My older sister just called me her ‘little sister’ and while this maybe seems completely normal to people with families and siblings etc, it was weird to me. I guess I just never considered that I was someone’s little sister, you know?
PS I have an older sister, if you didn’t know.
Dear Whoever took my laundry out of the dryer before it was done so you could put yours in,
You’re lucky. You know why? I almost opened the door to your dryer so that when you came down to retrieve your laundry, it would be damp and wrinkled, just like mine was after you left it on the table. But I didn’t, I didn’t even leave a note. Know why? It wouldn’t make a difference. You’re probably the kind of person who leaves an empty milk carton in the fridge, aren’t you? You don’t hold the door to the building even though you know someone is coming up the stairs. You ignore a clogged toilet, letting your roommate handle it, don’t you?
I can tell that’s the kind of person you are. Because only that specific brand of jackass wouldn’t wait ten minutes until someone’s laundry was done in the dryer. No, they’d manhandle my clothes and leave them to wrinkle in a pile. I hope you got back to whatever was so important you couldn’t wait ten minutes. I hope in that ten minutes you found a cure for cancer, or stopped a kid from putting his finger in a light socket.
But I’m not mad. Just because I had to lay out my clothing to dry and then iron it is no reason to be peevish, right?
I’m just glad I didn’t inconvenience you. Next time, though, I might not be so nice.
Regretfully yours,
Girl whose laundry you ruined.
- New Roommate is moved in and settled, and perfectly lovely.
- Coco is lying in the animal hospital, where she’s been for a week. She is most likely dying. And it’s very upsetting.
- Went home for long weekend, loved every minute of it, with the exception of the enforced sibling time.
- Desperately need a haircut…thinking of taking the sweepy bangs risk.
- Still have no idea what to do with my life.
What’s new with you?
Days like today, when 8:30am looks like 9:30pm, should be spent in bed with ice cream and BBC’s Pride and Prejudice*. They certainly should not be spent at work, trying to dry off after your morning commute. There should be no commuting when it’s raining this hard.
My coworker was caught on the E train coming in from Queens when they decided to suspend service. He was stuck below ground in a tunnel for 3 hours, standing. This is why I take the bus. I like being able to see outside, and I like the option of getting off a few stops early if I feel like walking.
And even though I’d like nothing more than to curl up tonight with Harry Potter 6 and Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, I have plans to meet the roommates for a restaurant week dinner. But I’ll be having ice cream for dessert.
*I don’t care how good you say the new version with Keira Knightley is, I won’t watch it.
I’m relieved to find that those arm things on ellipticals actually do give your arms a workout. Since my reluctant return to the gym (yesterday) I’ve winced (in a good way) every time I move either arm back or forth. Clearly this is a sign that I am truly out of shape and need to start pilates again, to get back my able-to-support-own-body-weight arms. And also, to look hot at the wedding.
Also witnessed at gym: skinny girl drinking iced coffee while on elliptical. Seems unsafe.
Blame this random entry on the fact that I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately.
I was reading on another blog about the writer’s discovery of someone putting french fries in their burger, and how she had never thought of doing that. Doesn’t everyone do this? Not necessarily with french fries and burgers, but with chips on sandwiches? I distinctly remember a period in 7th grade when you weren’t cool unless you put potato chips in your sandwich (turkey, cheese, and lettuce only, on a kaiser roll).
And this got me thinking about two things:
1. Those little local colloquialisms (am I using that right?) that we think are universal, until we move to a new state and realize that people there don’t say ‘get a shower’ but instead they take a shower.
2. A burger creation at the restaurant I used to work at–burger, onion ring, ranch dressing. Known as The Golden Ring, which sounds more like a new type of birth control than a lunch special.
by the by, the title for this entry comes from Rihanna’s ‘SOS’, which was not only on the radio while I was writing this, but also describes The Golden Ring. It’s unhealthy.
While clicking through pictures of the Spice Girls on people.com, my attention was drawn to the following text ad:
Because Love Lives On…
Diamonds created from carbon of your loved one as a precious memorial.
www.LifeGem.com
So, obviously, I had to visit this lifegem.com and check it out. Not only will they create a diamond from your loved one’s cremated remains (or a lock of hair) but they’ll do the same for your deceased pet:
Why choose a Precious Pet LifeGem diamond?
Because I’ll always remember…
how you preferred a milk jug to an expensive toy.
LifeGem CEO Greg Herro then goes on to talk about how sometimes he misses his pet so much it hurts to breathe. I know his pain. As a little girl, I sat sobbing at the piano for 4 hours singing and playing a melancholy version of “Your are my Sunshine” after we had to return my hamster to the pet store (she was traumatized to the point of viciousness from living across from the snake cages). Why hadn’t I thought to save a strand of hamster hair, so that now, years later I could have her made into a diamond (yellow, obviously) and have her with me always?
Oh right, because she was a rodent. Is this not one of the creepiest things you’ve ever heard of?
In an attempt to get that ‘Umbrella’ song out of my head (don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love it, and it’s my own fault for listening to it on repeat) I put on some Sam Phillips. Because she is the musical antithesis of Rihanna, and because I love her music. So here I am, bumping along on the bus, looking out the window into central park, when “I Need Love” comes on.
“I need love
not some sentimental prison
I need god
not the political church
I need fire
to melt the frozen sea inside me
I need love”
And it made me realize that Sam Phillips is one of the most gifted lyricists out there. The words are simple, but strung together they add up to so much more. What’s the word for that again?
Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, I wear my superstitions there. For the world to see. I don’t encounter many black cats or ladders walk under, but I am careful with mirrors, and I believe that deaths come in threes.
So when I read recently about two people I’d gone to school with passing away, I got nervous. I began holding my breath. And over a ceasar salad on saturday night I realized it was because I was waiting for someone else to die. Morbid as that is, it was my natural reaction. I was nervous for days, breathing shallowly and waiting out lights to cross the street. What if I was number three?
When I opened up the email reading ‘Old Man Schenley dead at 96′ I exhaled. Because he was my three. Old Man Schenley (born Eddie Bieber) lived in a building that GW bought and converted into a dorm, but he stayed on. He lived in the Schenley for over 60 years, and could frequently be seen shirtless on the benches outside. He was as much a part of campus as the clock in Kogan plaza, and unlike the clock, he had amazing stories to tell. I only spoke with him once, but everyone knew that he was a famous cyclist, and if given the chance he would tell you about competing in the Olympics and breaking records. I didn’t know him any better than I knew the other two recently deceased, but he lived in the periphal vision of my four years at college, and that’s longer than many people I’ve known well. I was saddened to read about his death, and took the time to read through the entire article, trying to learn more.
But then I closed the email, deleted it, and moved on to other things. Because no matter how affected we are by any event, the truth is that we move on and forget about it. But maybe not about him.
A few weeks ago my wandering took me into Barnes and Noble, specifically to the ‘Subway Reading’ table, my favorite area despite the fact that I never take the subway. Really it’s just a bunch of new (and old) paperbacks perfect for slipping into a shoulder bag. But I digress. A guy (with an accent I couldn’t place) started talking to me, asking me about Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and whether he was any good. I said yes (without mentioning I work for the publisher) and suggested Love in the Time of Cholera. “But I am buying it as a gift for a girl, and she has romantic feelings for me and I don’t want her to think I have any feelings for her.” The way he said it, he wasn’t doing it to save her feelings, but to save himself.
He ended up buying her One Hundred Years of Solitude.
While standing in line at the grocery store I overheard the following phone conversation
Guy: She’s great socially, but I can’t, like, talk to her about the news or anything…current events and stuff….Well I like Abby better than Mia, but Mia’s hot…dude you so do not want to call her, she’ll never leave you alone, trust me, I know…I know I know, but Mia’s hotter, so what if she doesn’t know about the world?
He was buying 4 boxes of spaghetti and a loaf of frozen garlic bread.
Nothing like a glimpse into the guy psyche to remind you why most (some?) guys suck.
As for my personal interactions with the opposite sex, I’ll settle for the “Que bonita” from the delivery guy.
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