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Lone Star Thomas
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11/28/01
I swear I'm losing it. Normally, I'm very good about dates, times, punctuality and general organization. I'd received a letter a few weeks ago telling me I had to go to an unemployment orientation today. I put it and the forms that came with it in my pile of related material. Fine. Yesterday, I went looking for the letter because you're supposed to bring it with you, and I needed to look up the address. It was missing. All the other forms were there, but the bring back sheet was gone. I have absolutely no idea what happened to it, but I was 99% sure my appt. was Nov. 28 at 11am and called to make sure I had the address right and that I wouldn't get in trouble for not having my sheet (it's just this piece of paper with the address of the unemployment office and the date and time you're supposed to be there). I make fun of all the unemployment freaks who just can't seem to get anything right, misunderstanding everything, starting fights, wasting my time and the rest. Well, I guess I just became one. The other day, I was amusing myself, speculating on how I could make the orientation more challenging (if it's anything like last year's, you just wait in lots of lines and then get herded into a room to listen to a message on a '70s tape recorder placed on a stool). Like I could pretend to not read, write, speak or understand English, but that's too obvious and common. I thought I might be able to pull off a belligerent act to spice things up a bit, but that would be sure to be taken all ready. It would be kind of funny to act oblivious and cut in line a lot and run ahead of people trying to find seats, but I don't really have the gumption. I didn't even have to try being a fuck-up because it just happened naturally this morning. I got up, headed out to beautiful downtown Brooklyn, got in line (believe me, people were trying to cut and they were backtalking the security guard too--better and much more realistic than anything I could've pulled off), made it to the front and got chastised for not having my slip (actually I was bluntly told too bad and that they couldn't help me until I got indignant and insisted I'd called the day before and was told it was OK. I swear to god, they don't even care if you have the slip, they just want to make sure people follow rules like little misbehaved children). My name wasn't on any of the lists for this morning and I got annoyed, not incredibly so, but it's like they don't believe you or you're somehow scamming them, like I'd get up early and come to this particular address at this particular time just for random fun. They took my S.S.#, said they might be able to squeeze me in and I had to take a seat, not getting the paperwork to fill out like everyone else. After a bit, "Ms. Garcia" was called and I was informed that my appt. was for tomorrow. I got mildly hotheaded to be bumped to the next day when I was there in person right now, but it turned out that my appt. was for the 29th, not the 28th so I was the retard. Ooh, my bad. It's so scary. Once you start living the unemployed life, you start acting like...well, the freaky unemployed. I'd better do something quick before I reach the point of no return. Next thing you know, I'll be faking children and pulling welfare scams or suing for child support or god knows what. I'm half way there, after all, I did get caught claiming an extra four days of unemployment last year. Consequently, I haven't seen a penny of this year's unemployment because any (measly) check I've been entitled to so far has been put towards my debt and penalty. I have no idea when I'll actually get a check in the mail, it's to the point that James lent me $1,000 (I didn't ask, I swear) the other day and that's a bad situation to be in because who knows when I'll ever get the money to pay it back. It's a Judge Judy episode waiting to happen. And believe me, I'll lose! I'll hold my own, but in the end the woman will tear me to shreds. Anyway, I wasn't even that irked about being at the unemployment office on the wrong day (hmm, maybe this Zyban is working--not smoking, not irritated?). At least it got me up and out of the house at a reasonable hour. Well, it's not as big of a deal as last year when I had to take a winding bus for an hour in Queens. This office is only one express subway stop, and today I discovered my bus (B63) also stops a block away, which was amazingly convenient. I'd managed to eat breakfast, drink coffee, stand in a long line, go to the post office, Rite Aid and make it to the gym by 11:30. Normally, I'd just be getting out of bed at that time. This leads me to a new disturbing hypochondriacal symptom. Actually, none of the stuff I complain about is hypochondria, it's observably true, but people seem to think I'm exaggerating since I like talking about medical conditions so much. The new horrible thing is excessive sweating (it's happening this very minute). I've never had a sweating problem (in fact, my family still teases me about how I had a bottle of Sure deodorant in middle school that lasted years), but yesterday I was at the gym and noticed I was sweating like a fiend, disgustingly so, and it freaked me out. All I could guess was that I'd gotten out of shape from not going to the gym the week before and eating excessive Thanksgiving food. It's also crazy, unseasonably warm, in the 60s. I remember last Thanksgiving being so unbearably cold, the kind of chill where you feel like your bones are going to break. I recall taking a subway the equivilent of five blocks because it was too cold to walk. Today, I was speculating on how I could be wearing shorts and a tank top (not that you'd ever catch me dead in shorts and a tank top) and not be cold. Fine, then today while waiting in line at the unemployment office, I felt my head getting all wet. I mean really, really damp, like my hair was soaked. I was like "what the fuck?" and reached up to find the entire back of my head and neck was wet, the hair above my ears and on my neck was wet like I'd stuck my head in a shower. Beads of sweat were literally dripping off behind my ears. It totally freaked me out, and it wouldn't stop. By the time I got to Rite Aid later this morning, the back of my shirt was drenched and stuck to me and my face was all pink and clammy. I don't know what's going on, but it's grotesque. I could barely get my pants off at the gym, as the sweat had adhered them to my legs. The weird thing is that it doesn't seem to affect my front half, and while all this sweat is pouring down my neck and ears, my hairline at my forehead is dry. I'm not sure what's going on, I also felt like I was going to puke all of yesterday (but that could've been self-induced food poisoning from eating poorly cooked stuffing). I could care less about looking like a sweaty nut at the unemployment office or post office or gym (97% of the guys are all gross, grunting, sweaty beasts there anyway), but what if I actually get a job interview or go on a date (er, I'm supposed to be getting ready to go out for dinner and drinks right now) or have to go anyplace where some amount of decency or dignity is expected? Life is so full of challenges, isn't it?

11/24/01
Ack, I feel too beat up to write much. It's not just that I've been feeling totally blah, catatonic and uninspired lately, but I have my mom and stepdude in town, and you forget how much having family (or semi family) visiting can take out of you. I've spent the last three days with them from noon till 11pm and it hasn't been horrible or anything, but I'm not much of a tour guide and I have absolutely no money so I don't have the ultimate in suggestions, not that it matters much, it's not like some people's parents where they have to buy theatre tickets in advance for yucky shows and make reservations at swank, touristy restaurants. They're fine with subways, cheap Indian food and dive bars, (oh, and the Harley Davidson Cafe but I was forced into three bus tours. Last time she visited I managed to get away with only taking one (though I was subjected to two Broadway shows). The downtown one yesterday wasn't so bad, the uptown one this morning was OK too, but I reached my limit with the Christmas light tour this evening. I know there's been this huge "I Love New York...More Than Ever" push and tourists are all supposed to come and spend their money here and all that, and initially it seemed like the city could use a boost, but jeez, enough already, the town is about as overrun as I've ever seen it. I rarely use the word hateful, but Times Square fits the description to a T (or is it tee?). I literally started feeling nauseous as we were being shoved and pushed and moving in giant herds like retarded cattle. Everyone just seemed so horribly ugly, foreigners and Americans alike, Christmas shopping with wild abandon, snatching up World Trade Center photos and getting themselves sketched in caricature form. Ick. And it's always been like that, it's not like I had some amazing revelation today that Times Square is a squalid tourist trap (look, live images of hell on earth (right in front of a TGI Friday's, no less), but it compounded what I'd already been feeling about NYC lately--that I don't like it very much. While sitting on that top level of the double decker bus, listening to the third cheerful, full of local color and trivia tour guide in two days (Do you know where Bill Cosby lives? Where Colin Powell went to college? Where Bill Clinton's new office is? How much an apt. on Central Park West rents for? I do!), my body couldn't take it anymore. My mind had already checked out long ago, but out of nowhere I got sweaty, felt dead tired, almost threw up and started having trouble breathing. My eyes uncontrollably started tearing up and it was all I could do to keep from bawling. New York isn't some great city on the comeback trail, full of hardened resolution and fighting spirit, beneath the glitz and surface pomp, it's downtrodden, dead and plain depressing (it's even got me smoking a cigarette at the moment. Bad I know, I had one yesterday too, but I figure one or two on a weekend won't kill me. OK, I just put it out, I felt too guilty, and besides it made my chest hurt). I flat out hate New York right now (and yes, I know hate is a very strong word. My mom probably told me that a thousand times while I was growing up. If it didn't stop me then, it certainly won't now). The core of my being is nearly consumed with loathing (I did say nearly, not fully) and that's not a good thing. I hate it here and I'm stuck. I have no money to live here (seriously, in a week I'll owe over $1,000 in rent and bills and I have less than $400 to my name with zero incoming money in my foreseeable future) and I have no money to move, and even if I did, I don't even know where I would or could go. I don't want to live anywhere, I don't want to work anywhere, I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to do anything...well, at least at the moment (12:36am to be exact). I'm sure I'll have a new opinion in another 24 hours. Right now I just feel old, agitated, disgusted, disgusting and disappointed.

11/21/01
I'm taking a break from Thanksgiving cooking at the moment, sitting, staring, trying to concentrate and sipping my newly found cocktail, the Jack Rose (I had to find something to do with the rest of my bottle of applejack--the gravy recipe only calls for 1/4 cup. You know what I've discovered? Initially, I thought drinking would be the kiss of death stop-smoking-wise. How in God's name do you sit in a smoky dive for hours on end without smoking...you get tanked a.s.a.p. It's true, I found myself in bars the last four nights in a row and did fine not smoking as long as I always had a drink in my hand. After three giant styrofoam cups [I'm guessing they're around 32 oz.] of Beck's at Greenpoint Tavern, I was totally jovial and still cigarette-free). Pretty much everything is set except the tart and the turkey, of course. I'll probably just deal with those tomorrow morning. Er, and the foil. I can't believe I was so on the ball with buying all these ingredients, I went above and beyond the call of duty to find fresh thyme (however, fresh tarragon was no problem. Sometimes it's the other way around--that's the beauty of NYC, you just never know what's in store (or not) for you on any given day.) but forgot something so simple and ubiquitous as foil. This could be a big deal come tomorrow, I don't know if anything's going to open around here. You would think that I'd be doing something reflective and meaningful on this Thanksgiving eve, something like making a list of all I'm thankful for, but that's a stumper. Instead I'd rather comment on a few odd phrases/grammar issues I've been noticing. The one that baffles me, and that I swear I'd never seen used until the past year or so is, "my bad" when someone's correcting themself (actually, I don't think using the word themself is really proper English, but I always use it anyway). I think it's the same as saying my mistake, which makes me wonder why they don't just say that. I've only seen it written, never spoken so maybe it's some internet thing like FWIW or IMHO...blah, that stuff makes me crazy. This reminds me of a phrase pet peeve I first heard in the mid-'80s, "come with" like you're going somewhere and a friend (well, they won't be a friend for long if they keep talking like this) says, "can I come with?" and doesn't say you which would finish the sentence properly. I thought it was just used by a middle school friend that I'd always get into fights with over stupid things like this, and also how she'd say punkin' for pumpkin (Denise was one of the few people I spoke with at my high school reunion who seemed semi-normal. I think she'd gone into the military and was now an air traffic controller in Hawaii. I guess her speech impediments hadn't held her back too much in life.) , but over the years I've heard it come out of lots of folks' mouths. Where do these things start, and how do they become acceptable? I'm going to start leaving the ends off all my sentences and see if anyone understands (or cares). Ooh, it's exactly midnight, I'd better go do something important.

11/19/01
This not smoking thing is turning into a much bigger deal than I'd anticipated. I don't know if it's the not smoking or the medicine to keep me from smoking that's making me spastic, but I'm totally feeling crazy. It's 4:57pm, and this is the first time all day I've been able so semi sit still and type anything. My chest feels all weird, my palms are sweaty and I can't concentrate, it's really freaky like I can't remember how to spell things. I'm supposed to be applying for jobs and I can't look at the computer screen long enough to write even a sentence of a cover letter. Maybe I've got brain damage. Last night I was watching this documentary thing about a Toronto hospital on the Discovery Health Channel (I've totally become addicted to watching TV, it's scary) and this older guy came into the ER and was all disoriented and couldn't speak right or answer questions like, "what's your name?" They'd draw a cartoon house and tell him to copy it, and instead he'd start scribbling letters all over the paper. He couldn't repeat simple sentences, garbled nonsense would come out of his mouth instead. These were all indicators of a stroke, and I thought, "oh no, I scoffed last week and now I've been given a mild stroke as punishment." Well, I don't really think I've had a stroke, but not being able to concentrate, type or spell is starting to get on my nerves. Since all I seem to be good at these days is staring at moving images, I've been seeing a lot of movies. Last week I saw "The Man Who Wasn't There" which I liked well enough. I'm not one to really deconstruct or critique movies even on a good day so I won't attempt any brilliant commentary at the moment. But I do wonder what the deal with Billy Bob Thornton is. How did he get so skinny? It kind of freaks me out. Friday night I saw "Heist" the new David Mamet movie. I don't think I would've picked it out on my own, but since I don't usually pay for my own movie tickets (heck, I won't even spend the ten bucks when I have a job), I often see things that wouldn't be my first choice. It was all action and stealth and twists and turns, and made me wish I had more of a criminal mind. I'm just not very resourceful that way. If I had the natural ability to con and pull off intricate scams, I think I'd be in much better shape right now. One of my unemployment goals is to become very good at pool (I suck miserably at it, which drives me insane because I'm very competitive when it comes to games) and start hustling people for money. While I'm at it, I may try my hand at betting on horses--they do have a racetrack in Queens. Who knows, I could make a few new friends. Last night I saw "Mulholland Drive" and I started freaking out in the theater. Not because of the movie I don't think (well, maybe). In addition to this weird twitchy, trouble concentrating stuff, I've also been having this on-again, off-again sensation that I can't breathe or swallow. But this was happening before I started taking the Zyban to quit smoking. I'm not sure if it's physical or psychological, but I think it's related to the blood pressure medication, like all of a sudden I feel like my heart is going too slow or like my body has forgotten to breathe (I can't imagine that I'm really not breathing since it's a reflexive thing, but I have the distinct sensation that I'm still and haven't breathed or swallowed in minutes) and then my chest freezes and I can't swallow and it totally spazzes me out. I've had this on the subway recently and while riding in a car and it's worried me a little, but not too much. But it started happening in the movie, and I didn't want to cause a disturbance since it was all packed and I didn't want to bug the stranger directly on my left by coughing or moving around too much. The movie was all creepy and quiet in spots and it made it even worse, like I needed to gasp and take a deep breath, but I couldn't and started fearing I was going faint and got all sweaty and water wasn't helping because I couldn't swallow it. I felt like some fucked up David Lynch character, but less exotic. It's pretty mundane really to have your body smother itself in a midtown movie theater. My mom and the step-dude are coming into town Thurs. morning, which ought to prove entertaining. He's never been here and it's a total disaster waiting to happen. I don't know how Thanksgiving crept up so quickly, I thought I had all this time to plan and clean the house and all that stuff and now it's down to the wire. I'm doing a Thanksgiving dinner for the two family members and possibly a couple friends and to pull it off stress-free, I'd better get started on a few things tomorrow. So far, this is the menu: Roast Turkey with Bacon, Tarragon and Applejack Gravy, Leek, Mushroom and Bacon Stuffing with Tarragon, Piquant Cranberry Sauce, Mashed Potatoes and Leeks with Thyme and Carmelized Nut Tart. Hopefully I'll be a little sharper and get motivated before 5 in the evening.

11/16/01
Jeez, I swear I have the worst case of A.D.D. ever. No matter what I do, I can't manage to sit still and type anything at all. It's this weird phenomenon I'm discovering while trying to quit smoking. Things I would normally do while smoking like sitting at the computer and writing or responding to emails or even just surfing (ew, isn't there a better word to use than surfing?) the internet are near impossible. I'm twitchy and bored after like ten minutes. I have no attention span, it's impossible to concentrate. The only thing I've been able to do is sit and stare at the TV, which is really odd since normally I can't watch it for more than about five minutes before losing interest (well, I don't stop watching it altogether--I'm a flipper--seriously, I can spend an hour flipping through channels, never settling on one program). Lack of concentration is bad enough, but I'm ornery as heck too (even more so than usual). I felt like hitting and kicking people all day yesterday, and while I've only been awake about one hour so far today, I'm afraid I'm equally wound up. It's not really scary as it sounds, but I do feel violent, or at least like being really mean to someone (not anyone in particular, mind you). I totally went insane Wed. and swore to god I was moving. You know, I would too, but I don't even know where to go. I mean if you're going to be poor and have to work a shitty job, why on earth would you do it in the most expensive city in the U.S. (or is that San Francisco? It's always debatable)? I saw this ad for a near perfect job earlier this week, but it was based in L.A., but that's one place I've never had a desire to live and besides, I don't really know anyone there (not that I really know anyone here either, but at least there's the illusion that I do). So anyway, Wed. I'd had a dr. appt. scheduled and decided to keep it even though I'm not sure if my insurance goes to the end of the month or not. I figured I should fill as many prescriptions as possible while I could, the big issue being emergency contraception. I've always been freaked out about becoming pregnant, and not being able to take birth control pills anymore makes me insane, it's crazy because an accident is bound to happen and it did last weekend. I don't think it's a big deal, but I wanted to be safe since the last thing I need to deal with right now is a baby or an abortion. This was also a timely matter since you're supposed to take the pills 72 hours after incident (but preferably within 24) and I was nervous because at the time of my appt. it had already been 77 hours. And I got some lecture about how I absolutely could not smoke while taking the pills (I swear I'd already quit, but I guess she didn't believe me) and put the fear of god in me by saying it could give me a stroke and how without insurance that would cost me $50,000. I don't really belive that (the part about the stroke, not the cost of dealing with one), I bet there are women all over the place who smoke, take birth control pills and have high blood pressure who will never have a stroke. Anyway, none of this is the point. The point is that I was in a hurry to fill the prescription and no one could fill it. I took it to my usual ghetto Rite Aid and they said they didn't have it, but could call the dr. and I was like no, just give me the paper back as that could take hours to deal with. I was pissed, and wasn't about to go back into Manhattan so I was walking all over Brooklyn, I went to five other pharmacies, all with no luck. The last one I ended up at was the 7th Ave. Rite Aid in the heart of 40-yr-old-first-time-mothers, Birkenstock, SUV Park Slope (as opposed to English as a second language 5th Ave. one) and they also didn't have it, but clarified the situation a bit by saying that the prescription itself was unclear, the dosage didn't match the drug name and that no matter where I took it, they'd have to call my dr. By this point, two hours had passed and I was hopping mad, and upon surveying the Rite Aid scene realized the place was filled to the brim with mommies and the soon-to-be. The demanding woman ahead of me looked about eight months pregnant, she was all mad because she moving the next morning and they didn't have her prescription in stock (big surprise). The woman behind me looked old enough to be my mother, but had a baby in a stroller, and she too was all huffy and impatient like she has anything better to do than push the kid around all day. I'm surprised she didn't have a black nanny doing her dirty work, like most of the other moms in this neighborhood. I couldn't deal, I was like get me the fuck out of here now, grabbed my prescription and went back to the Rite Aid where I started at. Anyway, it eventually got resolved, but annoyingly. I had to go home (a decent 20 block walk) and wait for them to call me once they'd spoken to my dr. By 2:30 I was seething and got in touch with the dr. myself, then had to walk back to the stinkin' Rite Aid. My dr. appt. was at 9:30 am, my prescription was filled at 4 pm. Can you think of any reason why it should take six and a half hours to accomplish something simple like this? I can't, and that's why I'm sick of being here. Seriously, I can't deal with it anymore. Taking care of the tiniest matter is always a freakin' time-consuming trauma and it's starting to make me tired. I mean, no one likes a complainer, and that's all I seem to be doing anymore. Believe it or not, I actually had some semi-interesting things to say here, but I just can't be bothered to write them down. I'm too aggro and fed-up to focus on minutiae right now...maybe next week.

11/12/01
I sort of viewed the past week as an extended vacation, goofing off, watching TV, seeing movies, eating soup in Chinatown, shopping in New Jersey. I decided Monday would be crack down day, get busy and take charge of my future day. Eh, today rolled around and I can't say I feel too motivated. In the back of my mind I knew there would be unemployment checks coming soon. I knew I'd have to cut corners, and scrimp even more than I normally do (which wouldn't be easy), but it'd be OK, being poor doesn't bother me as much as some. I'd have six months to get my act together and come up with a wonderful plan. Well, it seems like six weeks is a more likely scenario. That lackadaisical bubble was burst when I got my unemployment award letter in the mail today. I thought I might get slightly less than last year, but not $600 less a month?! It's outrageous, and based on what I earned in the last 18 months, and well, five of those months it was zero which is reflected in this number they've arrived at. I'm seriously in a bind, and if it wasn't for this Zyban I've been taking (I must stop smoking immediately, cigarettes are absolutely out of my budget), I'd probably be busting a gasket about now. No matter how I rearrange my lifestyle, there is no way whatsoever I will be able to pay my rent and bills. After rent, I will have about $250 leftover. My basic utilities are around $150, my credit cards and student loans are around $350. I could cut out little things like internet access and my gym membership, but it wouldn't even matter. I haven't even accounted for food yet, I don't mean dining out, even rice and water would break the bank at this point. I have never been in this much financial trouble ever, not even when I first moved here and squeaked by with $10/hour (the unemployment benefit works out to about $7/hour or $14,000/yr--less than half of what I made a week ago). I suppose I should be alarmed, but what can you do really? With a little borrowed money that's been offered by my mom and James, I estimate I will last till the end of the year. After that, who knows. I hear there isn't even any temp work at the moment, but that could be a rumor. Oh well, so I spent last week credit card shopping like maniac at all the city's finest stores like IKEA, Old Navy, Century 21, the new Target in Elmhurst (wow, it's actually clean and well-stocked. I was most impressed with the little escalator gadget for your shopping cart so it follows you up to the next floor [it's a two-story Target, which is highly unusual--I call it the urban Target]. I give it one month before it breaks and never gets fixed. I give it about two months [after the Christmas shopping season ends] before the entire place is busted and filthy and full of empty shelves that never seem to get re-stocked) and the Jersey Gardens outlet mall. I was trying to find a phone number for the H&M in the outlet mall (you tell me how to get businesses with all letters and symbols as a name to show up in Yahoo Yellow Pages) and typed: New Jersey H&M Outlet into Yahoo. An Oct. 2000 Project Me entry came up as the 8th result, which freaked the hell out of me. You'd think I was obsessed with New Jersey or outlet malls or something (the word outlet was actually referring to an electrical one and was nowhere near the words New Jersey. I guess that's how people searching for pro anorexia sites end up here--random, coincidental word combinations). It was this big ordeal, where James wanted a cheap watch he'd seen at the H&M in London, but didn't buy. And instead of just going to the one on 34th, I suggested going to NJ because I wanted to go to the nearby IKEA. This was around 4pm last Thurs. by 5:30 we were still sitting in Manhattan stuck in Holland Tunnel traffic. I lose my shit in situations like that, even when I'm not the one driving. I was all annoyed because we'd been on the same block for at least 45 minutes and at that rate, I wouldn't get any decent shopping in by the time we eventually got to NJ. We threw in the towel, and decided to head to the Century 21 in my neighborhood instead, maybe they'd have a watch and a tart pan (what I was looking for). Rush hour makes me crazy, but anyway we managed to make it to Soho and got stuck for a while, then realized there is an H&M on Broadway so James parked illegally in front of Canal Jeans and decided to head up to find his watch while a stayed and hung out with the car. It's kind of fun to people watch in a dark car when it's dark outside because passerbys don't really notice you. I was kind of scanning the sidewalk every now and then and couldn't believe my eyes. Coming out of Canal Jeans was that crazy guy you see on commercials (I'm not sure if it's regional or not, but I think he's been on Oprah before) with the suit covered in question marks who's trying to peddle his books about getting free money from the govt. He was clutching a bag and heading up Broadway in a frenzy. Boy, do I always spot the best C-level celebrities or what. It totally cracked me up, I should've asked the nut for financial advice. Stupid stuff like that always makes my day. Then when James came back (watch-less), he guarded the car while I ran up the block to Lechters for my tart pan, and as luck would have it, they were going out of business and everything was marked down. It was brilliant, the question mark guy and a cheap pan all in a matter of minutes.