stuff for the stuffaholic in you

My parents are in China, but luckily, nowhere near the earthquake. My aunt emailed me the morning of the quake to see if I had heard from my folks and I told her they were totally fine. Then the following exchange ensued:

Auntie Do: It probably wasn't an earthquake at all. It was probably just your mother farting.
Me: Yeah, she said they were eating Chinese food for breakfast.
Auntie Do: Imagine the moo goo gai pan she must have in her underwear!
Me: That's why they call them "moo goo gai panties."
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Dear TJ Maxx,
I tried to get the maxx for the minimum today, but I failed. I was totally thwarted in the dressing room. Not only do your sales associates consider a bathing suit "two garments," (and only allow seven garments at a time) but you've made it impossible to look good in a bikini.

I'm not blaming you for the bumps and lumps and wrinkles and frumps on my body. No, no, those are all mine, and I own them with (self-enforced) glee. I am, however, blaming you for BOLTING TOGETHER the tops and bottoms of the bikinis.

"I sure look GREAT in this blue and white top, but only when the bottoms are hanging out of my armpit with a security device attached."

Yours harumph-ily,
Filene Z. Basement
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I almost stepped on a baby bird that had fallen from its nest today.

Yuck.
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I always take the same route to and from the subway -- the one that goes past the lilac bush. I actually stop to smell it twice every day. Because someday, way too soon, that bush won't smell so good anymore. And then I'll be sad.
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Speaking of smelling, I was changing out of my gym clothes last night when I smelled the oddest smell -- Fritos. I thought, gee, that's dumb. Somebody's here working out really hard, only to put Fritos back into her body. Then I realized there weren't any actual Fritos in the locker room. It was just me.

Easily the oddest thing I've ever smelled like.

i owed attention $5. so i paid it.

I've been trying to pay closer attention to my life lately, and in doing so, there are details that have become richer and more vibrant. (Hell of a side effect, really.) For example:

-- the other day, I saw raindrops clinging to the close-cropped hair of a guy on the subway the way ornaments cling to a christmas tree.

-- raisins taste AMAZING.

-- on my run today, little olive-shaped leaves were falling from the sky and it felt like magic weather.

-- there's a poster on subway cars of Ye Olde Coney Island, and if you look in the balloon, I swear you'll see Abraham Lincoln.

-- the JFK departures area makes me feel all fluttery inside, like something really good or really bad is about to happen. That feeling also makes me feel like I have to pee.

-- the loop around the park is not so long when you look at it in now-sized chunks.

-- I must have a pair of Corsican twin toes, as I swear the wound (that sits atop a blister) is on my fourth toe, when in fact it's on my third. (Either way, it hurts.)

-- too much cologne is never a good thing. Especially when you're trapped in a car with it.

-- there was a really droopy-looking guy on my way to class last week. I keep periodically picturing him in my head, worrying that his cheecks will eventually droop right off his face, like the candle that's about to spill over.

-- the very overweight woman at brunch this morning ate her salad first, and then proceeded to eat the rest of her meal. (I'm not judging, though, since I did almost exactly the same thing.)

-- I suck at frisbee. Sometime my throws are so bad I have to fall down in paroxysms of laughter.

on compassion (take note, self!)

I'm reading a great book on how to be a writer, not because I'm actually interested in being a writer, but because it's written by one of my favorite authors in the whole world, Anne Lamott.
In a passage from the book, Bird by Bird, that really struck my fancy today, she talks about writing characters well -- how you have to give them space to do their own thing, and not judge them while they do it. She then encourages the author to apply this inner distancing to him/herself, saying:

"Obviously, it's harder by far to look at yourself with this same sense of compassionate detachment. Practice helps. As with exercise, you may be sore the first few days, but then you will get a little bit better at it every day. I am learning slowly to bring my crazy pinball-machine mind back to this place of friendly detachment toward myself, so I can look out at the world and see all those other things with respect. Try looking at your mind as a wayward puppy that you are trying to paper train. You don't drop-kick a puppy into the neighbor's yard every time it piddles on the floor. You just keep bringing it back to the newspaper. So I keep trying gently to bring my mind back to what is really there to be seen, maybe to be seen and noted with a kind of reverence. Because if I don't learn to do this, I think I'll keep getting things wrong."

hot stock tips (and other useful information... as always)

First things first:
I have the biggest zit known to mankind on my face. Like the Great Wall of China and the Staten Island Garbage Dump, you can see it from space.* And to boot, it's one of those ones that really REALLY hurts.

I would like an award because I haven't popped it or picked at it yet.

Second things second:
It's spring. That means a number of things, not the least of which is that it's shedding season... for me! One by one, I'm losing all kinds of hairs (except, of course, gray ones) that do nothing but get trapped in my bra and make me ITCH! No wonder cats go out and roll around on the flagstone! It's all I can do to keep from diving down my shirt at work and vacuuming. (Fernando gives me disapproving looks periodically, but I promise you, he'd be doing the same thing if he had boobs.)

Fourth things third (just to keep you on your toes):
I'm about to give you your hot stock tip, so go get a pencil. Ready for it? Here it comes.

INVEST IN BAND-AIDS.

I personally drove the stock up a million points today, simply by wearing the "comfortable" sandals from last summer. (Man, I hate the transition season.)

Fifth things fourth:
There was a guy on the subway tonight who could barely keep his eyes open, he was so tired. However, he had such amazing optical poptitude that I imagined just keeping those bulging orbs open required a great deal of effort.

And last things last (or third things fifth):
You know what's awesome? Art Garfunkel's part in the song Save the Life of My Child. He mutters all this really cynical stuff in the background as a toss off, and if you can imagine him saying it with that six foot hairdo of his, it's just all that much better.


*Ok, so you can't see the SI dump from space anymore. But that thing right next to it, over in Brooklyn? Yeah, that's me and my zit.

war of the worlds redux?

You're worried. You've seen the beacon, shining brightly from midtown east, signaling to the extraterrestrials that they can land. You're stockpiling canned goods (and a can opener, of course, because you're not stoopid) and waiting in the basement.

Well, you can stop worrying. That's not a beacon to the aliens. It's the sun, glinting off my greasy, greasy hair, as there was not sufficient hot water this morning for me to shower.

Don't feel bad about being worried, though. My feet were, too. (Thanks to my shoes and the a/c in the office, they broke out in a cold sweat. I've treated them with a solid dose of cotton socks and sneakers, and they seem to be recovering nicely.)

intrigue! excitement! lies in your headlines!

Section One:
Things heard recently in my neighborhood

"I'm from Brooklyn. Not one of those backwards states like Kentucky or Minnesota or Connecticut."

"Is it possible to cultivate wild rice?"

"If I get into the stroller with you, who's going to push?"

Section Two:
Call and response

Let's pretend you and I are on a pre-first-date phone call, just like the one I had earlier this week. And when I say the following statements, you respond back with the genius lines provided for you. (Please sound dorky and unpleasant.)

Me: I'm taking a philosophy class and am finding it really cool how it's applying to so many different areas of my life.
You: Well, if something's broad enough, it could apply to anything.

Me: I don't know how you feel about the whole idea of "soulmates," but just go with me on this one -- what if your soulmate looks nothing like you expect her to?
You: I don't believe in soulmates. I flat out reject the idea.

And now switch! You call out and I'll respond.

You: I have this problem with women. They only want me for my body. I find that on this site that's not as much of a problem.
Me: ???

You: That was a joke.
Me: ???

You: So, I think it's a good idea to meet before too much time goes by. Maybe we could get coffee this weekend?
Me: NOT A CHANCE IN FLAMING HELL!

I mean,
Me: You know, Frank, I'm going to save us both some time and energy and tell you that I don't think this is a good match.

Section Three:
Why I can't have vanilla soymilk in the house

It's just too damn tasty!

Section Four:
The Cake and Celery Diet

I've found that when I date a lot, I go out with a number of duds. I mean, they're perfectly nice guys, but they're just not right for me, so there's no chemistry, or it's too much work, or whatever. These guys are the celery guys.

And every now and then, I meet a guy who really strikes my fancy -- makes me laugh, treats me like a princess, is smart, charming and thoughtful... These guys are, of course, the cake guys.

I've been on too much of a celery diet lately. And I had cake for the first time in months this week. I'd forgotten just how good cake tastes. With its frosting and gooey layers and yum-yum deliciousness...

I don't ever want to go back to celery again.

(Unless it's covered in peanut butter, but that makes the metaphor kind of break down, so maybe I'll just go and have my peanut butter by myself and not even try to work it into the story.)

some fun photos

I have a lot to say right now, but not a whole lot of time in which to say it. So instead, I'll share with you some fabulous photos I've taken in the last few weeks.

Prego! Ciao! Hotele de Holiday!

First, my friend from Colorado (the one who took my profile picture) was in town this week and he stayed at the Holiday Inn on 57th Street, which is surprisingly Italian -- as you can see from their elevator signs:

P.U! What's that Malodor?

I went with a friend to the Rubin museum last friday evening and in their bathroom, they had the funniest air freshener I've seen in a while. It's a bad photo, but I think you can get the idea:

After the museum I had dinner with another friend, and at that restaurant, their air freshener was also well-named ("Scense"), but it was too dark to get a photo.

Strip Off Your Skin and Slip Into Something Cozier

There's a great sculpture in the garden of the Lever House on Park Avenue of a pregnant woman who's had some severe dermabrasion (not my photo) :

However, recently, she must have gotten kind of chilly, because the last time I saw her, she was wearing something a little, well, bundle-y:

(She's recently been sent to her room for being naughty. No idea when she's coming back. Maybe she's just getting a bath. Or having her baby! I hope she hasn't moved somewhere else. I'm quite fond of her.)