
Now- that might be a word all to itself that I am just ignorant of the meaning, but upon first hearing I felt sure that it was some clever take on Apostrophe. Which just strains my teeth.
David and Aly get married on Tuesday. I think they are most necessary together and hope all goes off well. I will expect a report on the food from someone.
That Epistrophy thing might very well be clever. I'll investigate.
Joe Doran is about to explode through my skylight in a blaze of orange curls and black denim. I have not gone out to The Duplex to hear Zak sing something Sondheim.
I will catch it about this tomorrow.
But for now- I have Season 1 of Dawson's Creek. Borrowed from Perry. Have decided since it is raining and I don't have to be up early that I will sit here on this big red couch and watch the entire thing. Enjoy Pacey.
Due to:
1. I may have to break down and throw out my high school gym shorts. Which are the most comfortable shorts I have ever owned. Washed them in gum. Oh well. I remember taking great pains to write my name in Sharpie on the name tag area in a way that I would, as an adult, think was very mature and awesome.
2. The moving walkway in the subway stop is turned off. X. Huge X. I am not above running into Queens for some lint just to ride on the moving walkway.
Other than that, it's a lovely night. It is a bright night- you know what I mean, where even in the middle of a field in the middle of the night surrounded by only trees you could see clearly.
Not the kind of bright night you get on 42nd St. where you can learn intimate details about the pores of people living in Cincinnati.
Today I painted Sam's apartment. Was very relieving to be covered in paint spatter again. At one point lost my balance on the pink and green glitter stepladder and fell completely into the freshly painted wall. Wish I had a camera.
Then a group of three girls came by and together with Sam chit-chatted and traded spices and vintage tops from the 80's for about twenty minutes. I felt like Mathilde the cleaning woman in the corner with my paintbrush quietly humming to herself while the younguns had their little visit.
Cold. Well, nippy. Wonderful. Jeans and long-sleeved shirt. Don't know if I can go on wearing this long-sleeved shirt though, because that thing has happened where one of the drawstrings around the neck has come out much farther than the other, and I have been unable to fix it. And I don't think I can handle it.
While browsing through Perry's DVD collection tonight I noticed "The Silence of the Lambs." Mentioned off-handedly that I used to put myself to sleep at night reciting the Hannibal/Clarice scenes in that movie from memory. With the voice.
Joseph thought that was one the most disturbing things he had ever heard.
Wrote a fan letter to Anthony Hopkins once. Was obsessed with that movie. Never heard back. Whatever.
Tomorrow Chali is coming for a visit. And Cha will want to go to Cosi. That is where he always likes to go. Chali will then go see 9-5 after which Chali, Poseph and I will adjourn to a lovely large apartment somewhere in Chelsea owned by two men named something like Stringfellow and Bundlecrunch. They have some type of dog that Joseph will not tell me about. I guess for fear I will not go over there. So it must really be something else. Am not afraid of dogs. Might be a Pomeranian and he is afraid I will steal it.
Watched the first episode of "Dexter" tonight. Liked it very much. Went home directly after that because x walking in the hurricane to get to the train in the middle of the night, but was offered on my way out the door to attend a favorite bakery of Joseph's in the morning.
Now- this bears discussion.
While this bakery will doubtless feature buns and muffins and donuts and all of the things I hold most dear the name of this bakery is-- wait for it--- PETER PAN.
I think we all know why that would be a problem for me.
Do tell him if you see him- any of you who work at the Theatre IV. Tell him he is enough to put me off my Danish.
And then let me know what he says. Cause that's really saying something.
Ate a bowl of beans tonight.
Am very exicted about receiving my prize from the Navy.
Did 20 push-ups today. Feel like I have an angry cat situated inside my armpit.
Sunday night there are plans for a minor-incredibly intense going away hoo-ha for Sam. At some bar in the East Village called---wait for it again---this one is worth a long wait---
Epistrophy.
Now- that might be a word all to itself that I am just ignorant of the meaning, but upon first hearing I felt sure that it was some clever take on Apostrophe. Which just strains my teeth.
David and Aly get married on Tuesday. I think they are most necessary together and hope all goes off well. I will expect a report on the food from someone.
That Epistrophy thing might very well be clever. I'll investigate.
Joe Doran is about to explode through my skylight in a blaze of orange curls and black denim. I have not gone out to The Duplex to hear Zak sing something Sondheim.
I will catch it about this tomorrow.
But for now- I have Season 1 of Dawson's Creek. Borrowed from Perry. Have decided since it is raining and I don't have to be up early that I will sit here on this big red couch and watch the entire thing. Enjoy Pacey.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The Last Five Years
1. Spanish rap really gets me going.
2. Why is the Statue of Liberty green? Who picked that? I will look it up.
2. Why is the Statue of Liberty green? Who picked that? I will look it up.
So this morning, after I overslept and missed going to see a show with Sam, I took a LENGTHY shower, wherein I washed everything-- oh no no no- first of all, when I opened my eyes this morning, I thought, "I feel chilly." And then I started wide awake and grinned like a monkey and was so happy. Pranced directly into the kitchen to stand in front of the giant window and feel the breeze. Because feeling nip in the wind like that reminds me of fall and Christmas, which I love. And I got very happy.
But then shower. And put on my tomato shirt that has profanity on it, and my cute blue skirt and my ever present orthopedic shoes and minced off to meet Sam at his apartment. Unfortunately, the subway is completely broken. We go one stop and then stall for about twenty minutes. Which to me is fine. I wear my sunglasses in the subway so as to stare at and analyze whomever I wish without appearing rude. But the man next to me was furious. Stamping his feet, swearing, bouncing up and down, storming back and forth. Finally got off. The train immediately resumed.
Sam and I go to find him an orange juice so he doesn't "kill everyone." We then drive to the outskirts of Philadelphia where we are scheduled to drop off a few boxes at his friend Alyse's parents' house to hold until after he gets back from his winter theater gig. In the car on the way there, we stop at the first Burger King we find. My soul rejoices at the first slurp of my french fries. I get a veggie burger, thanks to Scott. I am immediately in a better mood because now there are spaces between buildings.
We drive for about an hour. I announce that I am going to be an angry woman unless I get a diet coke. We discuss how Alyse's mother will no doubt try to force some lunch down us and be overly helpful in every way. Sam calls her to reassure her that we have already eaten and are about an hour away.
We arrive, I am clapsed to Nancy's bosom in a hug straightaway. She urges us to go "attend to ourselves in the lavatory, and then come out for HOAGIES!" She serves us meatwad sandwiches the size of my calf -and we all know how large that is, don't we Chase? We cannot eat these very easily because of the recent Burger King, but we try. We are there for about an hour and a half, and during this time, Nancy does not draw breath. She talks. We chew. And smile and have manners.
We then leave under the pretense of going to watch a rehearsal in central Philly, but in reality just drive there, park, get out and walk around to look at all the sights. The historical sights. We go into where the Declaration of Independence took place. We are given a free tour by a tour guide man who treated all of the tourists as though they were new recruits to boot camp. If you leaned against a drape wrong you knew you would be dropping and giving fifty. Or shot.
Before we go into this place, we have to be searched by the cops. As I hand over my backpack, thereby removing the strap from across my chest, I remember about my shirt. The second I do, the large burly policeman begins reading it aloud. I am stuck still, wondering whether he will be highly insulted and demand me to leave and certainly not go into Liberty Hall or whatever it was with that bit of profanity on my breasts, or be amused.
He then bellows with laughter. He encourages all of his cop buddies to read it as well. So that was a hit.
I have now been to Philadelphia. Remembered today that I have also been to Massachusettes. Liked Cape Cod.
I'm pooped.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Holy Cokunion.
Ok. Let's see.
Once again- no- twice again now, I have begun blogs and then hit that damned button combination that I have mentioned before. So this time I am typing like my fingers are en pointe.
So this will probably be very short.
The other night I was up all night sweating and having heart palpitations because I had a nightmare where I ran into Tom in a mud shower in the grand foyer of a delapitated historical New Orleans mansion and he immediately turned into John Lithgow and began trying to murder me.
Terror. He LOVES that I had this dream.
So in the intervening time since last I blogged, I have done much of the same as I have been doing. Helped Sam pack primarily. We had everything boxed up and ready to go and found ourselves with half an hour of downtime so he flopped out and began drooling and I put some Ben Folds on the music player and began to read. His mother calls within seconds. And proceeds to call every 54 seconds on the button for the next half hour.
She was on her way to New York and, true to form, had decided to overrule all of Sam's instructions on how to drive into Manhattan and to follow her GPS. Unfortunately the GPS directed her to a small island in the middle of the Atlantic that Sam had never heard of.
I stop listening after phone call #6.
She finally arrives, with her dog Petra, a Ziploc bag of gorgeous mushy banana bread (I can make some bitchin' banana bread, if anyone was wondering) and fully gowned in a brown velour sweatsuit with an enormous pink poppy embroidered over the right half of her butt.
Sam and his mother both declare right off that it will be no problem to have this all loaded in about twenty minutes.
We then spend about an hour and a half discussing, staring, eating bread, feeding the dog, speaking with the dog, arguing, debating, sobbing, sweating, etc. until the decision is finally made as to what needs to be carried out to the truck first.
There is a small bald man who sits out on Sam's stoop everyday and has for the last 22 years or something like that who does not speak to anyone, but beams at you if you make eye contact, and when he walks, tilts noticeably to the rear. This is reportedly due to a lobotomy he experienced early on in life. We know this because June, Sam's landlady, is very forthcoming and Swedish.
The truck is finally successfully, and I might add, impressively loaded. Sam's mother has contorted herself several times throughout the evening into the size of pretzel that would fit into a box of Nerds.
During all this, I have lashed the dog to the piano. Having figured out that this was the best way to contain the animal, I performed the slip knot with great speed and agility and was secretly very impressed with myself and thought my father would be proud.
Then Sam and his mother go out for steaks and I go home for chunk chicken.
I don't remember what happened the day after that. Oh yes I do. I went into Manhattan for some small errand or the other, and once completed, decided I would walk to the top of Central Park. From Union Square. Took quite some time. Was FORCED to buy a bottle of water. That is one good thing about oppressive heat and thighs that touch. You want, and get, water.
Walked almost to the top. Which was lovely, and windy and I saw the Alice in Wonderland statue behind which Michael Hawke likes to tell me, he would lay out in the grass and charbroil himself for years at a time. Was excited about walking all the way up to the "Resevoir." Because on the map of the park just outside of giant stone prison that gets no mention on any map anywhere and may have just been in my imagination, the "Resevoir" looks enormous and very alluring.
Finally crest the hill, my calves pouring blood from my orthopedic shoes, and see it.
I approach.
Very unimpressive. It's just an enormous water hole with a wrought-iron fence around it. You may in no way approach the water, or even sit near it. Unless you want a fence pole up your instep.
Thusly discouraged, I exit the park at my nearest exit. Find myself on 89th and Central Park West. The nearest subway that I know of to get back (which is not saying a whole lot) is located at 50th. So I text Joseph to get his opinion. He texts back the same one I am thinking of. I think to myself, "I should have texted Sam."
So I walk. I stop on benches every 30 blocks or so to do a crossword. Am almost up to the Wednesdays. Once that happens I will be irate for days at a time. (Adam- I hope you're practicing.)
I go home to wait for Sam to call me. We had plans to go to Philly the next day and be touristy.
Sam does call me shortly thereafter.
We then spend an illuminating evening in the emergency room of Lenox Hill Hospital. Nothing happened, everyone is fine. High points of the night were the baby that was ahead of Sam in line in the lobby to be admitted to triage who was squealing and flashing her Flintstones panties, drinking handsoap out of the wall dispenser and singing about sunshine and vitamins. Clearly NOT ill. Also the other woman in line ahead of Sam. Looked a lot like Deb Clinton and as near as we could tell was stricken with the debilitating heath scare of having a rip in her contact.
We are finally taken back by Peter, who is a jolly, (Sam said homosexual) Korean teddy bear of a fellow. As he is taking Sam's information, he pauses periodically to have a gentle ribbing session with another nurse over who is using more of the printer paper, and to provide a detailed and lengthy explanation to an elderly gentleman in a dapper gray golf shirt who has staggered into the office on where he may go smoke his cigarette. Meanwhile Sam is fairly sure that his other lung is now collapsing. Oh well, priorities.
Sam compliments Peter on his sneakers. Peter is genuinely insulted.
Anyway, we finally go back to hook Sam up to the machines. We discover that Sam does not produce blood, only clotted cherry preserves.
We discover that in New York, the little sticky things they apply all over your chest to give you an EKG are substantially larger than those they use in Richmond. These are far too large for me to have gotten one lost under my breast for days.
We discover that after the late late late late late late re-run of the prior late show is over, poker comes on tv. Well, really only I discover that as at some point the doctor came in, pressed and prodded Sam all while staring deeply into my eyes, and then injected Sam's iv with some pain meds. He shortly thereafter started kicking his legs under the blanket like a toddler splashing in a mud puddle, giggling, and then zonked completely out.
We ulitmately discover that nothing serious is the matter, unplug Sam and go to the Hot & Crusty on 1st at 4 o'clock in the morning for pizza and sandwiches. This was very thrilling for me.
We then sleep.
I then apply putty to the nail holes in the walls of Sam's apartment. I cannot express in numeric form that human beings can grasp how many of those there are. Sam is an amazing, THOROUGH decorator.
I then become severely cranky and go home for a nap.
Joseph comes home and after he and Bri chug a gallon of Nutella and giggle about their new plates they are going to hang on the wall (I pointed out that it would be REALLY too bad if ever there were a earthquake) we head to Perry's for a relaxing evening of playing cards and eating salad.
Today I went to a very fishy and suspicous casting call, but it was interesting enough to stay for. Had my polaroid taken by some Ukranian woman with bobbed red curls. I was told they "liked my blue eyes." Very funny.
Then came home, read a book Joseph had fed me the night before about a woman's struggle with anorexia, bulimia, everything else under the sun that had me feeling like pressing my face into an iron when I was done.
Then got did, shuttled up to Harper Collins where I immediately used the bathroom, and then congregated with Joseph, Perry, Bri, and an entire bushel of Harper Collins publicists to begin the trek to someplace called Dumbo in Brooklyn where there was a very hooty hoo book-signing going on.
I was promised food, so I went.
This flock of Harper Collins people was most I think, like the Pick-A-Little ladies from The Music Man.
Never in my life have I seen so many pink slacks, white shoes (ONLY FOR TWO MORE WEEKS CAN WE RUN THIS RISK!!-Joseph Papa), fluorescent pink tropical flower printed shirts (this was the men), and skirts skirts skirts (from the girls). Skirts with things like green thin vines growing up your behind from the hem. Draws attention. Sometimes unnecessarily.
Everyone was flitting and schmoozing their way through the subway station. I took one look at Perry and realized that he was with me in that I would be much happier sitting on a porch shelling beans.
We go to a cement bookstore with columns and ART on the walls in this place called Dumbo. It is actually quite nice. I eat all of their grapes and am poured a cup of Diet Coke by the daughter of the author who seemed to be under the impression she was portioning out the liquid for Holy Communion.
As soon as it is over, I make sure my dress is still zipped, ask Perry where I am in the world, and play another round of Where Will This Subway Take You?
Arrived home. Tired. Tomorrow am going to Philadelphia with Sam, where I am in hopes that Alyse's mother will make us some grilled cheeses.
Robyn and Ginnie are back from California. That's good. I will keep my eyes peeled for the CNN report of Doris Day's disappearance.
Once again- no- twice again now, I have begun blogs and then hit that damned button combination that I have mentioned before. So this time I am typing like my fingers are en pointe.
So this will probably be very short.
The other night I was up all night sweating and having heart palpitations because I had a nightmare where I ran into Tom in a mud shower in the grand foyer of a delapitated historical New Orleans mansion and he immediately turned into John Lithgow and began trying to murder me.
Terror. He LOVES that I had this dream.
So in the intervening time since last I blogged, I have done much of the same as I have been doing. Helped Sam pack primarily. We had everything boxed up and ready to go and found ourselves with half an hour of downtime so he flopped out and began drooling and I put some Ben Folds on the music player and began to read. His mother calls within seconds. And proceeds to call every 54 seconds on the button for the next half hour.
She was on her way to New York and, true to form, had decided to overrule all of Sam's instructions on how to drive into Manhattan and to follow her GPS. Unfortunately the GPS directed her to a small island in the middle of the Atlantic that Sam had never heard of.
I stop listening after phone call #6.
She finally arrives, with her dog Petra, a Ziploc bag of gorgeous mushy banana bread (I can make some bitchin' banana bread, if anyone was wondering) and fully gowned in a brown velour sweatsuit with an enormous pink poppy embroidered over the right half of her butt.
Sam and his mother both declare right off that it will be no problem to have this all loaded in about twenty minutes.
We then spend about an hour and a half discussing, staring, eating bread, feeding the dog, speaking with the dog, arguing, debating, sobbing, sweating, etc. until the decision is finally made as to what needs to be carried out to the truck first.
There is a small bald man who sits out on Sam's stoop everyday and has for the last 22 years or something like that who does not speak to anyone, but beams at you if you make eye contact, and when he walks, tilts noticeably to the rear. This is reportedly due to a lobotomy he experienced early on in life. We know this because June, Sam's landlady, is very forthcoming and Swedish.
The truck is finally successfully, and I might add, impressively loaded. Sam's mother has contorted herself several times throughout the evening into the size of pretzel that would fit into a box of Nerds.
During all this, I have lashed the dog to the piano. Having figured out that this was the best way to contain the animal, I performed the slip knot with great speed and agility and was secretly very impressed with myself and thought my father would be proud.
Then Sam and his mother go out for steaks and I go home for chunk chicken.
I don't remember what happened the day after that. Oh yes I do. I went into Manhattan for some small errand or the other, and once completed, decided I would walk to the top of Central Park. From Union Square. Took quite some time. Was FORCED to buy a bottle of water. That is one good thing about oppressive heat and thighs that touch. You want, and get, water.
Walked almost to the top. Which was lovely, and windy and I saw the Alice in Wonderland statue behind which Michael Hawke likes to tell me, he would lay out in the grass and charbroil himself for years at a time. Was excited about walking all the way up to the "Resevoir." Because on the map of the park just outside of giant stone prison that gets no mention on any map anywhere and may have just been in my imagination, the "Resevoir" looks enormous and very alluring.
Finally crest the hill, my calves pouring blood from my orthopedic shoes, and see it.
I approach.
Very unimpressive. It's just an enormous water hole with a wrought-iron fence around it. You may in no way approach the water, or even sit near it. Unless you want a fence pole up your instep.
Thusly discouraged, I exit the park at my nearest exit. Find myself on 89th and Central Park West. The nearest subway that I know of to get back (which is not saying a whole lot) is located at 50th. So I text Joseph to get his opinion. He texts back the same one I am thinking of. I think to myself, "I should have texted Sam."
So I walk. I stop on benches every 30 blocks or so to do a crossword. Am almost up to the Wednesdays. Once that happens I will be irate for days at a time. (Adam- I hope you're practicing.)
I go home to wait for Sam to call me. We had plans to go to Philly the next day and be touristy.
Sam does call me shortly thereafter.
We then spend an illuminating evening in the emergency room of Lenox Hill Hospital. Nothing happened, everyone is fine. High points of the night were the baby that was ahead of Sam in line in the lobby to be admitted to triage who was squealing and flashing her Flintstones panties, drinking handsoap out of the wall dispenser and singing about sunshine and vitamins. Clearly NOT ill. Also the other woman in line ahead of Sam. Looked a lot like Deb Clinton and as near as we could tell was stricken with the debilitating heath scare of having a rip in her contact.
We are finally taken back by Peter, who is a jolly, (Sam said homosexual) Korean teddy bear of a fellow. As he is taking Sam's information, he pauses periodically to have a gentle ribbing session with another nurse over who is using more of the printer paper, and to provide a detailed and lengthy explanation to an elderly gentleman in a dapper gray golf shirt who has staggered into the office on where he may go smoke his cigarette. Meanwhile Sam is fairly sure that his other lung is now collapsing. Oh well, priorities.
Sam compliments Peter on his sneakers. Peter is genuinely insulted.
Anyway, we finally go back to hook Sam up to the machines. We discover that Sam does not produce blood, only clotted cherry preserves.
We discover that in New York, the little sticky things they apply all over your chest to give you an EKG are substantially larger than those they use in Richmond. These are far too large for me to have gotten one lost under my breast for days.
We discover that after the late late late late late late re-run of the prior late show is over, poker comes on tv. Well, really only I discover that as at some point the doctor came in, pressed and prodded Sam all while staring deeply into my eyes, and then injected Sam's iv with some pain meds. He shortly thereafter started kicking his legs under the blanket like a toddler splashing in a mud puddle, giggling, and then zonked completely out.
We ulitmately discover that nothing serious is the matter, unplug Sam and go to the Hot & Crusty on 1st at 4 o'clock in the morning for pizza and sandwiches. This was very thrilling for me.
We then sleep.
I then apply putty to the nail holes in the walls of Sam's apartment. I cannot express in numeric form that human beings can grasp how many of those there are. Sam is an amazing, THOROUGH decorator.
I then become severely cranky and go home for a nap.
Joseph comes home and after he and Bri chug a gallon of Nutella and giggle about their new plates they are going to hang on the wall (I pointed out that it would be REALLY too bad if ever there were a earthquake) we head to Perry's for a relaxing evening of playing cards and eating salad.
Today I went to a very fishy and suspicous casting call, but it was interesting enough to stay for. Had my polaroid taken by some Ukranian woman with bobbed red curls. I was told they "liked my blue eyes." Very funny.
Then came home, read a book Joseph had fed me the night before about a woman's struggle with anorexia, bulimia, everything else under the sun that had me feeling like pressing my face into an iron when I was done.
Then got did, shuttled up to Harper Collins where I immediately used the bathroom, and then congregated with Joseph, Perry, Bri, and an entire bushel of Harper Collins publicists to begin the trek to someplace called Dumbo in Brooklyn where there was a very hooty hoo book-signing going on.
I was promised food, so I went.
This flock of Harper Collins people was most I think, like the Pick-A-Little ladies from The Music Man.
Never in my life have I seen so many pink slacks, white shoes (ONLY FOR TWO MORE WEEKS CAN WE RUN THIS RISK!!-Joseph Papa), fluorescent pink tropical flower printed shirts (this was the men), and skirts skirts skirts (from the girls). Skirts with things like green thin vines growing up your behind from the hem. Draws attention. Sometimes unnecessarily.
Everyone was flitting and schmoozing their way through the subway station. I took one look at Perry and realized that he was with me in that I would be much happier sitting on a porch shelling beans.
We go to a cement bookstore with columns and ART on the walls in this place called Dumbo. It is actually quite nice. I eat all of their grapes and am poured a cup of Diet Coke by the daughter of the author who seemed to be under the impression she was portioning out the liquid for Holy Communion.
As soon as it is over, I make sure my dress is still zipped, ask Perry where I am in the world, and play another round of Where Will This Subway Take You?
Arrived home. Tired. Tomorrow am going to Philadelphia with Sam, where I am in hopes that Alyse's mother will make us some grilled cheeses.
Robyn and Ginnie are back from California. That's good. I will keep my eyes peeled for the CNN report of Doris Day's disappearance.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Dickchicken. Or "full head of teeth." Couldn't decide.
Tonight I learned two things.
One- I enjoyed having the "car called round."
Two- I want to work at the zoo.
I'm SORRY ADAM- that I have thus far been unable to come up with a pose next to to the Jon Hamm/water bus-stop that I feel is clever enough to take a picture of to send you.
Trust me, I try. Each time I pass one, and they are about 3 a block, I stop and stand in utter despair for about a minute trying to wrack my brain for amusing possibilities. So far the best idea I have come up with is to find a pitcher of water and pour it over my head while someone takes a picture of me standing next to old Jonny. But that would involve someone else holding my phone. Which x.
I have taken several pictures today of things that I felt were amusing. I sent these pictures to the people I thought would find them amusing as well. Have I heard anything in reply? NO. The excuse Tom will give is that he is in rehearsal.
One that I wanted to take a picture of but didn't as I elected to get inside somewhere instead of dying of sweat on the sidewalk was an enormous inflatable rooster on the corner by a Polish convenience store. Wanted to sling my arm around it's shoulders good-naturedly. Joseph wanted to call it, "Audra and her Cock." Which I felt was an economy sized can of worms to put up on facebook.
Yesterday I helped Sam move. Well, pack up. We decided via conference call at 2am that morning that he would call in sick to work with food poisoning. I was able to offer lots of tips on sounding convincingly ill on the phone. This is how I was able to be absent for most of fifth grade.
We spend a solid twenty minutes packing and then go out for refreshments. And to get boxes. He gets a bagel from a place called "Hot and Crusty." Everytime I see that title I think really hard for a little while. Feel sure there is some nastier name for that. Like, "Saggy and Crusty." But want to come up with a really good one before I decide.
We pack some more. I begin to stink. Because here, you can sit in a chair in front of a fan and still have your liver liquefied by the heat. Isn't really the heat so much I guess. Is that it is humid enough to choke a cat.
We then go out for lunch. To a very small newish pizza place a block from Sam's apartment called Artichoke. This place really entertains me because the counter is a height that my eyebrows can see over if I am fully on point in my orthopedic shoes. And they are high. Sam ordered our pizza with just his eyes showing. And the people behind the counter couldn't see over it either. But that piece of pizza, if married with a slice of Brunetti's- was the best pizza I have ever had. It was spinach/artichoke. And holy hell. I giggled and cried throughout the slice.
Which was a lot of giggling and crying because the slice was large enough that I was still eating for the next four blocks and through Sam's trips to Buffalo Exchange and some thrift store where he pawned off some old sweaters and wallets that appeared to be trash to me, but weren't.
Nothing takes me that long to eat. I was impressed. My mother, on the other hand, could easily spend an entire afternoon eating a radish slice. With knife and fork.
We pack some more. We both become furious and irrational. When this happens to Sam and I neither of us say a word. You can feel it. You know it will pass. And if either of us looks at the other we burst into giggles because we know we are being ridiculous.
At some point after I had thrown all the tupperware in the garbage and carefully removed his 4 foot porcelain/cement Madonna from the top of the kitchen cabinets, we decide to call it a day.
He walks me to the subway by way of a liquor store nearby called something like WASTED ON 1ST where he asks me if I would please go in and ask for boxes as they hate him in there now for his continued asking.
So, despite the fact that I am wearing men's XL basketball shorts and my orthopedic shoes, I gamely yank down my tank top a couple of inches in the front, lick the sweat off my teeth and sail inside. Sam is murmuring behind me, "Tits and teeth, Audra, tits and teeth." I approach the counter, cock a hip, tilt my head and with the dimples and drawl worthy of Plantation Atlanta O'Honaker say, "Hi! I'm movin', and I was just wondrin' if you had any little boxes around here that I could please take to help me out a little bit?"
I am immediately given the deed to the store.
So Sam goes into the back with the storekeeper's henchman while I fiddle around with the crates of wine at the counter and smile and sigh a lot.
He comes back momentarily with more boxes than you could shake a stick at, I simper, "Thank you SO much." And we are almost out when a really awesome Madonna song from the eighties comes on the radio. Without thinking I grumble in pure Audranian "Now, might be necessary to stay here and listen to this song."
Sam snatches me out of the store faster than I've ever been snatched anywhere.
I have no memory of what I did last night after I got home and took the world's longest shower. Think might have gone to bed - oh nope- went to Perry's to watch Project Runway.
Then tonight Joseph and I and his Penthouse magazine walked across the bridge to Brooklyn to hang out at Perry's. On our walk across the bridge he made sure I saw all the high points, like where the great oil spill of 1957 happened, and where Perry was mugged at knifepoint. Twice.
This is part of why I had a car called round to bring me home this evening.
We went out for sushi at a place called Wasabi in that had a framed photo on the wall of the entire staff surrounding John Travolta, a lone purple fish, and a bathroom where you got rained on while you washed your hands.
Then we played a lengthy game of cards called Phase 10. I'm going to teach Perry how to play Pounce so that we can have some diversion during our afternoons of making necklaces for Miley Cyrus.
Am going to go do that trapeze thing by the river I think. I looked it up today, and it is not nearly as expensive as I had thought it would be.
Ok. I can't see anymore. Downside of contacts of fans.
One- I enjoyed having the "car called round."
Two- I want to work at the zoo.
I'm SORRY ADAM- that I have thus far been unable to come up with a pose next to to the Jon Hamm/water bus-stop that I feel is clever enough to take a picture of to send you.
Trust me, I try. Each time I pass one, and they are about 3 a block, I stop and stand in utter despair for about a minute trying to wrack my brain for amusing possibilities. So far the best idea I have come up with is to find a pitcher of water and pour it over my head while someone takes a picture of me standing next to old Jonny. But that would involve someone else holding my phone. Which x.
I have taken several pictures today of things that I felt were amusing. I sent these pictures to the people I thought would find them amusing as well. Have I heard anything in reply? NO. The excuse Tom will give is that he is in rehearsal.
One that I wanted to take a picture of but didn't as I elected to get inside somewhere instead of dying of sweat on the sidewalk was an enormous inflatable rooster on the corner by a Polish convenience store. Wanted to sling my arm around it's shoulders good-naturedly. Joseph wanted to call it, "Audra and her Cock." Which I felt was an economy sized can of worms to put up on facebook.
Yesterday I helped Sam move. Well, pack up. We decided via conference call at 2am that morning that he would call in sick to work with food poisoning. I was able to offer lots of tips on sounding convincingly ill on the phone. This is how I was able to be absent for most of fifth grade.
We spend a solid twenty minutes packing and then go out for refreshments. And to get boxes. He gets a bagel from a place called "Hot and Crusty." Everytime I see that title I think really hard for a little while. Feel sure there is some nastier name for that. Like, "Saggy and Crusty." But want to come up with a really good one before I decide.
We pack some more. I begin to stink. Because here, you can sit in a chair in front of a fan and still have your liver liquefied by the heat. Isn't really the heat so much I guess. Is that it is humid enough to choke a cat.
We then go out for lunch. To a very small newish pizza place a block from Sam's apartment called Artichoke. This place really entertains me because the counter is a height that my eyebrows can see over if I am fully on point in my orthopedic shoes. And they are high. Sam ordered our pizza with just his eyes showing. And the people behind the counter couldn't see over it either. But that piece of pizza, if married with a slice of Brunetti's- was the best pizza I have ever had. It was spinach/artichoke. And holy hell. I giggled and cried throughout the slice.
Which was a lot of giggling and crying because the slice was large enough that I was still eating for the next four blocks and through Sam's trips to Buffalo Exchange and some thrift store where he pawned off some old sweaters and wallets that appeared to be trash to me, but weren't.
Nothing takes me that long to eat. I was impressed. My mother, on the other hand, could easily spend an entire afternoon eating a radish slice. With knife and fork.
We pack some more. We both become furious and irrational. When this happens to Sam and I neither of us say a word. You can feel it. You know it will pass. And if either of us looks at the other we burst into giggles because we know we are being ridiculous.
At some point after I had thrown all the tupperware in the garbage and carefully removed his 4 foot porcelain/cement Madonna from the top of the kitchen cabinets, we decide to call it a day.
He walks me to the subway by way of a liquor store nearby called something like WASTED ON 1ST where he asks me if I would please go in and ask for boxes as they hate him in there now for his continued asking.
So, despite the fact that I am wearing men's XL basketball shorts and my orthopedic shoes, I gamely yank down my tank top a couple of inches in the front, lick the sweat off my teeth and sail inside. Sam is murmuring behind me, "Tits and teeth, Audra, tits and teeth." I approach the counter, cock a hip, tilt my head and with the dimples and drawl worthy of Plantation Atlanta O'Honaker say, "Hi! I'm movin', and I was just wondrin' if you had any little boxes around here that I could please take to help me out a little bit?"
I am immediately given the deed to the store.
So Sam goes into the back with the storekeeper's henchman while I fiddle around with the crates of wine at the counter and smile and sigh a lot.
He comes back momentarily with more boxes than you could shake a stick at, I simper, "Thank you SO much." And we are almost out when a really awesome Madonna song from the eighties comes on the radio. Without thinking I grumble in pure Audranian "Now, might be necessary to stay here and listen to this song."
Sam snatches me out of the store faster than I've ever been snatched anywhere.
I have no memory of what I did last night after I got home and took the world's longest shower. Think might have gone to bed - oh nope- went to Perry's to watch Project Runway.
Then tonight Joseph and I and his Penthouse magazine walked across the bridge to Brooklyn to hang out at Perry's. On our walk across the bridge he made sure I saw all the high points, like where the great oil spill of 1957 happened, and where Perry was mugged at knifepoint. Twice.
This is part of why I had a car called round to bring me home this evening.
We went out for sushi at a place called Wasabi in that had a framed photo on the wall of the entire staff surrounding John Travolta, a lone purple fish, and a bathroom where you got rained on while you washed your hands.
Then we played a lengthy game of cards called Phase 10. I'm going to teach Perry how to play Pounce so that we can have some diversion during our afternoons of making necklaces for Miley Cyrus.
Am going to go do that trapeze thing by the river I think. I looked it up today, and it is not nearly as expensive as I had thought it would be.
Ok. I can't see anymore. Downside of contacts of fans.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Janine in a straw hat.
Adam wants a new one one of these everyday, and I thought I was being all considerate by waiting until the evening to type so as to cover the maximum of whatever has gone down on a particular day.
But NO- I get a crabby facebook message from him at about 4pm today grilling my cheese for a new entry. So I suppose I'll set my alarm for 4 in the morning and get right on top of that.
Completely kidding.
So let's see.
Oh yes- the Russian book signing. I was the only girl there in a multitude of at least 19- all middle aged scroungy looking men with ratty limp gray ponytails and stained t-shirts. All of them completely besotted with Anna Karenina or whatever her name was. They were there an hour early (and yes, I was too, but that's only because I wasn't certain what train to get on and could very easily have wound up in Denver).
When Lliudmilla finally appeared it was in black opaque tights, leather boots that stopped just sub-crotch and a tiiiiiiiny white t-shirt that said something like "Strangulate" in black twisty letters.
She had hair bleached 16 shades of blond and a face bleached 16 shades of raisin. She had what appeared to be a chain of 5 or 6 cotton balls on a stick under one arm but then I noticed it had eyes. Turned out to be her doggie Gorbie. I met Gorbie later on as Joseph had been assigned to hold him after Marina dumped him on the floor mid-presentation and he began to make motions suspiciously indicative of urination. I had SUCH high hopes for a urination onstage at the Columbus Circle Borders.
Gorbie was shaved so closely to the skin that he looked like a pig who had had an accident regarding glue and Q-tip residue. He was shaking. From cold or from horror it was unclear. I patted him very hard and that didn't help at all.
Natalia had good things to say- inspiring things about how she had moved here straight from here Geography class in Moscow six years ago (where she hadn't learned anything from being too busy staring at her professor) to be an au pair in California. And then she just decided, "Hey, no one that I know of puts on their bra and leather panties and defines carrot in front of the camera for the world to see! I'll do that!" And how she spent a year doing it on her own and then got picked up to do a book deal etc. It was a very high-spirited speech.
But Katarina had no concept of order or framework to her speech and by the time 3 1/2 hours had passed her boyfriend Socrates (might not have been her boyfriend, might just have been a large pulsing pile of spilled tattoo ink) began jumping up and down wildly behind the back row to get her to can it.
After this, I strolled over to Lincoln Center, where I was supposed to meet Sam and Co. for an outdoor concert by a pair of people named Stu and Heidi.
I'm tired of typing now.
Will say more about this tomorrow potentially.
Had a great time at the concert. Was the first one I'd ever been too. Was loud, and there were drums, and horns and it was AWESOME. And four black people wailing their gums off DR and at one point during what was apparently a really invigorating rendition of "It Don't Mean A Thing," I look over and nudge Sam when I notice hot attractive young man and voluptuous slightly older woman have abandoned their microphones altogether in favor of a far DR cross where they have forgotten there is a concert going on altogether and have commenced dry-humping instead.
For the rest of the concert, Voluptuous Slightly Older would look over at Hot Attractive Young during his ooohs and lick her lips just a little.
Was so so good though. Will say more.
But NO- I get a crabby facebook message from him at about 4pm today grilling my cheese for a new entry. So I suppose I'll set my alarm for 4 in the morning and get right on top of that.
Completely kidding.
So let's see.
Oh yes- the Russian book signing. I was the only girl there in a multitude of at least 19- all middle aged scroungy looking men with ratty limp gray ponytails and stained t-shirts. All of them completely besotted with Anna Karenina or whatever her name was. They were there an hour early (and yes, I was too, but that's only because I wasn't certain what train to get on and could very easily have wound up in Denver).
When Lliudmilla finally appeared it was in black opaque tights, leather boots that stopped just sub-crotch and a tiiiiiiiny white t-shirt that said something like "Strangulate" in black twisty letters.
She had hair bleached 16 shades of blond and a face bleached 16 shades of raisin. She had what appeared to be a chain of 5 or 6 cotton balls on a stick under one arm but then I noticed it had eyes. Turned out to be her doggie Gorbie. I met Gorbie later on as Joseph had been assigned to hold him after Marina dumped him on the floor mid-presentation and he began to make motions suspiciously indicative of urination. I had SUCH high hopes for a urination onstage at the Columbus Circle Borders.
Gorbie was shaved so closely to the skin that he looked like a pig who had had an accident regarding glue and Q-tip residue. He was shaking. From cold or from horror it was unclear. I patted him very hard and that didn't help at all.
Natalia had good things to say- inspiring things about how she had moved here straight from here Geography class in Moscow six years ago (where she hadn't learned anything from being too busy staring at her professor) to be an au pair in California. And then she just decided, "Hey, no one that I know of puts on their bra and leather panties and defines carrot in front of the camera for the world to see! I'll do that!" And how she spent a year doing it on her own and then got picked up to do a book deal etc. It was a very high-spirited speech.
But Katarina had no concept of order or framework to her speech and by the time 3 1/2 hours had passed her boyfriend Socrates (might not have been her boyfriend, might just have been a large pulsing pile of spilled tattoo ink) began jumping up and down wildly behind the back row to get her to can it.
After this, I strolled over to Lincoln Center, where I was supposed to meet Sam and Co. for an outdoor concert by a pair of people named Stu and Heidi.
I'm tired of typing now.
Will say more about this tomorrow potentially.
Had a great time at the concert. Was the first one I'd ever been too. Was loud, and there were drums, and horns and it was AWESOME. And four black people wailing their gums off DR and at one point during what was apparently a really invigorating rendition of "It Don't Mean A Thing," I look over and nudge Sam when I notice hot attractive young man and voluptuous slightly older woman have abandoned their microphones altogether in favor of a far DR cross where they have forgotten there is a concert going on altogether and have commenced dry-humping instead.
For the rest of the concert, Voluptuous Slightly Older would look over at Hot Attractive Young during his ooohs and lick her lips just a little.
Was so so good though. Will say more.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Puppies in pouches.
I typed an ENORMOUS post last night. And then deleted the entire thing because something in the way I hold my hands when I type keeps hitting some mysterious combitnation of buttons on this computer that have staggering results like deleting my blogs and causing the computer to vanish entirely.
And now I don't remember anything that I had typed about. Except running into Jonathan Spivey on a corner just north of Union Square and having him give me a one armed hug and turn the corner without breaking stride. Don't think he knew he I was, but as I seemed to know his name, he felt obliged.
In some show someday when I'm in my sunset years I will need to base my character off of this woman in the Fedex. You'll just have to wait and see.
Ginnie just told me she just witnessed an orca killing and then consuming a sea lion. I don't think I have ever been more jealous.
I'm really into my new magic shoes. They make me about three inches taller and something about the way the bottoms curve makes it possible for me to produce the swingy ponytail/wind in the hair thing with every stride.
I'm trying to figure out some way to go to Canada over the next five weeks. I have realized that if all goes as planned, from top to bottom of this holiday, I will have visited 11 states. Which ups my total considerably. No-12.
I have been so busy walking around and swinging my hair that I have completely forgotten to chew my fingernails. My father will be THRILLED.
Fell madly into romantic novel damsel in self-inflicted distress love with the subway attendant last night. Am now pretty much over it. But the tale might bear telling.
At around 9pm, I had constructed an outfit that, while completely covering all my private areas, and still looking non-hoey, managed to weigh only 4.7 oz and keep me relatively cool. I put on my sparkling orthopedic shoes and skipped down the stairs. Shut all three doors of the apartment behind me. Locked. Knew I had no key yet but had firm plans to make a copy of Joseph's in the morning.
Shut the door. Turned around. The sky was full of more lightening than I have ever seen all at once. And there were whipping gusts of wind and if I looked to my right I could see the Empire State Building swaying just a little.
Oh well, locked out.
Go down into the subway. Sit. Stare back at the construction men. Then stare at the sign that says that from today until the end of October there will be no more late-night trains into Manhattan from this stop.
Exit the subway directly into the end of the world. Exit the end of the world directly into the pizza place on the corner.
Am getting pretty good at the subways, and after several rounds of "Get On The Subway Without Consulting The Map And See Where You Go And See If You Can Get Back Without Cheating," I am confident in my Manhattan abilities.
In Queens I may as well be trying to alphabetize jelly.
So I call Joseph who tells me that he will call the upstairs neighbor. She doesn't answer. (Joseph is out for the evening, by the way, not just being a jerk and letting me learn my lesson for locking myself out.) So I lean against the pizza parlor and observe the streaks of lightening and feel the hot little prickles of pre-storm droplets and decide that being stranded outside lost in the electrical storm disaster of '09 can either be a scary death situation or a grand adventure. Decide on the latter as I have on my brown hat from the Mill and my polka dot skirt and am feeling pretty untouchable.
Immediately after I make this decision the Pacific Ocean is dumped onto the corner of 44th and the pizza place.
I go underground. (See, doesn't that just sound so dangerous and exciting?)
I am approached by a handsome Indian man who works in the subway and informed that the trains x. I tell him I know this and ask if I can please wait here until the deluge is over.
I do not hear how he answers due to a earth-shaking thunderclap, but he walks away so I figure it's fine.
Well, the rain doesn't stop, so the man approaches me again, asks me where I'm going, and asks if I would like to take the shuttle.
Whenever someone asks me if I would like to take the shuttle, I get nervous. For no good reason, except in my mind I envision some tubular vehicle that will be way up high and cost me a lot of money which I will be required to know something about space in order to ride.
This shuttle is a bus. He says for me to come with him.
So I go. He thinks I am interesting I think, as he keeps looking sideways at me. I ask him a question so he will have something talk about.
As we walk down under the streets along the subway lines we pass dozens of wet, bereft people, construction workers, a dazzling Jamaican woman wearing a rainbow dress, an Indian woman wearing a drapery from Linens 'N Things and her little brother; and to each party of people Sir Subway announes "NO MORE TRAINS!"
Watching each of their faces as he announced this was very entertaining.
So one by one they start following us.
We are like Moses and his trusty sidekick She-Ra. Or something. Felt like I was in the Poseiden after it has just flipped when someone finally decided to find a way out, and some banded together to try, and we were those people.
(Sidenote- my father told me one Sunday on the way home from church that "The Poseidon Adventure" had been on that morning, he had taped it, and it was a good movie that I would enjoy. I go into the basement and watch it. I still have nightmares.)
So we arrive at the end of a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG corridor with those moving walkways which I adore. They are of course not on. But Sir Subway gestures to the end of the walkway 5 kilometers away and indicates a woman in a orange vest from whom I am to get a ticket. I am then to go outside and get on the shuttle which will take me to eia;heia eiagoa (had no idea what he said) and then I can get on a train to Manhattan.
Ok.
So I smile and thank him and stride off.
Me, Jamaica, and Indian brother woman hustle down this walkway.
I get my ticket and go outside.
Outside is the Great Tampoon.
The only vehicle I can see anywhere that is running is a small van across the street. So I swim across the street and smile and tap on the window. It is rolled down to reveal a bus full of construction workers and one of their girlfriends cackling at this wet dotted woman in orthopedic shoes who is trying to board the construction bus. They point out the shuttle stop a block away.
So I go down there and lean against a plexiglass wall next to a Japanese man who is wearing brown, tan and ecru. I glance over at what he is doing on his phone. He is watching Beyonce videos.
I get excited and feel very cultural when I realize that I think out of all eight people under the shelter I am the only one with English as a first language.
About half an hour later, after I have learned all there is to know about the poor health and hospitalized state of Abdu Kharam Ahkal who is the father of the woman in front of me, the shuttle comes. I get on.
The bus driver is an elderly white haired tub of a man with round spectacles. He says to me, "Hello, Gorgeous," and I turn around immediately to make sure Jamaica and Indian brother woman are getting on with me. They are.
This bus is really something. It has blue seats and a balcony in the back. I just sat there and thought about how wonderful it was that a bus had a balcony.
So we ride the bus for about twenty minutes during which I make a few attempts to look out the window and gauge where I might be. I decided it was either Astoria or Boise.
Stopped trying to figure it out.
We stop at a dark rainy corner and are ejected from the bus.
We go down an escalator that is covered in trash and hasn't moved for 15 years for about three stories into one of the upper levels of hell where all the walls are burning orange and everyone you see presents a threat of crimes against your person ranging from pick-pocketing to kitten assassination.
I sit on a bench between my new buddies Jamaica and Indian Brother.
The first train that comes everyone lifts off the bench to board like cobras had just gotten up their skirts.
We get on. By now I am secretly hoping that I will go somewhere utterly bizarre just so I can add to this story.
We ride long enough for me to finish about eight chapters of Kevin Nealon's new book about his wife's pregnancy.
I consult the stops list (in the interest of time, as Sam had been expecting me for what was going on two hours now and should have been 20 minutes) and decide to get off at 14th St. As to where on 14th St. that would be was anyone's guess.
Indian Brother had gotten off several stops ago and 3% of me wanted to go with her as I at least knew if I went with her I would either end up eating something spicy, or in the Intensive Care Unit visting her father.
Got off at 14th. Was immediately presented with the option of boarding the bus to Jersey.
Decided against that. Went to the nearest exit.
Emerged to a beautiful, wonderfully just-rained smelling corner of Manhattan that I understood.
Still had to walk about 17 blocks east to get where I was going, but was worth it. I love how it smells after it has just rained, and I think having a lot of wet pavement makes the smell even better.
So that's what I did last night.
Am tonight scheduled to go to a book signing Joseph is in charge of with some Mattel-manufactured Russian blond who has written a book explaining the etymology of lots of English words and wears leather and pink lace and has a boyfriend named Socrates.
And now I don't remember anything that I had typed about. Except running into Jonathan Spivey on a corner just north of Union Square and having him give me a one armed hug and turn the corner without breaking stride. Don't think he knew he I was, but as I seemed to know his name, he felt obliged.
In some show someday when I'm in my sunset years I will need to base my character off of this woman in the Fedex. You'll just have to wait and see.
Ginnie just told me she just witnessed an orca killing and then consuming a sea lion. I don't think I have ever been more jealous.
I'm really into my new magic shoes. They make me about three inches taller and something about the way the bottoms curve makes it possible for me to produce the swingy ponytail/wind in the hair thing with every stride.
I'm trying to figure out some way to go to Canada over the next five weeks. I have realized that if all goes as planned, from top to bottom of this holiday, I will have visited 11 states. Which ups my total considerably. No-12.
I have been so busy walking around and swinging my hair that I have completely forgotten to chew my fingernails. My father will be THRILLED.
Fell madly into romantic novel damsel in self-inflicted distress love with the subway attendant last night. Am now pretty much over it. But the tale might bear telling.
At around 9pm, I had constructed an outfit that, while completely covering all my private areas, and still looking non-hoey, managed to weigh only 4.7 oz and keep me relatively cool. I put on my sparkling orthopedic shoes and skipped down the stairs. Shut all three doors of the apartment behind me. Locked. Knew I had no key yet but had firm plans to make a copy of Joseph's in the morning.
Shut the door. Turned around. The sky was full of more lightening than I have ever seen all at once. And there were whipping gusts of wind and if I looked to my right I could see the Empire State Building swaying just a little.
Oh well, locked out.
Go down into the subway. Sit. Stare back at the construction men. Then stare at the sign that says that from today until the end of October there will be no more late-night trains into Manhattan from this stop.
Exit the subway directly into the end of the world. Exit the end of the world directly into the pizza place on the corner.
Am getting pretty good at the subways, and after several rounds of "Get On The Subway Without Consulting The Map And See Where You Go And See If You Can Get Back Without Cheating," I am confident in my Manhattan abilities.
In Queens I may as well be trying to alphabetize jelly.
So I call Joseph who tells me that he will call the upstairs neighbor. She doesn't answer. (Joseph is out for the evening, by the way, not just being a jerk and letting me learn my lesson for locking myself out.) So I lean against the pizza parlor and observe the streaks of lightening and feel the hot little prickles of pre-storm droplets and decide that being stranded outside lost in the electrical storm disaster of '09 can either be a scary death situation or a grand adventure. Decide on the latter as I have on my brown hat from the Mill and my polka dot skirt and am feeling pretty untouchable.
Immediately after I make this decision the Pacific Ocean is dumped onto the corner of 44th and the pizza place.
I go underground. (See, doesn't that just sound so dangerous and exciting?)
I am approached by a handsome Indian man who works in the subway and informed that the trains x. I tell him I know this and ask if I can please wait here until the deluge is over.
I do not hear how he answers due to a earth-shaking thunderclap, but he walks away so I figure it's fine.
Well, the rain doesn't stop, so the man approaches me again, asks me where I'm going, and asks if I would like to take the shuttle.
Whenever someone asks me if I would like to take the shuttle, I get nervous. For no good reason, except in my mind I envision some tubular vehicle that will be way up high and cost me a lot of money which I will be required to know something about space in order to ride.
This shuttle is a bus. He says for me to come with him.
So I go. He thinks I am interesting I think, as he keeps looking sideways at me. I ask him a question so he will have something talk about.
As we walk down under the streets along the subway lines we pass dozens of wet, bereft people, construction workers, a dazzling Jamaican woman wearing a rainbow dress, an Indian woman wearing a drapery from Linens 'N Things and her little brother; and to each party of people Sir Subway announes "NO MORE TRAINS!"
Watching each of their faces as he announced this was very entertaining.
So one by one they start following us.
We are like Moses and his trusty sidekick She-Ra. Or something. Felt like I was in the Poseiden after it has just flipped when someone finally decided to find a way out, and some banded together to try, and we were those people.
(Sidenote- my father told me one Sunday on the way home from church that "The Poseidon Adventure" had been on that morning, he had taped it, and it was a good movie that I would enjoy. I go into the basement and watch it. I still have nightmares.)
So we arrive at the end of a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG corridor with those moving walkways which I adore. They are of course not on. But Sir Subway gestures to the end of the walkway 5 kilometers away and indicates a woman in a orange vest from whom I am to get a ticket. I am then to go outside and get on the shuttle which will take me to eia;heia eiagoa (had no idea what he said) and then I can get on a train to Manhattan.
Ok.
So I smile and thank him and stride off.
Me, Jamaica, and Indian brother woman hustle down this walkway.
I get my ticket and go outside.
Outside is the Great Tampoon.
The only vehicle I can see anywhere that is running is a small van across the street. So I swim across the street and smile and tap on the window. It is rolled down to reveal a bus full of construction workers and one of their girlfriends cackling at this wet dotted woman in orthopedic shoes who is trying to board the construction bus. They point out the shuttle stop a block away.
So I go down there and lean against a plexiglass wall next to a Japanese man who is wearing brown, tan and ecru. I glance over at what he is doing on his phone. He is watching Beyonce videos.
I get excited and feel very cultural when I realize that I think out of all eight people under the shelter I am the only one with English as a first language.
About half an hour later, after I have learned all there is to know about the poor health and hospitalized state of Abdu Kharam Ahkal who is the father of the woman in front of me, the shuttle comes. I get on.
The bus driver is an elderly white haired tub of a man with round spectacles. He says to me, "Hello, Gorgeous," and I turn around immediately to make sure Jamaica and Indian brother woman are getting on with me. They are.
This bus is really something. It has blue seats and a balcony in the back. I just sat there and thought about how wonderful it was that a bus had a balcony.
So we ride the bus for about twenty minutes during which I make a few attempts to look out the window and gauge where I might be. I decided it was either Astoria or Boise.
Stopped trying to figure it out.
We stop at a dark rainy corner and are ejected from the bus.
We go down an escalator that is covered in trash and hasn't moved for 15 years for about three stories into one of the upper levels of hell where all the walls are burning orange and everyone you see presents a threat of crimes against your person ranging from pick-pocketing to kitten assassination.
I sit on a bench between my new buddies Jamaica and Indian Brother.
The first train that comes everyone lifts off the bench to board like cobras had just gotten up their skirts.
We get on. By now I am secretly hoping that I will go somewhere utterly bizarre just so I can add to this story.
We ride long enough for me to finish about eight chapters of Kevin Nealon's new book about his wife's pregnancy.
I consult the stops list (in the interest of time, as Sam had been expecting me for what was going on two hours now and should have been 20 minutes) and decide to get off at 14th St. As to where on 14th St. that would be was anyone's guess.
Indian Brother had gotten off several stops ago and 3% of me wanted to go with her as I at least knew if I went with her I would either end up eating something spicy, or in the Intensive Care Unit visting her father.
Got off at 14th. Was immediately presented with the option of boarding the bus to Jersey.
Decided against that. Went to the nearest exit.
Emerged to a beautiful, wonderfully just-rained smelling corner of Manhattan that I understood.
Still had to walk about 17 blocks east to get where I was going, but was worth it. I love how it smells after it has just rained, and I think having a lot of wet pavement makes the smell even better.
So that's what I did last night.
Am tonight scheduled to go to a book signing Joseph is in charge of with some Mattel-manufactured Russian blond who has written a book explaining the etymology of lots of English words and wears leather and pink lace and has a boyfriend named Socrates.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
He's so dreamy.
Woke up like a (well I was going to say cock but that is just asking for it) rooster every thirteen minutes throughout the night last night. No idea why.
When I finally woke up for the morning I went to open my eyes and could not. Eyelids stuck together like thighs and a carseat. Glued by sleepy cheese.
Dealt with that. Then decided since yesterday I walked up and down Manhattan today I would walk side to side. That went very well for about five blocks until I found myself in the middle of an industrial plant and millions of middle aged women in sweatsuits.
Turned around. Decided to walk to the other side and look at the water. But got distracted by the siren's song of the Strand Bookstore. I told Adam that is where I want my ashes scattered.
By this time it was 567 degrees outside so I found a pile of mulch under a tree in Union Square and sat myself down to do a crossword puzzle. I was surrounded by millions of thin veiny Native Americans sunning themselves and one hairy blond man explaining to everyone that he was a peace-causer and demonstrating how he could sound exactly like a whale.
Sat there until I was hungry and then went to the market for some lunch. Was dressed down thoroughy and, I felt, a touch harshly by a man beside me in line when I failed to properly decode the 64 inch flatscreen tv that flashed numbers backed with various shades of pastel to indicate which line you are to check out in.
Oh well, ate my sushi.
Read a book about Carrie Fisher and why she is bitter and tries to make inappropriate comments to mask her insecurity. Also how she wasn't allowed to wear a bra in space and had to use gaffe tape.
Hailed a cab with Joseph and moved all my stuff to Brooklyn.
Went for a lovely walk around Perry's neighborhood during which I met an elderly blond crunched up woman and her matching Pekingese. Named WADDLES.
Ate pizza, watched Zac Efron on tv and listened to Joseph squirm and spiggle on the couch behind me whenever Zac would act or inhale.
Met two alarmingly thin girls who knew Joseph. Thought they were twins. One of them kept darting her eyes around throughout the whole conversation. This one had a carrot once.
The other one kept laughing to show how amused she was and when she would laugh her nose would erupt into an ocean of wrinkles. Did not point this out. This is the sort of thing she would be devastated by, I got a feeling.
The young man behind the counter in the pizza establishment called out "Ladies? What can I do for you?" I look over my shoulder. Joseph and I are the last in line. Joseph soothes the couterperson by telling him that he is frequently mistaken for a a girl.
It's hot as a mole scrotum.
When I finally woke up for the morning I went to open my eyes and could not. Eyelids stuck together like thighs and a carseat. Glued by sleepy cheese.
Dealt with that. Then decided since yesterday I walked up and down Manhattan today I would walk side to side. That went very well for about five blocks until I found myself in the middle of an industrial plant and millions of middle aged women in sweatsuits.
Turned around. Decided to walk to the other side and look at the water. But got distracted by the siren's song of the Strand Bookstore. I told Adam that is where I want my ashes scattered.
By this time it was 567 degrees outside so I found a pile of mulch under a tree in Union Square and sat myself down to do a crossword puzzle. I was surrounded by millions of thin veiny Native Americans sunning themselves and one hairy blond man explaining to everyone that he was a peace-causer and demonstrating how he could sound exactly like a whale.
Sat there until I was hungry and then went to the market for some lunch. Was dressed down thoroughy and, I felt, a touch harshly by a man beside me in line when I failed to properly decode the 64 inch flatscreen tv that flashed numbers backed with various shades of pastel to indicate which line you are to check out in.
Oh well, ate my sushi.
Read a book about Carrie Fisher and why she is bitter and tries to make inappropriate comments to mask her insecurity. Also how she wasn't allowed to wear a bra in space and had to use gaffe tape.
Hailed a cab with Joseph and moved all my stuff to Brooklyn.
Went for a lovely walk around Perry's neighborhood during which I met an elderly blond crunched up woman and her matching Pekingese. Named WADDLES.
Ate pizza, watched Zac Efron on tv and listened to Joseph squirm and spiggle on the couch behind me whenever Zac would act or inhale.
Met two alarmingly thin girls who knew Joseph. Thought they were twins. One of them kept darting her eyes around throughout the whole conversation. This one had a carrot once.
The other one kept laughing to show how amused she was and when she would laugh her nose would erupt into an ocean of wrinkles. Did not point this out. This is the sort of thing she would be devastated by, I got a feeling.
The young man behind the counter in the pizza establishment called out "Ladies? What can I do for you?" I look over my shoulder. Joseph and I are the last in line. Joseph soothes the couterperson by telling him that he is frequently mistaken for a a girl.
It's hot as a mole scrotum.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Lesson.
Yesterday Sam and I got up silently and with great fury at 5am. We spuffled into our shoes and walked in utter darkness the quarter mile to the beach. Utter darkness that is, until the floodlamp from a giant trashtruck came out of the black like the killer in any horror movie you may have seen.
We avoid getting hit by said trashtruck.
We stand on the beach after arranging Shamova in a very appealing "adopt me young child" pose at the base of the stairs by the beach access.
We then walk down the beach toward the north to wait for the sunrise after we realize that we have perhaps arrived approximately half an hour too early.
I based my judgment on sunrise time off of sunrise time three weeks ago when Robyn and I went and got wet and fancy in the river.
Time has passed.
So we wait until all of the sky is rosier than before. We have realized we will see no such sunrise this morning as there are clouds everywhere.
Then we load up the car with our two blond sons and more luggage than should be discussed and begin to drive.
We proceed to drive for 14 hours.
Along the way we stop at Stuckey's. I stop myself from buying a glittery ceramic mermaid on a rock.
We experience three "tampoons" which is a new word for heavy rainstorm.
We drive through the base of Virginia at 160 miles an hour and drop Joseph and Perry off at the airport where they collect a rental car and depart to maybe have breakfast with Katie Ukrop.
I realize that it is still breakfast time.
Sam and I go to Hopewell, where I hug and kiss my mother, zip up my sundresses in a garment bag and steal a Fiber1 bar. Which are now my new favorite thing.
We go to Petersburg, where we attempt to raid the refrigerator but fail as it contains naught but coke and yogurt, steal a brooch from Sam's mother's store and I roll around in the floor with Petra.
We then go and utterly confound the employees of the Colonial Heights Burger King by ordering veggie burgers.
I consider driving by the Mill just to ask Tom if I can borrow a Sunkist.
We then drive to New York.
I will say nothing on the topic of this leg of trip except to mention that Sam and I should be cast as Coalhouse and Sarah at once and I think they rename the rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike every few years as they used to be recognizable, like Molly Pitcher, and are now things like Janice Butts.
We go through the Holland Tunnel.
Sam chains me to the bumper while he unloads our luggage into his apartment as we did not find a parking space in front and having me as an accessory would doubtless discourage most car thieves.
Sam then leans down with a face full of despair and bags and hands me the keys. I go inside. He goes to pick up his friend Ali and drive to Philadelphia.
Texted him this morning to make sure he made it in once piece and he did. He is full of cheesesteak and exhausted beyond any understanding of metaphor. I tried.
I met his subletter when she strode directly into Sam's room from the front door and was met by the vision of me in his bed without my shirt on.
Met her.
Feel sure she spent at least ten minutes back in her room shaking her head and muttering, "I would have SWORN Sam was gay."
Slept.
Woke up.
Took a brief shower so as not to contract feral rust cancer from the showerhead, dressed, loaded up my trusty backpack (thank you Scott- for that anyway), and set off.
Walked 914,637 miles. Decided to teach myself New York today.
Have a debit sized card with a map of Manhattan on it. Promised myself not to look at it.
Went to bank, park, considered asking the softball players if they needed a first baseman then remembered I was wearing a short skirt.
Sweated a lot.
Developed a fearsome boiling toothed rash on my thighs.
Smiled at a lot of people. Said hello and was friendly to those waiting on me. Enjoyed it. Have someone very particular to thank for that.
Went to the movies. They have seats here that are sitting by themselves. Joy.
Saw a movie where you are shown how it will end REPEATEDLY throughout and everyone sobs anyway. I did not sob. I kept trying to figure out Angie's obsession with Eric Bana. He is a very handsome man.
We avoid getting hit by said trashtruck.
We stand on the beach after arranging Shamova in a very appealing "adopt me young child" pose at the base of the stairs by the beach access.
We then walk down the beach toward the north to wait for the sunrise after we realize that we have perhaps arrived approximately half an hour too early.
I based my judgment on sunrise time off of sunrise time three weeks ago when Robyn and I went and got wet and fancy in the river.
Time has passed.
So we wait until all of the sky is rosier than before. We have realized we will see no such sunrise this morning as there are clouds everywhere.
Then we load up the car with our two blond sons and more luggage than should be discussed and begin to drive.
We proceed to drive for 14 hours.
Along the way we stop at Stuckey's. I stop myself from buying a glittery ceramic mermaid on a rock.
We experience three "tampoons" which is a new word for heavy rainstorm.
We drive through the base of Virginia at 160 miles an hour and drop Joseph and Perry off at the airport where they collect a rental car and depart to maybe have breakfast with Katie Ukrop.
I realize that it is still breakfast time.
Sam and I go to Hopewell, where I hug and kiss my mother, zip up my sundresses in a garment bag and steal a Fiber1 bar. Which are now my new favorite thing.
We go to Petersburg, where we attempt to raid the refrigerator but fail as it contains naught but coke and yogurt, steal a brooch from Sam's mother's store and I roll around in the floor with Petra.
We then go and utterly confound the employees of the Colonial Heights Burger King by ordering veggie burgers.
I consider driving by the Mill just to ask Tom if I can borrow a Sunkist.
We then drive to New York.
I will say nothing on the topic of this leg of trip except to mention that Sam and I should be cast as Coalhouse and Sarah at once and I think they rename the rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike every few years as they used to be recognizable, like Molly Pitcher, and are now things like Janice Butts.
We go through the Holland Tunnel.
Sam chains me to the bumper while he unloads our luggage into his apartment as we did not find a parking space in front and having me as an accessory would doubtless discourage most car thieves.
Sam then leans down with a face full of despair and bags and hands me the keys. I go inside. He goes to pick up his friend Ali and drive to Philadelphia.
Texted him this morning to make sure he made it in once piece and he did. He is full of cheesesteak and exhausted beyond any understanding of metaphor. I tried.
I met his subletter when she strode directly into Sam's room from the front door and was met by the vision of me in his bed without my shirt on.
Met her.
Feel sure she spent at least ten minutes back in her room shaking her head and muttering, "I would have SWORN Sam was gay."
Slept.
Woke up.
Took a brief shower so as not to contract feral rust cancer from the showerhead, dressed, loaded up my trusty backpack (thank you Scott- for that anyway), and set off.
Walked 914,637 miles. Decided to teach myself New York today.
Have a debit sized card with a map of Manhattan on it. Promised myself not to look at it.
Went to bank, park, considered asking the softball players if they needed a first baseman then remembered I was wearing a short skirt.
Sweated a lot.
Developed a fearsome boiling toothed rash on my thighs.
Smiled at a lot of people. Said hello and was friendly to those waiting on me. Enjoyed it. Have someone very particular to thank for that.
Went to the movies. They have seats here that are sitting by themselves. Joy.
Saw a movie where you are shown how it will end REPEATEDLY throughout and everyone sobs anyway. I did not sob. I kept trying to figure out Angie's obsession with Eric Bana. He is a very handsome man.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Shucks the kitten.
Well, the beach.
We were off to a energetic start two hours later than we'd planned on. I was not a bit surprised by this. We nearly lost the passenger side door and half of Adam when we narrowly avoided a sideswipe from a round Muslim woman the color of driftwood wearing crocs outside of the UPS store in Carytown.
Then it was decided we wanted something to drink. I suggested 7-11. I was the only member of the party willing to purchase coffee from 7-11. Joseph feels he is being the opposite of pretentious by refusing to do so. So we decide on a trendy little appropriately pretentious coffee shop in Carytown where everyone except me purchases danishes and sandwiches and iced coffee. Joseph purchased 3 large sweet teas. I said nothing about this.
So we squish into the backseat. I read a book about an elephant named Modoc who was very sweet and got a bull hook in her eye.
We take one violently wrong turn by a 7-11 in North Carolina which took us straight into Surry Co., VA. Then we turned around.
Arrived at the beach FAR TOO EARLY. We went to eat lunch at some little restaurant where a woman worked behind the bar who is from Hopewell and knows my mother and Sam.
Bought my brother a t-shirt from The Black Pelican as the one he bought when he was 10 is now a little worn.
Go by the rental office to see if we can have the key three hours early. Cannot. Decide to drive by and see the house and walk on the beach while we wait. We arrive on the beach. Adam has to pee instantly. We leave. Go to Wings for the peeing. While in Wings I purchase a large beach towel with a black horse on it because I thought I forgot my large sunshine towel. Didn't. Also purchased for $12.00 one of those seven foot inflatable killer whales to ride on. Used to love blowing those up when I was little. It seemed to impress everyone and make them say things like, "We always knew Audra was full of hot air." Which I remember thinking probably wasn't a very nice thing to say, but still, I had just blown up a freaking shark.
So I blow up some of the whale and then Joseph takes it and becomes very light-headed and says nothing that makes any sense for half an hour.
Named him Shamova as the instructions printed on his belly are in Russian. He's talking more and more every day.
But anyway, we finally get into the house. Which is like the Golden Girls house if all the rooms were in a stack on top of each other.
The water is cold. Which in the past would have completely immobilized me but for some reason this time I don't mind.
The tanning competition is going well. Joseph and I are pretty much neck and neck, though at the moment he is gaining some ground because I am at the house waiting for Sam to arrive.
We've all agreed that the woman playing "Wednesday" in the Nuvaring birth control commercial is really a stand-out.
Joseph and I have gotten into a big fight about polar bear preservation. Which I think is for now just shelved and will be brought up with gusto when we are in the nursing home.
Maggie keeps making egg salad.
Adam and I do lots of crossword puzzles.
Perry catches me lots of little crabs on the beach for me to play with.
I have so far nudged and picked up a jellyfish. An x jellyfish. Today hope to slice one up.
We have gone on many evening beach walks. Beach sits.
I threw the porch table over the side of the building.
This morning I came downstairs and there was a box of fresh hot Duck Donuts. At Duck Donuts, they dunk the donuts in the frosting of your choice right in front of you.
Oh, yesterday Adam spotted a whole slew of dolphins not very far from shore. They were jumping and circling all around a man in a kayak.
Also we are making a list of fabulous future kitten names that we will randomly come up with throughout the day. I will post this list after vacation.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Found my blue hoodie. Ruined it.
Most important bulletin in years: There is now a craft/antique shop located on the road to the Mill called: DUMPLIN' HOLLER.
I don't have the words.
Clearly someone drained my brainwaves and wrote down the two words that most encapsulate me and carved them into a sign.
Makes me want to be cheeks.
Second most important bulletin in years: I was eating my cucumber and hummus and doing the-- beating Adam at-- the crossword at Joe's Inn yesterday when my friend Ben, who is the bartender, strolled up with what appeared to be a cup of chocolate milk. Wasn't. He proceeded to explain that instead of receiving a shipment of chocolate milk, they received liquid chocolate ice cream mixture.
And I got to drink it.
Was so naughty feeling.
Delish.
Also, the "Lord of the Rings" application on Photoshop makes you look like you have a flashlight in your liver.
Made chicken fajitas with Ginnie the other night. I think I was actually a little helpful and not quite so underfoot this time. Though I was completely stumped when she offhandedly instructed me to slice the chicken breasts in half length-wise- from the side. I just stood there holding the knife and staring at the four breasts until she realized I had no idea what to do and showed me.
Slept with my reluctant lover, Ned, for about ten minutes the other night.
What have I done? Know I had a lot to write about and now cannot remember.
Oh.
I ate lobster. It was excellent, but I must confess the real joy of the process was shredding apart the shell and extracting the chubby meat. I got to do most everyone's at the table. As a result, my shells bucket was overflowing.
Also, there is a reality show on BBC-TV that is a competition to determine who will play Maria in the West End production of "The Sound of Music." One of the competitors performed "Cabaret" clad in a sequined red tissue mounted on the crotch of a male ensemble member.
Might make new word: ensembler.
I am not one to boast of selecting fabulous audition material, but really.
Starving. I am supposed to select where we go out for dinner tonight, and I HATE that. I always know exactly where I want to go when it is just me. Should not open that can of worms.
My brother, who hasn't smiled since kindergarten, was recently spotted grinning in front of the fridge. We discovered he was looking at the picture of me upside down in the river.
Priceless.
Painted the back wall of the Empire today in "Antique Mahoghany." Find it funny that the name of the shade used for the back wall of cinderblocks is "Antique Mahoghany."
Is that how you spell that?
Third important bulletin- SEAN WILLIAMS IS A GRYFFINDOR.*
Adam said he tried to discipline Betty Draper the other day by placing her under the faucet of running water. Instead of being alarmed, she went into limp pussy mode and hung there with her characteristic disinterested scowl. I reminded him that those kittens had three baths a day when they were small so that will not work as punishment.
Not sure what to recommend as an alternative. Perhaps fire.
Everyone should shave their housecat at least once.
I am so excited about the beach. We are now amply armed with crosswords and books. Which is all I really do at the beach anyway. Except this time I have to compete with Joseph in the tanning-off. Which will be a fairly interesting race until Sam arrives and is Ethiopian in half an hour.
Also I PLAY at the beach. Which is why I typically beach in board shorts and a tank top. One is just asking for a comprimising situation when one is going to tumble around in the waves in pink thread and a couple of eye-patches.
My brother and I used to play Baywatch when we were little. I think this time that Joseph will not object too strenuously to being the victim so that Sam and I can shout things like "Daphne! I've got this! Back me up!" and drag him to shore.
Maggie had stated firmly that she will do nothing but stand in the inch high water with her hands on her hips staring off to sea. This is perfect for Maggie. Probably she will shift her weight to one leg and lift one hand to shade her eyes as she squints to read one of those helicopter banners too. That is what those standing beach people do.
What should it say. I should have one flown over.
It will say, MARGARET GET IN THE WATER YOU OLD WOMAN. Or, JOSEPH YOUR HAIR HAS LOOKED BETTER!
Or, ADAM DID YOU REMEMBER TO TOUCH UP THAT RED SPOT IN THE SKY ON THE SHOEMAKER SET????
This will be fun. I welcome more suggestions.
*I don't really think that, but he was apparently very disapproving of his assignment. So if his mother shows this to him, I have typed ample blather between that statement and this footnote to keep him from seeing the explanation.
I don't have the words.
Clearly someone drained my brainwaves and wrote down the two words that most encapsulate me and carved them into a sign.
Makes me want to be cheeks.
Second most important bulletin in years: I was eating my cucumber and hummus and doing the-- beating Adam at-- the crossword at Joe's Inn yesterday when my friend Ben, who is the bartender, strolled up with what appeared to be a cup of chocolate milk. Wasn't. He proceeded to explain that instead of receiving a shipment of chocolate milk, they received liquid chocolate ice cream mixture.
And I got to drink it.
Was so naughty feeling.
Delish.
Also, the "Lord of the Rings" application on Photoshop makes you look like you have a flashlight in your liver.
Made chicken fajitas with Ginnie the other night. I think I was actually a little helpful and not quite so underfoot this time. Though I was completely stumped when she offhandedly instructed me to slice the chicken breasts in half length-wise- from the side. I just stood there holding the knife and staring at the four breasts until she realized I had no idea what to do and showed me.
Slept with my reluctant lover, Ned, for about ten minutes the other night.
What have I done? Know I had a lot to write about and now cannot remember.
Oh.
I ate lobster. It was excellent, but I must confess the real joy of the process was shredding apart the shell and extracting the chubby meat. I got to do most everyone's at the table. As a result, my shells bucket was overflowing.
Also, there is a reality show on BBC-TV that is a competition to determine who will play Maria in the West End production of "The Sound of Music." One of the competitors performed "Cabaret" clad in a sequined red tissue mounted on the crotch of a male ensemble member.
Might make new word: ensembler.
I am not one to boast of selecting fabulous audition material, but really.
Starving. I am supposed to select where we go out for dinner tonight, and I HATE that. I always know exactly where I want to go when it is just me. Should not open that can of worms.
My brother, who hasn't smiled since kindergarten, was recently spotted grinning in front of the fridge. We discovered he was looking at the picture of me upside down in the river.
Priceless.
Painted the back wall of the Empire today in "Antique Mahoghany." Find it funny that the name of the shade used for the back wall of cinderblocks is "Antique Mahoghany."
Is that how you spell that?
Third important bulletin- SEAN WILLIAMS IS A GRYFFINDOR.*
Adam said he tried to discipline Betty Draper the other day by placing her under the faucet of running water. Instead of being alarmed, she went into limp pussy mode and hung there with her characteristic disinterested scowl. I reminded him that those kittens had three baths a day when they were small so that will not work as punishment.
Not sure what to recommend as an alternative. Perhaps fire.
Everyone should shave their housecat at least once.
I am so excited about the beach. We are now amply armed with crosswords and books. Which is all I really do at the beach anyway. Except this time I have to compete with Joseph in the tanning-off. Which will be a fairly interesting race until Sam arrives and is Ethiopian in half an hour.
Also I PLAY at the beach. Which is why I typically beach in board shorts and a tank top. One is just asking for a comprimising situation when one is going to tumble around in the waves in pink thread and a couple of eye-patches.
My brother and I used to play Baywatch when we were little. I think this time that Joseph will not object too strenuously to being the victim so that Sam and I can shout things like "Daphne! I've got this! Back me up!" and drag him to shore.
Maggie had stated firmly that she will do nothing but stand in the inch high water with her hands on her hips staring off to sea. This is perfect for Maggie. Probably she will shift her weight to one leg and lift one hand to shade her eyes as she squints to read one of those helicopter banners too. That is what those standing beach people do.
What should it say. I should have one flown over.
It will say, MARGARET GET IN THE WATER YOU OLD WOMAN. Or, JOSEPH YOUR HAIR HAS LOOKED BETTER!
Or, ADAM DID YOU REMEMBER TO TOUCH UP THAT RED SPOT IN THE SKY ON THE SHOEMAKER SET????
This will be fun. I welcome more suggestions.
*I don't really think that, but he was apparently very disapproving of his assignment. So if his mother shows this to him, I have typed ample blather between that statement and this footnote to keep him from seeing the explanation.
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