Today is actually Halloween, and I am so over it. I was invited to a party at ONE tonight, with mandatory costumes, and I refuse to go because I can't wear my damn costume one day more.
It started Thursday afternoon with my company's annual Halloween party. Nothing screams "Promote me!!" like seeing me dressed as a Candy Corn. Although numerous co-workers felt I should have won the prize in my costume, it went to a pair of pants. Literally.
Next up was Friday night, a loft party in Tribeca. We were greeted at the door by midgets dressed at Oompa Lumpas throwing us shots. The left wing liberal in me felt very uncomfortable exploiting those vertically challenged. The alcohol in me got over it.
Last up was Saturday night, my third night dressed as a damn Candy Corn. Had it not been so original and conversation-provoking, I would have tossed it. And the best part of the night, making friends with Sugar Daddy and M&Ms.
1) Do men refer to their organ as a cock to make it sound bigger? 2) When someone finds fault in someone else, do you really think it is because they are insecure about that area themselves? I don't think so... I just think it's fun to make fun of people. 3) How in the world did this woman give birth to twins with different skin color? 4) Why is Rush Limbaugh such an asshole? 5) Don't co-workers realize it can be inappropriate to tell you that "they're practicing" for a kid?
It's kind of funny. When I told people at work yesterday that I was going home to make Apple Pie, I felt like I was using a synonym for having sex. I probably have American Pie 1, 2 and 3 to thank for this one, and I actually like it. "Wanna make some apple pie tonight honey?" "My oven is hot for your apples." "Nothing beats a crusty outside like a warm, doughy inside." Ok, that's just plain gross.
Regardless, I did make apple pie last night, for the first time. I had gone apple picking in Connecticut on Sunday and had 11 apples up for the challenge. One apple corer, rolling pin, and pie crust mix later, I was good to do. But what a pain to peel and slice those apples. I was told that Williams Sonoma has some amazing tool that does everyone for you, but my apples would have rotted before I made it up to midtown.
Surprisingly, the pie turned out edible. Not great, as the apples were slightly crunchy, but the filling had the perfect combination of cinnamon and brown sugar. And the crust was flaky to a tee. Betty Crocker I am not, but I do have a second recipe in my baking repertoire.
In other news, I have my Halloween costume ready for its first showing at my company's Halloween party this afternoon. I never buy a pre-made costume, but this one was just too funny to pass up. I have parties tomorrow night and Saturday- is it wrong to wear the same costume the whole time?
Someone spent 51 minutes on my blog today. How I know, you may ask, is through the tracker at the very bottom of the page. With this amazing technology, I can track how many people click on my blog, how long they stayed, their city, and even their IP address (so yes, Leonard, I know when you read, and you too Jessica.) Unfortunately, for the rest of you with generic IPs such as rr.com, aol.com, etc, you are a mystery. I only get to know you through your few and far between comments. Many of you are anonymous.
Which of course comes with the territory of having a blog. I share every detail of my life in little snippets, and you, dear reader, swallow it in. But for some reason, it creeps me out when someone spends almost an hour reading about me. All at once. I feel like someone just walked in on me having sex. Alone. You are learning too much about me, too soon, in too short of a time period. I instantly go from stranger to the girl with relationship issues that looks like Demi Moore (thanks Myheritage.com) who set her mother up with her husband... you get the point.
So who ever you are, I hope you enjoyed what you read, you slack-off (an hour during the day- shouldn't you be working???) : )
In my dream last night, one of my best friends from high school had died. We had been out of touch for a while, and I was told of her death well past its occurrance. In reality, we really have fallen out of touch. She lives in Ithica with her girlfriend, and travels the country selling her very successful line of clothing DITC (dykes in the city.)
I have to laugh, though. When sharing this dream with someone, their immediate reaction was that perhaps I am killing off my inner lesbian. Perhaps I really have curiosity or interest, and am suppressing it. I wish.
I would probably have fewer relationship issues...
There are days where I want to disappear. No, not an a Girl, Interrupted, slit wrists kind of way. I just want to hide. Be a fly on the wall. Be invisible.
And it now seems that this wish might just come true some day.
"Scientists are boldly going where only fiction has gone before -- to develop a Cloak of Invisibility. It isn't quite ready to hide a Romulan space ship from Capt. James T. Kirk or to disguise Harry Potter, but it is a significant start and could show the way to more sophisticated designs.
The "metamaterial" cloak deflects microwave beams so they flow around a "hidden" object inside with little distortion, making it appear almost as if nothing were there at all. In this first successful experiment, researchers from the United States and England were able to cloak a copper cylinder. It's like a mirage, where heat causes the bending of light rays and cloaks the road ahead behind an image of the sky.
"We have built an artificial mirage that can hide something from would-be observers in any direction," said cloak designer David Schurig, a research associate in Duke University's electrical and computer engineering department.
The new work points the way for an improved version that could hide people and objects from visible light.
The cloak is made of metamaterials, which are mixtures of metal and circuit board materials such as ceramic, Teflon or fiber composite. In an ideal situation, the cloak and the item it is hiding would be invisible. An observer would see whatever is beyond them, with no evidence the cloaked item exists."
I always get excited when my friend Shana calls with a fun invite. As a media exec, the woman is thrown tickets to everything from concerts to fashion shows. The event on hand tonight: tickets to a Broadway show. More specifically, tickets to "Times They Are-A Changin," the new Bob Dylan/Twila Thorpe disaster.
I must admit to some skepticism before the curtains went down. After all, I am in the minority who hated Mamma Mia, and I wouldn't have paid even $5 to see Movin' Out. Shows force fed to fit a musician's lyrics just plain suck.
Tonight did not disappoint. The premise- a fable about a circus owner, his son, some runaway, and CLOWNS. I hate clowns!!! And not just clowns, large floats, men on stilts, jumping things- all to Dylan.
The show started at about 8:10. We walked out at 8:28. And sadly, I will never get those 18 minutes back....
Check out this new website, myheritage.com to see which celebrities you most resemble. I'm pleased with what they think for me! Demi? Debbie? Same thing, right?
Some people measure the success of their weekend by what they did. Personally, it's more fun to evaluate it by what I ate. Let's take this past weekend. A glorious, fall getaway in New Hampshire.
Friday night: Naked Fish restaurant, en route to Bristol, NH. Fried oyster appetizers, punpernickel bread with raisins, warm salad with scallops, goat cheese, and strawberries. For a main course, four of us shared Chilean sea bass atop a bed of e coli, I mean, spinach, with side dishes of sweet potatoes, green beans, plaintains, and beans and rice. White sangria.
Saturday brunch: We made homemade waffles (used the waffle iron) with chocolate chips, and scrambled eggs with onion, goat cheese and red pepper flakes.
Saturday dinner: After a 5 hour hike/mountain climb, we feasted on garlic bread, Greek salad, cheese fries, baked ziti, eggplant Parmesan atop spaghetti with meat sauce on the side.
Saturday dessert: Baklava, Hershey's ice cream- chocolate with chocolate covered pretzels filled with peanut butter, caramel, and almonds.
Sunday brunch: Egg and cheese melted on a toasted english muffin, hot chocolate beneath piles of homemade whipped cream, grilled corn muffins with butter.
GOD DAMN IT. I just wrote a very long post celebrating my 200th posting and the fucking thing got erased. I had a Top 10 Things About Having a Blog, and Worst 10 Things About Having a Blog, but I have no desire, or ability to recreate it. So onto another topic. Halloween.
Yes, I am 33 years old, and I still look forward to Halloween like a 16 year old jonesing for a blowjob. But with the excitement comes the added pressure to deliver in the costume department. As you loyal readers know, last year The Man/The Fool and I dressed as Katie Holmes (preggers) and Tom Cruise. We had custom-made t-shirts, Scientology books, sunglasses, the works. For a little while I even had Herpes on my lip, although people kept telling me my lipstick smeared so that wasn't as successful as I had hoped.
In prior years, I stood strong with my costumes: Figure Skater, Lunch Lady (in tow with 2 other friends,) Gym Class from the '80s. I won contests. But now, with Halloween two weeks away, I'm beginning to panic.
The Date and I might go out that night, which means couples costumes are a possibility. But these must be very original or they tend to fall into the gay or cheesy department. Here's what we have so far:
Man: "Baby, I want you. Fuck, why does this keep happening." Woman: "Don't worry about it. It's totally normal. It's probably just the stupid condoms." Man: "Let's try again." Woman: "Nah. Not in the mood. How about mutual masturbation?" Man: "Seriously?" Woman: "Yes" Man: "Can I come in your hand?" Woman: "If you really want to." Man: (Finishing...) "Ahhhh... Oops." Woman: "Crap. It went all over my sheets. (tries to finish but is having a hard time concentrating) Man: (Notices that Woman is focused on something else and starts hysterical laughing) Woman: What?? Why are you laughing? I'm trying to finish here." Man: "I know you are, babe. But I know that what is running through your head is that now you have to wash your sheets. And all you would rather do is grab a towel. You can't concentrate." Woman: "You're good. I keep thinking that now I have to stay home tonight and do laundry. Which is good as I haven't washed my sheets in two weeks. Wait, do I need to wash my gym clothes too?" Man: "You're not going to be able to finish, are you?" Woman: "Yes. I'll do it now. But go get a wet towel, would ya? Ahhhhh....."
Quite a few stories from this weekend, but I think I'll start with this one first...
I was invited to the Harlem Film Festival on Saturday by AJ, which I thought would be fun. I was then told that we were schlepping up to Harlem just to see two short films. Urgh. Yes, I love movies, but I really did not want to see an hour's worth of movies at 2pm in the middle of a beautiful fall Saturday. I tried to get out of it, but while I was hemming and hawing, I looked online to see what these two short films were. One was starring Adrien Grenier and one was written and directed by Adrien Grenier. Aquaman himself. That changed things.
It turns out that AJ's close family friend is cousins with Aquaman, and he was the producer of both shorts. It was all coming together. And this meant that there was a very good chance I was going to meet Adrien.
The movies were great. We saw a series of 5 short films, on a range of topics and genres. The two that AJ's friend produced were great- Across the Hall, and Euthanasia.
And what was even better: the personal introduction to Aquaman. Shaking his hand. Saying hello. Chatting about the movies. Getting lost in his blue, blue eyes. Going to dinner with his aunt and uncle. Hearing about the new brownstone he is building in Brooklyn. Being part of his Entourage.
Unbelievable. I actually might have a better chance of getting married if I was dead.... Dead Bachelors in Remote China Still Find Wives The New York Times
In villages like Chenjiayuan, Confucian family values are strong. But here in the parched canyons along the Yellow River known as the Loess Plateau, some parents with dead bachelor sons will go a step further. To ensure a son’s contentment in the afterlife, some grieving parents will search for a dead woman to be his bride and, once a corpse is obtained, bury the pair together as a married couple.
“They happen pretty often, especially when teenagers or younger people die,” said Yang Husheng, 48, a traveling funeral director in the region who said he last attended such a funeral in the spring. “It’s quite common. I’ve been in the business for seven or eight years, and I’ve seen all sorts of things.”
The rural folk custom, startling to Western sensibilities, is known as minghun, or afterlife marriage. Scholars who have studied it say it is rooted in the Chinese form of ancestor worship, which holds that people continue to exist after death and that the living are obligated to tend to their wants — or risk the consequences. Traditional Chinese beliefs also hold that an unmarried life is incomplete, which is why some parents worry that an unmarried dead son may be an unhappy one.
A little Cherokee boy asked his grandfather to tell him a story. The grandfather said that inside of us, there are two wolves that are always fighting. One wolf is everything evil: anger, fear, jealousy, envy, selfishness. The other wolf is everything good: peace, happiness, giving, love, hope. The little boy was very confused by this and asked his grandfather which wolf wins. To which the grandfather replied, "the one that you feed."
After breaking up with someone, it is only natural to analyze the course of the relationship. The warning signs. The red flags. It is so easy to map the pieces together and usually, it all makes sense. But it's even scarier when you look at all your past relationships, and see the same patterns again and again.
For me, my boyfriends are emotionally constipated. They can give. But it's not enough, even if they try and try. And it's not that I expect too much. I don't want to be put on a pedestal; I just want to be adored. But I settle for less. Again and again.
Of course, occasionally there comes along the man who is giving. He's genuine, and real, and gets me. He probably has emotional diarrhea, to continue to metaphor (or perhaps he's just regulated.)
And all I want to do is run.
It's hard to understand why I do this. Why I am so self-destructive. I spend hours wondering if the issue lies deep within my self-conscious, or if the person really is not just the one for me. Why I find a million and one things wrong with him, that are all so superficial, and fixable. Why I would settle for a man who I have to fight for love, versus jumping for joy to meet someone that actually has love to give.
