Apt. 3E

Protection

2010-12-09T23:26:00.000-05:00

"Let's talk about protection, Mom." It was how I started the conversation. No, it wasn't the topic of persuading my mother to buy long-term care insurance or to move her high-risk stocks into CD's. You know, with my father having died of a blood cancer 4 1/2 months ago, you wouldn't believe that I was talking about sex.

Micky contacted my mother via snail mail shortly after my dad died, after not having spoken since 1971. To me, it was a welcome distraction for her. After all, Dad was sick for a long time, and she's still a young 64. However, she may be moving on with her life, but I am not so accepting of her new interest. I am just happy that she's not crying all day, missing Dad.

"Why? Do you think he has something?!"

"No! But did you know that an increasing number of seniors are contracting HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases?" Yes, I was calling my mother a senior.

"They are?"

"Yes. I read it on the internet." I thought to myself that I sounded hokey. Then I kept saying it like "innernet" in my head, over and over. Innernet. Innernet. "They think they don't have to worry about getting pregnant and they forgot about HIV because they probably never had to worry about that either! That's all I am going to say on the topic. Please figure out the rest."

And with that I ended "the talk".

What's next? Will I be scoring her ecstasy pills and telling her how to knock over a convenience store?

New

2010-01-29T23:23:00.001-05:00

It shouldn’t take a threat to ultimately reap the reward you deserve anyway. My first new words here in 19 months. I guess I felt strongly enough about them to write them.

fate is a four-letter word

2008-07-14T21:41:00.007-04:00

My father has been suffering from a rare blood condition and has recently been feeling well enough again to attempt to go back to work in an industry that is suffering from its own lifeblood dysfunction, the foreclosure/credit crisis. With the horse-woman who lives above me clodding around in her apartment as unabated as our fuel costs, and my need to make a fresh start due to recent upheavals in my personal life, I thought I would give my father's career a jump start that matched his new found spirit. For a 4% commission, I would get to wipe my slate clean and live in the middle of the greatest city in the world free from debt and emotional baggage. I reasoned that it would be a mutual meeting of needs.

Yesterday after an expensive lunch that filled my stomach while it emptied my wallet, my father came over with a file of papers for me to sign. He was so excited to be working again as I completed the forms under the spotlights of my modern dining room light fixture. He noted some descriptions on paper. Excellent condition. Stainless steel. Mint hardwood. Ample closets.

As I signed the last form, I heard the footsteps of the woman upstairs. And as I remembered every coat of paint I applied to these walls and every bag I brought home from Bed Bath & Beyond filled with love, she didn't seem so loud after all. And the slate I had so badly wanted to wipe clean was already polished so lovingly with Pledge three hours earlier, along with the rest of my furniture, after the large breakfast I had cooked for myself.

I heard once that the universe won't throw anything at you that you cannot handle. I realized that what I sought wasn't a fresh start or a great location but power in an uncontrollable year, a series of naturally devastating events. I had wished now to cap my fate with decisions that were made by me, not by fate. But were the previous negative events in my life a product of my own negative thinking or a product of fate?

Whether it be inner turmoil or bad karma, or just simply pure chance, I'd like some comfort in knowing that I have the power over my life's events. This way of thinking runs contrary to that of most organized religions. They would have you leave it to a higher power as the controller of all things. Let Go and Let God, some say. Even the bad that happens in this world, they say, is because He has a reason, however unknown at this time in the universe. If I simply leave it to God, am I rendering myself powerless? In more extreme terms, if I feel so self-empowered that I leave nothing to fate, and grab all I can out of life with planned but delayed pleasure, and avoiding hurt, do I suffer a soulless existence without believing in heaven?

If we cause our own pain then did the mortgage industry cause its own destruction by its predatory lending practices? And did my father create his own illness from a lifetime of internalizing conflict? And what about this thought: did the implosion of my own seven-year relationship have to do with my actions or with fate?

I can't help but ask. Is it easier to live through self-empowerment or through fate?

Pak Man Fever

2008-07-09T14:11:00.002-04:00

Last night during a routine commute from my dreary office in the Financial District to a routine Happy Hour in a dreary Hell's Kitchen bar, the 2 train in which I was riding stopped at 14th Street and a familiar hunk boarded and grabbed a thick pole. I tapped Alfred's foot twice before he recognized me from the Fire Island ferry on Memorial Day. I had considered going out with him on a date even after he revealed on that windy ferry's top deck that he was 46. Initially, I was turned off, but I don't know when I should stop considering 46 too old since I'm already 35 (but look 25 and sometimes act 15). Our brief conversation included the topics of last week's pride events, the pitfalls of apartment hunting, and his son, who is a senior in high school! Did I mention that I had considered dating him? And that I found him to be incredibly sexy? A son that's about to complete college applications?!

Then I got to thinking. This whole dating scene is so new to me, having not really dated in 8 years, and the landscape not only feels different than I remember, it seems to have plucked me from simple times ("Oh, you want to have sex? Okay.") to a different game where the levels appear unfamiliar and the ghosts are real adults in real adult situations (and to where it costs twice the price to play). My weapons no longer include being cutesy, and chomping on big blinking dots get me no more play than the skeevy proposition from the clerk with bad skin at the Indo-Pak grocery. And I can't even score by eating a bouncing banana with two cherries (that last metaphor made so much more sense in my head). But seriously, now I would totally date Alfred, and the high school-age son doesn't bother me as much as I remembered it might (since I knew this would someday happen). I just always stupidly thought that people who have real children have a different set of problems that most adult people encounter and grow from and gain respect for. My friend, Lisa, for example, is trying to get pregnant with her second child. As if she hasn't had enough torture and sleepless nights from her first! I cannot relate to that at all, except for when my dog was sick and was up all night with an upset stomach and low blood sugar from a growing pancreatic tumor. Why do I not think that my own experiences are valid just because I haven't walked down an aisle with someone waiting to place a ring on my finger, or because I haven't bought life insurance that selflessly benefits something other than my own immediate and material needs? And why did I just describe my needs as selfish and material??

I am tired of the self-placed boundaries that do nothing but limit and oppress my spirit, and make me question my values. I just may go out with him after all. And not just because the whole hunky-dad-with-a-son-in-high-school thing sounds kinda hot. I think I own that porn already, albeit on VHS.

New York Observer

2008-07-08T10:12:00.003-04:00

A distributor of a popular free daily newspaper next to the entrance to a crowded subway station, holding several pristine copies that were queued in her geared fingers, commented on the days' news stories as a way to sell a free newspaper to its always-changing circulation.

"Read about the cheater, A-Rod!! Good morning, ma'am. Stocks tumble again! Read about it free!"

As a scaly, outreached arm grabs a newspaper, their eyes meet. "It's just awful, isn't it? Why do they do it when they have children?" asked Scaly.

"Oh, don't they all do it?" she responded with another question. I didn't understand if her blanket category all meant sports players or celebrities, or just men in general. Or really, really good looking men.

I wanted to say, "Seriously? Um...because it could have been Madonna! That's why!" I did not, and I enjoyed my situational status as observer of the stupid as I entered the subway station.

Hugs to the birthday boy

2008-07-01T12:04:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday, Mi Vida!! Sweet angel.

I hope you are having a great day.

I am not, and regret to tell you that, after three weeks of 5-hour sleep nights, a 5-mile race on Saturday, Pride volunteering, marching and partying on Sunday and non-stop drinking for weeks, my body has finally given in, and I have a terrible cold. I will not be able to make your party tonight, and hope more than anything to leave work early so I can go home and be miserable with my dirty, phlegm-soaked tissues.

Hugs to the birthday boy.

xoxo
[sneeze]

Life.

2008-06-11T20:31:00.002-04:00

Is. Very. Hard.

this stayed open on my screen as I stared at it before clicking "publish" for many moments for i did not want these to be the first and only words you heard here in months. i also did not want to release any more negativity since i'm so fucking bored with it. on the surface i appear fine. my problem is that i never fully process and think i'm ready to come back to life before i actually am.

hence, the first words of this blog post.

2008-01-03T22:45:00.000-05:00

Katrina, 7/31/1997 - 1/3/2008

New Life

2007-12-02T11:17:00.000-05:00

It seems I blinked, and the entire month of November passed without an update here. There are lots of things to report, but at the very least I will say this. Carlos and I ended our relationship after seven years. He moved out last week. Very sad. Very difficult. I discovered that my dog has developed epilepsy (common in cocker spaniels late in their lives), and it has taken six months to find the right medication at the right dosage to control it. I think this works. She hasn't had a seizure since last Tuesday. I was elected to the board of directors in my co-op. I don't know when I will find the time, but I'm sure it will come from someplace (probably from what little sleep I do get). I haven't been running much lately, but hopefully that will change.

Here's to my new single life (since it's morning, I'm raising my fork that has impaled a small chunk of pineapple) -- salud!

My next generation idea

2007-10-15T19:22:00.001-04:00

At a staff meeting comprised of 12 self-involved attorneys and myself, I came up with the solution of a lifetime to the problem of how these ego-centric and over-educated individuals can effectively communicate outside of the limitations of email and conference calls, set precedents of policy, and solve department-wide issues relating to our practice group and our clients. For years, when someone in our busy department would need to look back on how their colleague solved a problem we could all learn from, they crossed their pudgy little fingers and hoped that someone saved that important email or that Memo to File that would save their sorry asses. I took a gamble that this large group of Who Trumps Who (or is it Whom? surely one of Them could tell me) would be able to handle the simplicity of it all, without making their own needs and demands so great that it would take away from the original concept. I couldn't believe that it hadn't occurred to me before.

A blog. A department blog. How obvious. All 12 of them are authors. Password protected so as not to compromise our business or client confidentiality. Everyone gets an email every time someone posts to the blog. The only difference now is that each blog entry is saved forever. No one has to remember to save their emails for later. Entries are searchable. And since they are all *so smart*, they can all comment on each other's bright ideas. I had to educate a few people even, since some had never ever heard of a blog.

My gamble paid off. I rolled it out on Thursday, and it's already a huge hit throughout the department. An email was sent thanking me for the idea. My boss now wants to capitalize on the concept and try to move our business toward taking advantage of web 2.0.

Again, I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. I feel so fucking creative right now.

New Paint, New Era, Old Apartment

2007-10-06T08:30:00.000-04:00

Last summer I made the plan to re-paint my apartment. Now that the weather is hopefully will be getting cold, I am starting to think about it more. Although if we get any more weekends like this, I may have to forego my plans and head to the beach (this weather is crazy).

Right now, my dining room is a deep blood red. It's very dramatic. It's just what I wanted at the time I bought this place. Since tomorrow will be two years since I closed escrow on this apartment (by the way, I broke my own record of staying in one place for that long), the blood red is wearing on me. The pleasant celery green in the kitchen is beginning to make me want to vomit. The Snow Drift in the bedroom is too stark, silvery white for my late thirties. So it's time to simplify.

I want one color throughout. I was thinking a cream, eggshell, light-colored mushroom or pearl. I may go to Home Depot in Middle Village to check out colors today. Of course, I would re-touch the door and floor mouldings the semi-gloss plain white that makes the other color pop just right.

Here's the one problem though. I hate painting, and hiring a painter is not within my budget. Ugh. A few lost weekends.

D is for Doormat

2007-09-27T07:12:00.001-04:00

I learned the other day that someone I dated about ten years ago had a stroke last week. I didn't know quite how to feel, since we haven't spoken in years, and the last time I saw him out at a bar in Jackson Heights, we pretty much ignored each other. Not to mention, he lied to me more times than I wanted to know at the time and, when he borrowed about $750.00, he didn't want to repay it (I had to accept a $50/month payment plan from him, and even then payments were inconsistent, and like teeth being pulled). I can't even say what a shame it is for someone so young to have suffered from a stroke, because he lied to me about his age, and still maintained that lie throughout. He could be 37 or 47 by now. I never knew why, after all that happened, I was so hung up on him.

So when I heard about the stroke, and him sitting in a Miami hospital bed with no family or friends, except for his mother who flew in from Colombia to be by his bedside, not being able to move anything except one hand and requiring dialysis because his kidneys failed, I felt like I should buy a plane ticket. Why am I like that? I hate that about myself. He was intentionally duplicitous in his "relationship" with me, and hid behind his accent at times, pretending he didn't understand. He would make a date with me for 7, and then never show up and not call. One night toward the end of our courtship, he broke a date with me, saying he was sick, and then stupidly went out to one of the Jackson Heights bars, where I saw him.

At the risk of sounding (or feeling) cruel, I think I'll call 1-800-FLOWERS. But to save face, I'll say that if I was already in Miami, I would visit him the hospital.

Get well, Jorge.

Me me me myself and me not you but me

2007-09-24T08:50:00.000-04:00

I was pretty self involved yesterday. Hell, I still am. In the morning I ran the Queens Half Marathon, which began at the unnaturally early hour of 7, which meant that my alarm was set for 4:50, leaving time to get ready, drive there, find parking, stretch and use the porta-potty (since I couldn't trick my body into having a bowel movement two hours earlier than it's used to). It was a very hilly course, and I still managed to finish it in 1:47, a result I am very proud of. Later in the day I went for a short bike ride around Forest Hills, Kew Gardens and Rego Park, and then watched "The Bourne Supremacy" from my bed. And after the movie finished, I turned over and fell asleep for the rest of the night at 8PM.

I didn't call my brother for his birthday.

The Mother of All Headaches woke me up at 2:00 AM. It was the worst headache I had ever experienced. I tried not to vomit, as the pain was pulling on the bile from my stomach. I endured the throbbing until the four Advils I took started to work. I would have taken more, but the old bottle only contained four.

This morning, with the headache all but gone, I hobbled to the kitchen, made coffee, sent an email to my boss that I'd be late, and wrote this blog post, all in a funny haze from the ibuprofen overdose. I don't think I can feel the keys under my fingers when I type.
Carlos told me that he thinks I should see a doctor about that headache. I don't like doctors.

Gimme Less

2007-09-03T19:47:00.000-04:00

I can't believe that I haven't updated my blog in more than three weeks, and the first thing I write is about Britney Spears.

My friend had his iTunes cued up to play me the first 20 seconds of Britney Spears's new song, Gimme More. It was met with my rolled eyes, as the introduction "It's Britney, bitch" unfolded the beats to the song. I swiftly walked away, not caring to hear another second of it.

This morning, I set out to go running, and not having seen my iPod in at least a week and a half, not in my office, my car, my apartment, I left with my running shorts and my MacBook to Radio Shack to buy an iPod shuffle. I heard this song on the radio I assumed was by Timbaland or someone, and I thought to myself, I gotta get this song. I then realized that it was in fact the Britney song. I was so disappointed with myself for a number of reasons, one of them being that I realized that I liked this stupid, yet catchy song.

I must have replayed the song 15 times since I purchased the shuffle this morning.

Just now, in a pile of clean, warm clothes that just came from the dryer, out tumbled my old iPod from the pocket of running shorts I wore two weeks ago. I get the "sad iPod" face when I press any buttons. I so deserve this.

So, anyway...

2007-08-09T09:18:00.002-04:00

My mother is out of detox, and is doing intensive outpatient rehab therapy. She is completely clean, other than the stray Ambien she ingests to help her sleep, despite the instructions of the doctors. But this time is harder for me than when she went in to detox; at least there I knew she was being monitored. Now is when the fear sets in. As her family, I am just waiting for the moment when I learn that she has taken pills and ruined everything. She suffers from an almost constant, but slowly waning withdrawal, of perpetually high blood pressure, and constant anxiety. Each day gets a little better, she says, but it doesn't stop me from worrying about her. But then I think, it's up to her, not me, if she is going to succeed. I have to trust that she is going to do what she wants, and hope that what she wants is to live a clean and honest life. So with that, I am going to change the subject, because I can't angst about this any longer.

For some silly reason I still get excited about my birthday. I will be 35 this Saturday, 8/11. Yay!

Dear Mom,

2007-07-29T11:29:00.000-04:00

I want you to know that I think you're an amazing person for doing what you are doing. Going through this program will give you back control of your life finally, and make you stronger. I am very proud of you, knowing that you are facing your fears head on. Every day that passes will be a little less scary.

I hope that whenever you need some words of encouragement to get through this most difficult phase of your (our) life, and this incredible investment you are making in yourself, that this letter will be here for you to remind you that we love you, and that we realize you are doing this for us too.

Be strong.

Love, Steven

Admissions

2007-07-24T05:46:00.000-04:00

After two write-ups at her job, my mother has admitted several things. First, she admitted that she is very close to being fired from her job, which if happened, would be catastrophical for my father's health. Her insurance covers him, and his spleen isn't getting any smaller. Secondly, she admitted that she has a drug problem that needs attention badly, and intends to check herself into a drug rehab program. Lastly, she admitted that she has been suicidal, something we've all been fearing but not saying. I have two second cousins who committed suicide in the 80's, tragically, both siblings, so the genetic presence is there.

She cried, and felt sorry for herself all weekend, and self-confirmed her victim status until I had had enough. I told her this time. YES, YOU ARE A BURDEN, AND YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE YOU DON'T HELP YOURSELF. WE CARRY YOU, AND WE GIVE YOU ADVICE, AND WE RESPOND TO YOUR CRIES FOR HELP, AND DAD'S, AND YOU DO NOTHING TO HELP YOURSELF. AM I MAD AT YOU? I HAVE BEEN SO PISSED OFF AT YOU FOR YEARS NOW, BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO THIS FAMILY. I AM TIRED OF GIVING IN TO YOUR PROBLEM AND WON'T DO IT ANYMORE UNTIL YOU STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR IT AND SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS--YOUR DRUG ADDICTION THAT HAS DESTROYED YOU AND DAD, ME AND KEVIN. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE PLANNING YOUR RETIREMENT NOW, PLANNING VACATIONS AND JUST ENJOY LIFE. NOT WORRYING EVERY SINGLE MONTH ABOUT YOUR PRESCRIPTIONS RUNNING OUT 10 DAYS BEFORE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO RENEW THEM! I CAN'T WATCH YOU NEAR-FALL SEVERAL TIMES A VISIT, AND THEN LISTEN TO THE EXCUSE, "OH, I'M SO TIRED TODAY". YOU ARE A SAD, FALL-DOWN SLOPPY, DRUG ADDICT. JUST FACE IT. NO EXCUSE CAN CHANGE THAT FACT.

Okay, so I didn't say every word, but I got a lot of it in there. It was heartbreaking to say, and very therapeutic for me. She has changed her mind several times about going to rehab. Currently she is going. They are already in the process of a bankruptcy, and are letting their house go into foreclosure. They are two months behind on their mortgage payments. Our game plan now is to get her onto Disability before she gets fired and loses everything. I am certain that she cannot work, and this may be the answer. For now.

Well, poo on you

2007-07-12T06:24:00.000-04:00

This week's heat wave and humidity have trapped me into a funk of not sleeping, not running and not pooping (though I didn't say "not eating"). Despite my intake of food and fiber supplements, my bowels are not as generous with the brown stuff lately. This got me doing some research, and I came across this interesting blog about all things poop and the social and environmental issues surrounding it. Since the heat supposedly broke with last night's rainstorm, perhaps, so will my body's campaign against natural excretion.

I never did get why some people are so grossed out by poo-talk.

Paradalicious

2007-06-26T21:41:00.001-04:00

Pride March
Originally uploaded by NewYorkDailyPhoto.com.

Flickr photos just keep getting added by its users each day, so it's great to discover some new ones uploaded to the site by paradophiles [?] or paradovores. I guess the former would be someone who gets turned on by parades, and the latter would be someone who eats parades.

Anyway, this one shows (from left) Maria (Zena), PatCH and me.

Best day of the year

2007-06-25T20:49:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I woke up at 6, arrived at the beginning of the parade route, and helped inflate and tie every single balloon you see here and more for over three hours. My fingers were sore and my forearms started to fatigue, but the reward came when we got to walk the balloons down Fifth Avenue. I have no words to describe the experience of being a part of something so huge and so meaningful to our community. Humbling comes to mind, but the word alone just seems inadequate.

Yesterday was the best day of the year.

I was all set

2007-06-23T21:31:00.000-04:00

I was all set to do the Pride Run this morning, but the strangest thing happened. This chronic insomniac overslept by 2 1/2 hours. Instead, I leisurely drove to the park in my car, and I ran the 5 mile race route, but on my own time and at my own pace. I've been rather stressed out from work this week, which is the cause of my sleeplessness lately, but today's run made me feel more like myself again. Living in the Now is hard work, so it was nice to let go and get lost in my thoughts during a great run on a beautiful day.

Tomorrow I am volunteering at the Gay Pride Parade, where my job will be to inflate the Pride balloons, and then walk the parade route to help carry them. Our balloons will lead the rest of the marchers. We're apparently even ahead of the Dykes on Bikes. What does one wear?

Fantasy #23

2007-06-19T06:43:00.000-04:00

After watching last night's NBC special on Dateline, I fantasize of a three-way with Princes William and Harry, with Harry being the more dominant of the two. Yeah. Harry.

Happy Birthday Jase

2007-06-18T08:42:00.000-04:00

Since I couldn't make it to Birthday #1 of #[?], I was delighted to be able to go to Jase's Birthday #2 at Barcade in Williamsburg on Friday. My friend Kirk joined me, and we imbibed while holding hard red joysticks in our hands. I now have a blister from the Ms. Pac Man machine, that keeps reminding me that I got past Act III, the one where she and Mr. Pac Man have sex.

Then Kirk and I continued on to Metropolitan, where I drank so many gin-and-tonics I couldn't run all weekend. I even called out sick to work today, but that's not because I'm still hung-over. It's because it feels like I lost a weekend since I spent much of mine hung-over. Besides that, it's supposed to be 90 degrees today here in New York, so I will either drive to Jones Beach or sit on the couch. Either choice suits me fine.

I Heart the 90's

2007-06-12T06:58:00.000-04:00

I am excited to be going to see Morrissey in concert this June 30 with my friend Karen who got the tickets for us. Since the last Morrissey CD I purchased and listened to religiously was Vauxhaul and I in 1994, it's time to update the collection and brush up on new song lyrics. Songs I hope he performs, as they are all time favorites of mine:

I am Hated for Loving
Speedway
Lifeguard Sleeping, Girl Drowning
November Spawned a Monster
Hold Onto Your Friends
Seasick Yet Still Docked
You're the One for Me, Fatty
Sister, I'm a Poet

and some newer ones:

I Have Forgiven Jesus - love love love this one.
All the Lazy Dykes
Let Me Kiss You
Nobody Loves Us - love love this one.

It's going to feel like the early-90's all over again. I think I'm going to get out my old Pathmark uniform and grow a mini-mullet while I'm at it.

Sopranos

2007-06-11T01:11:00.000-04:00

Worst. Ending. Ever.

Parking on the side of High Road

2007-06-09T12:08:00.000-04:00

"Nice parking" is all that was written on the note left on my windshield. Fuck you, I thought, as I read it, looking at the page which was torn from a spiral notebook. Why do people have to be such assholes? was another thought that went through my mind. I was all heated at the immaturity of my neighbor in this garage of assigned parking spots in my building. Who leaves fucking notes? And then I remembered that I do. It's one of my favorite things to do. Just two weeks ago I left a note for the owner of the pitbull who walks his dog without a leash. Several weeks before that I slipped a note under the door of my upstairs neighbor for her unabated noise.

I was so wrapped up in this note, that I hadn't checked to see the nice parking job I had done. He was right. The passenger side of my car was on his side of the yellow line, and he didn't have any room to open his door. He may have had to crawl out the other side just to get out of his car.

I turned over his note, and wrote the following: I'm sorry. You're right. My parking sucked. I will be more aware in the future.

Leisha, I miss you

2007-06-04T19:56:00.000-04:00

Today is an entire year since you were chosen by the stars as the next person to leave this earth. I still think of things I want to tell you, and then remember that I can't. My comfort is in knowing that you already know what I've been saving up to tell you this past year, and you're laughing with me just like you did when you were here. My comfort is in knowing that you've been reunited with your mother, also taken too soon.

God always picks the prettiest flowers first. I know that now.

Leisha, 7/1/1972 - 6/4/2006

Summer's Here

2007-06-02T17:00:00.000-04:00

Yeah, so the Apartment is inhabited solely by the cat, because Carlos, the dog, and I got in the car and drove to our camper located in Greenfield Park, NY. It's the first time this year that we have been here, so it's less fun and more work. The weather is just as humid up here in the mountains as it is in flat New York. There is a breeze in the air, but that's currently serving to air out the camper, which just had its annual Febreze-fest of all curtains, area rugs and mattress. It's kind of a quiet weekend here, but that's probably because last weekend was a three-day holiday weekend, and everyone is probably pretty much all camped out. I stayed in town because I wanted to attend at least one of the GBNY:4 events, that are always so seamlessly put together by Mark.

I think later we'll head over to Monticello, a 20 minute drive away, for some slot machine action and maybe I'll try to get some when we get back.

This post sounds a little crazy

2007-05-27T07:11:00.000-04:00

I'm currently reading The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle, which is described as an inspirational guide to enlightenment. It is my effort to become a better, saner person to myself and to others, a person who makes healthy choices and doesn't second-guess my decisions all the time.

One of the first messages in the book is to practice ridding your mind of all activity, those messages, monologues, dialogues, random thoughts, the reason being, in the simplest of terms, those messages and all that "noise" is part of your conscious mind and our connection to it. If we disconnect from it or partition our mind so that one side could be the thinker and the other the "watcher" of the thinker, we can disconnect and disidentify with the judgment, the drama, the inner turmoil which leads us to pain, conflict with ourselves, and eventually disease. This makes complete sense to me, but disconnecting from the noise in my mind is nearly impossible. I have so much noise going on in there.

Oh it looks like rain today.
But the forecast is hot and sunny.
Oh okay.
There goes my mind. Chatter chatter chatter.
Shut up.
No you shut up.

Wow. I'm going to need a lot more than a 150-page book to be a saner person.

Wall Street Run - A Beginner's Perspective

2007-05-23T17:48:00.000-04:00

This post was originally created by me for the Team Storm NYC blog, of which I am a part. I thought it was worth showing here as well.

Having been running regularly since January and only participating in two races over the last two months, both of them 10k's, I registered for the American Heart Association Start! Wall Street Run, a three-mile race, as I thought it would be easy based on its short distance alone. I work on nearby Maiden Lane for a large law firm, so I had little excuse to not to. And my close friend, Leisha, died suddenly last summer from heart disease at the age of 33, so the American Heart Association gets my special attention.

Greg S and I met at the corner of North End Avenue and Vesey Street, for a quick warm-up and stretch prior to the start. Nervous energy took both of us over as we didn't quite know what to expect. Workers from nearby investment banks poured from buildings that overlooked the starting line and converged onto North End Avenue. It was nice to see non-runners taking part in something this huge. I realized afterward that I was more excited for this race than I was for my first two.

What I discovered, but wasn't quite prepared for, was the enormous crowd of 12,000 people cramming themselves into the Financial District's narrow streets, some too narrow to accommodate most cars. Also not realizing until the start of the race that it was a "Walk and Run", we saw that many walkers placed themselves selfishly, or ignorantly, in front of runners, who would be forced to go around them. Combine this with the fact that co-workers formed groups that massed five-wide, and the condo craze and road construction currently overtaking the area, it makes for a winding and dangerous obstacle course, forcing some runners to run on sidewalks, metal plates, sewer grating, and a general rough surface. I witnessed several runners tripping over cones, plates and even unsuspecting pedestrians trying to make their way home.

Although Greg S and I are both proud of our performance, an 8:18 and a 7:32 pace, respectively, I can say that I will not be registering for this event next year. I get enough obstacles thrown at me in everyday life.

A moment of simplicity

2007-05-21T06:29:00.000-04:00

Even though my body and mind were both instructing me to stay home and rest, my heart was telling me to go. Having gotten up for an early morning wake-up call for the Healthy Kidney 10k on Saturday, and an even earlier one on Sunday for the "Team Storm Gives Back" campaign for our help as volunteers for AIDS Walk NY on Sunday, I was sleep deprived, but I knew that I hadn't seen my parents since last week when my father was released from the hospital.

After enduring normal Long Island traffic, I noted that my father seemed thinner and more malnourished since last week. He talked to me through a grimaced face, and explained that he cannot eat a whole meal, always feeling full after a few bites. But despite his discomfort, he wanted to clear some clutter in his garage, and I helped him. While we cleaned and made piles of new garbage, as he always does, he told me about his concern for my mother, who continues to spiral out of control via her negative outlook on life and her addiction to prescription painkillers. I constantly struggle with myself because, although I want to do something to help her, I know I cannot. Every time she has an incident that requires some attention/nurturing/scolding, after years I have grown to feel resentful that it is such an intrusion on my life. Simply because any progress she makes or we feel we've made with her, she will have some setback, and talk about herself like she is the victim. And that drives me NUTS. She is not the victim. My father is the victim whose health is so bad his feel swell to the size of balloons, and he cannot enjoy a real meal. My brother and I are the victims. Although her addiction is physical, she voluntarily ingests pills that destroy our family.

But yesterday was different. I felt a sadness for them I hadn't felt in a while, and I noticed that when my mother kept popping in and out of the garage doing her own thing, she was up and about, not zoned out on the couch feeling sorry for herself. She asked me to pull some small bushes out of the garden for her, and had been doing some weeding herself. I felt that small pang of hope I used to feel back when I thought I could change things. Since my father and I were almost finished with the garage, I did the gardening she asked, and then I took down the bicycles that hung from hooks in a dusty corner, and started refilling the tires with air. Her eyes lit up, and the two of us decided we were going to ride a little bit before it started to rain.

She was unsteady at first, not having ridden a bicycle in a few years, but she had gotten the hang of it after a minute or two. I felt it was my duty to watch for cars coming down the streets of her suburban neighborhood, and I also felt it was hers to feel the breeze on her face, to enjoy a simple pleasure that she probably once took for granted. We rode around the winding streets, and passed front lawns with childhood ball games in progress and car washes in session. Every minute or so I would tell her a car was headed toward us and to go to the right. We were having a really nice time, until she slowed to let a car pass and she jerked her front wheel. She threw off her balance on the bicycle and fell sideways into a parked car, her head hitting the drivers side door and her shoulder hitting the ground. I heard myself gasp in panic, and I remember thinking that this was my fault for getting the bicycles out of the garage to begin with. I hopped of the bicycle and ran over to her, untangling her feet from the pedals, and helping her off the ground. It was heartbreaking for me because I knew that she wanted so much to be normal for a little while. She said to me, as if she knew what I was thinking, "I knew it was too good to last." She was actually very lucky she didn't break a bone or hurt her head. She hurt her shoulder a little and her finger was bleeding. She didn't even get a run in her stocking.

When we got back to my parents' house, I fixed an ice pack for her shoulder, and I suggested she take two Advils for the swelling, but she declined the Advil, saying she had her own pills to make her feel better.

I kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye, and I drove my car away trying to shake away the disturbing memory of her falls, both of them.

No sleeping in this weekend

2007-05-16T07:17:00.000-04:00

This Saturday I will be running the Healthy Kidney 10k in Central Park. It will be my second race. Very excited about it.

On Sunday, I am glad to have been suckered by Chris, the Team Storm leader, into volunteering at a desk for the AIDS Walk NY. I will be collecting money from the runners as they check in to the event. Something a little different than I'm used to. For nine consecutive years, I walked for this event. It is such an enormous cause. I am glad to be participating.

Update

2007-05-16T06:51:00.000-04:00

My father was released from the hospital yesterday. Prayers do help. Doctors used a cancer drug called Hydrea to shrink his spleen to a more manageable size.

Prayer

2007-05-13T21:32:00.000-04:00

I called in sick to work on Friday because I wanted to take a day away from the hectic mish mash of deadlines and demands, and instead spend the day pleasuring myself. Two orgasms into my quest and nearing my third, I received the following text message from my brother:

"Call me. Dad is going to the hospital."

Nothing like the follow up phone call to derail my plans. My father's spleen had doubled in size in the last year due to a blood disorder that will eventually morph into leukemia. The spleen was pressing on his stomach and intestines, and was blocking their respective paths to function. His doctor didn't like how it looked, and recommended he check himself into the emergency room. After a long night and many tests, he was admitted. His surgeon appeared fearful, but sure that the only course of action would be to remove the spleen. My father doesn't fare very well under surgery. This is a big deal.

After seeing my father, and the fear in his eyes, I am scared that another surgery may kill him. Oh God, please help him through this. Or give us another way.

My Neighbor's on Mile 4 (Walkathon)

2007-05-02T21:07:00.000-04:00

I have new neighbors that moved into the apartment above mine. During their move, I let it slide that my dining room light fixture was bouncing to the beat of their moving men. After their move was complete, I let it slide that they were unpacking boxes, wreaking havoc on my nerves and interrupting my Saturday afternoon naps. I let it slide that they were letting it slide. Literally, they were sliding what sounded like luggage across the floor above my bed. I even let it slide when they kept dropping heavy objects on the hardwood floor in every room. It seemed that no matter where in my apartment I walked, someone was dropping, knocking, walking and sliding something above me.

Until I could take it no longer. I walked up the stairs and let a nicely written note slide right under their door, and ran down the stairs before the door opened. The note was a rather nice one, considering all I've had to endure. It welcomed them to the building and politely let them know that I could hear every footstep "at 6:30 AM, at 12:00 AM, etc.," and that they should keep that in mind when going about their business. They are fat, so I certainly don't want to hear them having sex.

Two weeks have gone by since I slipped that wasted effort under their door. The noise never did stop and I am drafting a letter to the co-op board requesting that they take action, and citing a little known New York City law that apartment dwellers must have 80% of their floor area carpeted if they are not on the first floor.

After that, my next step will be to bang on the ceiling and gossip with the other neighbors about them.

Sleep Slap Apnea (Slapnea)

2007-05-02T00:37:00.000-04:00

Since I injured my ankle and haven't really been keeping my running schedule, it seems my sleep pattern has also taken a sharp veer to the south. Where before I could sleep through the night regularly, the past two weeks I get up at 3am because I'm hot, then I wake again because I'm cold, then I wake again because I have to pee, or I hear the cat meowing. It's truly annoying. And I feel I will want to sleep at times when it's inappropriate (like during a blowjob--giving and/or receiving, or while in a client meeting at work).

I may have written before about my partner's snoring issues. (I guess that would mean they are really my issues, not his, since he sleeps just fine.) Last night I tossed and turned, frustrated at myself for not being able to fall asleep. The loud snores didn't help this situation any. I nudged him a little so that he wakes long enough to shift positions and maybe he won't snore in my face. I am successful. He moves. And he has the nerve to say, in sleepy voice:

"I can't sleep," clearly unaware.

I would smack him at this point, but he would just turn over and sleep after.

April showers bring May flowers

2007-04-15T14:26:00.000-04:00

Thank God for small miracles. Today New York is smack in the middle of a nor'easter, and the recipient of 2-4 inches of unrelenting rain. Don't get me wrong; I am not happy that many towns in the region will experience flooding, and some lives and homes may be ruined. I am thrilled that I get an excuse to stay in my warm apartment and live my day without leaving it and without an agenda. For weeks since I got back from Miami, I have been kicking my own ass at work, and then doing it again on the running track. Ah yes, today I get to surf other blogs and make insignificant comments on their posts, and I get to catch up with some friends via some good ole fashioned AIM.

The storm also got me out, albeit temporarily, of driving to Long Island, where my mother's plan for me for the day was to help convince my mentally unstable uncle (and the future co-executer of my grandmother's estate) to release $30,000 as a "gift" to my mother. Can you picture it? I, not exactly the portrait of self-content, would have been attempting to appeal to the goodwill of a mentally unstable, closeted and friendless 64-year-old toupe- and pajama-wearing man who never possessed a credit card and hasn't lived on is own since 1964, who currently controls the rather large investments and decisions of my 88-year old grandmother, who has trouble forming sentences thanks to the senility that has taken over her mind, all for the benefit of my shopaholic and pill-popping, but well-meaning mother who will inevitably squander any money she gains.

Yes, thank God for small miracles.

P.S. Oh, and I ran 9 miles yesterday.

Yesterday 7, tomorrow the world!

2007-04-08T19:22:00.000-04:00

I ran the most ever in a single session yesterday through Central Park, a swift 7.7 miles. That is once around the entire loop of the park, and then once around the lower loop. It was the second greatest success I can remember in recent history, the first being the time I convinced my grandmother to change her will into letting my mother back in. Just like what happened after that success, a day later I have a splitting headache and my knees have this unexplainable pain when I climb DOWN stairs, curiously, not UP them.

I noticed that during the run, the human mind finds ways of dealing with the boredom and the physical taxation on the body. I was able to resolve an issue I was having at work between Miles 3 and 5, as well as plan my summer vacations between Miles 5 and 6. I also "latched" onto another runner who seemed to come up from behind me out of nowhere right before Harlem Hill. He was kinda hot with his little light brown goatee, blue eyes and little black running pants. We could have run hand in hand, we were so on the same pace. He doesn't know how much he did for me during that trip because I never got to speak to him. Around the time I got up the nerve to thank him for pacing me, he crossed in front of me and made a left at the roadway that leads to 72nd Street. Funny, I had stupidly thought that we been through so much together, 4 1/2 miles of some of the toughest grade in the park, that I deserved a simple "see ya" at least. I think my pace was noticeably slower after he did that.

After some shorter runs during this week, my goal for next Sunday is 10 miles!

It Is Coming Soon

2007-04-06T21:41:00.000-04:00

The trees are trying to blossom their springtime flowers along Park Avenue. Daffodils are suddenly in their young, tirelessly upright position as if curiously watching passersby along Central Park's winding drives, anticipating the next phase of their lives. Sins of last winter are wiped clean away by the sun rising a little higher in the sky. Most mainstream religions observe that springtime is a time to embrace new beginnings. Passover commemorates the Exodus and freedom of the Israelites from ancient Egypt. Two days after he was crucified on Good Friday, Jesus Christ rose from the dead on Easter.

As my mother's grass gets greener, her credit card debt will soon be forgiven, but not forgotten, at least not for seven years, as her bankruptcy case is finalized. Already feeling absolved financially, she walked into a church today and confessed her sins for the first time in more than twenty years. Her penance, the priest told her, was to recite five Hail Mary's. When she got back into her car to leave, she realized she couldn't remember how to say the Hail Mary after the first ten words, but her heart was lifted nonetheless.

I couldn't help but feel my spirit lifted as well. I hadn't realized that my mother's oppressed state had firmly placed a cloud over my own head since the weather had grown cold. On this Good Friday, looking to the future and feeling absolved of guilt, I put on my running sneakers and left my apartment. As I rounded the north curve in the park and faced the west, I watched as the sun pushed that cloud away, in time for a breathtaking sunset. My face did not feel cold. The sun shone on me, and I could feel for a moment like the daffodils in their upright position, anticipating the next phase of my life. I can feel it. It is coming soon.

3:30 AM

2007-04-05T07:21:00.000-04:00

I usually realize my own mortality at about 3:30 AM, when I am jarred awake by a bad dream. In the dream, I see the wrinkled skin on my own face, through eyes clouded over by cataracts. That's also the moment of the night that I realize my loved ones could die at any moment, leaving me alone in this world.

It's then that I am reminded to cherish them, and not take them for granted.

I did it!

2007-04-02T22:12:00.000-04:00

I did the Scotland 10k race in Central Park yesterday. I did it in 54:34, 8:43/mile.

"Hey Stacy!"

2007-03-31T10:27:00.000-04:00

I hated it. I thought she and the song were both equally stupid. When it would play on the radio I would change the station. When co-workers would absently sing it while they worked, I would roll my eyes, and I also probably asked them to stop. When I was in Miami a few weeks ago, my rented car's radio couldn't avoid the song no matter where I put the dial.

When I came back to New York and found myself singing it, I tried to stop myself, and I couldn't. I picture palm trees swaying in the wind, and a chill attitude. Now, even though it's old already, "Fergalicious" is my favorite song.

Wow

2007-03-18T19:56:00.000-04:00

I had what started out to be a terrible weekend, but ended up being pretty cool. I finally brought the car in to be serviced, albeit right after the snow storm ended. I managed to dig and pry the car from its frozen space, and drove it very carefully to the Westbury Scion service center out on Long Island, noting many accidents on the sides of every road to get there. After I checked the car in, I called several taxi services to get to the LIRR to go home, only to find that taxis really weren't competing with each other for business that morning. They were snowed in themselves. I was prepared for train delays, but I stupidly hadn't thought of the taxis not operating. I had to call Dad, and he agreed to pick me up. However, in return, I had to shovel his iced walkway. It wasn't an even trade.

Last night we had dinner with some friends at a great burger joint in Forest Hills Gardens, and this morning I awoke for plans with some of the same friends to run 5 miles through Central Park. After much preparation, I did it, and it was exhilarating! Up until now, I have run about three or four times a week for about 3 miles on the gym's treadmill. So with a little bit of pushing myself, and a lot of money spent on matching running attire, I did it! I am so pleased with myself.

After the run, we went to see the Gay Basketball League playoffs. I didn't think it would be, but the game was pretty entertaining! Coming from someone who never, ever watched sports. I think I'm turning into a little jock.

The Party is Over

2007-03-16T22:30:00.000-04:00

I have been without a job for two weeks. I was laid off without warning. I have a mortgage to pay on two apartments, and I've just completed a non-stop shopping spree of careless and unnecessary but fashionable bliss.

I'm actually just pretending, 'tis fun. My two week vacation from work ends on Sunday night. During my vacation, I went to Miami, did a couple of shopping stints at the mall, pretended (like we did when we were kids) to have been fired, then I pretended I was independently wealthy, and floated from city to city between my bi-coastal homes--bi-coastal would imply that I had homes on both coasts, but my fantasy only included New York and Miami, but bi-coastal...please. I also purchased both seasons of Noah's Arc on iTunes and watched every single episode. LOVE IT. I blew off obligations, canceled (twice) the oil change on my car to sleep in, and gir--it was fun.

Until I received a call from my supervisor at work yesterday informing me that my employer was about to fire a co-worker of mine for making one too many large mistakes. I felt terrible, and my pretend fun of being jobless was abruptly cut short. And I realized I forgot to call my friend Lisa on her birthday on Wednesday. Oops.

Reference Letter to the Co-op Board

2007-02-28T07:40:00.000-05:00

My good friend, Miguel, is buying a co-op a few blocks from my own apartment, and he asked me to write a personal reference letter (he needed two business and two personal). It's harder than one thinks.

Second paragraph: Throughout the past ten years, I have known Miguel to be a caring, hard-working and responsible person, ~~not to mention a really good kisser.~~

Second paragraph again: Throughout the past ten years, I have known Miguel to be a caring, hard-working and responsible person. ~~When I was arrested, he was the only one of my friends to drop what he was doing...~~

Maybe I should lie and say he used to work for me.

Try Harder

2007-02-25T09:48:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to attend every party to which I am invited.

I'm trying to not use unnecessary sick days.

I'm trying to engage others in conversation.

I'm trying to be interested in other people's lives.

I'm trying to not be self-involved (at least on the outside).

I'm trying to be comfortable in my own skin. It's a struggle. Every day.

I'm really trying.

Really Into Feet

2007-02-08T07:31:00.000-05:00

I was lucky enough to get tickets on the floor to Justin Timberlake's concert last night as a gift, with a VIP pass. So did hundreds of teeny-bopping girls.

"I FUCKING LOOOOOOVE YOU!" -screamed one drunk teenage girl, thinking she might actually be heard by him.

"Oh my God, he's so adorable!" -said another girl, over and over again, to no one in particular.

"My feet are so sore, I need to sit down." -me.

I stood for 3 1/2 hours, and by the time the show was over, I think my feet were swollen like shanks of ham. It was one of those times I felt older than my true age. I would love to call in sick today, but I just HAD to brag to my entire office that I was going to concert.

Me Day No Work Out

2007-02-03T08:39:00.000-05:00

I had the perfectly planned "me" day yesterday. I reserved the day off from work, and would have ignored deadlines or other people all day. It would have involved me (attempting) to sleep late, viewing one of the Netflix movies that has been staring at me from my dining room table all week, taking a yoga class and seeing a hook-up of mine. Everything was in place for a seamless execution; DVD ready. My BlackBerry would have been powered off. Yoga class chosen. Hook-up texted and time reserved.

That is, until Carlos decided to take the day off too.

The buzzing of my BlackBerry against the nightstand woke me up. I missed the yoga class because I had to move the car from an alternate side (parking rules), and, worst of all, my hook-up had to be called to say my apartment was not free.

I should have just gone on vacation.

Quietly returning from a cigarette break

2007-01-25T18:47:00.000-05:00

While I was gone, someone took my seat and won't get up.

It's okay -- I have a host of new insecurities to complain of from over here.

Final Entry

2005-09-10T11:30:00.000-04:00

The time has come for me to move of the apartment, and move on to new
things. From the time I posted my first silly entry until now, I didn't
write about something unless I felt strongly or passionately enough to
tackle it. As you can see from the infrequent entries of the last six
months, either I haven't felt much passion lately, or I feel passionate
about other things in my life. Given the things I have learned about
myself during the blogging process, I can't decide which it is, and
that's okay with me.

Although I moved out of the actual Apartment 3E shortly after I started
this blog, it remained for me a mindset, the backdrop for my
insecurities and shortcomings, and my own little suggestion box for all
of you to read for little under two years. Some time in the next year I
will begin a new blog under a completely anonymous name.

So the furniture is on the truck that will ride this blog into the
sunset. As people say when they move to another city, please keep in
touch. You all have meant so much to me. More than you realized.

Steven

The Lost Posts

2005-07-01T18:22:00.000-04:00

[POSTS FOR THE OLD APT3E.COM AFTER THIS ENTRY HAVE BEEN LOST].

I admit it

2005-06-28T11:07:00.000-04:00

most people have come into contact with addiction from drug abuse to gambling shopping to sex my addiction is moving and i admit it and I don�t want to get well it�s something about literally getting a new lease on life like running away from real life just like a drug but I find that my drug of choice hasn�t been giving me the same high it used to like in the beginning it used to be that one move would keep me solid for three years and even though I would fantasize about different floor plans I would never really act on it �cause just the fantasy alone would keep me going but then I would get antsy every 18 as if my resistance was building but since then now I notice that my highs will last 6 months and I�m already onto the next place the next lease the next neighborhood and now it�s so bad, that I�ve broken the last three leases and have also made arrangements with landlords to assign my leases thank G-d for a good real estate economy �cause have been known to have multiple leases in effect at the same time all for the addiction and forget about buying since I�ve been down that road and can�t commit to a mortgage I�d lose way too much money why it�s no wonder I have an apartment-themed blog and my career is in real estate which runs through my blood because my father is a real estate sales agent and a recovering alcoholic which might explain why my parents moved me around a lot when I was growing up i went to three different high schools and my friends joke about how crazy I am to move so much and I know that they are half-serious or these jokes wouldn�t be funny I know I�m being laughed at right now and you�re thinking how dare you compare this silly hobby to a real addiction but I need help and admitting your problem is the first step toward sobriety but I don�t want to be sober so don�t offer to help I�m putting it all out there and if you criticize me I don�t care rather than denying my addiction I embrace it.

Don't Stop

2005-05-24T18:19:00.000-04:00

My morning commute was so spiced up by the guy with the shaved head and bulging package that I missed the Wall Street stop on the 2 train and wound up in Brooklyn. Even though the fantasy was unrequited and unrealized, it was worth the extra borough.

Mixed Signals

2005-05-23T18:17:00.000-04:00

It seems that my neighbor upstairs is having some trouble with her modem, since I now have trouble stealing her internet signal. I am pretty sensible with my money, but while some may consider a high speed connection a basic necessity next to hair product, such luxuries I am unreasonably cheap about. Yes, on the slim chance that I cannot rape her signal, I have a backup Netzero account that I can dial into. I do not know if the owner of the "magnolia" signal is a woman, but it's more fun that way. I imagine her as Bree on Desperate Housewives, and since her husband just died, I very well can't knock on her door to ask her to reset her modem.

Stream of Self-Consciousness

2005-05-08T18:18:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I flit about the city going about my business these days like I don't have a blog. I understand that I have been enjoying the benefits of bloghood, while not giving an ounce toward my responsibilities. For example, I enjoy the many friendships I have made through blogging, yet I hardly acknowledge it on my site. I guess why do I need to? I attend blogger events, and enjoy the conversation of crazy bloggers all over the country, yet I feel I haven't yet returned the many benefits that have been given to me. At the very least, a decent post. Yes, my close friends know that lately I am much too busy to return a phone call that will take me thirty seconds. Each week my answering machine will spit out a message from a friend who tells me that I suck because I've disappeared and won't call them back. But it is more than the time issue. I either have lost my groove when it comes to blogging and other things, or I simply don't enjoy it any longer. I have no idea if this is simply a phase; that when I turn the corner, I will find my source of inspiration; I will forge full steam ahead with gushing creativity. I hope at least. However, I think that losing my grip on some things I once enjoyed is a general negative and ongoing unhealthy attitude in my life these days. Most of the time I enjoy being anti-social. It is a natural progression for me, it seems. I have relatives whose lives have turned hermit-like. I think it's in my blood. But I think that's only half of my genes. The other half has always wanted me to be in the center of everything. So I am constantly at odds with myself. It explains why I move every year. It explains why I drift in and out of friendships, and rail against losing them for that reason. Maybe at the blogger events I don't attend, some wonder where I've been. Most, I believe do not even give it a thought, and that's fine. Constantly being at odds with yourself makes for an interesting mix of events, however, not for a very peaceful mindset.

Oh, would you look at that...a post with more than two sentences.

Ruby has big fruit

2005-04-19T11:02:00.000-04:00

My workout at the gym was humiliatingly cut short by the following transaction:

[me waiting for the lat pulldown machine]: Excuse me, sir, may I work in with you?

[beefy black man]: {grunting sound}

He does one more set with more weight than I weigh. His smooth face drips sweat that falls onto his sweatpants, and he ignores it. When he finishes his 10th repetition, he gets up, wipes the machine down, and turns to find his next machine, but not before flashing me a dirty look. That's when I saw his breasts. He was actually a woman, a very big, burly woman who, I imagined would be knocking back some ale at RubyFruit after her workout.

After one set of lat pulldowns, I left in embarassment. I hope I never see her outside RubyFruit on a smoke break being that I live down the block from it.

The Title for this Entry Escapes Me

2005-04-18T10:52:00.000-04:00

Strolling down Hudson Street yesterday afternoon, I noticed the new restaurant, E-O, in daylight. I usually pass it at night when there is a line outside tamed by velvet ropes. The foyer of the restaurant houses a psychic, her small table, and I imagine her crystal ball. In this stark daylight, I saw the psychic in all her flaw. No psychic would be complete without her mole and a hair growing from it. I saw no mole, but I think I saw a pimple. She was apparently text messaging someone on her cell phone.

As I crossed Hudson Street to get to my apartment, I thought, Why doesn�t she just text her friend telepathically, like normal psychics do.

Profound Thinking

2005-04-11T10:52:00.000-04:00

I rollerbladed (past tense: rollerblad?) half the length of Hudson River Park as the sun set last night. Across the river, the New Jersey sunset was remarkable, and the temperature was starting to cool. The bad news is that I left my iPod at the office all weekend. The good news is that I did not have to listen to cell phone conversations while whizzing by people at 10 mph.

Left alone with no music and a specatular horizon, I had the most profound thought: Why is it that blackberrying does not make me sick on a bus or train, but in a car it makes me completely queazy?

Long Walk on a Short Pier

2005-04-07T11:11:00.000-04:00

Because of the beautiful weather yesterday, I decided to walk home from work, a subway commute that normally takes me 15 minutes. Walking took me exactly 45 minutes. As I walked, my iPod (on shuffle) switched genres perfectly to suit the neighborhood.

Financial District - Her Space Holiday (Tech Romance)
World Trade Center site - Massive Attack (Danny the Dog, You've Never Had a Dream)
Tribeca West - Coldplay (Trouble)
Tribeca North - Dido (Don't Think of Me)
Hudson River Park, or "The Piers" as more commonly known - Zero 7 (Morning Song)
West Village, home - Spice Girls (Holler)

When I was a little boy, my father used to tell me to take a long walk on a short pier. I finally took his advice. It was the best time I had in months.

Stevo's Tivo

2005-04-06T12:51:00.000-04:00

It seems that I would rather watch my new TiVo than to have to create some attempted witty post about how I did something stupid.

Unbridled, pure and uninterrupted sitcom and soap opera bliss. Aaahhhhh...

Judgment Day

2005-03-23T10:52:00.000-05:00

No matter how safe I think I've been, I always work myself into a frenzy the day that I am to get the results of an HIV test. I knew all last week that Monday was the day to get the results, and I pushed the thought out of my mind until I was forced to think about it. I didn't realize how nervous I was until I was leaving my apartment and had a mini-meltdown in the bathroom while checking my nose for boogers. I had compounded that frenzy by knowing I had a job interview right after seeing the doctor.

Let's just say that Monday was a really, really good day. And my zit was gone, too.

Pop.

2005-03-18T10:52:00.000-05:00

I feel better today. I'd feel even better were it not for this pimple next to my nostril. I feel like a teenager with this pimple. It hurts. It is so annoying and shiny. It is so big that it formed two whiteheads, one on either side. It's so big that I was able to pop it more than two times. Per side. It is so big that it's like my third eye. Like a supernatural force in comic books, you'd stare at it, and you are forced to tell the truth. You'd say, wow that's a really big zit.

I'm not pathetic

2005-03-17T10:52:00.000-05:00

I�m just getting over being sick. Again. Only this time, the doctor says it�s viral. Damn shortage of flu shots. At this point, it�s too late to get one, and after having vials of blood drawn on Monday, I don�t want to be pricked by another needle.

I have also been on several interviews in the past month, and either I�m really out of touch with myself, or I just suck. My current employer pays me well and thinks I�m the world in their eyes. So why aren�t I happy? Is retirement really only 30 years away? I think it might be time to start therapy again.

Only three more months until I get a vacation.

I�m normally not as pathetic as this post makes me sound.

Off Balance

2005-03-08T10:52:00.000-05:00

As the No. 1 train enters the Christopher Street station, I can see that that every car is packed with people. But I don�t care because I know from many morning commutes that if I make my way onto the train, I will have to endure the morning breath and elbow jabs of the other sardines until Houston Street, where most of them will disembark. The train doors opened and I squeezeed into a space between a briefcase and a fat woman�s ass. I hear, �STEP IN, STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOOOOOOORRRSSSSS!� from the middle of the car.

We couldn�t have arrived at Houston Street fast enough. Nearly everyone slowly made their way off the train and onto the platform. I heard it again. �STEP IN, STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOOOOOORRRRSSSS!� Now that the train had cleared of people, I could see that the subway announcer without a PA was not an employee of the MTA. Just a guy in a suit with a train fetish who was a little off balance.

He stepped off the train and yelled, with the most seasoned railroad voice, �NEXT STOP, CANAL STREEEEEEEEEE�[he was muffled to silence as the train doors closed and shut him up].

As the train pulled out of the Houston Street station, I pushed Play on my iPod and Positive K�s �I Gotta Man� started playing. We�re all a little off balance, I thought as I turned up the volume.

Juniper Bank Sucks

2005-03-01T10:52:00.000-05:00

Dear Sir or Madam:
I am writing to instruct you to close my credit account with your bank. I have never used the credit card that I have been provided, and after the unpardonable treatment I have received by your company, I never intend to.

Too many times to count, I have been called at my home by representatives of your company, offering me services and trial offers, all of which have been declined. I have also repeatedly asked these same callers to never call me at home for this purpose, which request has fallen on deaf ears. Our cardmember agreement indicates that I can elect not to receive such sales calls from Juniper Bank, and you have breached this agreement. What makes it worse is that your callers rudely hang up on me and my family when we inform them we do not wish to be annoyed by these calls.

In light of the above, first, please close my credit account and never contact me again, except for the confirmation letter that my account has closed. Then, your entire call center should be retrained in customer service.

Happy to be done with you,
Steven XXXXXX

Prostitution Rules

2005-02-28T10:52:00.000-05:00

We beached and danced and drank and flirted. The cool Fire Island breezes swept over our necks, sweaty from dancing at the club. None of us seemed completely into the guys we�d met, but I guess when you�re 22, any dick is better than none. Mine was Lebanese, and was more into me than I him. I knew I just liked playing the game.

Common knowledge dictates that 2am is the last ferry back to Long Island. I hadn�t seen my friends in a while, and our plan was to meet at the ferry at 1:50. I was saying goodbye. Without a watch. At the stroke of 2, I knew that if I ran, I would make it.

As I ran toward the ferry, it slowly and laboriously floated away from the dock, and out into the bay. Its large and loud engines drowned out my hopes and my friends� attempts at getting my attention. �STEVE!!!! CALL ME AT HOOOOOMMMEEE!� was all my friend Jon could manage to yell. I thought, what am I going to do now? Cell phones had not yet existed, and who would I even call?

I had never been stranded on an island before, and lacking any other option, I walked back to the club to find the Lebanese guy. When I saw him, he was already chatting up another guy, and he knew instantly from the look on my face that I had missed the boat. I remember thinking, if I wasn�t that into him before, I�d better GET into him.

Since he and his friends rented a house there for the weekend, we went back to his place where, with eyes rolled, I repeatedly repaid him for providing me shelter for the night.

I made sure that I was ready for the 7:00 A.M. ferry. I painfully arrived there at 6:45. The benches were empty. I opted to stand.

Steven's Rules to Live By

2005-02-23T10:52:00.000-05:00

Over the years, I've developed some theories that have proven to be true, and I now have held these as standard rules to live by, without even knowing it.

1. Guys who have sexy phone voices are usually ugly, and the reverse is also true.
2. The size of the hands is not a good indicator of dick size.
3. Anyone who puts ketchup on pasta earns less than $30,000 annually.
4. People who speak more than one language fluently have more varied sexual situations than those who do not.
5. Ugly kids grow to be hot adults, and cute kids grow to be ugly adults.
6. Those who reside in the projects have better sex.
7. Those who reside in the projects go out dancing on Sunday nights when everyone else in unsubsidized apartments is sleeping.
8. Like New York real estate, the serious shortage of tops in New York has slid to alarmingly low levels; no one wants to give up their ~~rent~~ stabilized top because there is a fair market-paying bottom waiting right behind him (this pun was seriously not intended).
9. The ones who are actually top look more like bottoms.
10. Objects on cam may be smaller than they appear.

One must admit, most of these theories are indisputable.

European/I'm-a-Peein'

2005-02-14T10:52:00.000-05:00

I have several recurring dreams. Every so often one surfaces that hasn't in a while. For a while I was dreaming that my teeth were cracking, then falling out one by one. Next, the theme was that I had forgotten about tests or classes that were in session, or even goldfish I had neglected to feed for weeks at a time.

My newest (or newly realized) recurring dream is that I urinate in inappropriate places. Dreams will have me peeing between the television and VCR in friends' wall units where the urine will hit the wall and run down the floor. Dreams have also made me piss in a dining room corner between the china cabinet and spare chair where the carpet does the unintended job of absorbing the yellow liquid, but not the smell. The strangest part of the dream is that nobody else reacts to this disgusting behavior. They go about their business like they don't notice, and I get mildly embarassed and wish that I had walked around life with some paper towels in my jacket. I never find out what happens next, as I usually wake up at that time feeling psychologically dysfunctional on some level.

When did these fiercer, harder-core dreams of unthinkable body fluid disposition replace the good, clean fun of going to school naked?

Can You Hear Me Now...Fuck!!

2005-02-07T10:52:00.001-05:00

On mild and perfect Sunday afternoon, I treated myself to brunch and a walk around town. Since it was such lovely weather, I decided to leave the iPod at home and listen to the sounds of the city and my thoughts. I did, however, take my cell phone. It didn't ring, nor would I have wanted my perfect afternoon to be interrupted by what someone thinks can't wait.

With the onset of widespread cell phone usage, people everywhere have instant access to their families and friends, takeout deliveries or the customer service at Citibank for the purpose of removing a late fee wrongly billed. I feel confident knowing that I can leave my apartment to meet a friend, not be entirely sure where I am headed, but arrive there safe and on time because I can call my friend who can direct me in case I am lost.

Since I was music-free, it became obvious to me that the cell phone is as annoying as it is convenient. There is seemingly no place, aside from very few outlawed spaces, no bus, no restaurant, where I don't have to listen to someone's very private conversation. Walking up Eighth Avenue, instead of being lost in my thoughts, I was lost in disbelief. I counted one out of every three people were talking on their cell phones, and heard the following snippets of conversation as I passed them:

"I told my mother we were playing Monopoly, but we weren't really playing Monopoly, if you know what I mean."

"He gets the lab results of his test tomorrow, and he's really nervous about it. I mean, I think he should prepare for the worst..."

"...and so she told the office manager about my hickey..."

"...didn't I tell you I wanted my money today! I'm a get it one way or another!"

What happened to phone booths, enclosing the pretty people and their ugly conversations soundproofed behind their glass folding doors? Wouldn't it be nice if everyone were able to walk on the street with their upper halves in clear bubbles, so that their private conversations don't become public record? As says every generation about theirs, is nothing sacred anymore?

Weekend Discovery

2005-02-05T10:52:00.000-05:00

"The best laid plans are the ones you don't make."-- me last night with one too many Pinot Grigios, feeling like a Greek philosophist (and feeling absolutely sure, until now, that no one else could have said it).

Take a Chill Pill (or 3)

2005-01-30T10:52:00.000-05:00

She has had an addiction to painkillers for years. Some of us had always tried to offer help, and get her to talk about her problem, each time knowing E. would deny having a problem. Her addiction led to weight and other health issues, as well as low self-esteem and slight paranoia. I felt helpless as she and I share a special bond that can never be broken.

One day last week, E. had gone to a new doctor and found herself discussing her addiction, something she was always too ashamed to do. She admitted defeat to a stranger whom she assumed would ignore her pleas for help and write her another prescription, which she knew now, would only defer her problem. Instead, the stranger listened and sympathized. He told her not to be ashamed, offered possible solutions and hugged her.

E., normally one to avoid the topic of addiction, called me immediately on the telephone to tell me about the experience. To her it was an optimistic message that she is strong enough to conquer her demons, but she acknowledged that it would take time and hard work. On the telephone that day, I heard something in E�s voice I hadn�t heard in years. Relief.

With her family always willing to listen, why did E. turn them down? And why did it take a complete stranger to get her to open up and admit her problem? As I write this, I am not sure I care to know the answers to those questions. I just know that I like the sound her of voice when we speak now.

Even if nothing comes of this right now and she continues to feed her addiction, we are further down the road than we would be otherwise. The most important thing is that she took the first step in admitting her problem, and for her that was the bitterest pill to swallow.

Some Cool Whip Would Be Nice

2005-01-27T10:52:00.000-05:00

On my way to work this morning, I literally almost stumbled upon the fact that someone took the time to put colored sprinkles on this dog shit in the sub-freezing temperatures.

Personally, I would have chosen chocolate sprinkles. But that's just me.

When I put my log in...

2005-01-26T10:52:00.000-05:00

When I log into my iChat, instead of hearing the default "You have logged in," I swear I hear, "Bitch has logged in."

She may have found her G-spot

2005-01-25T10:52:00.000-05:00

received a call from my friend G., whom I haven�t seen in a dog�s age, inviting me to her birthday party this weekend at a bar down on the Bowery. I met G. the same way many New Yorkers who have had many apartments do: I placed an ad on craigslist for an apartment for a lease I wanted out of, she answered the ad and boom, we�re friends. And she got the apartment.

An excited G. also squealed into the phone that she is getting married in August, and that she will be moving to either Philadelphia, Chicago or Boston. She has a choice! Although I was happy for her, I was bummed out for me.

In my opinion, G. leads a somewhat fascinating life, and is someone who truly made lemonade when learned she had only lemons. After she was fired from her job at a well-known cable channel, she went back to school and will graduate with her masters in July. She does voiceovers on the side, mostly for McDonald�s radio commercials, and business is booming.

She has all the ingredients of a perfect person as far as I�m concerned. She attends every party she is invited to, she is low maintenance and she is gorgeous.

A superficial me asks�why is it that the people who are so full of life and who really make a difference are the same ones who leave? And then I realize� am I referring to New York, or me?

Passion for Passions

2005-01-24T10:52:00.000-05:00

Back in the days when I needed a replacement for Melrose Place after the series finished, I started watching Passions, a daytime drama on NBC. I taped it each day and watched it religiously every night when I got home from work.

Today, I left work early and just tuned in to Passions after not having seen it since 2001.

They are still working the same tired storyline.

And I may start recording it again.

Influenza + Blizzard = Insomnia + No Libido

2005-01-22T10:52:00.000-05:00

My body has threatened to get sick for a few weeks and, at this point, I think the fight is over. I am officially sick. And officially miserable.

[phlegm]

As I look out the window (the wood plank also threatening me), I wish I could take my doggy out for a run in the snow that is falling.

[nose blow]

Not even in the mood to masturbate.

[ugh-- putting iBook in sleep mode while I try to do the same for myself]

Dirty Cash I Want You

2005-01-21T21:46:00.000-05:00

Call me petty, but one of the things over the last few years that has completely annoyed me is the way I'm handed change by cashiers in this city. Maybe it's because, when I was a young cashier in my teens on Long Island, I went through training on how to be a good cashier. From the proper way the bills are to face, counting back change to customers, to how change is handed to your customer.

Gone are the days when coins are placed in hands first, then the bills laid on top of that. They will put the bills in my hand first, then pile the coins on top of the bills, so that by the time I retract my arm to count it, the coins are on the floor, and I'm holding up the line to pick them up. Now I've figured out the real reason money is dirty.

I'm just saying.

-------

UPDATE: Prescription drugs change everything. I just want my change; I don't care by which method, be it in balls, thrown on the floor, etc. And I might just leave it there. See--lower expectations do pay off!

The Perils of New York living

2005-01-20T10:52:00.000-05:00

I peered a sleepy eye out my window this morning and noticed this strange hulk of wood teetering in a treetop high above my apartment. This plank could do a huge amount of damage if the wind hurled it right through my window.

Underpants of unknown origin

2005-01-11T10:52:00.000-05:00

So I�m sifting through my underwear drawer this morning for a decent pair to wear, and I come across underwear that I don�t recognize. 2(x)ist, black, size 34. After thinking back to past sexual escapades, I am absolutely stumped as to how they wound up in the bottom of my drawer. A likely explanation would involve them being left in the washing machine by the person who used it before me. A more exciting explanation would involve my boyfriend having had an escapade all his own.

Regardless of the facts, I tried them on and voila, a perfect fit. I�m even wearing them now. You might think it�s kind of gross that I�m wearing underwear whose real owner can be just about anyone in this city. I find it kind of hot. Until my friend, Paula, pointed out that any possible permanent skid marks are unnoticeable, as the undergarments of unknown origin are black.

Anyone leave a pair of underwear in a West Village laundromat? If so, please don't tell me; you'll ruin my fantasy.

Oh well

2005-01-10T10:52:00.000-05:00

I'm not the biggest fan of Ikea, but when it comes to buying basic white bookcases, I can't see spending three hundred percent more in Manhattan. On Saturday, I took a trip out to the Long Island campus that is the Swedish [?] furniture store. I purchased eight floor to ceiling bookcases, a computer workstation, a living room rug and various and sundry must-haves. I spent $1,050. A bargain. Now the afterthought:

How do I get it home? I drive a Saturn.

After much-needed assistance from employees of the store, 60 minutes of careful driving, a dent in the roof of the Saturn from the weight of the boxes, and an entire Sunday of hex-key hell, I now have a great apartment, perfectly suited for my needs, and able to display the belongings I cherish.

No better diarama of how boring you are when you realize there's not much to display.

Which reminds me... when I was a child, when I meant "diarama", I would say "diaphram". Sadly, I don't know how long I was saying the wrong word.

[inhale]

2005-01-06T10:52:00.000-05:00

I've been taking it easy in the last few days. After being stressed out (work-related) during this past weekend, I decided to turn over a new leaf, being it coincided with the recent new year. At work, I tell myself (and probably everyone else) that they'll have to wait, I'm going on my cigarette break (I don't smoke) or that I'm going to run an errand (I work downtown--it is impossible to run errands in the Financial District). I also say--you see that pile of stuff over there? That's what I have to do already. You won't mind waiting for this thing you need, as their piece of paper flip flops until it's flat on top of the tall pile that has been in danger of toppling since I was able to clean my office three years ago. Instead of working at a realistic pace (as if there's hope of ever finishing), I think about how my work will get done in time. All in time.

You see, I've realized that I'm human, not a robot as my employer thinks I am. If it doesn't get done, I'll start on it after my next yoga class.

[EXHALE]

damnit! Janet!

2004-12-31T10:52:00.000-05:00

�Janet! Over here!� she exclaimed as she jumped up and down on West 11th Street. �Janet!�

�Be quiet! You�re yelling!� said a snotty, younger blond woman whom I first thought was her sister from the way she spoke to her.

�It�s eight-thirty at night. People aren�t exactly sleeping yet!�

�It doesn�t matter. You�re disturbing everybody!�

�Go fuck yourself,� the Janet-seeker calmly replied.

Snotty-blond got out her cell phone as if to dial the police to report a woman yelling for her friend on a West Village block at 8:30 PM, 20 feet from an active bar. Some commotion chuckles and chatter, then:

�Who was that?� asked her boyfriend, who appeared to be with a sophisticated older couple, maybe his parents, for an evening of dinner.

�I don�t know. Just some nosy person who told me to stop yelling,� with rolled eyes.

�Who? That troll right there?� he pointed toward the woman who seemed desperate to get someone on the phone. �Go to hell, you fucking troll!� said the boyfriend. His mother even erected her middle finger elegantly decorated with a clear and sparkly diamond.

Janet was forgotten. The couple and his parents strolled away to their restaurant, and I continued walking my dog past Nosy Troll. She looked at my dog and me and looked like she might say something. But she didn�t.

Crossings, II

2004-12-26T10:52:00.000-05:00

I am walking through Rockefeller Center on Christmas Eve. The crowds of people are irritating me. The flashes of light from disposable cameras freezing falsely happy moments in time. People wrapped in scarves and hats and down jackets which serve not to warm them, but to make them clumsy and 50% wider. The feeling of constantly walking onto the set of a Sears family photo, ruining their one shining moment with a clear view to the famous tree as their backdrop. I had had it.

If it were not for the lovely sister in law visiting from South America, I would have chosen to be at any other degree on the globe on this night. Finally we are walking south toward Times Square, where we are stopped at every block by a traffic signal. When the light turns to �walk� the crowds on opposing sides of street barrel their way across like pro football players, each crosser trying to intimidate their counterpart into moving around him. Feeling somewhat bruised from similar psychology back at Rockefeller Center, I, too, am hardened.

My light turns green. I am told to walk by the bright white walker. It tells me to go for it. I leave my sister in law behind, choking in my dust. I have tunnel vision. I can�t hear you so tell me later.

It is at this moment that I unintentionally kick a Seeing Eye dog in his side and just as unwittingly shove his owner out of the precious crosswalk.

I slow down and remember that it is Christmas Eve. Also, where is my sister in law?

:)

2004-12-12T10:52:00.000-05:00

Wow. What a week. It's been an emotional rollercoaster.

Thank you for all your prayers and kind words. After my father's second surgery to remove a blockage in his intestine, a mere complication from the first surgery, I didn't have time to document it here.

It's been all I can think about so getting back to work has been a welcome relief.

At the risk of sounding corny today, I'll end with a message that life is precious, so stop the pettiness.

Surgery

2004-11-30T10:52:00.000-05:00

I've been a little preoccupied with the surgery my father is having tomorrow to hopefully correct his divruticulitis. I will update post-surgery.

Look at the sleeping beauty I came across on my couch this evening

2004-11-22T10:52:00.000-05:00

Go ahead and kiss your monitor

MasterCard, I Owe You One (Thousand Five Hundred)

2004-11-21T10:52:00.000-05:00

I had a completely delightful day. I had nine glorious and consecutive hours of sleep, gave myself a peel-off mask facial, got my haircut and went shopping. I dropped $1500 in two hours at four different stores, all below 23rd Street.

Life is grand. Thanks to MasterCard.

tee hee

2004-11-19T10:52:00.000-05:00

Before it gets forgotten, I want to memorialize the sick mind of Glenn and something he said at a bar once by putting it on ~~paper~~ blog.

I came back from the bathroom or the bar or something, and walked into the middle of the conversation, when I heard him saying something like, "...the Verizon Guy getting slammed at a sex party, and he's on the phone, 'Can you hear me now?...GOOD!'"

Well, I thought it was funny.

P.S. I know that my archive templates are screwed up. This weekend I'll fix them.

Time to Serve

2004-11-18T10:52:00.000-05:00

I received a notice in the mail that informs me that I am due to serve jury duty again. My first reaction to the notice is to simply forget about it. I have way too many responsibilities without it. But then.... I am strangely drawn back to the letter that I thoughtlessly flung, and the memories suddenly flooded back to me.

Five years ago I had almost made it on to a jury, when I was honorably discharged in the middle of the second day, with a letter documenting that I had done my part. Was I really expected to return to work that day?

I did what anyone else would have done. I spent the rest of the afternoon having sex with another discharged juror at his apartment a few blocks from the courthouse. So you see, it's just like Pavlov's dogs. I am sent the jury duty notice and I salivate.

My Very Own Gap Dress

2004-11-15T10:52:00.000-05:00

It may be be somewhat redundant to put this picture up too since our readership probably consists of the same people, but it is my favorite picture of Matt and me, and was taken at Bob's farewell party on Saturday night.

Half-Fantasy/Half-Reality

2004-11-14T10:52:00.000-05:00

So I�m handed a file at work and am told to prepare for a closing on a condominium apartment where the developer is a greedy creep and the purchaser doesn�t have an attorney. Just great, I think, now I get to do ALL of the work from both sides of the transaction. I telephone the buyer and strongly urge him to get an attorney. He just shrugs me off and, in a Spanish accent, he assures me that he can handle the purchase of real estate on his own. Not before he continues to ask me questions that his attorney would be answering for him.

They say that an attorney who represents himself has a fool for a client. Maybe he�s just a fool without an attorney, I think. I know nothing about him except that he is a wealthy Spanish national who is buying a condo without the need to obtain financing from a bank, and that he already owns the one next door, and he�d eventually like to combine the two units.

On the day of the closing, the receptionist calls me to say that Mr. Pxxxxx is here. I grab the file, meet him in the conference room, and am astonished to find a gorgeous, young man in a suit with an Ashton Kutcher haircut, only a little curlier.

After he signed a few documents, he tells me that he wants to take me to Crobar where I will have a wonderful time. Then I�m invited to his next party at his New York apartment. Shortly after that, he asks me what kind of music I listen to, and to what discoteque I went last weekend. I was so completely taken aback that this handsome guy with an adorable accent, who had just written a check for $1,035,000 from his personal account, and another for $42,000 in closing costs, is more than chatting me up. Of course, I remained completely professional throughout the transaction, and couldn�t wait for it to be over so that I could be, perhaps, inappropriate.

Near the end of the closing, he told me that he was on his way to Cartagena, Colombia, for business, and he would also be attending a party of about 2,000 beautiful people. And would I like to join him� he�ll pay for my ticket. If I can�t make it this time, in a few weeks he�s going to Ibiza, and he�ll pay for my ticket and I�d have the time of my life, to which I replied, maybe, I have to see if I can get time off. How completely dreary sounding of me. Oh, but how realistic!

Here�s the best part. He asked me about some of the closing costs of the developer that is passed on to him in the Offering Plan, and I flipped to that section in the Plan. I look up and he stood over me, with the crotch of his suitpants only inches from my face. He gave me �the eye� as he looked down on me and as I answered his question, I considered grabbing his dick through his suit, but then I saw a secretary walk past the conference room and remembered where I was.

On his way out, I was given his phone numbers in New York and in Spain, just in case I�m ever there and want to stop by.

I was giddy for the rest of the afternoon. I fantasized about quitting my job because my rich Spanish boyfriend put me up in a million dollar condo on Central Park West.

And They Say New Yorkers Are Rude...

2004-11-10T10:52:00.000-05:00

Since a building collapse at 1723 Lexington Avenue had caused major subway delays up and down the entire Lexington Avenue line tonight, I got off the train at Union Square to find an alternate method of transportation. My iPod blares RuPaul�s "Looking Good, Feeling Gorgeous".

At the corner of Union Square South and Fourth Avenue, the traffic signal turned green and I started to make my way across 14th Street to the bus stop.

HOW DO I LOOK? YOU LOOK GOOD

HOW DO I FEEL? YOU FEEL GOOD

Not halfway across the intersection, I am bumped by a couple with their arms raised and flailing, racing for the only empty taxi in Manhattan.

Also running toward the same cab is a man whose face I can�t see due to his speed. The man triumphantly opens the rear door to the taxi, gets in and tries to shut it on the woman, who has now caught up to it. His scarf is caught in the door and doesn�t fully close. Her arm also blocks the door from closing and, with seemingly bionic strength, she forces the door open despite his pulling on it from inside. She screams at him with such ferocity, I am sure the glass is going to break. I can almost hear her screeching voice over my music. Her teeth are almost perfect despite the snarl of her current expression.

TOUCH THIS SKIN, HONEY, TOUCH ALL OF THIS SKIN, DARLING, YOU CAN�T TAKE IT

By this time, her man had given up hope of sitting his tired ass in this cab that he had already hailed another, but she was about to prove her point. She let out one last gasp of fiery scream and the man in the cab stepped out, embarrassed. He fled toward the cab that her boyfriend had just hailed.

YOU�RE JUST AN OVERGROWN ORANGUTANG.

At this point I turned off the iPod, too stunned to listen any longer. I turned to see if anyone else had witnessed this transaction, and I heard someone calmly say, "That was pretty intense," before she smiled at me. It was her.

I smiled back and resumed the music in time for Ru to complete the song: LOOKING GOOD AND FEELING GORGEOUS.

Like a Band-Aid...Right Off!

2004-11-08T10:52:00.000-05:00

This is me this morning on my therapist's answering machine:

"Hi, Dr. XXXX, this is Steven XXXXXXX. I have been thinking and I've decided that I am not going to continue my appointments any longer. This is nothing personal against you, I just feel that I am done, at least for now. At some point in the future, I will pick it up again, and I don�t know when that will be. You like to slowly analyze my decisions, and I don�t want to analyze this one, so please do not return my call. I will appreciate that. Thank you for everything."

Breakups Broken Down, Part 3

2004-11-07T10:52:00.000-05:00

It seems like I have pussied out of pussying out of future appointments with TheRapist. At least temporarily. It's not that I don't want to; I partly didn't have time and partly didn't feel like dealing with it. Sort of like how people in debt don't pay their credits cards in a timely manner because they don't feel like looking at their debt head on.

Tomorrow he will call for his weekly appointment, and I will have a decision to make.

The real kicker is that he brought up this blog in conversation two sessions ago, but my memory is so bad that I think I may have given him the URL at one point.

Breakups Broken Down, Part 2

2004-11-06T10:52:00.000-05:00

I�ve been thinking about dumping TheRapist for a long time. The first time I thought about it, I really just wanted to cut the amount of visits in half. He made it impossible for me by analyzing my decision and making me feel like I was making a mistake.

I never expected to be seeing him for this long. I know that therapy takes years, but I have learned all I want to learn about myself at the moment, and I�ll pick it up again another time. At the moment I need to learn how to be myself and accept my issues.

And you know that it�s time to get another therapist or stop going for a while when you start lying to him. What a complete waste of a co-payment if I am not honest with him in that room.

This weekend I will be pussying out of any future appointments by leaving a message on his machine, and asking him not to return my call.

Fly in my Chardonay

2004-11-05T10:52:00.000-05:00

It was my employer who was throwing a post-Columbus Day pre-Thanksgiving morale-boosting event for the Real Estate Department. It was also my employer who kept me working so late and at such an insane pace that I almost missed the event.

Isn't it ~~ironic~~ fucked up?

That's Just Me, Scene 2

2004-10-28T10:52:00.000-04:00

When you�re extremely self sufficient and don�t normally burden other people with small favors, sometimes the wrong message is sent. At work I normally do not ask anyone for money, pens, white-out, etc., and will usually go back to my office that is out of the way than ask someone who is close to me. The same thing applies to the people in my personal life. When I am down, or need a ride somewhere, I don�t call a friend who has a car or bend his ear, I take a cab or make an appointment with my therapist. When I need a cup of sugar and want to borrow the last taped episode of Six Feet Under, I go to the bodega and wait for it to come out on DVD. I am just that type of person; not wrong, not right, not shy, not scared nor bold. Just me.

And this is the response I get when I finally go to someone in my office for a pen:

"I knew you were going to ask me for a favor. You never talk to me otherwise."

Mull it Over

2004-10-24T10:52:00.001-04:00

I learned something new today searching the internet for the country's most popular haircut. The mullet, which is a favorite of many women and most men in southern states, is called a "fullet" when worn on a woman. Shut the fuck up!

We were upstate this weekend closing out our camper for the season where I spotted a woman (with a mullet) eating in Pizza Hut with her husband. Now if that same woman were eating in a Pizza Hut in Manhattan, I would simply assume that she is a lesbian based solely on her haircut.

Any hairdresser who cuts a mullet on any person, male or, pitifully, female, in any state north of Cuba, and accepts monetary compensation for such a service, should be de-licensed.

And frosting your mullet does not feminize it in any way.

Group Therapy

2004-10-24T10:52:00.000-04:00

If you saw four drunk bloggers and their partners tickling each other like a gang of prepubescent girls in Therapy last night, yes, that was us.

Nothing to See Here

2004-10-17T10:52:00.000-04:00

Monday will be moving day, so creativity will be stifled by aggravation and the body odor of fat and ugly moving men.

Unless, of course, one of my many manual laborer fantasies becomes a reality.