Batting Zero for Three
Sorry I haven't really checked in since I've been back- it's been a riotous five-week vacation (from "actual work" but not from the even more tedious "looking for work") that I can sum up neither chronologically nor more philosophically as a whole- so instead I propose a point-form notation, organized by, what I believe to be, the person or event's "spirit animal."
The arctic hare. My mom and I went to a fancy charity benefit for breast and ovarian cancer down at the Lighthouse at Chelsea Piers. If you have not been there, are planning a wedding, and have a boner for the Hudson river- you should check this piece out. Slightly inaccessible but tops for views and booze. The jist of this jam was top women chefs from New York's best restos each making a signature dish for all to gorge. Sapa, Nobu, Chanterelle, Abigail Kirsch, Magnolia Bakery, various wineries, cheeseries, and loads more- plus a hilarious auction where I kept shooting my hand up for $10,000 trips to Paris while mom freaked out all "Don't DO that! They could have CAMERAS back here!!" (We were behind the auctioneer) I also encouraged my mom to spill drinks on rich dudes as an ice-breaker but she refused. My insistence that they were "probably widowers" no doubt offended. Well whatevskis, I wolfed food for a good cause. Win/win.
Okay so. This isn't really an animal. It's actually a plate of jalapeno poppers but just roll with it for a sec. Can I tell you about my new BFF? Okay- here goes. A long time ago I met Ted, who was looking really comfortable in a blue bathrobe, at Piano's on Ludlow Street. It was my birthday and he came along for the wild and ultimately forgettable ride that was "turning 23." But! Thankfully I was able to restrain Ted in that tenuous grip between acquaintance and full-blown pal. Now- flash forward to September 2006, Ted and I, through the magic of the internet, made a plan to have dinner at his awesome bro's tasty place of employment- Ditch Plains. Laughs ensued and the rioja flowed like, well, wine. Anyway, after 300 bars, bar-b-ques, parties, a pilgrimage to the Lemon Ice King of Corona, a nighttime "let me burden you with my problems, Ted" sesh at a makeshift beach in Long Island City, a Jacuzzi party at the Brooklyn Marriot, and the most drunken radio show pilot ever- it is clear this dude shares my unique brand of what-the-fuck-ever-y. As Mikey says, "Everything changes with a phone call..."
If you would like to learn more about Ted, I will spare you the Google search and invite you to check out his radio show - Gay Beach - every Saturday, 2-4pm EST on eastvillageradio.com. You can also check out his myspace profile , his voiceover work on some American Apparel shit and the forthcoming Cheeseburger record, and his jogging skills over at the Williamsburg YMCA. What songs does Ted listen to when he jogs? I have no idea! Certainly not any of his 20,000 LPs- they are too cumbersome for treadmill use!
These are some other pals. At Puffy's in Tribeca. Where I am in a pro-dart league...
...and where Ted bartends on Sundays.
Pretty much everyday I put on my black "interview" pants, my pink & white striped "interview" shirt, and - depending on the industry I am trying to woo - my bright yellow Delman flats, or my mid-heel black Delman pumps! I know, I know- pinch your boners, guys!! Then I schlep on up to midtown - a totally chic undiscovered gem in the lower midsection of manhattan, and meet with a Julie, Katie, Julie, Nancy, Julie or Melissa and they never fail to enlighten me on how my resume is "kinda jumpy" and how that kinda sends up some "red flags." OH DARN!! Then I take the subway home, take off my absurd attire, and scroll up on craigslist/monster/nytimes/whatever, in hopes that I can keep the wheel of humiliation spinning at soul-shattering speed. Clearly no one is going to pay me to make nonsensical podcasts or write this "blog." OR WILL THEY?? Click here now to make me an offer I can't refuse! EFF YOU, corporate America - I will write your eulogy!
I spend a lot of time staring at my engagement ring and/or crying in fetal position, so you can imagine my complete elation at hearing Michael was going to come visit me before his regularly scheduled immigration at the end of October. I don't know how 3 weeks managed to feel like 6 months and I hope the 26 hours of travel time he endured to see me was balanced adequately with my ultimate humpability. We hit up Union Pool and then The Alligator Bar for pizza treats, walked all over Red Hook on Sunday. We flexed out extreme walking skills up into Brooklyn Heights where I drooled over dream homes and dream kids.
"Are your ovaries about to spontaneously combust right now?" he asked.
"Oh fuck off."
Mike's got a really great face but it does not lend itself well to manicured facial hair so I've obscured it with some neon greenFX, and am happy with the results.
Anyhoo- We walked over the Brooklyn Bridge which is the greatest chunk of stone and cables on earth. I mean, I look at it and I'm like HOLY FUCK - a force far greater that my own is at work here!
Mike and I chillaxed on the couch after our walking tour of Brooklyn, and boning tour of my apartment. Then we went to see some bands at Glasslands Gallery but got kinda restless and bugged out for Greenpoint Tavern instead where I quickly got distracted by multiple television sets. Then it was home for some hugs and snugs. 6:30am the next morning I put him and his ridiculous beard he mistakenly brought with him, into a cab and dribbled some tears. A few hours later I was awoken by a phone call that changed...EVERYTHING.
DUH DUH DUHHHHHH...stay tuned.
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July 18 - 16 July 2007
Weekly recap. - 28 May 2007
That's Immaterial! - 25 May 2007
A Shalom to Arms! - 07 May 2007
YEAH RIGHT - 20 April 2007