The Lady Returns

Hello. It’s me! I’m back. I know probably no one is out there because it’s been so long since I’ve written, but I’m going to take this up again. I think things got a little dodgy there for a while and I didn’t know what to write about.
Here is the update, things have been going very well:
1. First of all, I encourage all of you to make internet personals ads. Go on, just do it. Do it even if you already have a significant other, you may just find someone better! It will take a year of getting messages from the freakiest of freaks, but one day you will meet someone who is taller than you, says sweet things, and reads your mind just like you always wanted. I promise.
2. I moved to an awesome apartment in park slope that has a washer/dryer and a dishwasher and my rent is a devilishly low $666! The bad news is that the wheels got stolen off my bike my first week. I was foolish and I knew it would happen. There was a move between Astoria and this, but I can’t go into it right now. Talking about my former landlord and the loss of my security deposit gets me very worked up. I will devote an entire entry to it when the impending lawsuit begins.
3. I’m less of a drunk.
4. At the risk of pleasing my mom I’ve embarked on the path of yoga. If you have any questions about the universe and meaning of life feel free to drop me a line!
5. My dad moved out to the middle of nowhere in Baja to live like the wacky desert recluse he was always meant to be, but still finds ways to annoy me on a weekly basis.
So, things are coming together quite nicely. I have been completely broke this month due to some slight credit card abuse, but it’s been a Learning Experience. Ok, I’m going to write something really punchy and sarcastic to entertain you very soon, so watch this space.

xo The Lady

I Want Everything

I had a delightfully slothful and entertaining weekend. I drank heavily, browsed at magazines, bought hochie-girl stretch denim jeans, and ate lots of diner food. The main topic of discussion, again and again, was Courtney Love. Her face has taken a frightful turn for the Michael Jackson/Joan Rivers. Courtney was just one element of a very nostalgic weekend. Friday night I sat around drinking beer and smoking at home with Janine and her best high school friend. Lounging on the couch, joking around and feeling perfectly content with them, I felt like I was back in the dorms with nowhere to go on a Friday night—not even considering going a possibility. We watched this Daft Punk video and listened to Dr. Octigon, both of which I haven’t listened to since back in ‘99. Bennett’s birthday party was a complex combination of SLC kids I never see. Most striking was of course K Hagar in kelly green.

Trudge Slush and Fresh Air

Tonight my mom informed me that she just purchased a pair of snowshoes. Apparently they're very useful when it's snowy out and you want to walk normally.

I'm wishing for a day off from work, but I have the feeling that its going to be all slush in the morning.

This weekend I went for a jaunt in the country. We visited Bard and snuck into the cafeteria where the food was even worse than at SLC. We raced eachother around the garden in front of the very dignified Economics building and took a walk down a hill that lead to the bank of the Hudson. We sat on a wooden bridge an smoked a joint. It was a blustery day and we had to relight it every few seconds, but it was nice anyhow. We went to a Pi Day party with the five Bard math kids, ate pizza and lots of cherry pie. We wandered in and out of dorms and talked to an odd girl with a limp and frazzled hair who pretended she wasn't going our way.

It was a nice weekend--quiet but eventful and hangover free. Maybe this is how I will live my life from now on.

Since yesterday I've become addicted to downloading music. It happened right when I decided I should take part in more productive solitary activities, namely sewing and guitar. Instead I have been staring blankly at my computer screen, constantly clicking back and forth to see if "Remotely Queued" has turned into "Initializing" or, the most thrilling, "Finished"

Everyone must see The Return, it's the greatest movie ever.

Adventures

Today was the greatest. I was very rebelious. I escaped work when no one was looking and went on an adventure. We climbed out on the roof and down and drain pipe and over fences and broke into an abandonded restaurant to free a hungry pitbull, who turned out to be a very friendly dog. On Sunday there are plans to run off to the country and see some sheep.

Tonight I watched Joan of Arcadia featuring our very own Misti. Unfortunately she wasn't in much of this episode, but it was still very surreal and hilarious to see her on TV wearing a funny hat and to hear Joan call her "Babyvoice". I must say she fit right in with all the other TV kids, and I never would have guessed that she wasn't a high school kid.

Colors

I went to this awesome thing one Monday night, The Moth StorySLAM! I can't go this week, because of my mother fucking copyediting class, but I wrote something anyhow. The theme this week is colors.\

The first time I dyed my hair I wanted to go bleach blond, Courtney Love style—all ratty with lots of dark roots. Lea and I shared the box between us, Clairol Ultimate Blond. We sat on the edge of the tub, with our sticky heads stuffed under plastic bags, and stared at our reflections in the bathroom mirror. Our scalps stung and chafed as the brown was striped out of our hair. I thought that 25 minutes might just change everything.

When our heads were rinsed and dried I was disappointed to find that the dye wasn’t strong enough to turn our hair platinum. Instead it came out a brassy orange-blond color. There hadn’t been quite enough dye for both of us, so we had a few gaps and irregularities where odd splotches of brown showed through.

It was November and we stood out on Lea’s dead front lawn, shivering in our sweatshirts. Her dad came out and stood with us, prying and criticizing and asking too many questions. Why did we want to be blond? Lea just turned her head and shrugged. I was 14 and she was only 12, but she was the toughest girl I knew and I felt like we’d crossed a line with this dye job, even if it hadn’t come out as dramatically as I’d hoped. We’d done it, now we were rebel girls.

Later that year Lea went for hot pink. I helped her do it, and as I painted on the syrupy gunk I felt a twinge of jealousy, because I knew I didn’t have the guts to go pink. For weeks afterward I watched as it seemed people gaped at Lea’s hair. I wished I could make myself a spectacle, elicit even the tiniest bit of shock.

Eventually Lea went for black and I graduated to lollypop red. Manic Panic, Deadly Nightshade. The dye was the cheap wash out kind and it never really set. My pillow turned red, the collar of all my shirts, towels, it was like the midas touch except red. I had to re-touch the dye every two weeks or it would turn a hideous faded brick orange color.

Eventually I decided to try blond again. I got heavy duty bleach. I deliberated over whether it would go with my skin tone and eventually decided to jump in and give it a try. This time the bleach burned far worse than the first time. It felt like I’d poured acid on my scalp, my eyes started to itch and turned red, when I couldn’t stand it for another second I washed it out. When I got out of the shower I was horrified by my reflection. My hair was a repulsive yellow, the color of artificial food products and my complexion looked like death, totally washed out by the paleness of my hair. I burst into tears and called Lea into the bathroom.
“What do I do?” I whimpered.
“Lets dye it back to red.” She said.
Without even waiting for it to dry we poured on the Manic Panic. With the blank palate of my newly yellowed hair the red came out florescent. It was far more dramatic than it had been before, but paired with bright red lipstick the result was sort of fetching.

Stickin' It

I’m writing from my brand new computer with its gigantic and very not flat 17 inch monitor. There is something very shining and refreshing about its newness, as ridiculous as it sounds, I keep thinking in the back of my head that this bright new computer might magically compel me to write something brilliant.

I went to the Visa American Cup gymnastics meet at Madison Square Garden on Saturday. The arena was filled almost entirely with 8-13 year old girls. After each gymnast preformed the sound of thousands of high little voices would ring through the air yelling, “Go Chellsie! Go Chellsie! Wooooh Cheeeeellsie!” (And yes, that’s really how she spells it). For a long time I’ve thought that gymnastics was a creepy and bizarre sport. Anything that involves putting an 11 year old girl through rigorous enough training that she comes out with bigger biceps than most boys I know is definitely weird.

On Saturday, sitting in that stadium, watching gymnast after gymnast flip across the mat and stick it, it took me a while to get over my criticism. These girls seemed like such a gross spectacle, it was almost like being at a freak show, but when they got to the beam I remembered. Watching the girls in the audience, sitting on the edge of their seats, their ponytails shuddering from anticipation, nervously moving their lip glossed mouths, I remembered that when I was that age I didn’t analyze everything to death. If I liked something, I just liked it. There was no Freudian reason behind it, no unresolved issues or secret fears. There was just something inherently cool about any girl who was good on the balance beam. Maybe it was the way they held their heads in the air—the tremendous confidence they seemed to exude as they cart-wheeled and back flipped across that stretch of wood. Maybe it was that perfect combination of grace and strength. Maybe there was no reason. The balance beam, the clarinet, Trapper Keepers, Jellies, these things all evoked that elusive and inexplicable thing: cool.

Death of the Q

Tonight there will be a funeral/festival aboard the Q train. It's on it's final run--soon to be banished to the subway train graveyard. Everyone is going to get on board tonight to morn it's death and throw it big a going away party. I never really ride the train, but the end of a line must have some historical signifcance, plus it should be mega fun and there will be parties to attend afterward. Meet on the Q diamond train at 9:05pm at 57th street or at 9:28pm at Union Square.

Sparkletastic!

I LOVE it when people comment on my blog. Please continue.
The sparkle fattie/ Fantasie Lady debate is very intriguing. If I may, I would like to plagerize and invade privacy by reprinting an amazing friendster message I received on this very subject from a friendster known as Barb. It was such a great message that I have it posted on my wall. It is in response to interest raised by a certain Fantasie lady who has inspired many a hotly contested debate herself.

Here it is:
"The only real attraction to ________ came when I read that she was a bitch in one of her testimonials. I think it even was mentioned a couple of times that she was a complete fucking bitch. I became excited by this idea and wanted to be near her. I don’t think you should introduce us though. Perhaps she’s not the one, but someday I will befriend a girl like her and I will discover the mysteries of the bulimic party girl, those sad and terrible mysteries, and perhaps a little witty abuse will be handed my way as well. Perhaps I like these girls because I feel absolutely no competition with them. I just am not actually offended by anything they do and find it only fascinating and amusing , especially the way they treat me which is often not very kindly, but usually hilariously funny. They are passionate in some misguided and self destructive way that I am too, but at the same time I believe they are somewhat insane because I believe them to be entirely insincere in every way which is an absolutely incredible idea. In this sense they are absolutely sincere. They explode the meaning of the idea of sincerity, the distinction just no longer exists n their presence. They just seem like aliens to me, a different species from me entirely, and who can resist the temptation to look at deformities and to lie with deformities in the sex act."

The greatest thing about this letter is that Barb somehow, accidentally sent it to a professor at her school. He was very impressed and slightly disturbed by it.

I think we can all agree that Fantasie ladies are fascinating, much of this is due to their bitchy self-centeredness. I personally feel that they are best admired from afar. As for Nicole Ritchie and the bleach incident, I like to think that as with the stolen bird house someone wrote a check for a new pool table. Jorge I want you to know we loved you as a pisser and we love you now.

Britney’s a Bride!

I have to admit, I’m jealous. She got hitched in Vegas on New Year’s eve. Getting hitched in Vegas is sort of my dream wedding. The groom was a childhood friend and when I read in the People article that “A source says that he and Spears were childhood friends who recently hooked up -- then hitched up. They had spent New Year's Eve together at the hotel's Rain nightclub, then retired to the suite.” I thought it actually sounded pretty romantic. I think this nutty phase she’s going through might be a good thing, maybe once she gets through it she’ll stop being Madonna’s lap dog and start being cool. I once thought she was the lamest, but now I really do think Britney has potential. There’s something about her that is actually genuine and very tragic.

On another note, this weekend I went to the Whitney with my horrible aunt and uncle. We saw the John Currin show, highlights include a nude of Bea Arthur. John Currin is one of those sexy artists who is always showing up in photosshirtless. He makes sarcastic paintings and snide comments about the vapid faces in his paintings being reflections of the people looking at them. One plus is that due to 1. the ironic nature of the paintings and 2. the porno star figures of the women Currin paints there were lots of cute indie rock boys attending the show.

New Years Secrets

I’ve discovered that the secret to enjoying New Years is to arrive at the part half and hour before midnight, that way there is no rising anticipation and inevitable disappointment. You walk in, get a drink and suddenly everyone is cheering.

Right after the ball dropped everyone went to the roof, we were the last to catch on and when we opened the door the fireworks were exploding right in front of our faces. Afterwards a bunch of people started singing that old New Years song that everyone sings in black and white movies. It was very classic and probably the best New Years moment ever.

Then I met a quirky gay man who instantly took a shine to me. I was rather taken aback and uncertain about what the draw could be, but he continually assured me that I am very sexy. Dave, if you’re reading this, thanks for all the lovely compliments, I’m sorry I wasn’t willing to take it to that next level.

Live Journal

Mood: Wicked ;)
Soundtrack: Dashboard Confessional
Wow did you guys here about that thing? I’m so bummed, I think I’m gonna take a nap.

Just kidding.
What’s really happening is I’m reading The Long Secret, the sequel to Harriet The Spy. It’s all about the quiet girl, Beth Ellen, who has no parents. I relate to her somewhat because she thinks that when she grows up she wants to marry a rich man and have kids and just be a wife. When I was 12 or 13 this was my plan as well. Before then I wanted to be an artist, but my mom assured me that it would be lifetime of suffering. At the time I felt dull and depressed and being a wife just seemed like the simplest thing. I also wanted a nose job.

Being 13 has to be the worst. Everything cool trickles down to 7th grade in the most convoluted way. I remember when all the girls started sucking on pacifiers. I’m proud to say I didn’t take part in this trend. It’s weird to think that originally it started with ravers, but for the 7th graders it was more like an excuse to revert to infancy.

Kids will do anything to fit in. I remember one day when we were off from school for Passover. Both of my bestfriends were Jewish and they called me up that morning while I was eating my Rice Krispies. “fast with us,” they said. I told them it was too late because I’d already had the cereal, but they said I could start then. I said “ok”. We went to the mall and wandered around lightheadedly. Eventually we cheated and ate some gummy worms and dunkin' donuts.

London Calling

I won't be writing much this week because I'm in London for Christmas! I've never been here and it's very exiciting. I wish we ate all our meals in pubs in America. It's much more festive, although it's true what they say, the food leaves much to be desired. It seems that the most popular vegetable is mushy peas, and that's actually how they advertise them "We have mushy peas". So far what they say about the weather isn't true, it hasn't rained at all (knock on wood). The undergound is much less hostile than the subway in New York, more like the metronorth. I like the Brit's liberal use of red for buses and phone booths, I guess it brightens things up since most everything else is grey. This is pretty much the extent of my observations from the last two days. Happy X-mas to all and Cheerio!

Hair-do

Yesterday I got my haircut. I went to Jean Louis David because I knew it would be cheap and I was somewhat comforted by its being a chain (that's right, I'm an American goddamn it!). Well, I have to say it was the most bizarre haircut experience of my life. I think the best way to describe Jean Louis David is as a barber shop for ladies.

There is plenty of the usual hair salon pretense which us ladies love: the special white robes, the gigantic photos of models with thier layered haircuts getting all blown around by a fan, special Jean Louis David books with pictures of models getting their layered haircuts blown around by fans, and very MODERN decor involving many white tiles. Underneath the pretense it is secretly a barber shop.

First of all, they only have walk-in appointments. they keep the combs in one of those gross jars of blue mouthwash stuff (I'm sorry, but mouthwash on my head does not make me feel more sanitary) They also have their regulars, but instead of old guys who sit on the bench it's all those ladies who like to pay $20 to get their hair blown dry once a week.

The main reason it is like a barber shop is that they cut your hair with an electric razor. I'm completely serious, they don't even have any scissors in the whole place. They keep their wireless electric razors poised on a battery charger ready to go. They take the comb and use the razor like scissors and shave the hairs right off the end. I think it's because razors are much quicker than scissors and you don't even have to worry about cutting straight. I didn't mind, I was only there for a trim anyway.

The bad part was actually the famed blow dry. I hate that hairdressers always insist on straightening my hair. I have wavy hair! Many people admire and covet wavy hair and I personally like the texture. Hairdressers, however do not understand this. When mine asked me how I wanted my hair dried I told her, "don't straighten it!" She said, "ok, you want it natural, like blown out." I wasn't sure what she meant by blown out, but it sounded big and fabulous so I nodded a vigorous yes. Unfortuately, by "natural" and "blown out" she meant straightened with a gigantic flip at the ends. You know, the Mary Tyler Moore. I guess it was fitting, I am a wacky single gal living in the big city...and I'm gonna make it after alllll!

ABC

This Sunday afternoon Janine and I had a lovely visit to ABC superstore. ABC is the discount store in our neighborhood. They sell light up waterfalls, porcelin roses with gold accents, and quality polyester apparel at low prices. I got a pair of gloves and a shirt. It's the best place around for sweatpants. The bed sheets they sell, However, are not very soft due to the low thread count.

Now I must go watch The Wizard of Oz on tv. One of the best movies ever.