Thursday, November 29, 2007

the 36 year old ass

november 28th, 1971 at 1:10 in the afternoon i entered this world, started speaking almost immediately and promptly headed down that great decent into what has become 'me'.
not to be a drama queen... it hasn't all sucked. i created this world. i walked away from everything, shut the door and clamped my hands over my ears as i rocked back and forth trying to forget. i'm good at that. forgetting is my forte. disappearing was my greatest asset — or so i thought. i'm beginning to wonder if i went too far and if now it's too late to change anything. it's
lonely here. and i'm faced with the horrid thought that this might be as good as it gets.

i've always been a bit of an outsider. since the day i was able to scoot myself underneath a table or behind a sofa and hide- that's where you would find me. and i don't toss the term 'outsider' around like a badge of honor. most of the time it sucks. it's incredibly frustrating to spend your entire life waiting for people to not only understand you — but appreciate you... and never finding that comfort. it's lonely being the girl that's "smart, funny, 'pretty' (UGH- whatever!) and a total fucking oddball" that nobody knows what to do with and if they even bother to try it's like i'm some novelty that they just want to experience for a little bit but don't want to buy. i feel like i should at least get paid for people's subscriptions. (insert growling) fuck, i'm sorry if my personality is a bit more involved than some 'look at me — my life revolves around being the center of attention' witticism silk screened across my t-shirt.

so what happens now? before you know it my boobs are going to fall and my ass is going to grow with every breathe i inhale. actually, i shouldn't lie, it has already begun.
where did i go wrong?
the beginning

the middle

the beginning of the end

goodbye boobs. goodbye ass. thank you for holding up for so long. i'll be sorry to see you go. now all i will have to offer is a brain.
and nobody likes those. bloody hell.

when i get bored at work

i design houses... because i am a loser.
this is a 3600 sq foot loft — that i imagine would be in a prewar factory. the kitchen will be a utilitarian work of art and the library is a 3 level industrial steel skeleton that snakes up 2 walls near the entrance hall.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

not even 36 for a full 24 hours...

and i am officially a 'crazy cat lady'

i really am going to be the single lady who chokes to death on a chunk of food while alone in her apartment & then has her face eaten off by her cats during the 3 weeks it takes before anyone notices she's missing.

provided i haven't lost all of them before that happens.
it has been a bad week for pets around the heather ranch.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

one of my favorite buildings in nyc

colonnade row 428-434 lafayette st. new york, ny

Monday, November 26, 2007

the killing fields

it's been a rough week for pets around my house.
mister fish finally kicked (thank fucking god) and it seems sophie made an escape yesterday via the dryer vent in the laundry room floor. she's absolutely enormous — but apparently flab is very pliable because she mananged to squeeze her fat ass through a 4" hole.

hopefully she won't venture far. i'm like the touch of death for all things living.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

disjointed ramble about my missing cat, jack & lame-ass b-fag.

i think i lost one of my cats today. i'm not sure if she's lost in jack's room or outside. further more, i'm not sure which is more dangerous.
it's the first time i've felt tension all weekend and i am starting to worry about her.

jackal & i sat around in our jammies talking, watching movies and eating the entire weekend like two kids who have been left at home without a sitter for the night.
i've missed him. i didn't realize how much. i've been so wrapped up in my own crazy lady solitude i forget that there are like 2 people on the planet that sort-of get me. he drives me insane sometimes — but i do miss him when it's just the two of us & i can just be me and he's just jackal, not germ. who else can i sit around with and wax poetic about machine gauges and finely crafted metal do-dads with — who won't think i'm a complete freak anyway when i literally giggle & dance like shirley temple over seeing a set of medical tools from the 1950's.

the only down side to the weekend was when b-fag didn't come to visit because i was here. it's humiliating & disappointing on several levels — but also annoying enough that i just don't give a fuck anymore. you have friends and you have people who send you an email once every 6 months because they need a photo from 5 years ago. i'm foolish for ever confusing the two. i just wish i wouldn't have had to stand there and tell jack 'sorry your friend won't come to see you because i'm here...' that's just fucking lame. whatever — i don't even know why people hate me... but they certainly seem to be lining up.

blah blah blah... i don't care, i just wish sophie would re-surface. this is really starting to worry me. she's a total fatso & enjoys a finely plated meal of cat food at least 4 times a day. the wild rats of 32nd street's back alley will never satiate her appetite. and god only knows what she might find to snack on if she is in fact just hanging out in jack's room.

Monday, November 19, 2007

i shudder when i think of the things i would do

for this book:

i'm not a woman who cares about fancy cars (i think they are a tad gross unless they are old & well crafted), if you show interest in your cell phone beyond simply owning one i will immediately move you into a category of people i will never again take seriously and i have never once dated or befriended someone because i thought i might somehow benefit from it financially or even socially (which is glaringly apparent as i have no friends and am constantly broke), BUT.... i can't even begin to describe the things that go through my head when i find a book i desperately want — that i can't seem to procure on my own.

my delusions run the gamut from erma vep-like burglaries to more sordid bouts of prowess made possible only as the owner of a nice set of boobies and a well defined back. i've never actually thought about murder — but if you ever catch me staring at you with an odd expression while i am standing near a bookcase — know that i am wondering who will get that signed first edition of 'jitterbug perfume' when you shuffle off your mortal coil. that said, if i start getting fidgety and that 'odd expression' is more of a cold, dead stare... you might want to move to another room and lock the door.

...but i'm trying to keep things clean with this one. i don't want to burgle, i don't want to get 'burgled' (well, not for a book anyway — who doesn't love a good 'burgling' so-to-speak?)... i just want to buy it. sadly, it comes with a rather hefty $187 price tag not to mention it's written entirely in french — which means i must first translate the recipes before i can make them. a consummate pain in the ass — as the only french i speak is the french i use when i talk to my cat monty and i'm playing 'french war bride'.
**(which is in NO way as dirty as it sounds)

hmm, i will have to think about this one. maybe i could start off with the baby version — which i want as well:

if i can muddle my way through it with reasonable success then maybe the $200 one won't be a complete waste of money.

i would still rather it just showed up on my doorstep.
(& then i would walk into my kitchen and it would change into the one i wish i had)
(& then i would lose 10 pounds and not be a complete freak)
(& then i would be one of those people that can experience joy without the nagging horror that something terrible is about to happen)

(and then i wouldn't be ME and that would be rad)

Sunday, November 18, 2007

the perfect wife (to no one)

i'm exhausted but pleased with myself beyond belief. today was epic. i'm not sure what brought it about but i managed to get more done today than i have in weeks combined.

i woke up early, did two hours of ballet (barre only... i don't 'flit'), took a long bath where i fully enjoyed feeling the muscles in my legs while massaging a poor, twisted knee. i made myself a small breakfast of coffee & two poached eggs while i started the laundry & flipped through cookbooks looking for ideas for dinner. the winner: slow roasted chicken with rosemary, marjoram, lemons & white wine, braised brussels sprouts with a balsamic reduction and mashed potatoes made with horseradish and heavy cream. by noon the chicken was under way so i cleaned the carpet in the living room, polished the wood floor in my 'office', cleaned the bathroom, mopped the kitchen, reorganized the bookshelves in the living room that got doused in last weeks hot water explosion upstairs, cleaned the bird cage, dusted all of my books (huge under taking in itself), organized my drawers, optimized all my portfolio images for my website and tossed away all the old tupperware odds and ends hiding in my cupboards. in between jobs i would pop back into the kitchen to chop vegetables & prep the rest of dinner.

while my body took care of the physical tasks at hand my head took care of the internal: i designed the pagoda shaped bone structure for some bedroom window treatments i want to make, decided on a color palette and thought about the best way to paint a white silhouetted cherry blossom tree onto my wall. (not in this apartment: in my future one) and
dictated a letter to my editor,

it was all excruciatingly domestic and i loved every minute of it despite the fact that i didn't do it in my customary cocktail dress and heels. at 2 weeks shy of 36 — with knees that creek and pop and a back that is in constant need of a massage — i think my days of cleaning in manolo blahniks and vintage dior may finally be over. i admit, i did miss the swish of silk shantung though... it adds such an elegant air to mundane chores.

it's 6:30, my dinner is finished and absolutely beautiful- i haven't eaten yet but it smells so good i keep walking into the kitchen just to inhale.

once upon a time i would have been the perfect wife.

Friday, November 16, 2007

my california do over

like any other nearing middle-aged spinster, friday night is reserved for grocery shopping. i happen to love buying food, almost as much as i love cooking it — so this isn't as depressing as it may sound. while i was neurotically examining shallots i got a very unexpected call. normally i'm not a public phone user- but when a vp from one of the big boys of advertising calls you from back east — you answer... it doesn't matter if nugget market is on fire. besides, it was just b, he was well on his way to being grope-fest happily drunk and he's used to me taking conference calls from my bathtub- so it was all good.

much to my surprise all he wanted was to wish me a happy birthday, which i pointed out, isn't for another two weeks and i'm going to be turning 36, i'm not exactly gearing up for a big celebration so much as i'm getting my affairs in order & cleaning the gun. he laughed.

and then he got down to the super secret insider advertising business. there's talk of putting a new team together for the santa monica office. my first question before he even got it all out was of course 'automotive? please say it's NOT car crap' (am i the only person on the planet who hates making car commercials?)
it's not auto, however it won't be happening until probably feb-march... which sucks. i really want to be out of here by jan... but the good news is, i'm on the short list and the 'list' hasn't even been created yet.

i need this so bad. i need ONE thing to go right for me in the 4 1/2 years since moving here. just one. let this be it. please baby jeebus, please!!

i've been rolling my 'news' around in my head since i got home (with a shit load of groceries i might add). i'm still hoping to get out of here as soon as possible.
and when i go i'm not telling anyone. there's nobody to tell, aside from a few friends in sf and santa cruz and i suppose i will have to tell jack when i'm moving out, but god knows he won't care about any of the particulars. i really want to leave everything and everyone who doesn't give a shit about me behind. completely. i don't really need to hold onto friends who only get in touch when they need a photo or some other completely random task taken care of but can't be bothered to answer the phone when i need to talk to them. i'm so sick of it. i've met nothing bunch of shit heads here. it's lame.

i'm done and i don't even care. actually, that's not true... i can't wait. i am really looking forward to starting over. this will be my california 'do over'.

stinky fish knuckle stew

the entire week has been pretty much absolute SHITE- but today it's all i can do to keep from whimpering at my desk. well, actually, i'm more in a screaming, hitting and biting mood. people are fucking idiots and i think i work with a large number of them.

i've had a respiratory and sinus infection since last week and despite having a nose that gushes blood for hours at a time and basically being unable to breathe, see or speak.... i have had to listen to everyone ELSE i work with bitch and moan about how fucking sick they are.

1. like i give a fucking shit.
2. my hypochondriac grandma didn't whine as much. reasonably healthy, 3o-something men should be ashamed of themselves for carrying on this way.

i nick-named all of the men i work with 'pussy' and now call them with a sweet little whisper of 'here kitty kitty'.

they don't seem to get it.

anyway.... where was i? whining. i need to whine.

so today i get to work early, start in on my piles of crap and the single most annoying woman i have ever worked with plunks herself down at my desk and started babbling on about absolutely nothing at top speed. the fact that i was hunched over my monitors typing furiously meant nothing to her. she proceeded to READ one of my magazines out loud to me. ???? wtf? i've been doing my own reading for decades.

i just can't fathom the mentality and social gracelessness of a human who feels compelled to spew their bullshit constantly regardless of how disruptive it is for other people. it's just so fucking RUDE. i swear, it's like these people were all raised by wild animals.

i kept thinking 'well, at least i can eat something yummy for lunch'. food is my only solace these days it seems.

so one of the guys i work with decided on this vietnamese place he goes to all the time. all i wanted was some nice hot brothy soup with vegetables.
what i got was this horrible concoction that can only be described as stinky fish knuckle stew. i generally have a fairly good stomach for looking at, if not actually ingesting gnarly, gross food. this had me almost hurling on my desk.

oh, and my boobs are killing me.

please make this day end.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

fucked by the heavens

i seem to have been placed on a horoscope email list.

i don't know if someone is playing a 'ha ha.. you're going to die alone!' joke on me or what.... but in the last 48 hours i have received about 20 emails and the subject is always 'will he come back?'

jesus fucking christ, now i'm being mocked by spam??

i GET it all right? stop!!

Sunday, November 04, 2007

my gearbox wasn't broken, it was me.

we broke up in front of the hell's angels house on 3rd. and we didn't so much break up as we said goodbye for the night, turned to walk in our respective directions and never spoke to each other again.
there had been a growing fissure looming between us for a week but what finally ended it was an argument at some vegan cafe about zoning restrictions & electrical codes for installing a commercial AC unit in a non-legal dwelling & the best way to get around all the red tape.
what can i say: i ooze romance. (& must confess, know absolutely NOTHING about installing a commercial air conditioning unit — so i really don't know what the fuck was going through my head.)

of course 'to comply or not comply' with new york city zoning regulations was really the least of our problems.
i was a basket case. he was a former basket case. he was finally getting his life together. i had a couple more years to go before i would really be ready for human interaction. there was a part of him that looked at me and saw a spoiled american brat. for my part, i could never shake the feeling that he was right. he was a constant reminder of the fact that i had been afforded every opportunity in the world and had chosen instead to spend my time shoveling coke and everything else i could get my hands on into my body. where as he was one of those people who had managed to drag himself from the dregs of new york all by himself and not only get on with life but really DO something with it other than talk about it. i was bad for him. it makes me sick to my stomach having to accept that fact, but it is true. and i have rolled it around in my head for years.

i adored him the minute i met him and waited years to finally be with him. i believe the tally goes something like: 2 boyfriends, 1 city hall wedding, a wife, a green card, a divorce and two complete disappearing acts by both of us as we tried to get our lives together. i had given up hope of ever seeing him again and then we bumped into each other one freezing october night on the corner of lafayette and great jones — my favorite intersection in all of new york city.

it was to be short lived, because i am, well... me... and new york zoning & electrical codes are a fucking nightmare.

i don't have many regrets — from a life that technically should be full of them — and i have never, ever regretted walking away from a man — except him. at a time when he deserved my friendship, respect and patience above everything — all i could think about was 'i want a boyfriend' despite knowing deep down it was the last thing in the world he should be getting into at the moment. especially with me.

when i turned and walked away that night i never believed that would be the end of it. i guess the joke was on me.