Thursday, December 20, 2007


Remember this story? Now I have to call all cobblers "shoe jews." Then Grace gets made at me. Even though she started it.

Anyway, I took my boots to the shoe jew around the corner, because they were too wide in the calf, and I was pretty sure he was going to tell me "I can't change the width of the calves of a pair of leather boots are you effing crazy?" but instead he just said "fifty dollars" to which I tartly (no, not tartly... piteously) replied "forty" and he said "forty-five." The next day he called because they were ready already, and I raced over and they had been transformed. I put them on and paid and immediately ran home to see what they looked like, except not home because I don't have a full-length mirror, but to the mirrored panel on the side of the sex shop next door. Perfect.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Tuesday, December 18, 2007


My radiator makes really loud noises. Boiling and hissing noises - REALLY loud. When people come over, they stop what they're doing and look around and ask What the hell is that? And I have to roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed and say "It's the stupid radiator, I know can you believe it?" I used to get woken up several times a night, now I have learned to ignore it, though it does incorporate itself into my dreams, usually as some disaster or emergency which I am unable or unwilling to respond to.

If this place ever catches on fire or some shit goes down in the middle of the night, I'm so going to roll over and sleep right through it.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Fashion Party

So my friend invited me to some designer's end-of-year holiday bash, which meant I had to go and buy all new clothes, since I dress like I am
  • homeless, and
  • twelve.
I went to Century 21, because it is close by, even though the slow-moving tourists and the interminable lines and the obstinately uncooperative (read: grossly underpaid) staff make me want to cut someone's head off. But I ended up finding the perfect little Calvin Klein coat for super cheap, and some perfectly ridiculous shoes, which were so uncomfortable and teeteringly high that within 20 minutes of arriving at the party I had to grip the walls as I minced around, making me look like a lush.  It didn't matter though, because the entire party was pretty drunk, with the free booze disappearing fast while the lavish food spread remained completely untouched.  Natch. Eventually I found a third glass of champagne and a nice settee on the penthouse's terrace, took my shoes off and got a foot rub, and forgot all about how inadequate the 20-ish fashionistas make me feel.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Six days of social hangover

I don't blog about my lost weekends, cuz no one needs to hear about that ish. All we do is get altered and talk about German idealism anyway. Which is what we talk about all the time, but when we're drunk we're more convinced of our points.

Last Friday's potluck house party, however, was something else. Luckily none of us remember much about each others' obnoxiousness. Although now I have some kind of mouth perdition - a fat lip and a swollen gum, maybe paying back my intransigence about Hegel and the outside.

I brought chicken.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Vulnerable to assassins

My coffee guy only bothers to collect from me every couple of days, and the security guard at work gets offended if I try to show him my ID. Upstairs in my office the admin and I wait for the bosses to leave for their budget meeting. Then she watches I Love New York and I write term papers. At 12:30 we grab lunch from the deli across the street. I get spicy tofu and green beans and pollock.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

SMS highlight reel, vol. 7

[____] just put an E in his butt.

Mkay maybe we can go get a drink or four. i miss you terribly ma dear. coffee cigs and sex gossip is lagging in my life since our separation.

The english language is a bit like an autopsy on a tranny crack whore; I just manipulate the sample.

Tu es Aimee!

I'm thinkin of tryin this drinkin fad. And you?

I'm so effing glad to be a high functioning depressed person.

Mr. Noodle and a grapefruit.


So i passed out on the train and got saved by an evangelical christian- how appropriate is that? amen.

Calculus. Pilates. Eating. Darwinism and emergent complexity. Lookin for a job. Welding. Not fucking. That's about it.

Ugh dont know if ill make it up to study tmrw, just gettin home now. ill cak u when im up [4:45 am]

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Lazy, broke, hungover shut-ins can't be choosers

In terms of demographics, all restaurants in New York are really Mexican restaurants, except for Mexican restaurants, which are for some reason Chinese.

Like this place, which is so cheap I have trouble accumulating a $6 order - their free delivery minimum - but the quality of the food makes up for it. This guacamole tastes like coleslaw, but made with lettuce instead of cabbage.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007


You know, I would think I would at least get asked by the Mitzvah Tank in Union Square whether I was Jewish (unlike the friend I was walking with, who was asked and is also a gentile), what since just today I was told by my boss to light the office electric menorah. And by "light" I mean screw in two of the light bulbs. Middle one first, obvs.

It's my shiksa hair, I know it.


That's a picture I had to draw for work. It's so bad I had to zoom in on it so that you couldn't see how the perspective was waging war on the proportions of the chair.

New iteration of readers (shout out yall! :) ;) xoxo), plus the fact that really, honestly, all I do is work and write papers, so the noose around bloggable material feels a little cozier. What is left to blog about? Is it time to turn things right around and get batshit emotional on this internet?

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Sunday, December 02, 2007

It snowed

Besotted again.

Us girls, catching up, leave the crowded dive in the West Village - not before friend tells me about the trader she met from Jersey while waiting on the platform for the PATH train. He has a tattoo, on his bicep, of an Italian flag overlain with a shamrock.

I find my own future ex-husband at the next bar - my friend's neighbourhood place. Owned by two brothers from Queens; one used to be the drummer for Blondie, and the other is working tonight. He's mid-fifties, wearing a turtleneck, and he's a fucking show the way he single-handedly holds it down in this diveish bar in Chelsea. I mean, just as an example, this 20-something woman walks in, and goes up to the bar for a drink. He leans over as though about to listen for her order, and without breaking stride, says "You've got about two seconds to leave this bar." In her crack haze, it takes her about that much time to process, and she bee-lines for the door.

Grace and I need food. Friend tells us there's a diner four blocks uptown. We get there, and there are xmas mini lights on the counter, and peel-and-stick snowflakes on the windows. Christmas carols are playing faintly in the background, but the sound is also up on a violent action movie playing on a 13" tv. We eat eggs benedict and potatoes and tea, and take the A train home.