liker disliker

I'm a man-lover by definition. Love the way men smell, the way they look, feel....you get the idea.

Today however, I am a man-disliker. Not a man-hater, because I don't know that I could ever hate a gender that I so love to look at, hang out with and uh....all the rest of the stuff that doesn't need to be articulated. There is no way I can keep this disliking up for long, but I feel I must be heard, at this juncture.

I dislike at this point in time, because I have no representatives of the Y chromosome persuasion in the last handful of years who are able to follow through on anything or do anything other than talk, talk, talk, or rather text, text, text. I loathe dating, hence my conscious effort to avoid getting into relationships for most of my life. Dating is like a great waterslide that ends with a cliff and a craggy beach below - tons of fun, followed by excruciating pain and annoyance. Meeting people is fun. Making out is fun. Getting to know what makes people tick and what you have in common is fun. Until it isn't, or until the lack of pursuit or follow through, followed by a bunch of excuses comes along and it gets tedious.

Men of the world: you have become insanely lazy with your courting efforts. I speak not only for myself here. If you plan to get into the goodies, you had better plan to be amazing and deserving of them. I guess this is why I have chosen spinsterhood for so long. No, boys, there is nothing wrong with me, I don't bring baggage to a situation and yes, I really am that cool. I don't go looking for problems, but if something isn't right....I'm outta there. Too little time in life to waste it on inconsistency.

Get your shit together Y's. And then, elect a worthy representative to date me. I refuse to give up the hope and confidence I have in all of you, o men who I appreciate so much. Don't let my guy friends be the only stand up dudes in my life. I want the whole thing, so deliver. The challenge has been issued.....

lil mich

I am developing a serious girl crush. This woman is so....well....

Michelle Bachman is taking me by storm. I mean, I feel like I'm cheating on Sarah Palin, because I don't know if I'm allowed to be morbidly fascinated with two hyper-conservative, wingnut, "christian" women, but I think it's okay.

Michelle Bachman has completely bought into her shtick. Her husband can cure gays and she can make it so that we have no taxes at all! That pesky infrastructure is ancillary, guys...we don't need it! Did I mention that she shows up with a unicorn in a pink Trans Am to all her rallies? Amazing that one.

And unlike her roguey-mavericky counterpart, Palin, she can actually finish something. My Michelle, well she doesn't ditch out half way and waffle around like that campy Palin does, under the guise of "helping the nation" (read raking in cash from idiots who believe her rhetoric). Michelle Bachman will finish her term and her campaign and dutifully give us more whimsical, factually inaccurate quotes before the Republican nominee is chosen.

This is just the tip of the iceberg.

listen

Ya game ova bitch gatorade, wap-tow.

I feel like I'm picking up momentum now and I have had some really good runs lately. Figured I'd toss out what I am listening to - or part of it, anyway, in no particular order. I'm digging getting into music again, too. The benefits just keep coming.


Rise Against - Satellite

Kanye West - All of the Lights

Lupe Fiasco - Beautiful Lasers (2 ways)

Nikki Minaj - Blazin

DJ Khaled - All I do is Win

Linkin Park - Hit the Floor

The Living End - Short Notice

Asteroid Galaxy Tour - The Golden Age

Jay Z - 99 Problems

Eminem - Won't Back Down

The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony

Frou Frou - Let Go

Staind - For You

Florence and the Machine - Dog Days Are Over

Rise Against - Architects

The Roots - Game Theory

Nikki Minaj - Superbass

Linkin Park - Points of Authority

Eminem - Lose Yourself

N.E.R.D. - Rockstar

Lil Wayne - Drop the World

DJ Khaled - We Takin Over

Nelly - #1

Urban Renewal Program - Wylin Out

Tinie Timpeh - Written in the Stars

Dropkick Murphy - Barroom Hero

Jay Z - Numb / Encore

Greenday - St. Jimmy


Who knew I was a bit of a Nikki Minaj fan?!

anvil

I have a friend in a seriously fucked up relationship. Yes, this is about a friend and not a metaphor for myself. It disturbs me to the point of articulating it though, because she has been sinking for way, way too long.

Without going into the 'oh emm gee can you believe he did A-Z?', the guy is basically about as unmotivated as they come. He is supposedly a student, but never seems to actually be progressing in school. At over thirty years old, all he does is "go to school", play online video games (which is just creepy), smoke the reefer and sleep. Literally. I have no problem with smoking the chiba, but to excess is, well, excessive. I used to live with this girl and the dude was awake maybe 1% of the time that he was over. All they did when I lived there was stay in her room and sleep and fight.

The worst of this was having to hear it all the time. He wasn't over much, maybe one day a week at most, but when he was there, there was bound to be an explosive fight over something, with him being hurtful, her being shocked and saddened, him running out of the house and her - literally - chasing him screaming down the common hallway our apartments all share, shoes or no, rain or shine. And of course afterward, she would come to me with her tear-stained face to try and ascertain the why of it all.

I'll tell you why: your boyfriend is a selfish asshole who needs to grow up. I can spot these now, because I used to have one. Mine was better and worse in different ways, but the gist was the same. All talk, all outer shell, nothing legitimate inside. She has broken up with this dude a dozen times over legitimately stupid or cruel shit he has done and said and then takes him back every time for reasons I cannot fathom. At one point she was worried about what he would say to other people since they had broken up.

Why do girls do this? Why do you give a fuck what some stunted idiot is going to say about you? It's pretty easy to figure out that a narcissistic, mental juvenile will say narcissistic and immature things, in an effort to make himself somehow look good, despite the fact that he's a complete blowhard and an excuse for a partner. Duh. The best revenge is a happy life and the disappearance of the shitty person, so just go with that. Move on. Focus on your life and on what makes you happy and *hint* it's not that dude.

The point of this post though, is that there is a lesson here. I actually learned this lesson a few years ago, but I'd like to toss it out for general consumption. When you tell your friends what an asshole your boyfriend is - repeatedly over a very long period of time - and then you make up excuses for his bad behavior, all while crying on the shoulders of people who care about you, we grow to hate your douchebag boyfriend and want you to dump his ass. Then we get to a point where we want to slap some sense into you, and finally we don't want to hear the dude's name, don't want to hear about your relationship, good or bad, and it gets more difficult to talk to you and be around you, because you are wearing the nasty film of a bad partnership all over your face, voice, body language and emotions.

Instead of listening to all of his fantastic stories and fluff, watch what he does. Watch how he acts and pay attention to how he is really treating you. I guarantee that what you want and what is happening are two completely different scenarios. If he cared about you, he would act like it. If he doesn't give a squirt of piss about you, what is important to you, or your relationship together, he will act like it.

In case you aren't aware, he's acting like the latter part of that paragraph. Open your eyes and then make some decisions.

If you don't want an absentee relationship, don't be in one. If he doesn't do what he says he's going to, dump him. Early on. He's not going to change. If he's unsupportive and manipulative with the private things you share, drop his ass. He's not going to suddenly decide to take the focus off of himself, because that would mean acknowledging that there are other people in the world and he'd have to do more than just sit around like a 300 pound cat spouting bullshit, pointing at things and playing around on his stupid computer all day and night. The best time in your relationship - and every single long-married person I know says this - is when you are dating and first married. So if it sucks now, you are only going to go downhill from here and why in the hell would you want to do that, knowing that some inevitable tough times lie ahead? Is this really who you would want to be in the trenches with?

Lose the anvil pinning you down, girl. It's really not as heavy as you think, and you'll be amazed at how much better you feel right away when you say goodbye for real. But, you're still not allowed to talk to me about him. Sorry, but I've had all of the shitty relationship bullshit a person can handle for one lifetime, so either help yourself or zip it. I love you!

.....too harsh?.......

things i never asked for

By the title, this could easily be a post about idiot men and broken promises and all of that nonsense that's been reported since the beginning of time. It isn't, however.

This is instead about idiot Boss and Boss's stupid requests and frequent temper tantrums and explosive anger over things Boss never even asked for. Todays outbursts featured a request that was emailed at 7am for lunch reservations at Bergdorf Goodman's 7th floor restaurant. Having never been to Bergie's - because what's the fucking point in that - I wondered what lunch in a super duper high end department store in Midtown would cost. Here is the menu. While some of the items look delicious, it's lunch! On a Monday! Anyway, the request was sent in at 7am and I arrive at work at 8:30am. At 8:38, Boss (who will not show up until almost 11) emails me frantically to ask me why the request has not been filled so that Boss and Boss's friend can go and kibbutz and then charge it on the company's dime. Clearly there is nothing more important for me to do first thing on a Monday than make lunch reservations at some swanky place at 8:30 in the morning so Boss can have a two hour lunch. Clearly.

The one that really got me though, was the reaction to my completion of a project for which I had been given detailed, handwritten instructions. I followed the instructions to the letter. The project was completed last week - ahead of schedule - and was done to the exact directions I was given. To boot, I attached the handwritten instructions to the back of the completed project so that Boss could peruse the changes and see if there were further amendments to be made. Rather than take a gander at Boss's own notes, Boss took one quick scan of the docs and came charging out of the office, papers waving wildly and at an elevated pitch scolded me for not removing some clauses and for generally sucking due to an obvious lack of attention to the detailed instructions provided to me.

Lucky for me, everyone knows boss is a lunatic. Not lucky for me, but interesting to note, is that Boss didn't provide the instructions that induced the hysteria. Nary an email, post-it, sheet of paper nor word was provided with the second set of items. So now I suck because I'm not a mind-reader. Hmmm....I've been down this road before.

I've decided that I'm just working for the bonus, while carefully crafting other plans. I do plan to visit the psychic who sits out in her folding chair eating gummy snacks and staring daggers into passersby for not stopping for some kookery, so that maybe I can at least have a heads up next time the tree guy fucks up at Boss's house and sends Boss off the deep end (or in the event of any similar scenario), so I'll know to come to the office in full mental kevlar. This way, I'll at least have the benefit of a heads up and be able to bite my tongue better.

Today I said "so what you're telling me is that despite the fact that you didn't say anything about any of that at any point in time, I've done a shit job."

"You need to be more detail oriented, is what I'm telling you."

"Despite the complete absence of information?"

With this there was a heavy sigh. The kind that says "yes, I know you're correct here, but I'm going to continue being an asshole, rather than submit."


Fucking looney bin.

the x's

My gender frightens me, sometimes. Okay more than sometimes.

So there I was, walking home after a particularly intoxicating dinner (yummy hot sake), enjoying the clear, un-humid, fall air - which is like the chupacabra of New York weather. I got a call and so I continued walking and I ended up going from the East Village, all the way over and up past the Flatiron, as I made my way toward the dreadful Penn Station area, when I decided to catch a cab the rest of the way home. It was about 10:30pm on a Tuesday and there seemed to be a shortage of taxis available. No bother, I thought, I'll keep walking.

I stopped at one point, seeing a cab approaching from a couple of blocks away, turned and stuck my arm up to signal that I'd be catching that ride. Literally as if on cue, a gaggle of chicks wobbling around like new fawns on their six inch stick-heels tumbled up next to me and did a full-on pack interference cab steal. Seriously, it was like something you would see in a movie and I was stopped in my tracks, staring at what had just happened, while they clacked over and shoved each other into the closed door of the cab, the leader trying to hold them off as she attempted to open the door.

Losing the cab wasn't the problem for me there, because there was another right behind the first and I just hopped in that one, while the gaggle were still struggling to untangle their heels and successfully get into their appropriated ride. What disconcerted me were the girls themselves. They were young, maybe 24 or 25, dressed in all of the drippings and bindings of your typical twenty-something Manhattanites and all had on very tall, double platform, stiletto pumps, atop which they teetered and listed while looking down to avoid stepping in a crack or divot in the sidewalk. They carried expensive bags and they shouted in a high pitch to each other as they careened back and forth into one another, thereby moving as more of an animated, screaming blob, than a group. I'd love to say this is somehow a sort of anomaly, but this is the state of chicks in the city now and it's frightening.

I'm not knocking getting dolled up or purchasing high heels. At six feet tall, I have many pairs of high heels myself and I wear them proudly (especially now that I can again). My problem is with the shrieking and the obliviousness and what comes across as the desire to either be or at least act completely stupid and vacant. When did being a smart woman become so passe? When did having your wits about you and acting in a graceful manner get ditched in favor of not paying attention, making a spectacle and looking like a dumbass? How is that productive or desirable in any way?

Attention idiot twenty-and-thirty-something chicks: you are not Carrie Bradshaw. And if you were, she's like 46 now and advertises a range of wrinkle creams, so give it up. Your little broke-for-shoes existence is vapid and you look like an moron. Spend some more time reading books and keeping up on the world around you and for fucks sakes, stop yelling at squeaky, unnecessarily high decibels and conduct yourself like a lady and not some piece of bumpkin garbage. If you're going to spend all that money on clothes and accessories, at least don't shame the gilded wrapping by being an imbecile.

I totally see this changing things.

bad sign

This is an accurate representation of shit I find funny. Subtle, but it gave me the giggles, so now I'm sharing. And I'm not even drunk.

freitag

So here's what's awesome: my peeps will be in town this weekend! Well two of them, anyway.

The funny thing about making changes in your life is that all of a sudden, all of these random, not seemingly interconnected things start happening. People suddenly are free to come and visit, clothes fit better, dates come out of the woodwork and - shockingly - even the financial despair eases up a tad (a small tad, due to a $340 phone bill....whaaaat?).

So this weekend in addition to a two and a half hour run in a pain cave, I will have two of my way back in the day dudes in town for fun and hyjinx and probably some unconventional and immature activities. This means however, that tonight I have to mind my bevvies so that I can complete said run in the smallest pain cave possible.

This is yet another awesome benefit of training. Sacrifice. I am relearning the sacrifice struggle of having so much to do that is questionably healthy, and instead choosing my goals, when a conflict arises. These guys know me well enough and from that time period where I was a leader in that aspect, to know that I both can and will get it all done. And I will have extra people cheering for me as I cruise across the finish line in 49 days, with another box checked.

With that said, bring on the Moscow Mule - my new favorite.

change

Here's something I'm curious about: hot-heads and their propensity to "speak their mind".

The pretext for this is that I was standing in a line for a good or service - as I often do - when the two people in front of me seemed to have some misgivings about one another. Actually, the person directly in front of me had a problem with the person in front of him, who happened to be paying at the register at the time.

Now the person paying was fumbling for change, so that the correct amount of cash would be presented for his purchase. As we all know, dealing in cash takes a fraction longer than paying by card most times. It's the world we live in people, accept it already. But he hadn't really taken that long, actually. Not even worthy of a heavy sigh, by my estimation, but then again, I'm not a psychotic hot-head. The person in front of me did not agree. He shuffled from one foot to the other, tapping his hand on his leg and it was like I was watching the mercury rise all the way up to his eyebrows in twenty five seconds or less. As there was only one point of sale location, there was no way out for dude and as the cashier was accepting the change and generating the receipt, dude had finally hit his breaking point. His breaking point took about thirty total seconds to reach, by the way, which is practically an eternity as we all know.

"What the FUCK?!" he whisper-yelled. "Whaaat the fuuuuuuck?!"

With that he charged up on the register before the receipt was even handed over and told the other customer to get the hell out and move along. The first customer stared at him blankly in disbelief, as did everyone else in the establishment. Dude was right up on the guy and the cashier started to look worried, as did I, because I knew if these dudes went to blows, it was going to be me to break it up in my dress and heels. The first customer told dude to cool off, gave him a dirty look, and went on his way like a normal person. Dude however, continued to bitch that his time and space were being egregiously violated. Then, startlingly, dude turned around and announced to me and the other patrons that he had to speak his mind because people like that ruin New York. I rolled my eyes....heard this line before.

People like that ruin New York?

No sir, it's fucking wacko hot-heads like you that ruin New York and everything, for that matter. People who just have to find something wrong and just have to flex their fat and just have to yell and make a spectacle, because you are so full of toxic sludge on the inside that you feel justified in acting like a completely insane douchebag, making everyone around you uncomfortable just so you can "speak your mind". How about shut the fuck up? No one wants to hear you rant about the lack of speed at check out, violations of your personal space, or why people don't trot along faster on the sidewalk, as if those offenses are somehow directed at you.

It's a big city; deal with it. People are everywhere, there are trash bags on the sidewalk, the cabbies drive like shit and tourists will stop and gawk and delay you every chance they get. You can't deal with it? Move.

Actually my greatest idea in a while is to take all of these people that embarrass those around them (and yes, the people around them are embarrassed - I used to be one of those embarrassed people) and move them all to a remote location somewhere in Missouri or Wyoming where they can build their own town of half-cocked assholes and go richter on each other any time they want. And the other stack blowers won't mind, because it will be their turn to erupt soon, too. That way, all of the rational people who don't love yelling so much can move on with our reasonably patient and drama-free lives. I'm going to make suggestion cards and start handing them out just to plant the seed that the high strung should hit the road. If you get one....try your shit on me. I dare you - because we all know that the ones with the longest fuses are the most dangerous to cross, in the end.

decade

I dreaded the "10 year anniversary".

While I appreciate that people want to (and should) remember and pay respects to those who lost their lives in 2001, there is an opportunism about the way the remembrances and tributes have gone that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I wasn't here that day. I was driving in LA when traffic came to a dead stop - more dead stopped than usual - and I had to work my way off of the freeway and drive home, only to watch it over and over and over again. After I moved to New York, it was impossible to escape the discussions, images, and since I worked about two blocks from the World Trade Center, every year the bands and the flags and the rememberers were never more than a look out the window away.

Then I met someone who was more deeply affected by that day than anyone else I knew and I saw what it did to him and what it took from those around him, including me. That he was an asshole already is immaterial, because watching someone - or rather going through the healing process WITH someone who has endured that kind of trauma is heartbreaking, no matter what kind of person they are. It's horrifying and unjust to be unwittingly put in harms way and then have to fumble around and figure out how to move on afterward, with no road map for how to erase it from your mind, or look at the world happily again.

So the 9/11 wine, the 9/11 purchasable handbooks, the 9/11 sweatshirts, hats, ice cream flavors and whatever else they come up with, piss me off. Show some respect already. Unless every cent of those sales goes to medical care for the survivors, or assistance for the educations of children who lost parents, no one should be making a fucking cent off of this tragedy.

And if you are, shame on you.

need

http://run.livestrong.org/teamls2011/rachelrose

I'm past the halfway mark, but have more to go to hit my fundraising mark by October 19th. Everything helps and I'm so very appreciative to everyone who has donated thus far.

This weekend will be a 14 - 15 mile run and I'm very happy with how my training is starting to shape up. I've definitely made some serious progress and as a result of all of my efforts, nearly every area of my life has improved dramatically. If you want big rewards, take big risks and go full force. Anything less than a full effort is a waste of time.

I'm going.

magnum

Mid-week drinking is not good for me anymore. Also, I am a cheap date since my training picked up, but don't tell that to me last night, as I participated (and was one of a whopping two person party) in drinking a magnum of wine.

No more boozing while I'm training; I'm off the sauce.

That egg wrap and crack shake were damn good this morning though.

five six

Dear 56th Street,

I greatly appreciate your efforts to clean up the stench and grime that bakes in the sun and turns to a fetid soup in the rain, up and down the block. The thousands of people who walk your street daily have had to endure for far too long, the pools of green, radio-active-looking waste from thousands of cups and plates of god knows what.

My favorite memory is of having one of said pools splash onto my feet as I walked to get lunch on an especially hot and humid day. The puddle even made it over the natural garbage bag barrier, which is generally between two and four feet high, which means the pothole was especially deep and well-formed. Makes one feel so fresh.

I am not alone in this. It is a frequent topic among my co-workers and random people you see holding their noses as they pass certain points on our block. 56th Street is the worst street in the city, with regard to scent and welcoming odors.

So I thank you, dear 56th Street, for taking the time to tear up the road and repave, removing the potholes and putrid stink. O wait, the putrid stink got to stay, I forgot. Yeah so that whole repaving thing was an excellent idea and it desperately needed to be done, but now the odiforousness has moved to the gutters, which lack the proper drainage to move the river of rotted lettuce and leftover wine to the sewers and out to our lovely New York harbor. No instead, the river becomes a lake in the gutter and we begin the cycle of baking and turning to putrid slush all over, just in a different location in the roadway. Way to shuffle your vegetables on the plate.

Improvement. Your tax dollars at work.

moves

I found myself in a cab up in Harlem on Sunday night. I wasn't anticipating anything that happened on Sunday, so being in a cab on 141st Street fit right into everything else I was just rolling with.

So there we sat: my friend, our cabbie who spoke Russian mostly, and me. We were waiting to turn right when the man for whom we waited to cross the street had a problem with the fact that we had pulled perhaps a few inches too far forward. Let's describe man.

He was something of a little fellow, perhaps homeless, perhaps just not up on his luck. He was balding slightly, with dirt smeared on his skin in some places and his blue work pants and t-shirt were soiled and torn. He had a bit of a hunch going and never walked fully forward, rather he sort of hunched and listed from side to side, turning enough that it eventually equaled forward progress. He was clearly agitated before he got to front bumper of the cab, which had offended the stripes crosswalk.

By the time he reached the cab, he had had enough of the world and was just through with all of it. He began running around the side of the car and then back to the front, waving his arms. He would take a few steps, stop, wave his arms, take a few more steps and repeat the process. He leaned in to yell at the driver through the windshield, but was careful not to touch the car, jumping around instead as if he would be electrocuted should his skin touch the hood. Back and forth, side to side he ran and jumped and waved and it ran out of funny pretty quickly, until we were ready to nudge him out of the way with the car. I mean, I was ready to nudge him with the car. I don't know if anyone else would want to be on record as saying they were ready to run some lunatic over for a right turn, but I'm pretty sure they were.

This went on for way, way too long and I finally yelled out

"Jesus dude....make a move already".

I was getting irritated until I stopped and realized that the other people in the car had fallen out laughing. Yeah, I just challenged a pocket man of questionable sanity to a fight from inside a car. This of course, sparked an entire spin-off into what would have happened if the dude squared up, whether or not any of us would have wanted to touch him to fight him, whether or not it would take an actual punch or just the threat of a punch for him to fall down (assuming he was drunk) and how long that would keep us from our own drinks and a timely arrival at the bar.

I still think nudging with the car would have been the way to go. Avoid contact, make a strong point without actually injuring him, never have to leave the vehicle. Spic and span.

If he had wanted to fight though, I could have taken him.

biting

I was awakened at 3:09 this morning.

Not from a fire truck, police siren, drunk people screaming or loud neighbors. No, I was awake because I had nine bites (that I counted) and was itching so badly in my sleep that it jarred me awake. I left the window open when I fell asleep, because I hate the air that comes out of the a/c, and they seized the opportunity to pounce. I feel like they must hover outside the window waiting to see an infrared glimpse of me, lighting up their world like I'm on fire. O how they must lick their chops and dance with excitement as I drift to sleep, knowing they can all file in and take turns picking off veins. Horrifying.

I am what is known as 'bug candy'. If we are camping, the safest spot for you is next to me, because all of the mosquitoes and biting bugs will pass you by, because I am there. It's been this way my entire life. I played soccer for twelve years. Twelve years of running through grass at dusk, my legs screaming "dinner!!" at all biting insects in the area. It has never waned and I have employed every wives tale and bug repellent tactic known to man.

I think it's time to provide a little education as to why this happens. It's fascinating, really, and does give credence to my dad's theory that I just have sweet blood. Should I ever travel to Africa or South East Asia, you can bet that I will deal with the anti-malaria sickness and employ my "dork fan" (as my friend calls it) - which is a magical fan made by Off - so I can survive. Bite or be bitten.

In addition to the educational link provided, to avoid getting bug bites, or reduce the number at least, here are some wives tale-y tips:

1. Do not eat bananas during bug biting season. Something in the way they metabolize attracts the bugs like a neon light. Theoretically, anyway.

2. Carry a dryer sheet in your pocket. No real evidence that this actually works, but what can it hurt? Worst case scenario is you smell extremely Downy fresh.

3. Eat garlic. I think this is just a general rule for repelling anything.

Best of luck, friends.