march 04

++++++++++++

phone home

3/25/04
It really sucks not having time to write about things of unimportance here. But that’s life. When you have the free time, nothing ever happens, but when you’re crazy busy and full of stories there’s no time for spinning yarns on the internet. I haven’t had time to answer my emails piling up, and it’s not like I’m even that popular. I think school, interning and work has finally caught up me. Today I called in sick just so I could sleep in, finish up a research paper due tonight, and come up with pictures to put in these Pottery Barn Teen pillows I just ordered online. I’ve been going a little nuts with the ebay and online purchases lately. It’s one of those phases where I have no money anyway (though I am expecting a tax refund and student loan check) so I figure why not just go wild with the credit card. It’s not sensible, but it makes me feel better. Yesterday I spent money I didn’t have on a new haircut that seriously verges on a hipster mullet. I say verge because it it’s clearly long in the back and short on the top and sides, it’s the hip part I’m not too sure about. Monday night I spent money I didn’t have on James’s birthday dinner at the new, overly hyped restaurant in the meatpacking district, Spice Market. I didn’t spot Martha Stewart or Howard Stern like everyone else seem to, but when dining at the mere mortals hour of 10:30 reserved for non-somebodies, it’s not surprising. It’d be easy to pooh-pooh the upscale street food they’re purveying ($8 NYC satay vs. 25 cents in Bangkok) but it was actually really fun, the food was surprisingly good (an appetizer with shaved tuna in kaffir lime infused coconut milk with chili flavored tapioca balls was borderline genius, not gimmicky at all) and very reasonable priced for that sort of restaurant (for comparison, I spent just shy of $100 there [$22 of it being drinks] while last night I dined at this scary, blah, steak and seafood, after-work business crowd place in Grand Central for a review I’m writing, and blew $140. Granted, that wasn’t my own money, but still.). So far, the major downside to this living together thing is my lungs rotting. I just can’t say no to cigarettes when they present themselves to me. And my mom doesn’t help matters because for Christmas and birthdays she always sends James a carton of Parliments because once I commented on how cheap they were in Portland, and that that was his brand. But he smokes lights and she mails these harsh full flavor ones that totally kill you and make you nauseous. I’ve been getting headaches and queasiness from them all week, and yet I can’t stop lighting them up. It’s a serious problem. I never kept junk food and cigarettes in my house because I have no self-control. Maybe I could sue someone. I’ve been having all these crazy, vivid (and highly sexually charged, which is odd for me) dreams lately. I attribute it to the effexor I’ve started taking, which isn’t something I’d normally do since I’m pretty anti anti-depressants, but I thought I’d give it a whirl. Sunday night I dreamed that my right front tooth fell out, which was disappointing because that’s such boring classic dream symbolism, I’m used to silly, stupid dreams that don’t mean anything. I was telling this dream to James at dinner Monday night, which was whatever. But Tuesday he had to be up early, in Boston for business at 8am. He took off in a hurry that morning, but called me from Logan airport to say that something bad happened. Part of his tooth had fallen out on the way to the airport. That was weird, and coincidental, but not the bad thing. I guess when going through the metal detector, security got all antsy and weird with him and made him step aside to go through his bag. Everyone was being very gruff and suspicious and kept asking him if he had any weapons on him, and he kept insisting he didn’t. After pawing every nook and cranny in his bag, they found a pocketknife in a tiny zippered pocket and went all nuts accusing him of having a concealed weapon and lying about. I guess he’d stuck it in there on the drive home from Thanksgiving and hadn’t been able to find it since. But he had to be escorted to the plane, and they made the person who was originally seated next to him move so a security person could sit there, he also had to escorted off the plane once he got to Boston, and now has some keep-your-eye-on-this-person notation attached to his name. Now he’s always going to get his bags scrutinized when we fly anywhere. It’s kind of funny now, but I guess it was serious. That’s why I like him, because I’m a total bad luck magnet (when I was a kid my mom used to say a rain cloud followed me, no joke), but he’s even worse.

3/22/04
Last night I was semi-watching "Deadwood." Nothing about it really caught my attention until the credits rolled, and I had to do a double-take when I swear I saw the name Geri Jewell. You may remember Geri as Cousin Geri, the cerebral palsy, stand-up comedienne (classic line: "I'm not drunk I just have cerebral palsy") that played Blair's cousin on "Facts of Life." I can't figure out for the life of me what character she was playing, I mean the female characters on the show were few and far between, pretty much whores and pioneer women. I didn't see any of them stumbling and slurring funny lines, so I'm confused…yet curious.

3/16/04
I swear, this weather’s trying to make me nuts. I was simultaneously excited and annoyed by the short-sleeved people not wearing coats yesterday (come on, it was nice, but not that nice). And then today a snowstorm?! I was supposed to go to this Japanese Italian chain restaurant tonight to write up a little review, but once I got home there was no way I was going back out in that mess. And I was looking forward to that fish roe spaghetti, too. I’m doing these reviews for the Time Out NY guide, which is cool because who doesn’t like free food. But it’s sort of not all that hot because I have a month to do ten, which is harder than it seems because I only have so many nights available, what with school, not to mention all these assignments due at the end of the month. Plus, it’s the time of year where there’s a birthday barrage, it’s like everyone I know is an Aries. My dining and homework nights are going to be eaten up by parties. Not related, but so far, I haven’t received any mail at my new address and I put in a request for Feb. 26. I’ve head nightmares about the Brooklyn postal service so I’m not too hopeful. The big issue is that I have a $3,000 student loan refund check that was mailed to me Feb. 20 and I have absolutely no idea where it is. And it’s not like actually calling the post office is any help. I’ve discovered this weird quirk with the new address. Whenever I have to tell it to someone over the phone, which has happened a lot lately, I get this weird reaction. The address is: 1 Fourth Place, #1. I wouldn’t assume the apartment number is #1 just because the address is 1. Like it could be 1 Fourth Place, #2 or #3 or #4, right? There are four apartments in the building. But whenever I give the address and say #1, people either sigh, or say “I know” like duh, lady, tell me something I don’t know. The tone is always hostile or irritated like I’m insulting their intelligence. Why does everyone think that the 1 before Fourth Place also indicates the apartment number? I’m always eager to give the number because my last place had no apartment number, which always prompted the person on the phone to ask when I didn’t provide one and then act like they didn’t believe me. The post office woman yesterday was all nuts after I specified #1 and was all “alright, #1 apartment” like if you insist, you’re #1, a superstar, whatever, and then kept calling me Garcia, kind of like how you’d call someone “chief.” I was like what the hell is wrong with people. And then my mail problem was never even resolved. She said she’d call back in 25 minutes, and of course didn’t. So, where’s my mail, dammit?

3/10/04
I feel discombobulated since the only things of mine that I really have access to are most of my clothes and a tiny fraction of my make up. Everything else is still boxed up. I can’t stand not having my computer. I’m not a flexible person, even though I have use of the laptop I’m currently using, it’s just not the same. None of my documents or bookmarks are on it, and it has this unreliable wireless connection so you can’t move it or even tap it too hard or it crashes. Anyway, I’m supposed to be writing a research paper, not boo hooing here, but like I said, I’m having a hard time adjusting to this computer. Not to mention that it’s my spring break this week. Who wants to do homework during a vacation anyway? Not that I have any days off from work or interning, no school just means I have two extra weeknights free. No biggie. Not too far from here, is this freakish, large-for-NYC Pathmark with a parking lot. I could never figure it out. I’ve passed by it in a car countless times because it’s en route between James’s apt., now my new one, and my old place. It’s not really even in a particular neighborhood, it’s not quite Red Hook, it’s sort of at the base of Carroll Gardens and kind of of touches Park Slope. I think it’s what they call Gowanus, but that’s not real like how Greenwood Heights wasn’t the official name of my old neighborhood. You also hover past it if you’re on the BQE. It’s sort of isolated and out of the way, even though it’s near the Smith and 9th St. F/G line. There is a brand new Lowe’s going in right next door though, which is odd because there’s already a Home Depot just down the street, and you’d think the area would benefit from something other than another home improvement store. It’s where they were originally going to put an Ikea, which made more sense to me, but whatever. I always figured it must be a draw for Red Hook residents since it’s just on the other side Hamilton Ave. and that neighborhood is probably even a little more lacking in decent amenities than my old neck of the woods. In other words, it must be busted. But I was still curious about it. James didn’t even know it existed until a few weeks ago when I pointed it out (I guess driving takes a lot of concentration—I just assume drivers notice the same things as passengers). As far as wide-aisle, lots of choice, cheap “real” grocery stores go, he’s pretty loyal to Western Beef in Ridgewood. Which is kind of silly and out of the way, considering that’s now two neighborhoods ago for me, but it’s quick in a car. But we figured Pathmark might be worth an excursion. Yeah, it really is a real grocery store with a normal produce section, bakery, fish counter, etc. (however, they don’t have gruyere, which was a benchmark I’ve been using since I had trouble finding fondue ingredients a few months ago. The Pathmark on Atlantic does have gruyere and is a little more upscale than this location, but that location is pain to deal with and it housed in the most busted Brooklyn shopping center with the world’s saddest Old Navy, Marshall’s and Macy’s). They have Coinstar machines, self-serve checkout (which always makes my nervous outside suburban areas, people here have a particular knack for fucking the thing up, assuming it’s even working. At Home Depot, you’re lucky if one of four kiosks is up and running) and a bizarre mini mall arrangement inside with a Dunkin Donuts, optometrist, 99-cent type store, and liquor store that’s open on Sunday. It’s an alright place, especially if you’re one of those types who just enjoys the feel of pushing a cart around aimlessly and browsing varieties of Hot Pockets (not that I’m buying Hot Pockets, I just like seeing the flavors. Beef Taco just seems wrong.) So, I was enjoying my leisurely Saturday afternoon stroll through the supermarket (yeah, this is what passes for fun once you start living with a guy) when out of the corner of my eye I see my old upstairs neighbor with that hideous, always squealing toddler with a balloon seated in a shopping cart mere inches from me. I was like oh shit, jerked my head to the right and saw the dad on another aisle. And this was weird because just last week I was speculating on where my upstairs neighbors shopped and conducted business because they don’t have a car either, and my stint in Sunset Park I’d never once seen them hauling groceries or laundry. Running into my week old former neighbors wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I like tidy endings. When I dropped off my keys with them last week that closed that chapter. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to just say hi at the supermarket, but I didn’t want to. It was like they were continuing to invade my world, as if it wasn’t enough to hear screaming, jumping and balls bouncing through the celing and have their horrible macaroni and cheese and Cheerios back up into my sink and soapy shower water pour through the walls of my bathroom, they had to be in my new found grocery store too?! Argh. I don’t even know how they got there, it’s not on a direct subway line, but they’re those Brooklyn types who take car services all over (I’ve never gotten into the whole car service thing). I freaked out and ran into the frozen food section. And it’s not like I was really that well camouflaged considering that besides them, James and I were practically the only other white people in the place. It’s kind of like when you’re a kid and you see your teacher at the grocery store, running into them out of context is awkward, paths aren’t meant to cross in certain environments. There’s no escape in this world. I might just have to go back to shopping at the Western Beef.

3/4/04
I feel vindicated. At least I think so. I've been complaining for eons about my eyes and head killing me. The MRI came up fine, my eye exam came back 20/20. My next theory was that my sinuses are a mess, I can never smell anything and my nose and eyes always burn. So I told my dr. who didn't really think this was the culprit because she said sinus stuff would've shown up on my MRI. But she looked at it again and there was a sentence in the report about a cyst in my sinus. I think it's miniscule, but still. Wouldn't you think a cyst in your face could wreak havoc? Now I'm scared to go to the ear, nose, throat dr. on Mon. because how do they get rid of such a thing? Or maybe they don't. A cyst is probably better than a brain tumor or bad vision, right? One of the craziest food chains I found in Singapore was Beard Papa, this Japanese cream puff company with a logo that looks like a santa claus type gentleman with a pipe. You thought it should be bread papa, even though that made little sense either. Well, they just opened one here in NYC, which is exciting, but it's way up in the 70s and I'll never get to that part of town. My other favorite mall bakery in Singapore was Tio Glutton (how do you resist a name like that?), that only does cheesecake. "Cheese cake studio on the back street" as their slogan reads. It turns out the two chains are part of the same company, so maybe Tio Glutton will be making an appearance here soon.

3/2/04
Phew, I’m finally officially moved. Out with the old, in with the new. And the timing couldn’t be better, though I think it’s temporary, it’s as if spring set in overnight. There’s a balmy lightness in the air, the Mr. Softee ice cream trucks started up yesterday, I didn’t even have to wear a coat this morning. Or maybe I’m just feeling free because skipped school, my last two classes Thurs. and Mon. I said good riddance to my apartment last night and part of me felt sad even though the neighborhood simultaneously drives me nuts and amuses me. I like the Asian Sunset Park and the Mexican Sunset Park, however I don’t like my fast food, car wash, adult bookstore, sitting on the porch glaring and smoking white people Sunset Park. The thing about rinky-dink NYC borough neighborhoods is the requisite strip of discount stores. There’s always a NY&Co (formerly Lerner’s), Radio Shack, Dee & Dee, Rainbow Shop (my favorite—the cramped one in South Slope never cut the mustard), way too many 99-cent stores, Foot Locker, and random stores with names like Pretty Girl and George Michael Suits. Ridgewood bothered me, but at least I had the Myrtle Ave. strip of cheap shopping. Sunset Park has a strip that ends about ten blocks shy of my old place, then picks up again about 15 blocks later in Park Slope, but at least I had options either direction. Carroll Gardens/Cobble Hill has Smith St. which is fine, but foofy—places with $150 pillows and dresses that stop at size 10. James like the lack of a ratty element, but then he’s not yet sold on Brooklyn, anyway. He was joking about how he feared I’d miss all my low-budget amenities (despite all my complaining about shitty neighborhoods I do enjoy the dreariness on some level), and it’s true. I won’t grow out of my affection for dumpy stores filled with handwritten ESL signs with the apostrophes in all the wrong places, 99-cent batteries and light bulbs that give out after a few hours, and Clairol products that look almost right minus directions that appear to be in Hungarian. After going to the new gym this afternoon (it’s actually not as nice as my old one and costs $7 more a month) I went for groceries at the nearby Key Foods and it was all wrong. Way too many meatless products and specialty dairy items. I heard a black nanny with a little blonde child in tow wondering out loud, “where’s the organic baby food?” as the tyke proceeded to knock over a display of cereal. I don’t know how I’m going to survive here.