Cattle Car

I will never understand why people pack into overcrowded subway cars. Why not just wait for the next one instead of wedging your body against a stranger and having the doors close on your bag? And what happens if the train stops or gets stuck or some other disaster? You're stuck in a packed train car with nowhere to go and no room to breathe. People were shoving themselves onto the A train this morning while I watched in horror. I hoped for their sake that their train made it to the next station. Otherwise, they're screwed. No thank you. I'll wait for the next train.

Crasians

There are these trees on my street. I'm not sure what kind of trees they are. But at this time of year, they drop what I call "stinkberries" all over the sidewalk. They are these little pinkish balls that are smashed by people walking on them. And they give off a very distinctive odor that smells like a cross between really stinky cheese and dirty socks. It's gross and I can't wait until they are swept away by the rain or covered up by the snow. So the other day I was walking down the street and I saw a Chinese(?) lady(?) sitting on the ground with a bag picking through all of the smashed berries to find the good ones. I couldn't believe that anyone would want to get that close to the foul little things, let alone touch them, let alone save them! I would love to know what he/she is planning on doing with them when he/she gets them home. Stinkberry Pie? Stinkberry jam? Yuck.

Miles of Piles

Look at all that trash! This is a building by P.O.'s apartment that apparently only has garbage service once every 5 years.

Is The End In Sight?

As I was listening to the news this morning, I had a thought. All this talk of banks foreclosing on people's houses and companies in financial ruin made me wonder if this is indeed the beginning of the end. I starting thinking about all of the people who are losing their jobs and their homes, and wondered if this is how it starts. People become destitute and homeless and angry. Crime soars. Disease starts to spread. Hospitals shut down. There's rioting, looting, lawlessness. The government loses control and there is anarchy. It seems far fetched at the moment, when things are still somewhat normal. But you have to wonder, if things keep getting worse, are we headed for the apocalypse?

I Feel Dirty

So I finally hired a cleaning lady. I have been thinking about it for a while, and my friend N.P. finally talked me into in. Plus when I was back in Chicago a couple of weeks ago, my sister's cleaning lady came before we left the house one morning, and when we got back, the place was sparkling and gorgeous and smelled like clean. It made me envious. And it made me start my search as soon as I got back to NY. There was a flyer up at the grocery store by my house, so I took the number and made the call. On Monday, L. came to my house so I could meet her and show her my filth. And then today, she came to clean! I gave her my keys and $70 and bid her farewell and left for work. I'm pretty nervous about a stranger having my keys and wandering around unsupervised in my apartment, but I'm hoping to come home to a clean and good smelling place after work. Stay tuned.

Fall Has Fallen

My street looks beautiful right now. Fall has finally come. I am going to enjoy all 3 days of it before winter arrives.

Marathon Man

My friends and I went to watch the marathon Sunday morning because our friend A.A. and her husband were running. I wasn't that excited about going to Williamsburg at 9:30 on a Sunday morning, but it wasn't bad because all of the hipsters were still in bed, sleeping off their Red Bull and vodka hangovers. So I got a container of red swedish fish and found a nice sunny spot on Bedford Avenue. The first runners to come by were the wheelchair folks. And I have to say, as they whizzed by with their arm muscles rippling, there wasn't a dry eye in the crowd. It was so amazing that these people, some with no legs, some with little useless looking ones, were able to achieve such an amazing feat. MY arms got tired from having to open and close my plastic swedish fish tub. THESE people were rolling 26 miles through New York. It was truly remarkable and inspiring. By the time the other people ran by, my hands were stinging from clapping and my voice was hoarse from yelling. So my friends and I went to Beacon's Closet to shop for used clothes and then called it a day.

Hitting Is Never Okay

So I came out of the train this morning and felt a whack on my arm. I looked up and this crazy old black dude was standing there, flashing gang symbols at me. I couldn't tell if he was trying to get money, or just saying good morning. But either way, it scared the shit out of me. So I stood there for a minute and watched him, and he did the same thing to others who were coming out of the train. And every person had the same look on their face afterwards. Like, "what the fuck just happened?!" I don't think he was trying to hurt anybody. I think he was just trying to get attention or money or maybe just human contact. I felt bad for him. So when a police car drove by, I told the officer that there was a crazy black dude standing at the entrance to the train station hitting people. I felt it was the least I could do.

Finally

For the first time, I feel proud to live in America.

Breakin'

This may sound shocking, but I went to a breakdancing class yesterday. Anyone who knows me knows that dance classes really aren't my thing. But I've always wanted to learn how to b-boy, and now I'm on my way. The class was 2 1/2 hours long and was totally not what I expected. I though I would be moonwalking and doing the worm, and then maybe some poppin' and lockin'. Instead, I was doing handstands and dance moves and sweating my ass off. I could not believe how hard it was. It was like doing step aerobics for 2 1/2 hours. When I got home last night, my ears were ringing and my body was cramping up and I collapsed into bed. I knew that things weren't going to be good in the morning. And I was right. I woke up this morning and could barely move. I almost cried when I had to reach for the toothpaste. Every muscle in my body hurts. It was a hell of a workout. I can't wait to do it again. Though I may have to wait a while because right now it hurts to walk.

Cubs Win!

Last night my friend and I went to see the Cubs Mets game. I like any excuse to eat giant pretzels and high five with strangers. It was great because we were surrounded by Cubs fans and we all enjoyed taunting the Mets fans. I realized when the game was over that this may have been the first time I'd been to a Cubs game that they won since I was a kid. It was a whole new experience, not feeling that heartbreaking disappointment at the end of the game. I was fed a steady stream of cheap beer to keep my mind off my troubles and didn't go to bed until 2:00am, which is a late night for me. I think I like sports.

One Man's Trash

Last night I was out and about with my friend when we stumbled upon this beautiful piece of art. In case it's hard to see, it's a tiger mirror on a piece of carpeting in a frame. It was gorgeous. But it was too heavy for us to carry home, so we both just took pictures of this lovely treasure so we could remember it. Why anyone would have parted with this, I don't know.

Parking Situation

And to add to my "New York sucks" feeling, this is what my bike rack looked like when I got into the city today. Seems that since I used it on Friday it's gone through some changes. There was no magazine box and no garbage last time I was there. And right before I took this picture, the door of the truck was open and there was a guy sleeping on the front seat. I guess he saw me and woke up. It's too bad, it would have really added to the picture.

A Warm Welcome

I was walking around my neighborhood last night and came upon this apartment building. Maybe it's because I was in South Carolina over the weekend where most of the people are nice and welcoming, or maybe because I'm in a little bit of an "New York sucks" phase, but I this door really made me stop and laugh. In case it's hard to read, the top sign says "Private Property Keep Out". And of course the bottom says "Beware Of Dog". And you know they don't have a dog. They just don't want anyone anywhere near their house. It's like the total opposite of a welcome mat. I love it. When I was in a cab leaving the airport yesterday, another cab was next to us and a mother and little kid were crossing the road. The cab driver laid on his horn. It was awesome. It was so New York. I think people here are just trying to see how awful they can be.

Dinner for One

I saw this little girl on Broadway the other day, sitting on a tiny chair and using a crate as a table, eating by herself. She couldn't have been more than four years old. I think one of her parents was a street vendor. At least I hope so. But I didn't see her with anybody, so I'm not sure. Maybe she's just really mature for her age and lives on the street.

Love Notes

I saw this note on the ground today when I was walking around the Upper East Side. I thought it was so strange and compelling that I had to take a picture of it. It reminded me of those things that people send in to that magazine Found. There's a church near where I found the note that sometimes serves as a soup kitchen, so my theory is this: some guy had this attached to his suitcase (it had a little string at the top like a Christmas tree ornament) and it fell off. My guess is that this person has had some bad experiences with people stealing his stuff when he's stayed in shelters. He got pissed and put this note on his bag to deter future thieves. I hope it worked.

Hot Dog Asshole

So after work yesterday I went to get my bike, which was parked on Broadway, and a hot dog vendor had parked his cart right on top of it. Well, not on top of it exactly, but his cart was against the bike rack and my bike was wedged in between the cart and the rack. I was pissed and I said "You had to park your cart right next to my bike?!? There's a whole street!" He ignored me, maybe because he didn't understand English, and I tried to free my bike from his sweaty stinky hot dog cart. And then I noticed that his fucking stool was leaning against my bike. So I said "Can you get your chair off my bike??" and he moved it, all the while not saying a word to me. I continued to mutter to myself under my breath and give him dirty looks, all while he completely ignored me and sold some guy a Snapple. He didn't seem the least bit interested in me or my bike or the fact that I was upset.
I considered doing something bad to his cart, like punching a hole in it with my screwdriver or knocking over his neatly displayed bottles of water. But instead, I did nothing.

I took this picture after I freed my bike and got on it, so I could make a quick getaway.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

I'm freelancing back at my old job. And even though I'm making twice as much money as I did when I worked here originally, I still feel like it's some sort of a failure on my part. I was really happy to leave this place and move on to bigger and better things. But it seems I moved on to smaller and worse things, because here I am, back where I started. I know I'm looking at it the wrong way. First off, I should be really happy to have work. And secondly, it's really not that bad here. It's just that when I quit almost three years ago, I was really happy to go. And coming back with my tail between my legs, needing work, makes me feel bad.
But what are you gonna do? It's better than nothing. I just need to think about that big check I'll get and how it will be awesome to be able to pay my rent for another month.
Hooray.

Bike Lane

I rode my bike to work this morning, and it was a lot less difficult than I thought it was going to be. Aside from the obvious health benefits, it was completely awesome to not have to take the train, which everyone knows I hate. I think that alone is good for my heart. It only took 45 minutes, which is less time than it usually takes me to get to work. And I got to enjoy the beautiful Brooklyn Bridge and take this lovely picture.

I Feel Pretty

A lot of the time I compare myself to other people. Mostly on a physical level. I feel like I'm fatter than so and so, or I'm not as tall as someone, or I'm not as pretty as another person. But today I feel good about myself. Because I am almost positive that I am prettier than this lady.

Some People Never Learn

I was doing so well. I suffered through the first terrible weeks and I was on the road to recovery. I had reintroduced myself to the opposite sex and they seemed to be taking somewhat of an interest. I was starting to sleep a little bit and I was no longer numb from the waist down. And then I blew it. I had an itch Saturday night that needed scratching. And I scratched it until it bled. And now I'm back to square one. In the toilet. Miserable. Heartbroken. And I only have myself to blame. Because I really should know better. But I don't. And it must be because I truly am stupid. I thought I was smart. Or at least average. But I'm not. I am a silly impulsive woman-child who never seems to learn. And I must be stopped. Of course now that I've gotten a taste, I just want more. And now all I can think about is going back.

My New Boyfriend

I really thought I was over my whole musician thing. Back in the day, I used to get damp in the pant from the mere sight of a guitar case. Thankfully, in recent years I've lost my boner for the unemployable rock star. But lately I've been listening to a lot of Ryan Adams, courtesy of a blog that I frequent that had one of his albums on it. He's got a great voice, knows his way around a guitar, and is pretty sweet to look at.
I've been thinking that maybe it's time for me to revisit my old hobby - going to lots of rock shows and making out with lots of inappropriate boys.

The Best Medicine

After that last post, I felt like I needed a laugh. With my break-up with P.O. and B.G.'s wife's funeral, things have been a little bleak in my world. So aside from looking at this picture over and over again, I've been trying to do other things to make myself have fun. For example, Monday night I went to a comedy club with my friend A.S. The irony of course is that I hate comedy. And I always just assumed that I would also hate comedy clubs. But I actually had a good time. Maybe it was the 2 martinis. Maybe it was the nachos. Maybe it was the cute gay boys we were with. Or maybe it was just being in Time's Square, my favorite place in the world. Whatever it was, I had fun, which is exactly what I need right now. My instinct is always to just go home and sit on the couch with my box of crackers and my brick of cream cheese and watch all the Scrubs episodes I've DVR'd. But I've been forcing myself out of the house, because the less time I have alone with my thoughts, the better.

What Does It All Mean?

My former boss B.G.'s wife died yesterday. She had pancreatic cancer. She was sick for about a year, which I guess is a long time to live with that kind of cancer. It's really aggressive and people usually die pretty quickly.
I never met her, but I feel like I knew her with how much B.G. would talk about her. They seemed to have one of those great marriages that somehow stayed strong and happy through kids and illness and job losses and all of the other things that tend to destroy a lot of relationships. B.G. is one of my favorite people and by far the best boss I've ever had. And this whole thing has made me wonder why such a terrible thing would happen to such a nice person. Especially since I know some horrible people who never have anything bad happen to them.

Dark Thoughts

Sometimes it's fun to talk shit. Especially when it's with someone who hates the same people you do. It's definitely a nice way to bond. And a good way to pass the time. But lately the shit talking has been getting to me. It's depressing when every conversation is about something negative. Don't get me wrong, you know I'm a negative person (thanks P.O.), but even I have my limit. And I think I'm reaching it. Every day we go over the same things. The same people, the same stories, the same hate. It's bringing me down. And kinda getting on my nerves. And it sucks, because I'm full of love. Even for the person who is full of hate.
What to do?

The Fugitive

Is it just me, or is this guy hot? He's the marine who killed his pregnant co-marine and then hid out in Mexico for 3 months. Usually murderers are ugly, but I would definitely have a conjugal visit with this one.

Definitely Famous

So I finally ran into Natalie Portman yesterday. She's been working in my office all week and I had yet to have a sighting. But we used the bathroom at the same time last night and then we took the elevator out together.
We had brief small talk in the bathroom about paper towels, and then when we got out of the elevator and onto the street, I asked her what she was working on at the office. We chatted on the street for a minute and then I told her to have a good night and we parted ways. She was nice and friendly and pretty. But I couldn't help but notice that she had the body of an 8 year old boy. It actually made me feel kinda good about myself. Well, from the neck down anyway.

I Need A Vacation

Actually, I just got back from one. I went to Phoenix with my family and then drove up to Utah to volunteer at an animal sanctuary. Then I drove to Palm Desert to meet up with my friend. Then I drove back to Phoenix to fly back to New York. It was kind of exhausting and kind of awesome. This was what most of the roads looked like. I drove about 1,300 miles. And all of them were by myself. It was definitely a little bit lonely and I don't know that I would want to go on a trip like that again by myself. It got me thinking that it would be nice to have a partner who could/would want to do something like that with me. P.O. and I were, once again, in break-up negotiations, so that wasn't really an option. But I'm hoping that next time vacation time rolls around, I will have a sweet, wonderful guy to take with me. To help with the driving.

Barely Famous

I think I saw Donald Trump's car today. It was parked outside the Trump Soho building and it was a Bentley, which is quite fancy.
I took this picture with my cell phone.
I had to be inconspicuous because his driver was standing next to the car.
I know this doesn't really count as a famous person,
but it counts as a famous car.
I think.

Almost Famous

I had such a famous person day today. Alright, maybe famous is a bit of an overstatement. But I saw a lot of people I know from t.v. and movies today. This morning I walked by a couch in my office and Leelee Sobieski was sitting on it talking to some woman. Leelee was in Never Been Kissed and some other movies. I've seen her before walking around Soho.
She's not very special, but she fits into my famous people day.
Then I was on the 6 train and Lily Taylor was sitting across from me. She lives in my neighborhood and I've seen her on Smith Street. But today she wasn't looking so good. But she counts.
Then I saw Richard Kind in my office, who most people don't know, but he was on Mad About You, which was a show I really liked. And he had a small role on Scrubs, which, anyone who knows me knows, is one of my favorite shows. He was also on Spin City, but I never watched that.
Then I saw the woman who played Ross's ex-wife's new girlfriend on Friends. She was also in my office. I think people were there auditioning for something because there's a casting agent down the hall. Normally I don't see all these actors.
The big moment came when A.S. and I were waiting for the elevator after work and the Coen brothers were standing there. I was too nervous to get on the elevator with them, but we all stood there together for a good 4 minutes. It was pretty cool. It's weird - Joel is really tall and kind of good looking. And Ethan is really short and not so good looking. It's weird they're brothers.
Then when A.S. and I were walking to the train, we saw Sophie Dahl standing outside the Mercer. She's some sort of English socialite/model/something and not very exciting. Though her grandfather wrote Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, so that's kind of interesting.
She looked like a tranny. But again, she fit into my famous person day.
And Natalie Portman was in my office today, but I didn't see her. Apparently she will be back tomorrow, so I'm hoping to catch her then.
Stand by.

I Heart Taxes

I know it's weird, but I love tax time. There's just something magical about going through all that paperwork I've been collecting all year. It's a time to get organized, add things up, and maybe get a little money back. This year I was a little bit worried because I was freelance for a couple of months back in 2007, and I thought because of that, I might get nailed. And not in the way I enjoy. I set aside money for just that reason, and was very careful to not accidentally
spend it on clothes or gum. So I went to see my accountant last night and I was very excited to see what happened when he
plugged all of my numbers into his magical computer tax program. It turned out that not only did I not have to pay, I am actually going to get money back! I was so excited I wanted to jump up and kiss M.M.'s wrinkly face. But I held it together until I left his place and then went and bought the largest bag of cocaine I could find.
God bless America.

F the Train

I hate the F train.
It's the train I take to and from work everyday, and my commute has become torture.
A couple of months ago, I was on the train and just happened to notice a sticker on the door that leads to the next train car. It read "This door is locked for your safety". One thing that has always made me feel a little bit better about being stuck in that metal tomb is knowing that I could just pick up and move to the next car. The F train likes to stop from time to time between stations due to "Train traffic ahead", and I liked knowing that in a pinch, I could just cruise over to the car next door and see how things are going in there. I also thought of the door between the trains as being a handy escape route in the event of a fire or terrorist attack. But then I found out the doors were all locked, and if God forbid something happened to the train, I would be trapped in there. The though of it brought me close to throwing up. And my train rides have never been the same.
Since I attained that unfortunate bit of knowledge, riding the F train has become a huge production. In the morning, the train is always jam packed. I usually have to wait until 6 or 7 trains go by until there is one that I can even consider getting on.
And then I usually wait until there is one of the old school ones that don't have the locking doors. Those come along approximately every 8 trains. If I'm feeling brave, I'll get on one of the new school trains, but ONLY in the first car, and ONLY if there is a conductor in there. And then I will check to see if the door that leads to the conductor's area is unlocked. It all depends on how I'm feeling. Sometimes I'll stay on, even if the conductor's door is locked, thinking that if I had to get to him, I could just knock on the window. But sometimes it will freak me out if I can't just open his door, and I'll jump off at the next station and wait for the next train to come along. It is absolutely exhausting, and I worry that if I ever get a job I have to be at at a specific time, I will be in big trouble. For now, I'm just doing the best I can. When I have the luxury of time, like when I'm heading home after work, I will just wait for the right train to come along. But in the mornings, it's not so easy. I feel the pressure to just get on the damn train, even when I can't physically get myself to do it. I can't wait until it's nice out, so I can pretend I'm going to ride my bike to work.

My Name Is M.N.......

And I'm a P.O.aholic.
I realized yesterday when I was foolishly hanging out with P.O. that I might be addicted to him.
I haven't really been addicted to anything before, so I'm not sure, but it seems like the
symptoms are all there. I think about him constantly. When I can't have him, I am prone to
violent outbursts, I have to hide him from my friends and family, sometimes he makes me
late to work, when he leaves I feel sad and empty. According to my addict friends, that's exactly
how one feels when they are hooked on drugs. Finally I can relate to drug addicts!
I also feel a lot of shame, which I'm pretty sure is another sign. The shame comes from the fact that
I know I need to quit, but I feel like I am powerless over my addiction.
I'll quit for a week or two, but then I'm right back where I started, drunk text messaging and hating myself.
I feel like I'm in a shame spiral.
I know that the only thing that will help is if I can find a distraction from my addiction.
Maybe I'll go shopping after work.

Oh Baby

So I had lunch with R.B. today and decided to tell him how I'm getting sick of how difficult it is to make plans with him.
Anytime I try to get together with him, we go back and forth via text message and then end up not hanging out.
It's very annoying and I just don't really feel like playing games with someone at this point.
I'm not interested in having a boyfriend right now, so I don't feel like I need to be going through a bunch of effort to hang out with someone. I just want some sex and maybe someone to see a movie with once in a while.
Anyway, I had asked him if he wanted to go to a party with me on Saturday night and he said he had to go to a baby shower on Sunday. I asked what that had to do with the party on Saturday and he said that the shower was for his baby. What now?
Turns out, some girl he used to date is pregnant. And she's having the baby. So he explained that he has been acting kind of shifty and weird because he has a lot going on in his life right now. I'll say.
He's also having knee surgery, though I didn't find that nearly as disturbing as the whole baby thing.
Looking for the silver lining, I asked him if I could call him daddy if we ever had sex, and he said yes.
I just wanted to see if I could get something sexy out of this whole un-sexy situation.
Luckily I'm not really interested in him as a boyfriend, only as the owner of one of the largest hogs I've ever felt.
So the baby thing shouldn't be too big of an issue for me.

Let The Bad Times Roll

Most of the famous people I find attractive live in far off places like Hollywood and appear to me only on t.v. or in magazines. But Heath Ledger was different. He lived in my neighborhood up until a few months ago, when he split up with his girlfriend. I have seen him walking down Smith Street and pushing his kid in a stroller down Hoyt. I knew which house was his and he was an actual real person. Which somehow makes it even sadder that he died yesterday. I think there was a part of me that thought that we would really hit it off if he took the time to get to know me. We could go get a beer at The Boat, which I've heard was one of his hangouts in the neighborhood. Or get the cheese plate at Robin Des Bois, another place he frequented. He would have seen that I am more than just a chunky middle aged woman who is destined to live in her parent's basement with 14 rescued cats. He would have seen that inside, I am every bit as fun and interesting as Mary Kate Olsen. But I missed my chance. He moved into the city a few months ago and started hanging out with models and druggies, apparently. And since I am neither, he probably wouldn't have been interested in me. But somehow, when he was strolling around Brooklyn, I felt like he was just a normal, super hot guy who I maybe could have made out with at the bar. And now I'll never have that chance.

Bath Time

Last night I went with my friend R.B. to the Russian and Turkish Baths in the East Village. At first I was a little hesitant about going, since a lot of the reviews I read about it mentioned the rampant sexual harassment that occurs there. And then I thought, is that really a negative? And decided to give it a try. You pay $30 for a day pass and stay as long as you want. They do massages and shaves, and you can get beaten with a thing that looks like a broom made out of leaves. I got there promptly at 7:00pm and was supposed to meet R.B downstairs, but I couldn't find him, so I just went in on my own. I was expecting to see a bunch of old Russian men in towels, sitting around with their wieners showing. Instead, there were tons of attractive people in their 20's and 30's walking around in bathing suits. It was like being at the beach, but with no sand in my ass. There were different steam rooms and saunas and a freezing cold plunge pool that you dunked yourself in when you got hot. There was also a "Russian Steam Room" that I walked into and immediately walked out of. It was the hottest place I have ever been in in my life. I worried that I might die. Later, R.B. convinced me to go back in there and it was okay as long as you sit on a low step. When people got hot, they grabbed a plastic bucket full of ice water and dumped it over their heads. It was crazy.
Everyone was incredibly friendly and it was a very laid back atmosphere. R.B. knew lots of people, and we went from room to room, chatting with everyone and sweating. It was like this whole other society in New York that I never knew existed. After I started to prune, I told R.B. that I'd had enough. I took a shower and got changed in the locker room, which was the only unpleasant part of the experience. It was really small and there was wet carpeting on the floor and I had to be naked in front of strangers, which I don't like. But other than that, it was a very interesting way to spend a Sunday night. I even forgot I was unemployed and broken hearted for a couple of hours. A+

Two Weeks Notice

Remember in an earlier post I talked about how much I hated my new job?
Well, dreams really can come true.
Yesterday I got let go. I hate saying "fired" because it sounds so horrible and demoralizing, but I guess it's really the same thing.
And it couldn't have come at a better time, as I am going through a breakup and just generally feeling awesome. So needless to say, I was in quite a state when I left the office last night. And once again, my painkiller of choice was P.O. Only this time, it wasn't just sex I was after. I really just needed him as my friend to be there for me. And he came through like a champ. And then he came in me like a champ. I feel slightly better today, though I'm now entering the stage of grief where you start plotting your revenge on the person who fired you. And thinking about what I can steal from the office. So far I've got some matches and a bottle of Lubriderm. That'll show 'em.

One Night Standout

I think that one night stands have a bad rap. I mean, what's so wrong with needing sex, finding some nice stranger to give it to you, and then not wanting to see them again?
For me, the one night stand has never been too bad. I've only had a couple that resulted in actual sex, though I've had quite a few drunken incidents that didn't make it all the way. One guy and I took a bath and he shaved my legs for me. It was delightful. Until I found out he was a heroin addict. A lot of the time you just feel kind of disappointed and sad afterwards. But occasionally they turn into nice little relationships. I've experienced both. And as I travel along this breakup road, I start to wonder if maybe I should give the one-nighter another chance. Of course, the only person I really want touching me is P.O., but since that always turns out to be a bad idea, I am thinking that some nameless piece from the bar might be just what the doctor ordered. I could just close my eyes and pretend he's someone else, which is probably what he'd be doing anyway.

Crappy New Year

What is it about the holidays that makes you feel 500 times worse than you normally do?
Like if you're usually only borderline miserable and suicidal the rest of the year, the period between December 24th
and January 1st makes you think it might be a good idea to take the plunge and swallow that handful of pills you've been saving.
And if you're going through a breakup, like I seem to do every couple of weeks, this desire to finally
end it all becomes much stronger. Thankfully, today is January 1st, which means that tomorrow I go back
to work and no longer have the luxury of sitting on my couch staring at my cell phone, willing P.O. to call
or text me.
I'm not sure why we chose to schedule our latest breakup to coincide with me having 2 weeks off of work.
It was definitely a case of bad planning.
Not only did I have tons of time off that I could have used to have a bunch of sex, but I also had loads of time to sit by myself and think about all the things I don't want to think about. I have organized my life in a way that usually leaves me very little time to ponder. Which is a good thing. But having two weeks off work and no boyfriend to hang out with left me with countless hours of quality time with my neurosis, which is not good. Even with two trips out of town, I still had way too much alone time with my thoughts. I got to sit and think about what P.O. was doing with all of his time off, which in my fertile imagination usually involved lots of cocaine and prostitutes. I got to think about my job and how much I don't like it. I got to think about New York and how much I really don't like it.
And I decided that I need to make some changes.
I realized that if I don't have P.O. and I don't have a job that I like, there really isn't much reason to stay in New York. So I decided that 2008 is going to be the year I Escape From New York.