Again!

Another Harvard Sailing Team video up on Dot Comedy! Now we have two videos up on their home page, which is pretty great.

(Btw, there are more videos on our myspace page, if you like videos.)

Nice.

NBC Universal has a comedy website called Dot Comedy. After several face to face meetings and what I'm sure were many phone calls and emails, they wanted to purchase some of Harvard Sailing Team's videos. This was awesome news because we love making videos and we love when that equals fame and fortune. The first video they bought is up on their site now. And I'm in it. That's me, above, doing some serious acting with my main bitch Clayton. Pretty neato. :)

But!

I didn't want sugar in the iced coffee mister! I said no sugar, not yes sugar. And I certainly can't go back down there to ask you for new coffee! Who will answer the phones? Ohhhh...I really can't drink it with the sugar in it. I really want to, trust me, but I really can't. Every sip feels like it's >sip< rotting >sip< my >sip< insides. Dramatic? Perhaps. But if you don't like sugar drinks you just don't. Who wants this iced coffee? I'm sure it's delicious.

Health Watch

Am I srsly eating (and enjoying) a hummus sandwich from Pret? I srsly am. It's pretty good. I did go pick some cheese from some sandwiches we had at work on Friday out of fridge and stick it on my plate, but cheese, veggies, hummus, and grainy bread for lunch sounds like I'm a healthy rabbit.

I could really use it after this weekend's Eat 2007 Festiganza.

That's not a real festival. That's just a made up festival that I celebrated this weekend without telling anyone else that there was a festival going on.

On Friday night, before we saw our friends in Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind (which was good and interesting) we went to FriendHouse, which we love. We ate a fuckin boatload. And to think, he almost ordered an additional entree to compliment the 7 other plates of food we'd requested, but thought better of it at the last minute. Phew.

Then, Saturday, I surprised him by navigating us to this amazing Italian place I mentioned yesterday. And we ates and we dranks and then we saw a movie during which we also ates and dranks.

Yesterday I decided I was never eating again, after which I had tapas and sangria with Daniel in Astoria. And snacks later. And some of Friday's leftovers after that. And then an ice cream novelty. I'm not pregnant, I just play one on tv.

Ridiculous.

But delicious.

So today I must be nutritious. And drink diet colas. And tomorrow I must exercise.

True Crime Sunday

My birthday is one month from today. Yessssss.

My mom's birthday was yesterday. She turned 46. She turned 19 on October 6, 1980, and had a baby a month and a day later. Can you imagine? She's awesome. I sent her flowers. Her hubby took her to see The Producers. I love my mom.

Kevin's dad's birthday was also yesterday. Kevin is visiting his parents today. Birthdays are for celebrating.

My cat has some sort of psychological problem, I think. He has an obsession with a blue bouncy ball. And he cries and moans if you won't play with the ball with him. (He fetches it. Obsessively.) And he cries and moans and bites people in the middle of the night. He's been keeping Kevin awake for hours. I woke up in the middle of the night last night and Kevin was sitting up on the side of the bed, looking really defeated. I got the sense I'd woken up in the middle of a desperate moment in his life. The whole thing is pretty stressful, but thinking about it right now makes me laugh. Anyway, I have to take the damn cat to the vet.

I'm doing nothing today. I'm getting a mani/pedi, I'll go workout later even though I rillyrilly don't wanna. And I'll hang out with Daniel later tonight.

I slept IN today. Sleep tonight is a long way away.

My friend Steve and I are doing a two person improv show this Friday evening. Maybe I'm nervous, maybe I'm not. Who knows.

I saw Michael Clayton last night. I really liked that movie. I really liked it a lot. We also had dinner at a place called Celeste on 84th and Amsterdam. It was small, loud, and we had to wait 25 minutes to get a table, but the food was so so delicious and it was so cheap! It was a recommendation of Chris and Rebecca's. And while we were there, Rebe's roommate and best friend Sonya showed up with her parents who're visiting from Miami! We barely got to say hello, the place is so bustling. While we were waiting outside for our table, I overheard a bunch of people who walked by with their friends say something like, "This place is amazing," or "This is Celeste, it's supposed to be incredible." It was. I had a lot of fun. And wine.

I also lost my wallet last night. This happens once every two months. It's just how it is.

a little late and irate

(Hey! My blog was a year old last month and I didn't even realize it! Okay. At 12noon today I'm throwing myself a Blog Birthday Party. I'll celebrate by surfing the internet.)

Isn't it cliche to bitch about the transit problem in New York? Tough. This might be the most cliche thing you've read all week. Leave this website now if you can't handle the obviousness of it all.

FUCK YOU, MTA. Seriously. FUCK youuuuu. I actually hate you. I'm talking actual hate. And I'm not the only one, ya hear? At one point this morning, during my hairy, ugly commute (a commute who's only consistency all week long, whether I'm coming from Brooklyn or Queens, has been its close resemblance to every horror film I've ever seen) I glanced around me at the sweaty New Yorkers becoming more miserably acquainted by the second with platform they'd been damned to wait on all morning long, at the train passengers sitting on the stalled-and-definitely-not-leaving-the-station-any-time-soon train for what would probably end up being another ten (FUCK YOU, MTA!) minutes, at the people people everywhere who just want to get to work you awful transit system - we just want to get to OUR JOBS - and I noticed that at least a quarter of the people were visibly shaking their heads in silent, defeated disgust. It's a common sight to see a disgruntled straphanger shaking their head in silent, defeated disgust. And that, my dear transit authority, means YOUR SYSTEM ISN'T WORKING SO WELL.

When I can generously estimate that 25% of the people who use your system are unhappy with it, you need to rethink your business model. If you were a real business, an actual business that ran and functioned the way capitalism dictates that most american businesses function, you'd have been run into the ground by now. But we don't have a choice, we citizens of this fair city. Do we. And you take advantage of that like we're a school girl in ripped prom dress who's had too many wine coolers. You suck. You suuuuck. YOU SUCK. I actually fantasize about physically harming your employees. That's no good. That doesn't a peaceful city make. You create a rage and an anger in all of us that just doesn't need to exist. Because we're pissed off enough having to pay upwards of $12 for a sandwich and bottle of water.

In 2006, the US Census estimated that there are approximately 8 million people in New York City. That's a lot. So I'm gonna do some layman's math right now, just for shits. Let's say 1 million of those people use the subway per day. I'm sure it's more like 3 million, but I want to be really generous with my estimation. So if 1 million of them ride the subway ONCE a day (it's probably more like twice, but again, I'm trying to you paint you in the best possible light, MTA) that's $2 million PER DAY in your pocket. That's $10 MILLON PER WEEK IF WE DON'T COUNT SATURDAY AND SUNDAY. THAT'S $40 MILLION PER MONTH. ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU CAN'T PUT, OH, TWO MORE TRAINS ON THE TRACKS DURING MY MORNING COMMUTE FOR $40 MILLION A MONTH? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? ARE YOU USING ACTUAL PAPER DOLLAR BILLS TO FILTER THE COFFEE IN YOUR OFFICE KITCHEN OR POT THE PLANT AT THE RECEPTION DESK OR PAPER THE WALLS OF YOUR CONFERENCE ROOM?

FUCK. YOU.

And naturally, the real solution is for me to leave my house 15 minutes earlier each morning. I feel rather indignant about that - I shouldn't HAVE to - but fine. Just because I can conceivably get somewhere on time in 30 minutes doesn't mean that the MTA WANTS TO MAKE ITSELF USEFUL FOR THINGS LIKE EFFICIENT TRANSIT. Good thing they do other helpful things like have nice stations and functioning speaker systems in their - wait a minute. So I suppose I must choose to begin to account for their delinquency by cutting into my precious morning minutes and leaving earlier. That does not seem worth $2 a ride to me.

Phew. I feel a centimeter better. If you read that whole thing, you win.

In other less irate news, I'm thrilled it's Friday. I need to catch up on some sleep. Had a nice chat with the ol' bf last night, but we were up pretty late. He's a gem though, that guy. I'm pretty crazy about him.

Tonight: A show I've been meaning to see. Tomorrow: The beach! Sunday: We rest.

gotta be fo me

I have no idea who still reads this thing. Even when I send the boyfriend the link to share with him one thing or another, I'm pretty sure he only skims through to see if his name is in the entry. He's like that. Maybe I'll start calling him Rick in these entries so that he never finds his name when he skims through. I would delight in that in a mean way. I'm like that.

Kidding, Rick. Love.

Being back in an environment that suits my headspace has been really soft and comfortable and feels like getting into bed after a long day of swimming and running around the park. I'm now able to be productive in personal ways that are hugely important to me and I don't feel like I'm suffocating under the weight of anyone else's insanity. That's also hugely important. I don't take so well to insanity. I'm also enjoying my life outside the work place a lot more than I was befo. It's important for a lot of reasons including things like friends and lovers.

Along with this blessing of freedom comes the curse of freedom. You who struggle with that dichotomy know what I mean. Luckily, I'm older, wiser, more patient, less angry and generally more capable than I was when I used to have the freedom of this job, so I anticipate that I will wear it better than I did before.

I've been reading a lot of blogs lately. New blogs, old blogs. It's an oh-so-favorite pastime. I love getting hooked on some unsuspecting stranger's, oh, say, May 2004 entries and reading until my eyes cross. I'm captivated by getting 'a sense' of a person. I realized this about myself last night when I began asking my friend Steve P. question after question about his father and his parents and what they're like and how they relate to him and to one another. I could ask anyone anything all day long. I thrive off asking people questions and listening to their answers and discovering that I have more questions based on what they've said. I'm curious. It's my nature. I oft (too oft) fantasize about officially conducting an interview series so that I'd feel a little less creepy about stopping Interesting Person X on the street and asking them at least ten questions about where they're going, what they're doing there, why they're making that face, if they know they're making that face, and how many siblings they have.

So the blog phenomenon (can it be called a phenomenon? i say no.) is right up my alley. I don't get to learn things on my terms necessarily, which is its own wonderful struggle, but I do get to absorb a great great deal of information about a person's experience as a human on this planet. And I can glean even more information about them based on what they haven't chosen to share. It's drool-inspiring. And if we're all lucky, they've got photos too!

But it also gives me a strange inferiority thing, the over-reading of blogs. Makes me sit and ponder whether or not I'm doing enough creatively with my own writing. Makes me wonder whether or not I actually have anything interesting to contribute to this interconnectedweb or whether I'm just writing to hear the click of my own keyboard. Does it fucking matter? Naturally not. And this thing's gotta be just fo me. Ya know? I'm this. I'm this exact person.

Twenty-seven, and all of you who've been there done that can commence eye rolling now, is definitely the age which, as it approaches, has caused me the most reflection and the most well-well-well-look-who's-actually-getting-older-and-cooler sense of myself than any other approaching age has in the past. And I've probably said that every single year since I was 15 and I'll probably say it for at least the next 90.

Comin' Up

A lot goin on.

Last Thursday, September 27, marked an anniversary which I let completely pass me by without realizing what was what. It wasn't until the following morning that it dawned on me that I'd missed the day. It's an important day to me, although it might seem like a goofy thing to keep track of. It is the day I started Weight Watchers and began the ol' journey toward losing 100 pounds. Yip. Tis. And Thursday marked five years since that day. It's a big deal for me. Five years later, I weigh myself maybe once a month, I write down what I eat so I can remember it later when I'm wondering if I should bite into six donuts at once, but beyond that, I don't do much tracking or record keeping anymore. I'm able to make good food choices naturally and best of all, I still exercise. And I enjoy it. Oh yeah and I've kept the weight off. So I'd say that mess has been cleaned up and cleared away to the best of my ability. Five years later, done and done.

I was on vacation last week, as you'll recall, and it was loveleh. I had a really great week off, got a lot done, reorganized myself in a variety of ways, did plenty of exercising, cleaning, tidying, dish-doing, hung with mah man, watched tv and performed in our shows and ate good meals and he took me on a little day trip up the Hudson and it was really a nice time. And this morning I woke up very comfortable with the idea of returning the work force. New-old job is just fine.

Naturally, as things go, I will have to save my pennies for a few weeks (or for the rest of time) and be frugal and aware of what I'm spending, since I'm desperate to pay off some debts by November 1. And there will be an adjustment because I won't get out of work until 7pm every day. But listen, I like this place and I don't mind the work and the job serves its purpose in my life which is to afford me the fiscal opportunity to play in comedy shows for no paychecks.

I'm intent on turning 27 (which will happen on November 7) as a confident, comfortable, joyful, relaxed young lady. I feel older and more self-organized and self-aware than ever. I love the month of October, I love the fall, I love that guy I sleep with (his friends read this blog so I'll spare you the lovestruck language), I love my cat, and I'm feeling well-rested and eager to tackle the next.

Today.

Was the first day of my vacation. I woke up this morning in the 7 o'clock hour and smiled, thinking of all the people at the job I left last week, working working away already. I was thrilled to be in bed instead.

I got up and did laundry today. And had brunch with Kev. Then I grocery shopped, cleaned up my apartment and did the dishes and dressed the bed and vacuumed, and Daniel can home from San Fran and I chatted with him. I have some more things I want to accomplish tomorrow. And some things I want to think about.

Have you ever seen the pick up artist on VH1?

Watch it.

Oh definitely.

The job is over.

I'm a very happy quitter.

A huge weight has already been lifted.

I got home from work around 2 today. And now I'm about to walk out the door of my apartment to go to my old acting school to teach some students about sketch comedy. Funny, that.

>sighs, grins, sleeps<

one more to summer

I cannot get out of here soon enough. I mean, I seriously cannot get out of here soon enough.

You know how sometimes you'll move through life tolerating something? Like, something you think you have to stand because you simply have to and it's not gonna end any time soon so rather than let yourself feel how you really feel about whatever it is, you just steel yourself to the fact that you have to learn to tolerate it because that's ultimately easier and healthier (or so you've decided) for your psyche than walking around bemoaning your never-ending troubles all day long. People do it all the time - with relationships they should have gotten out of years ago but didn't, with friendships they know deep down are no longer functional, with their lifestyle choices, like drugs or weight issues or health issues, and naturally, with jobs they know they should escape - people tolerate less than. People create normalcy around something that doesn't deserved to be normalized in their lives. People let themselves be okay with stuff that isn't okay. Because it's what people do.

But then...you know how sometimes you'll suddenly realize you've been tolerating something that you just don't have to fucking tolerate anymore? Something will click inside you or something will happen to shift life's circumstances around. And suddenly the whole world opens up like a giant oyster and reminds you that you don't have to do, be, live, think, eat, or feel a goddammed thing you don't want to do, be, live, think, eat, or feel.

And when that click or shift finally happens, along comes with it the realization that whatever thing you've been tolerating, whatever thing you've been subgigating yourself for, is actually a lot less worth tolerating than you thought. And your true feelings come rushing forward like a giant wave of salty ocean water. And you remember who you are without this albatross around your neck. And you wonder why the fuck you ever thought it'd be a good idea to stick it out in the first place.

I guess sometimes you have to stick shit out.

And sometimes you're done sticking it out and you have to get outta your own way and let that giant salty ocean water wave knock you down and soak your clothes and tangle your hair and fill your mouth and burn the inside of your nose, so that when the wave receeds back into the sea, you're left standing there, small, insignificant, blinking the sun out of your eyes, grinning, really glad to that you caught the bus to the beach.

Darling, it's been too long.

Well. I'm sleepy. So there's that. I should probably start by telling you that.

But I'll tell you the best news. I quit my awful job.

Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssss I did.

I gave my notice on Tuesday. They asked me to "give it another week" before I made a final decision. I said I would, but I mostly knew that my decision wouldn't be changing. I'll tell them on Monday that Friday is still my last day. (I would've told them earlier, but they've all been out since Wednesday afternoon for the Jewish holiday.)

The events leading up to my quitting will remain some of the most memorable in my professional life's history. Basically:

The crazy woman flipped OUT at me, completely unprovoked, when she couldn't successfully connect our boss, who was in Boston at the time, to a conference call. While she was throwing her temper tantrum (she threw shit, far and hard, across the room), stomping around, slamming doors, I figured out the conference call so that nobody got their butts ripped off by the boss man. This infuriated her. She told me I always pretend like I don't know how to do something and then wait til the last minute to save the day so that I can come out looking like the hero. Among other hilariousawful shit. So, based on her fury over this scenario, she then proceeded to enact what I like to call the Get Someone Fired Show for the next 3 days. I'm not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. You wish I was. I wish I was. I'm not.

The Get Someone Fired Show is a show I've witnessed several times before, but I've never been the 'someone.' Boy oh boy was I the someone this time. I won't regale you with all the unpleasant details – it was uuugly. But I will tell you my favorite favorite part:

After she spent two solid days performing the Show, slamming the doors to various conference rooms to make phone calls to or have meetings with various coworkers to tell them how awful I am (and I know because I CAN HEAR YOU EVEN IF THE DOOR IS CLOSED EVEN IF I'M NOT TRYING), whispering to anyone and everyone while gesturing in my direction, she finally got our boss on the phone, who was still in Boston, to tell him to fire me. Now, our boss likes me. And I should probably add that I'm a stellar employee at this place. I am here exactly on time every day, I work hard, I am always polite and pleasant and helpful. So she couldn't convince him that I had done anything wrong, let alone anything job-termination-worthy (probably because he's not a complete idiot). And it was frustrating her more and more by the second, enraging her really. She was yelling and screaming shit about how I "never do any work" (which I hear her yell while I'm sitting at my desk covered in work) and a whole ridiculous host of other accusations that couldn't be further based in the opposite-of-reality. But then the kicker, the real kicker. This sixty something mentally unwell mean horrible lady actually said to the multi-million dollar, no-nonsense President who doesn't give a fuck about anything but making money for his huge construction company, "…and if you think this is about me being jealous of her because she's young, it's NOT! I could get fifty fucking men faster than she could!"

As if the Universe weren't already marvelous enough, it sent me a great signal later that week in the form of a phone call from an old job that I loved and only left because I'd been there a year and I needed more money. They need me to come back indefinitely until I want to move on to some place else. And they will pay me the same thing I'm making now. And I don't have to be at work until 10am every day.

Sold.

Rrrrrrromance. (That's 'romance' in Spanish.)

After our zipcar trip up the Hudson last night, Daniel, Randy, Kevin and I stopped for ice cream cones. I was eating mine in a hurry, but I had at least five solid bites of the delicious cone left (and if I'm being honest with myself, those five bites are my favorite ice cream cone bites) when I dropped it on the pavement. Yes. That.

And without even missing a beat, my very sweet and generous boyfriend stuck out his arm and handed me the very last bite of his own delicious cone.

This, ladies, is what you're looking for in a man, whether you realize it or not.

i might get fired someday over these posts who cares

I had two glasses of wine last night after the Baldwins show; I haven’t really been drinking much in recent weeks. The first year or two that I was hangin around improv folk, I was out at the bar a lot more often than I am now, and I’d probably have a few drinks every time, but oof, you can only do that for so long. So now I only really go on Wednesdays and Saturdays, after improv and HST shows, with a few exceptions. And I’ll only have a drink or two, if any, (except for LIT night, right Clayton!? >pukes<) and last night was the same. Two glasses of Chardonnay, and I only had the second glass because Steve the manager bought it for me. THE POINT IS, I have a wee headache this morning from just the two glasses! Silly.

Psycho’s on the war path this morning. She’s been huffing and puffing and exasperatedly sighing all morning long, slamming doors and banging things around, snapping at people and whispering to whomever she can pull aside. And then she stopped dead in her tracks, looked up in a huff and said in a whine, “Do you pray for me?”

Oh gawd.

She meant it too, as a genuine query. She wasn’t just being rhetorical or facetious. Soon she’ll start laughing manically and acting like we’re all soulmates. She’s like a huge child that you have to ignore because there’s no other way for her to understand that her behavior is intolerable.

She’s out tomorrow. This is a blessing beyond blessing.

I feel like I’ve gotten through the thickness of this week and am just gonna sit pretty for the next few now. In case you want to read my preplans about it (tickticktick): Tonight, Dan, Randy, Kev and I will have an evening adventure upstate somewhere. We’re grabbing a zip car and we’ll just drive up the Hudson, chill out, and drive home when we’re sick of it. I’m looking forward to it because I never get to hang out with this iteration of friends and I happen to enjoy them each quite a lot, so all at once is thrice the fun. Then tomorrow, she’s out, which is bliss for me, and then I have a few things to do in the evening. And then Saturday morning I’m off to Chicago. I’m really looking forward to being at home – hoping the weather will be slightly cool, for a taste of fall – sitting on my mom’s couch, having a snack, seeing my family, laffing, catting with the cats, generally being my old Midwestern self.

p.s. Baldwins had a good show last night, I really enjoyed it. We’re finally finding our groove and it feels purdy good.

fruit and mattress

- fruit tastes good
- my mattress feels good
- thanks for foolishly giving me your mattress, Daniel
- i like smooching
- tongue sandwiches smell like pastrami but it still makes me barf to know i'm smelling tongue (a woman in my office eats tongue at least twice a week)
- going to Chicago on Saturday
- excited about it
- my hair feels really nice lately
- i have twiddled my hair (or my mother's hair) since i was an infant, no joke
- maturation feels good
- i'll be 27 soon, that's pretty adult sounding
- Daniel and Randy and Kevin and i are taking a zip car somewhere tomorrow night
- for fun, that's why
- people in the construction industry yell a lot
- we, as a nation, ARE. SO. WASTEFUL.
- i hate throwing away paper
- i'm definitely a child of the mid-eighties recycle everything movement
- cats

I just ate, how am I hungry?

I sort of love this morning. I got very little sleep last night – getting home from improv/bar stuff at 130 or so, and not getting into bed until 2 – but for some reason the lack of sleep isn’t that painful.

I mean, check in with me around 6pm when I have to go to HST practice and Baldwins practice from 630 to 1115, collectively. Oof, that might be a challenge.

But it’s so cool and fall-like here in the city for the last few days - what could possibly be wrong with life? I have always adored the fall, in that sentimental, nostalgic, football game sense. There’s a bittersweetness to it that makes everything sad feel sadder and everything happy feel like perfect sweet apple pie life. Plus kisses.

The crazy lady at my job might have quit. More on that later. But she’s not here this morning, at least, and it feels like a taste of freedom I haven’t known since she started here 6 weeks ago. Now give me a raise, dammit.

And to make matters more interesting, I’m going downtown on my lunch break to see about another job. It’s a year long freelance job I already landed at the beginning of the summer, but the start date kept getting pushed back. When I got this new gig, I never told the freelance job I would be unavailable when their start date finally rolled around, just in case it didn’t work out here. Well, things are finally “moving forward” with the freelance job and they want me to come back and meet with them to discuss. So I’m going. It seems the responsible thing to do. Keep the connection open, as Kevin would say. I’ll see what their deal is, what the hours will be like. I can’t imagine I’ll decide to switch jobs, but I want the option available to me if I need it. The place I’m working at now is notorious for a high turnover. People stay here months, not years, and walk out for good one afternoon without looking back. If/when I leave this place I hope to be more graceful about it than that but the harsh reality is that this place pushes grown men with families, families who’re depending on their six figure salaries, to abandon their desks mid-afternoon in tears. So perhaps if the other option looks more appealing, I’ll consider the switch.

I could have just as easily summed that all up by simply saying, “I might change jobs, I might not. I have to go see a guy about it today.”

It feels like fall out there!

I’ve already written several updates that never got posted. I have a habit of doing that.

The vacation was, all things considered, quite lovely, and there was a 14 month old baby along for the ride which is, although I’m sure many will disagree with me, a great way to vacation. I enjoy a nice baby every now and again.

I’m working working working. It’s gotten easier for a host of reasons: 1. I don’t care anymore. 2. The desks got moved around and it’s made my life a lot easier. A LOT easier. 3. 8am isn’t as early as it was at first. I’ve been at this for 7.5 weeks (I added that up just now, I haven’t been keeping track, or keeping a daily count, or carving a chunk of flesh out of my thigh each day – I haven’t!) and 8am doesn’t feel like death any more. I’m sure there are people in the world who have to get up at 4am to be at work by 6am, and for that I’m very sorry, but I’m notoriously anti-early-morning and an 8am start-time was painful at first, even if that sounds lame. But then I got real and came to terms with the fact that it’s just not that early. Apparently that’s called ‘adapting.’

I’ve also done a major clean of my bedroom and Daniel and I worked on some of the common spaces. Major accomplishments were made. And it has done wonders for my psyche. We’ve thrown out probably ten big garbage bags filled with crap. And beyond one pang of regret a day later over throwing out an expensive leather bag I kinda still liked, my show-no-mercy declutterization hasn’t had any negative repercussions. The streamlining of my crap has been a welcome change. And I’m doing more each day and trying to keep up with the tidying up each day. Tonight’s tackle: CLOTHES. Oof.

I’m also enjoying the cool weather. And mah cat. And mah man. And I’m going home for Grandma’s 75th b-day extravaganza which is over Labor Day. Stoked about that. Family is nice.

Dings for everyone.

vacate.

I'm on vacation. In the Berkshires. It is wonderful. I was here over the weekend, had to go back to work in the city on Monday and Tuesday, and returned tonight after work; Kev picked me up from a train station and now here I am at the hotel.

I'm very pleased. Perhaps even thrilled. And happy to be thinking of nothing but relaxing for the next five days.

Bye.

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

That concert was AWESOME.

That was the perfect way to spend a Thursday night. I had a FUCKING BLAST.

Pretend there's a photo here.

Thanks Jess...

...for your comment. It actually made me feel a lot better. (And btw, I think you commented a while back and I never responded. Thanks for that one too.)

It’s funny because as I was writing that post last night, I was actually thinking of you. (You, whom I barely know.) Because I remember you writing things like that before – that you need two weeks away from everything. We are same.

I’m feeling better today, internet. Writing that last night probably helped a lot. And my coworker was in her usual miserable form today but somehow it slid more easily off my back.

Speaking of, I’d like to refer everyone to the comment left by “irritated” on yesterday’s post. I think that might be my first ever experience of a drive-by-inappropriate-blog-comment! which I know all you seasoned bloggers are old pros at receiving. (Btw, if you ever want to read some doozies of nasty comments go to Dooce's blog. That poor woman gets more nasty hatemail…But she wonderfully weaves the best hatemails into hilarious posts on her blog every month or two. I love her.) Luckily, I’m relatively easy going about meanies, so it wasn’t terribly upsetting, but if you have a second, take a glance at it. I’m pretty proud of it – as it’s my first ever.

Oh and I should add, I might take some stock in what “irritated” had to say if I hadn’t written a post just inches down the screen with the title “Happy As Clam.” Somehow I feel like that and other positive entries preclude me from having to justify job stress. Waaaait a minuuuuute…do you have me second guessing myself, irritated? Certainly, no. Back to regularly scheduled self-assurance.

p.s. Beastie Boys concert in Bklyn tonight! Whuuut!