may 01

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

phone home

5/28/01
It's horrible, but I finally broke down and bought a vacuum. I've managed to make it 28 years without one, so I guess it’s time that the appliance caught up with me. I hate vacuums, vacuuming, carpet...all of it. I don’t want to jinx myself by bringing it up, but it’s like my aversion, and twisted pride, in never having to have an I.V. (yet?). I've been needing my wisdom teeth removed for years now (they were acting up like nobody’s business a couple weeks ago), but the last time I made an appt. probably in ’95, they wanted to knock me out, via an I.V., and I freaked and never went back. I've been scared to get my teeth taken out ever since. And I know teeth are only a minor issue. I've never broken a bone or been hospitalized, and I’m sure that if either of those two things happened, an I.V. would ensue. But anyway, I.V.s aren't the issue at the present time, my being forced into purchasing a vacuum is. It's the worst drudgery in the world (well, maybe next to laundry). I think when I was a kid, it was the highest paid chore. Dishes were 25 cents, dusting was 50 cents, but vacuuming was $1 because neither my sister, nor I would do it. Just the sound of a vacuum makes me tense, I used to say that it made my bones hurt. It might have something to do with how my mom would always vacuum when she was in a foul mood, all nasty. I associate vacuuming with misguided anger. I was thinking that I hadn't vacuumed in at least fifteen years, but then I remembered how untrue that was. In late ’94 I was somehow suckered into working for a former teacher, watching her unruly beast of a child and cleaning her house, of all things. Jenny was very likeable, but she was crazy in drug and alcohol influenced way. She’d never show up for class on time (or at all), turn lewd and inappropriate on a dime, and always be eating stuff like tuna salad that was 90% mayonnaise and chicken fingers with ranch even though she was about 90 pounds. I can't even remember why I agreed to watch Nicholas, especially since I’m not fond of kids, and this one was a special kind of brat. I suppose I needed the money and I think it was only supposed to be for a week. But I was supposed to vacuum her house and it was two stories, wall to wall carpet, and of course there were toys everywhere, which Nicholas would refuse to pick up. I don't know, it was really hellish, even though I'm not making it sound that bad. It didn't improve my perception of vacuuming at all, but really, that was the least of the issues concerning this arrangement. Jenny also expected me to take the beast to preschool, but didn't bother telling me what time his class started. She'd just have me drop him off whenever, which displeased the teacher so she wouldn't let me bring him in till a certain point in the lesson was finished so I'd have to take him outside to wait and he’d run off and yell and I'd end up chasing him 'round like an idiot. He'd also try opening the car doors while on freeways. It was a total mess. But the worst was the day she made me take him to OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) for the day and I had to hang out with moms while the kids went through the exhibits. Late in the afternoon, I heard myself being paged on the intercom, which was a weird experience. Jenny was on the phone telling me she needed the house keys (why did I have the only set? I can't remember) because she needed to go home to get her pot all ready, wrapped up etc. (I didn't know she sold pot, though I knew she had a safe full of marijuana in the bathroom), so she was going to stop out front of OMSI, but didn't want Nicholas to see her or he'd spaz (which of course happened anyway). But to keep him busy for a few more hours, she suggested taking him to McDonalds because he loved the playground. As if the OMSI torture wasn't enough. Anyway, I know this rambling is more about bad parenting than vacuuming, but the two twist in my head. So, Memorial Day Weekend...I didn't really do much with my extra day off. I did end up in NJ two days in row, though. I got my suburban fix hanging out at Target, Trader Joes (that place would make a killing in the city--I can't figure out why they don't just build one), Home Depot, Outback Steakhouse and the like. My favorite find was this craft store in a strip mall called Rag Shop. I didn't know places like this still existed. Well, I should after the amount of crap TV I watched this weekend. James got this new DTV cable service with over 250 channels, which I think is plain sick (and I got all excited when figured out that I get a few free random cable channels like the Food Network and Independent Film Channel by attaching the cable in my new apt). But I have to admit some of the features are cool like being able to sort the listings by themes like Cooking or Crafts. I saw all sorts of ugliness constructed before my eyes: quilts with seashore motifs, adobe fireplaces and "memory books" covered with lots of punched paper designs. I learned how to hang hideous vertical blinds and that "scrapbooking" is a verb. Wow. The Rag Shop was filled with baskets, silk flowers, gel for making candles in wine glasses and pattern books--I haven't seen those in years. The hands down most priceless moment was seeing the tan, bulging-muscled, tight-tee shirted guy furtively picking up two latch hook kits. For a child? A girlfriend? Himself?! I wish. I went in with the purpose of finding that gauzy material you can iron between folded material to bond it rather than hemming with thread and needle (I can't sew a lick, and my curtains are too long). I remember my mom using it years ago (she couldn't sew either), but couldn't recall the name of the stuff. Well, I did track it down and was pleased to re-learn it's called "Stitch Witchery." Even the name's great. I swear this craft thing is the best thing going right now. Unfortunately, I'm never home so who knows when I'll actually get around to doing all the stuff I've got planned.

5/22/01
I think I have gangrene, and I'm pretty sure I can blame it on Old Navy. Friday I returned some clothes, got new stuff (couldn't exchange, as they didn't have either of the items I brought back) and for some reason bought a pair of $3.50 lime green thongs (not the underwear). I figured I'd wear them to Coney Island Sunday, despite James insisting I'd get jabbed by a syringe or some other nonsense. Well, they did cut up my feet, but 95% of the shoes I buy, cheap and otherwise, always seem to cause similar problems. Most of the weekend had been spent seeing the sites with my sister and her new boyfriend in balmy weather. This was all fine, but Sunday it turned a little gray and crisp, which was intensified by Coney Island's proximity to the ocean. Anyway, I got my Nathan's cheese fries, saw some freaky people living in tents on the pier, balked at riding any of the rides then decided to wait outside while my sister and co. went into the freak show. They never came out. I swear. I waited and waited and walked and paced. It started to get really cold, my feet started burning where that little piece of material rubs between the big toe and the second one and I started getting agitated. After about 45 min. I figured I'd lost them for good to the carnies. It's not like there's a central paging system so I did a little walk through the booths and left for home empty handed. We eventually met up again when they showed up at my place about an hour later. It wasn't until after we'd come back from dinner and drinks that I realized my foot was really hurting. I took off my sock (I'd since changed into more sensible shoes) and noticed a huge wet black and red wound at the bottom of my second toe. This was no ordinary blister, in fact it was one of the more hideous things I've seen on my body (and I've seen some gross stuff). I sort of ignored it because I'm stupid, then last night the whole thing was black, which freaked me out. I guess I don't really think it's gangrene, but it doesn't look good. Today I could barely walk, and of course a rain storm developed so even at my fastest hobble, I got soaked to the bone, which just aggravated me all the more. It's probably some super freaky Coney Island bacteria that'll rot my entire leg off by tomorrow, and when I'm in a wheelchair, it'll be Old Navy I blame. Actually, I'm mildly afraid this is a disfiguring Ridgewood Curse that will with time force me to use a cane like 90% of the residents. I suppose you can take the girl out of Ridgewood, but you can't take Ridgewood out of the girl. I'm doomed! Hmm...there's always a random mishap when my sister visits. Two times ago, there was this huge ordeal where my mom locked the deadbolt and I didn't notice and when we got back in the middle of the night we couldn't get in (I didn't have the key to the deadbolt) and had to ride the subway for like the millionth time back into Manhattan and sleep on my mom's hotel floor. This time it was Thurs. night, we'd drank a bit, Melissa and Dave were dead tired from traveling (they'd just flown in hours earlier) and James offered to drive us to my place since his car was parked in Williamsburg (he pays what I consider to be a lot of money for a parking spot in upper Manhattan, but often it's more convenient to just park in Brooklyn and take the subway back since it's only two stops) so we headed out there, got out and the car was nowhere to be found. This was not good. I thought he'd just forgotten and parked it someplace else, but it really wasn't there. Eventually we ended up just taking a car service back to my place, not knowing whether the vehicle was stolen or towed. It ended up being the latter, and they whole thing is so wacked out and sketchy that I can't even explain it. It was some weird deal where a private company in Brooklyn can just pick up cars by running their plates and seeing if they owe parking tickets (this doesn't happen in Manhattan, only city officials can do this and wouldn't tow for anything less than $500 in outstanding fines) and there's all this rigamarole where they charge you $175 for towing, $103/day for storage, make you pay them the fine money and then consider themselves as your lawyer and charge you another fee for them mailing the payment to the city. You have to pay in cash in one part of Brooklyn (Bay Ridge) then have to get your car all the way across town in Red Hook. I don't know, none of it makes sense to me. I'm not even the one who had to cough up the $475 for a car that's worth less than that, and it busts my chops. But other than my foot and the car incident, my sister's visit was a pleasant one.

5/14/01
Hmm, I was out of town this weekend (went to Philadelphia for work) and I could've sworn I put up an entry here Fri. night before I left. I guess I was in such a hurry to pack and leave that I shut down the computer without uploading it, then hit don't save when TextPad prompted me. Oh well, I was just rambling about some guy on a food-related message board who obliquely referred to me as a yuppie (lord, I didn't realize that term was still in the popular vernacular, but today I saw "Die Yuppie" spray painted on this temporary cement divider thing in front of work. It confused me a bit because all the construction going on isn't building high-rises or foofy businesses [though a wine store did just go in down the block], they're just tearing up the street and doing something with pipes or sewers or who knows what) because I said there wasn't any restaurant worth visiting in Ridgewood. People are strange. The gentrification that's going on 20 blocks up certainly hasn't hit my neighborhood yet. I still haven't gotten into the swing of things here. I haven't been adventurous (or had the time) to check out the laundromat yet, but today I finally went to the one and only grocery store within walking distance and it wasn't too traumatic. However, I was quite possibly the only person who spoke English as a first language in the place. Not that I needed to speak to anyone for any reason, but it's sort of odd. I can see how there'll be trouble cooking-wise. If I'm in the market for goat meat or lard things will be fine, but I'm pretty much out of luck on anything other than the basics. Fresh herbs other than cilantro are going to cause a problem, and I just realized that there aren't any liquor stores over here. Luckily, if you walk a few blocks over near the river, there are porn shops galore (and a Costco). Oh, I'm livin' la vida yuppie, alright.

5/8/01
I know I get wound up about things that don't really matter, but it's hard not to. All I wanted was a cheap jean jacket. I didn't realize this was some huge trend. I figured Old Navy would probably have what I was looking for since this is a basic sort of item, and that's what they're best for. I went to the store on 6th Ave. last week and everything was well-stocked, there were jean jackets galore. Every section had racks and racks of them, but suspiciously I couldn't find a single XL. This didn't seem right, and I figured I must not be looking hard enough or in the right place, but no, there still didn't appear to be any. My blood started to boil. I never ask sales people for help, but I couldn't stand it so I asked a guy if they made extra larges or if they just didn't have any out. He said that he didn't think there were any left, but he'd check in the stockroom. No cigar. I swear, I almost lost my mind. There's just something extremely frustrating about wanting something, something so simple and obtainable, and not being able to have it. I swear I almost started kicking things, but luckily was sidetracked by some summer dresses. Unfortunately, when I got them home they didn't fit (I have a thing against dressing rooms--not a modesty issue, more of a time-wasting thing). They were actually too large, which is odd since I have to wear a size larger in pants there than I normally do. They need to get their sizing straight. I know the reason all the XLs were gone is because the jackets are tiny. I tried on a burgundy cord one last year, and could barely get the buttons to meet in front, which is just plain wrong. So, I didn't get the jacket I wanted, and the clothes I did buy didn't even fit. I had the bright idea of going to the Old Navy near work this evening. I hate to say it, but folks tend to be bigger in Brooklyn than in Manhattan, that's just the way it is. I thought I might have some luck. Now if I was complaining about the store on 6th Ave., well, I almost blew a gasket at this location. It's the saddest, ghetto Old Navy I've ever seen (I went there around Christmas and just attributed the sparseness to the holiday rush). They had absolutely nothing the other store did, the clothes I brought to exchange were nowhere to be seen. It was like the place had been decimated. Random things were thrown on racks, and when you did find something sort of o.k. they only had one or two to choose from in either a size 4 or 20. Actually, it wasn't that bad, if I hadn't been in the Manhattan one the week before, I would have been none the wiser as to what the selection should've been like. All these people were walking around with Old Navy bags, and I couldn't help but wonder what they possibly found to buy. I almost wanted to tell them that they were missing out on like half the store's merchandise. I almost even considered writing a letter to the head of whatever asking why they treat the Atlantic Center location like a bastard child. Why should Brooklyn shoppers get the short end of the stick? Anyway,I scoured the store and found a measly two jean jackets. Two. The other Old Navy easily had 100 (it was the sheer volume of them that made their lack of a single XL so odious)! I was like fuck it, and stormed out (then I went to the world's lamest Marshall's upstairs--don't even get me started). Ooh, now I'm really steaming. I just went to the website thinking I could at least order online (it's rare to find anything larger than a 12 at Gap, but their website carries "online exclusive sizes" i.e. plus size. Interesting...if you're willing to shell out $48 [which I'm not 'cause I'm cheap--even though I just blew $50 on crafts books] Gap has jean jackets in stock all the way up to XXL), but all they have are freakin' XS and S left! What is going on?! Sunday I decided to count how many jean jackets I saw people wearing on the walk from James's apt. on 13th and 3rd to Aiello's (to get wings) on 27th and 3rd. I didn't count any colors other than blue denim, or styles other than the standard jacket. I hoped to get 15 before we got to the restaurant. I counted 36 (37 if you count the one that walked in the place while we were waiting for our order) without even trying very hard. That's about 2.6 jean jackets per block. Multiply that by every block in the city, and we're talking insanity (not my insanity for caring so much). Was I asleep or something? How did the simple jean jacket get to be the whopping spring trend of 2001? Something very fishy is going on.

5/7/01
Well, this will be my first night sleeping over in my new apt. I don't know why I've been so reluctant to stay the night. Maybe I don't deal with change so well. However, I had two minor epiphanies over the past week. I was watching that wonderful movie, "The Skulls" on cable when I had a sudden spurt of clarity. All this time I've been beating myself up because everywhere I look really asinine, mediocre people seem to succeed without trying. There are all these nobodies walking around with attractive apartments, cooler jobs, nicer clothes, whiter teeth, better-behaved pets...but now it's apparent that these winners are just members of a secret society. It's all so simple. Now I can rest easy realizing that having the good life is beyond my control. There's some Craig T. Nelson mastermind out there pulling strings, and there's nothing little folks like myself can do about it. It really takes a load off my mind now that I know the truth. My second realization was that computers are lame, and that crafts rule. I don't know what's gotten into me, but all I can think about is creating amazing arts and crafts projects. I'm so gung ho on decoupage right now that it's not even funny. And don't get me started on mosaics. Lord help me if I start making homemade candles or purchase a woodburning kit. Maybe I'm going back to my roots (my degree is in Printmaking, which always seems to cause puzzlement during job interviews--I don't think anyone knows what printmaking is), thinking about letterpress, handmade paper, bookbinding and all that traditional craftsmanship crap seems really exciting all of a sudden. I don't know, the internet's starting to burn me out or something. It certainly couldn't hurt to concentrate on real, tangible undertakings. As long as I don't start batiking and tie-dying in the backyard, I think it'll be alright.

5/1/01
Well, it's a new month, and I now have a new address, new phone number and all that new stuff. I technically moved Friday, but I still haven't spent a night in my new apt. yet. Transition is tough and I'm trying to ease into things. Part of me is excited to start fresh, unpack, decorate, etc. but most of me just doesn't feel like dealing with it yet. That's not completely true, it' s just that I don’t have a bed or a chair for my computer, table so there's nowhere to sleep and I can't type and fritter away time. This should all change by the weekend though since I've reserved a U Haul van to head out to IKEA (I can't even let myself think about the amount of money that's getting spent on everything. This is my second U Haul rental in a week, which adds up. I need a sofa [I always say couch, but it appears that sofa is the accepted usage], bed, mattress, curtains and rods, desk chair, coffee table, drawers… and it just got into the 80s today which begs the question as to whether or not my fourth NY summer will be spent sweltering without air conditioning again. I don’t think I should have to take the torture anymore, but jeez, we're talking close to $2,000 here [total, not just the air conditioner]). Anyway, it's about time for me to head out of here and avoid my apt. for another night.