An Hour on the F train

[gktkd]

Today I wanted to talk about the Garden State thread about the "quirky" versus the "average". I could have posted it on the thread, but I think you really need to have read my journal to understand where I'm coming from here.

For the purpose of this arguement, I will utilize the following definitions:

Quirky: Interesting
Average: Not interesting

Excellent. Now that I have defined the terms of the discussion. I will now present my value premise: fuckability (not your makeloveability or sexability plain ole' survival of the species). No matter how much we gloss it over with feelings and emotions, fuckability is the whole kit and caboodle. The guy doesn't like you because you're just the right amount of "quirky", it's how your "quirkiness" heightens your fuckability. Maybe not that moment, but in the foreseeable future. And vice versa. Let's look at this principle in practice, using personal examples from my life- past and present.

Crush #1: A total arrogant prick: His arrogance is his quirk, as it makes him interesting. Said arrogance ups his fuckability because it makes him more assertive and in general a larger personality. This signals to my sub-conscious that if we were in the wild and mated, I wouldn't have to take care of him I could focus on the children. On a more conscious level, I recognize that his arrogance will probably translate into less obtainable sex, making me step up my own fuckability. Connection is made.

Crush #2: Kind of weird, Kind of quiet, Complete Wimpster: Double quirk points. This translates to my sub-conscious that if I can take care of him, it might be a sign I'm a good mother. Therefore, his fuckability lies in the lessons he may teach me on how to be a more caring individual.

When you find someone who you like to spend time with, it's because they have compatible traits, likes, and wants. This makes you want to be with this person more, which heightens the opportunity for (simulated) mating.

Most things you do on a day to day basis heighten your fuckability. It's kind of hard to lower it. The easiest way to lower your rating is to worry about your representation. Phrases like "Guys only go out with gorgeaus women" drop you like a elevator with a fraying cord, because no one wants to fuck a whiner. People smell insecurity and some times I reek. Most of the time I reek because I forgot my deodorent. Stop thinking you're too weird to attract a mate and all of a sudden you won't be too weird. You don't have to change the music you like, or your split palate, or even your unshaven legs. You just have to be fuckable enough.

Don't force your levels to rise, though. It gets skanky. And don't hate on someone who has their's locked in.

Seriously, just don't hate and I swear, you'll get laid.

 

[gktkd]

Today is a particularly slow day and since I can't move my legs, I have to further delay having to do filing for lack of any seated activity. Or photocopying. Or breathing.

I drove in this morning, telling my boyfriend that I needed to have in order to get home at a decent hour. What I didn't tell him was the real time dealy was going to be the slowness of my normal gait has been multiplied by the count of 8.

I bleed money.

 

[gktkd]

I've inherited a lot of things from my mother. I hate shopping, handling cash, and enjoy mass quantities of libations. I also inherited her complete inability to be nice to people she can't stand. The woman has no poker face and neither do I. I openly smirk, roll my eyes, sigh heavily, say "no' and walk away. Once, this total mysogynist closet racist knucklehead was assigned to work on a project I was heading up. None of the higher ups warned me. I had to find out from a different co-worker. I went straghit to my boss and complained. When he asked why i wouldn't work with him, I said "Because he's a complete mysogynist closet racist asshole". We were in my office at the time. My office was a desk in the middle of the field office. Said assmunch was standing next to me and tried to clock me in the head. Granted it was bad for my career, but the bitch was off my project and I was consulted for the rest of the campaign. He got fired 3 weeks later for...being a complete mysogynist closet racist asshole.

So what's my unflattering point?

It bleeds over into my improv. If someone keeps making assinine moves, it reflects on my face. You can see it when I'm on the back line. You can see it in scenes. My frustration used to paralyze me. Now it makes me hyperactive and most of the time, it inspires some pretty good moves to circumvent the suckage.

But some of the time, I simply look someone in the eye and say, "I WILL NOT ARGUE OVER MONEY WITH YOU.

Is that bad agreement? Probably. Did it relieve some of the steam in my brain? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Absolutely not.

That's Truth in Comedy.


Next Episode: Kristina's definitions of sexy.

 

[gktkd]

I know I promised you my wisdom regarding the "sexy", but I pull back for three reasons.

1) Don't you think there's enough "sexy" on the internet?
2) I really hate the word "sexy". Especially spoken in any kind of accent (Domestic or Foreign). It sounds like one of those baby talk words for vagina
3) Talking about what I think is inherently sexual is in direct contradiction with what i actually find to be sexual.

So instead I'm going to attempt to tell interesting stories about my history with the opposite sex. And I'll even use real first names as I do not talk to any one of these ridiculous individuals.

* Tyler aka Hottie Religion Boy - The man looked like a hippie Fraggle. But I had a thing for him anyway. He was in one of my religion classes and one day when going to turn in my weekly paper, I was dazed out and staring at him when I walked into a file cabinent. Now when I say "Walked into a file cabinet", I mean smack into the corner. The second best part- the tell-tale gash on the forehead. Third best part- this was in front of the best friend of the guy who was (figuratively) trying to make music with after damaging the foundation with flagrant infidelity, who had first noticed the stare and then the collison. When I got home after classes, I got an email saying "Who is this Tyler guy and why is he so cute?"
Ladies, learn this lesson: Cosmo is wrong. Boys are not completely socially oblivious. Just some times they ignore them. And some times, they run their mouths like...well, like we do.

* Big Ben: Ben is one of my favorites. Ben is 6'3, 270 lbs, big smiler, total charm oozer, and a complete disaster when it came to woman aka Just my type. The man also has lived in Orlando, Florida for all his 25 years (minus the 4.5 years of college) and works as a sports game producer for EA. Ben and I became friends pretty late in the college game, brought together by our mutual love of marijuana, flip cup, and eating far too much. I was still trying to get over the aforementioned music man and Ben was starting to lose a long-time unrequited crush. Luckily, we were handling our pain in the same decadent health damaging fashion. We partied to much, were the last one's at the party, shared our mutual dreams (comedy primarily) and insecurities. But nothing happened. The man made no move. He made the pussy moves:
"Hey, you want to come over later and watch a movie" or "Drink this."
The night before we both graduated (I graduated early and he graduated late), he threw a huge party, which was supposed to result in a mass slumber party since Tallahassee cops like to stick checkpoints at every major intersection. I started scheming early, making the (at the time) uncharacteristic diva declaration of "I claim a bed". Around 5, Ben and I decided to crash as we were the only people (it was a summer graduation) at the party who actually had to graduate in the morning (I didn't have to walk but I was not going to share that). Nothing happens. I roll over, fume and try to go to sleep. We say goodnight. I stare at the awesome fish tank in the corner that both of us were too lazy to turn off. 20 restless minutes later, he says "So did you have a good time at the party?"

:worm:

* Sean aka the Married Guy: He was the fuck buddy who was the hardest to shake despite the obvious reasons why I should. We met a couple teams in an empty office in the fashion district and it was just as seedy and the sex was just as bad as you think it was. But the pre- and post- conversations were incredible. If a guy is smarter than me, I am rendered glue to the spot closest to him. And Sean had been the first guy I had met like that in over two years. I was desperate for mental stimulation.
After two or three sordid afternoons, we called it off. And then my mother's printer broke down and he said "come over and use mine" (only one step classier than "you want to watch a movie?") His wife is in New Orleans and I go. I print out my things, we start messing around and around 1am, mid action, his cell phone goes off. Which is crappy enough but it's his wife's ring. So he starts to panic because the only reason she would call so late while she's gone is if she's in trouble. Logically, she's probably calling him because she knows her husband gets outside pussy (They have a dangerous "Don't ask, Don't tell policy). I got the hell out of there and never went back. Ok, once after that, we made out in front of a bar. Doesn't count.

 

[gktkd]

Fascinating, keep writing

Harold Completed: Whatever it was before.
Improv plateous reached: 2
Shows seen this week: 2


Msksepulveda [2:45 AM]: how are the boys
FLI823[2:46 AM]: fine
Msksepulveda [2:46 AM]: how's the girl?
FLI823 [2:47 AM]: which?
FLI823 [2:47 AM]: brb

Strangely disturbing.

Every night since Friday, I've fallen asleep with a fever for three nights now.
The only plus is when I sleep with a simmering brain, I have the creepest or hottest, but mainly vivid dreams. They play like the movies I'm too lazy to write with plot lines so intricate they spell out the novel I'm too occupied to write.

Excuses.

So my throat is on fire and while I took the day off of work, I feel too shitty to doa ny of the wonderful things you do when you take a sick day. At FDB&L, I took a million sick days but never was sick.

I think I'll be able to make it to class tomorrow. If I'm feeling up to it,maybe I can make it through Harold Night and Sunshine Gang.

I miss things often. I go into frequent hibernations. This is not a new phenomanon in my life. Now it's highlighted by the fact I live with someone and have less and less time to run away. When Geo works at night, the quiet time is worth the wrench thrown into my sleep rhythms (they are steady and precious to me).

 

[gktkd]

In front of me lies Beef & Vegetable soup, a mixed fruit parfait, and a pint of orange, strawberry, and banana juice. I want to kill myself.

I'm back at work and fighting the sick. The apocalypse lighting seems to have lifted from the city but I'm still glad I drove in. I am violently anti-umbrella so whenever it rains, I risk health and limb by dashing, unprotected between the puddles. Since I am a habitual flip flop wearer, rain also means a mildly twisted ankle from my foot sliding off its protector. I have the survival instinct of an accidental 8th grade runaway.

I have started work on a screen play, which is delightful and officially jinxed now that I mention it. So far it's been pretty easy to write in chunk format (all hail free screenwriter software). I've cast the whole thing in my head. Not as your typical "this person is the inspiration for that character", but also "this person would be great in this role." Kind of hot, like my parfait. But when parfaits get hot, they also get gross.

This screenplay will not be gross.

Maybe it will be. Its inspiration has been my crazy fever dreams. I love my crazy fever dreams. Yesterday, while I was killing my sick time, stoned, on the IRC; I started to think about the power of my crazy fever dreams. I don't try to decode them, just enjoy them. I don't really want to know what it means when there's quintruples locked in the basement of an old Mexican inn. While I was thinking about my crazy fever dreams, I cursed the laziness that kept me from walking 10 car lengths to retrieve the "Garden State" soundtrack from my car.

So, I started writing. Very bareboned and stupid at first, especially since I had to teach myself a new program at the very same time. Usually, every writing project I attempt, I think about in terms of a short story, a novel, a play, a screen play...and the project crumbles under the weight of my overactive imagination. Last night, I came up with images in my head of people I know in places and clothes they wouldn't know what to do with and basically described each picture for each chunk.

It felt good. It felt real good.

 

[gktkd]

Almost as amusing

This afternoon isn't just hella' long, it's Saturday School long.

The free software I was using to write my screenplay corrupted Geo's computer to the point where we don't have his computer anymore. Another "Good Girlfriend" sticker for me. And now I have to reconstruct my vision, which is what I should have been doing rather than staring at my computer blankly, waiting for something interesting to sprout up.

 

[gktkd]

Let's kick it up a notch

This entry is to satiate all those who are desperate to hear me peek my head out of early political retirement.

I think the debate came down to four essential points:

1) Bush did not take responsibility for his mistakes- In his opening statement, he said: "We've upheld the doctrine that said if you harbor a terrorist, you're equally as guilty as the terrorist." That his stinking doctrine. It's called the friggin' BUSH DOCTRINE. But it doesn't apply to Saudi Arabia (cause they hold too much of this country in bonds), Pakistan (they're our allies like that mean bitch in 7th grade was your best friend), Iran (cause they actually have a weapons program that can hurt us), N. Korea (if you have the Bomb and I'm terrorized by the idea you could drop it on my head for something as simple as another bad movie from Ben Affleck (Heard Kimmy's a movie buff), you get to be a terrorist in my book too), Chechnya (they've got terrorists but at least they're white), Russia (Old Vlady is returning to his KGB tactics and locking up his political opponents (which he was doing pre-school shooting)), Montana (homegrown terrorists)... Considering that it's got more holes in than a fat man's colon, I wouldn't own up to it either. Point Kerry for drawing attention to the regional inconsistencies of the war on terror.

2) The definition and implications of "imminent threat": I loved that Bush felt the need to remind us that he does know that is was bin Laden who attacked us and not Saddam. Cause I bet a lot of people forgot after the months following September 11th when all you saw on TV was his anemic ass hiking through caves or his "image" rising in smoke from the towers. Classic! Default point for Kerry since he doesn't have to remind us that he knows what's going on.

3) A new plan versus more of the same: Kerry was clear in outlining his plan for Iraq and N. Korea. Bush laid out nothing. No next steps, no "I fucked up and now we're going to try this. I think you'll like it. Vote for me if you do." Point Kerry for being prepared.

4) Kerry didn't talk about or to the public (internationally and domestically) like they're stupid. He sounded like the history tutor who you studied with in the afternoon and then did bong hits with after hours. What says this is blood for oil like when Kerry said: "When you guard the oil ministry, but you don't guard the nuclear facilities, the message to a lot of people is maybe, 'Wow, maybe they're interested in our oil.'" No big words, no high concepts just a simple "They aren't stupid, folks. Maybe if we stopped treating them like they were, they wouldn't hate as us as much." Though the De Gaulle reference made me hop on my feet and do a cheerleader dance.

Bringing the election to two key factors:
1) The fucking undecideds- I have had it with campaigns planning their strategy around "undecideds", the political buzz word of the 90s that is now bleeding into this decade. Millions of dollars are spent on persuasion campaigns are ignored. Mailers are tossed or returned to sender. Television ads are pee breaks.

Undecideds do not throw elections. People know who they're going to vote for. They may not realize it until they're in line to vote, but they know by now. The only reason they've taken the time out of their selfish lives to vote, is because they know who they're going to vote for and they've known for months. They're just not admitting it until it has been proven to them that they've picked the guy whose going to win. No one wants to admit they voted for the also-ran. One of the reasons people to vote is to feel like they are on a winning team so after the election they can brag "I was officially 'undecided', but I always knew [insert name for guy who won] here was going to pull it out."

Same thing with these stupid swing states. It's not that they hold more "undecided" voters, they just house less momentum. Their state party organizations are probably poorly funded on one or more sides. The powers that be declare them "swing states" in order to convince active participants from more together states to travel to them in order to supplement their GOTV drive (I'll come back to this). The only true "swing" state is Florida because the fate of their EC votes is in the hands of Jeb. Can he pull two for two?

So can we stop pussyfooting around these weak willed fucknards and have an election steered towards voters who are brave enough to say in public "This is my choice. I may not stick to it, but right now this is my guy"?

2) GOTV (ala urban political warfare)- The coolest thing about working in politics is the blind ambition and optimism of election day. A solid GOTV (Get Out The Vote) strategy is what makes or breaks an election. It builds early. Field season begins in July and continues 80 hours a week until that glorious moment of relief. Every volunteer recruited gets called until they sign up for an election day slot. People beg their bosses for the day off of work to drive rental vans around their town. Shabby storefronts are manned with phone bankers and every inch of wall space is lined with maps, highlighters hung on a cord, and "the boards" (a list of who has voted, which later becomes the voter file which will tell you who voted for who when). This is what it's all about.

Republicans don't do much of a mobilization effort, because their base can be counted on to turn out, vote, and head home with no problem. Democrats only win when they've found the beat of the street. The campaigns don't spend time energizing their base because they want them to vote. The base will vote. You energize your base so that they want to feel part of the winning team and go out and do the dirty work on election day to pull out those who would totally vote for your guy if they had a ride, had time, been reminded (you wouldn't believe the number of people who wake up that Wednesday morning with the President elect picture on the front and smack their head for forgetting to vote), etc. That's where elections are won. Ohio will break our way if unions can energize their members who are in and out of work. PA will break if Kerry can energize the hopes of more urban voters (where the HELL is his federal renewal plan aka earmarking money for job training and childcare in urban centers?) and field staff can get them to the poles. I mean literally put people on a rented bus and shuttle them back and forth from polling precincts to low and moderate income housing.

Anyone who has ever talked about the state of politics and democracy ever, even with friends drunk in a bar, NEEDS to spend at least 3 hours of their life pulling voters on that great Tuesday. If you're our base, be the base. Do it in Brooklyn if you have to. Until you've talked a 71 year old woman into abandoning her "stories" and voting in her bedroom slippers, you're a fair-weather freedom fighter.

Alright bitches, I'm heading back in. See ya' in 2006 for Mantilla's Sec. of State run.

 

[gktkd]

On Friday, completely on a whim, I met my boy Stephen at Revival for cocktails. Fortunately (or unfortunately) Stephen and I can blow up the world with the power of our psuedo-intellectual drunky drunkeness. What started out as pints of Brooklyn Oktoberfest quickly became double gin on the rocks and maker's mark manhattens, lost cigarettes and cheeseballs at Coffee Shop The restaurant was my choice based on the following criteria:
1) More booze
2) Sitting outside
3) Appearance on Sex and the City

Drunky McDrunkenstein.

It was a joy to go out with a civilian (aren't I witty?). Stephen is writing a book about the comedic process and is using Street Meat as sort of a case study. He wants to interview everyone and maybe sit in on a rehersal [Shit, that's what the other thing I was going to bring up yesterday. Guess what, mijos? My friend Stephen wants to write a book using us as a case study. Ladies, he's fine. Gentlemen, he's one drinking the double gin on the rocks. Man's got style].

The next morning, I was not prepared to be spotted in public. Nevermind, go to class, but I did. My sweatpants had at some point decided to be super low rise, which is what you want when you're doing an organic warm-up that week in and week out results in you on your knees, bent at the waist and pounding the stage floor with your fists. I bet somebody does wants that.

Hmmmmm...

The next day at rehersal, I wore the same pants. Same problem. Did a scene with Billy and Cheryl, which I'm now trying to turn into a sketch cause it was so much freaking fun to play. The scene itself wasn't quality but fuck it, I'm having a good time.

 

[gktkd]

Gentleman, Good Morning!

I freaking love the fall. The light is brighter, the subway is not as stuffy and dank, Halloween, binging on all things Pumpkin and pecan, flannel is soft and all you need against the elements...but my number one reason I love the fall is I love the men of fall.

Plaid, short sleeve, button downs (ewww) get replaced with thick sweaters, pit-stained white cotton becomes jewel tone knits, shorts are packed away in favor of snuggly corduroy pants, blazers take their place as a light weight jacket, even long sleeves under short sleeves...

Hot.

 

[gktkd]

It's been a short life, cut me some slack.

I take the challenge, GDW! Though I'm not sure that was a challenge.

True or False:

1. I was once the nameless star of a minor political controversy that got picked up by the AP Wire and ABC News.
2. I have slept with someone who I downright despised.
3. I hate strip clubs.
4. I am a huge relationship game player
5. I constantly wear shoes that hurt my feet for fashion sake
6. I can't speak a lick of Spanish after living in a bilingual house
7. I have worked for Miss Cleo
8. I have slept with two different people in one 24 hour period.
9. My biggest fear is a flight of stairs
10. I didn't want to move back to New York and would still move if the conditions were right.
11. I went to a funeral where during the shiva, most of the people there called the deceased a "drunken asshole".
12. During my college orientation I was followed around by the girl who bullied me in 5th grade cause she didn't know any one but me.
13. I've gotten a ticket for going 96 through downtown Atlanta in the rain during rush hour with a bag of marijuana on the passenger seat.
14. I negotiate with the unnegotiables.
15. The dent in the front of my car was from when my car was hit by a junkie in the worst project in the poorest city in the nation.
16. The guy who broke my heart when I was 16, called every month for two years trying to convince me to marry him.
17. I slept with my step uncle
18. I have done bad things and thought "There goes a few more points on the purity test".
19. I refuse to drink regular vodka.
20. I've moved 8 times in three years.

Place your bets.

 

[gktkd]

I know after the awesomeness of the last post, you've been waiting with baited breath for this new installment.

A wise improviser once said that he watched one movie a day. I've seen like 12 movies. I'm exaggerating but the movies I haven't seen are the movies people consider classics. I have never seen Ferris Bueller, Space Balls, Sixteen Candles, Harold and Maude, Casablanca, any Bond movie not staring Pierce Brosnan, etc.

I feel like I'm in a creative rut. I'm not getting any better at improv but I'm not getting any worse. I come up with great screenplay ideas; the execution is horrible.

So I'm gonna watch more movies.

Fascinating.

So it began with "Supersize Me" on Friday night. I know this movie is old news, but that movie scared the ever living piss out of me. Geo and I sat our fat ass on the couch and sat mouth agape, knowing way too well the changes going through that poor soul's body. What did I learn from this one? I'm gonna die. The next day, I went to the Golden Arches, ate my usual, felt ill (Normally I got an iron casket of a stomach), puked it. I'm like Pavlov's dog for krissake.

Freakn' adorable.

Last night, I watched "Saved". Mandy Moore is incredible. She is so creepy and sad and funny in that movie. The movie itself was really hit or miss. And really it didn't even really matter cause all I cared about was how much sharper was the bad light in her eye going to get. It's hard to explain but worth your time.

When I get home, I'm gonna install my new and madly cheap final draft 6 (compliments of my girl, Yatesy!). I've been thinking about writing rituals. Everybody has one or two or someone who does the writing for them. I used to do all my writing while simultaneously playing online spades or at a specific smoky coffee shop.

Nerd.

But now I have no ritual. When I'm alone, I'm savoring being alone and therefore not writing. When I'm not alone, I can't write cause I'm not alone. Geo and I have discussed getting a two bedroom apartment, using the second bedroom as more of an office for me. But that's a whole lot of woulda coulda.

Speaking of woulda coulda, I think I have finally convinced myself to hammer that final nail into my political career and take those screw ups and cloudy memories and turn them into a one woman show. Now if I had only thought of this months ago when it would have been timely.

Hi-larious.

 

[gktkd]

The third debate is tonight and I'm prepared. Off the subway and into the bakery for their chickory goodness coffee (which is how I start and end my work day because it's the best I've had in New York). I'll probably linger for a few moments next to the shiny eggplant, trying to figure out the best way I'll fake that I would actually cook it. I'll get home, pack a bowl, play around with Final Draft (aka write 4 lines of my "spec script" and read all the televison templates with grand delusions in my head about how productive I will now be with the right software). Until nine comes.

Political debates for me is the Super Bowl, the World Series, and Wimbilden rolled into two and a half weeks of barbs and punditry. I yell, scream, high five when my guy scores the point. During 1996 debates, my mother got me an assortment of Nerf guns so that I wouldn't have to reload or break the TV. During 2000, I sat perched on a broken easy chair (roommates made me sit by the window), forty (OK a 32 cause those extra 8 ounces are illegal in FL)between my knees, chain smoking, straining the veins in my brain, trying to keep myself from shitting a literal brick, or laying it as my posture suggested.

Supposedly when I was seven, I used to make faces at Daddy Bush. When asked if I knew hat he was saying, I said I don't have to know what was going on to know he was evil.

Why do I get to remain right about this?

Oh yeah, cause I'm brilliant.

 

[gktkd]

I have founded the grossiest lunch ever: Baked Lays Chedder and Sour Cream with Reese's peanut. Around three thirty, I'm gonna crash harder than Aaliyah.

I've been trying to write this screenplay for like four days. I use the word "like" because I first put something down in Final Draft yesterday (granted I erased, wrote, erased, wrote... for two hours). The problem: I don't have a "Staaaaar". Whenever I've written anything character based (and let's be strghit that's all I've written- journalism is not exactly my forte) I have directly based the characters on people I know. In my bad college poetry, you know who the poem is about, by name, every stinking time. I am. That. Girl.

I know you really want my take on the third debate. Both candidates are fucking lame. Kerry isn't as lame, because Kerry is pro-choice. Vote for Kerry. Please send donations to...

So the problem is that I'm writing a romantic comedy (which will either be brilliant or a complete failure considering my borderline personality disorder when it comes to romance and the amount of Nora Ephron movies I've savored in my time) and I have no quirky love interest. Not me specifically, but who am I kidding if I say it's a coincidence that my main character is Reubanesque (for the sandwich, not the painter) with seriously poor vision and a blinding wit?

I can't use my boyfriend, cause you can't romanticize someone who you share outdated sponges with. What about my guy friends? Too old, that one's a DJ, yikes. Friends' boyfriends? Ew no. Street Meaters? Too weird (the situation, not the boys. Though it's a fine line between funny and weird :angel: ). Improv crushes? Quickly waning (the like-like crushs, not the "Did you fucking see the one where they..." crushs) due to increased knowledge of their stupidity. Another day, another burst of "Goddamnnit!"

God, can I only write when heartbroken, about to be heartbroken, or half-past bitter?

And then I found him in my mind when I was on the subway. I woke up as the N curved the slim hip around New Utrecht, dreampt of Chinese bakery coffee and it clicked in my brain. I won't explain to you my thinking process cause I'd rather wait until the movie is made for this stranger to sue me. But let's just say, he's HOT.

HOT in that sprawled on the coach, playing creepy XBox games, awaiting sticky deivery sushi.

A star is born.

 

[gktkd]

My ATM card was stolen this morning.

I went to the Washington Mutual ATM a block from my coffee obsession, retrieved some dinero for the day, reveled in the lack of ATM fee, retrieved my receipt, reveled in actually having a positive balance. As I walked out of the bank, a cutie walked in. I realized that the obnoxious beeping is because I forgot to pull my card back out of the ATM. The door latchs closed just as I turn around and see the cutie take my card out of the machine and pocket it.

No big deal, I think. He's busted and he'll give it up. I start pounding on the door. He turns around, shrugs at me, and goes on with his transaction (using his own card). I keep knocking until he opens the door to leave and steps outside.

"Dude, that's my card you just pocketed." I'm sweet, almost laughing.

"No, it's not."

"No, seriously. I left in the machine a minute ago and when I turned around I saw you pocket it." The situation just gets funnier. He's afraid he'll get in trouble.

"No, you didn't."

"I don't want any trouble. I just want my card."

He says nothing and starts trying to walk around me.

What followed was a 20 minute screaming match over the stupid card. Finally, we start drawing a crowd cause it must have been a laugh riot from the outside. When enough people had form a Fight Club circle around us, I said: "If you don't have it, show me your pockets."

He turned around pushed through the crowd and ran. I'm chunky and in flip flops. No one ran after him.

I get my coffee and tuna bun and enter the train station. My metrocard is sitting marking my place in a book...on my coffeetable. I take the little cash I have and get a new one.

Because I was running 30 minutes late, getting a seat was easy. Getting some stranger's coffee spilled on my thigh was even easier. The paper bag holding the golden cafe and glossy tuna bun ripping along the bottom, like fucking child's play.

I get to work and call the bank to cancel my card, in hopes that I frightened that jackass into not using it. I get connected to a call center in India (which now means I have to change my bank- damn principles, my direct deposit just went through). The lovely woman on the other end asks me to rephrase "My debit card has been stolen". Not repeat, rephrase.

At the end of the day, I'm going home and going to sleep.

 

[gktkd]

The unnamed female staffer returns

Spent 24 hours of my weekend in E. Hartford, visiting old campaign buddies. Did not get my VooDoo Child martini (midori, espresso, and something, complete with gummy bear skewered. The gummy skewered lovely used to be gummy babies but those quickly ran out of stock), which I didn't even realize until I was driving out of town, still mildly hung over. I didn't even drink that much. I blame the clean(er) air.

I caught up to speed on the latest in insider politics. I've been threatening to write a one woman show about that horrendous year of 2002 and they refreshed my memory enough that I think I'll have to do it in order to cleanse myself from the horror.

I bought CDs to celebrate my roadtrip which is a tradition I like to keep up with. I even made sure there was some variety. I bought Brian Wilson's SMiLE which I didn't pop in until the Bruckner but the calming effect was what I needed to fight my way through through. I picked up Bill Hicks Flying Saucer Tour Volume 1. The best part of that one is that the audience rarely laughs and it makes his impending crescendo of anger more apprapo. However, I got a little too high somewhere around the 2nd junction with 91 so I was already paranoid. His screaming didn't help. Luckily, I was armed with the Best Buy Blondie/Pat Benator split to bring me down. Snow Patrol took me through the Berlin Turnpike literally into the sunset.

I probably should have put that chronology in chronological order.

I probably should have not left those cds in my car since Geo borrowed it and will not be home until at least 9.

I'm skipping Molassi tonight (with a heavy heart) because I really need to spend some quality time with my computer, drafting one of the million projects I run my mouth about and never complete. I hate that I'm one of those "mostly talk" people. That's one of the reasons I'm so proud of Street Meat, which was fundamentally born out of a drunken conversation based around the idea that we were ready to do it up.

Unfortunately, the writing has taken a backseat to the pure improv. I don't think backseat is the right word. More like barely hanging on to the open tailgate. The problem is that when I do the improv, ultimately it's for my own amusement. And by ultimately, I mean when I do it well. Every show I've ever thought I did well in, it was because I was making myself crack up. Hence "the smirk", which triples my adorable quotient if not lessens my professional credibility. When I write, it's also to entertain myself. And some times my brain is freaking exausted by playing with itself.

It can happen. I'm not that much of an egomaniac.

No, really. Yes, I am.

 

[gktkd]

Why I didn't get anything done last night aka Why my friends are Asshats

So a week ago, there's a friendster bulletin board post telling me that some of my Floridian home boys will be in the City, bringing their rock to the Cutting room. There's no time on the post, so I email Lena. Lena writes me back saying she doesn't even know herself, so she'll call me when she knows.

Yesterday, I heard nothing and assumed the show wasn't on. Been known to happen and I didn't think anything of it. At 9:30pm, Joy calls me and says "When are you going to the show?" You can imagine my anger (cause I have the temper of a drunken bandito who was told that wasn't a worm he just ate on top of this "miscommunication"). Now imagine my anger when Joy says that she, Lena, Holly, and Alyson met said boys for drinks THE NIGHT BEFORE and whoops all 4 of them didn't think to call me (though one of them not calling me is totally understandable since I interupted everyone's conversation about the ironic return of spats at Union Pool to publically out her as a rambling Coke Whore). Awesome. My friends fucking love me.

These are the old college friends who I have nothing in common with and quite frankly, the last time we were all the same room, I talked to all 4 of them for a combined total of 25 minutes. A long kind of awkward twenty-five minutes. We don't hang out very often. Neither side really makes an effort to correct that problem. So I guess this shouldn't have surprised me.

And I'm lucky in the sense that I've been able to make wonderful friendships that do not feel the need to coast on history yet feel the need to constantly create more.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean my heart didn't break a little last night.

 

[gktkd]

Got an apology from Joyous today. Feel a bit better about it.

Knoly is coming in for the VU show. I am super excited. Too bad I already used my personal (aka hangover) day after the last VU when Puente and I strapped kegs of Yuengling and Brooklyn on like oxygen tanks.

Tonight, we'll be at Drinkytown which should be a big show, considering we've been hiding out for a few months. Strange timing considering what's going on with Filth (which I have no idea what's going on) and we're coming back for our first show since the wildcard Cagematch against them. I'm a tad sad cause I'm one of those asshats who says "I'll go to Harold Night next week" and then rarely go. But I've seen Filth the most out of all of them and they were the first improv show I saw (considering I didn't go to Harold Night until half way through my level 2). And they are sweethearts.

A tad sad I say.

 

[gktkd]

Harolds: @ 42 (How the hell can I have been doing this shit for a year solid and only have completed 42 Harolds?)

What a night.

STREET MEAT did its first show at Drinkytown, which was also only the second time in history we've all been in the same room together. Ever. For any and every reason.

Afterwards, we watched the game and drank too much. I got home at 2. I really wanted to go to VU tonight, but I think I would pass out before I would make it across Houston. I also, since I was rooting for Boston, was subject to a shitty shitty no chinese bakery commute. So I could kill you all right now and not blink.

I speak far too violently.

My boss sent me an email about keeping a cleaner desk. It was a snarky email, which I didn't think she had in her but I guess I've officially been slacking off too much.

Day One of Healthier House plan (at least for me, cause trying to get Geo to even think about it has been a nightmare) is doing well. Cheerios have replaced my blessed tuna roll, and I just finished my nine grain....God, this shit is boring. I'm quickly dissolving into people I hate.

 

[gktkd]

He's...my...first...mistake

If you're wondering, yes that is a reference to that "White Houses" song by Vanessa Carlton, which has a video featuring Miss. Carlton doing the worst modern dance I have ever seen. The song is no great shakes either. I was fortunate enough to not sucked into the glorified piano recital that was her last hit. This time, I wasn't as lucky. Lucky for my fellow Street Meaters I plan on purging my infected mental radio at Saturday's Karoke session.

I got into Snr. Eason's 4P Mystery class.

Awesome!