About Me

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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me


it could be an illusion but i might as well try.

I do a lot of thinking when commuting into work, especially when my iPod's dead or I finished the book I was reading and I'm sitting on the train travelling to the ends of the borough that i like to call home.

I didn't work this week, and was looking forward to sleeping and relaxing and going to the beach and, most of all, not thinking--at least not the kind of thinking I do while commuting. That kind of thinking is created by idle time. That kind of thinking gets me nowhere or caught up in self-inflicted heartache or paranoid about things I have no business being paranoid about. So a week without sitting on a crowded train, thinking, seemed pretty sweet.

But the thinking didn't stop--it found its way back into my head as I went on a leisurely bike ride, as I drove to the mall, as I sat in the dentist's office getting my chipped tooth fixed. I guess it didnt' get the memo that I was going to find more time for myself and take a vacation and not get caught up in so much stupid stuff. Maybe it forgot to check it's email.

but here are some real-life things that i've been thinking about (and being bothered by) lately:

*So I went to a Met game tonight (we won), and was reminded why I hate (some? most?) Yankee fans.

As we walked from my car to the game, my sister and I encountered a lot of tailgating and rowdy fans. That's expected, since it's a baseball game and your'e suposed to have fun at them. But somewhere in the mix were three really annoying dudes shouting "LETS GO YANKEES!"...just to be dicks. Seriously, what's the point of that? I mean we're not playing the Yankees, we're playing the Giants. Why are you at Shea if you love the Yankees so much? Why do you go to a Mets game rocking your Stray-Rod jersey, and gettin drunk and yelling at people, when the Yankees are off playing in another state? I can understand some rival ribbing in a bar or at a Subway Series game. You know, the kind that starts and ends with "26 rings! yea baby!". The kind that always make them act like they're fresh off a World Series victory and not in last place & 6 years past their last ring ("but who'd we beat then, huh? yea, that's what I thought CLEMENSSSSS"). But come on. Shouldn't you be embarrased shouting "LET'S GO YANKEES" anywhere, let alone at Shea Stadium? Go home and watch YES Classics.

* I think if I ever get married I'm going to elope. I'm being serious. As the wise Kelly Ripa (who eloped with her husband) once said: "I want a marriage, not a wedding." I don't want invitation drama or color schemes or catering halls or anything involved with weddings, really, because i'm starting to hate them and I'm only 21.

The only thing I want from a wedding is cake, flowers, and fancy pictures. But I'm sure I can get those in Vegas.

and finally-

*If you were to ask me last week, "What do you think of Jenny Lewis?" I would have said, "She's great. I love Rilo Kiley and I"ve seen her live with them and solo with the Watson Twins and she was awesome."

But I've been listening to "melt your heart" and "rabbit fur coat" and "you are what you love" on repeat for the past three days so if you were to ask me right now, "What do you think of Jenny Lewis?" I'd probably break down and start crying and say "JENNY LEWIS SPEAKS TO ME" or something stupid like that. Sometimes you find songs when you need them the most (or vice versa). You listen to these songs through your headphones, songs you uploaded to iTunes months ago, and you just feel a lot better about whatever stupid things you were thinking about.

This is no great illusion
When I'm with you I'm looking for a ghost
Or invisible reasons
To fall out of love and run screaming from our home

Because we live in a house of mirrors
We see our fears and everything
Our songs, faces, and second hand clothes
But more and more we're suffering
Not nobody, not a thousand beers
Will keep us from feeling so all alone

But you are what you love
And not what loves you back
That's why I'm here on your doorstep
Pleading for you to take me back

The phone is a fine invention
It allows me to talk endlessly to you
About nothing disguising my intentions
Which I'm afraid, my friend, are wildly untrue

It's a sleight of hand, a white soul band
The heart attacks I'm convinced I have
Every morning upon waking
To you I'm a symbol or a monument
Your rite of passage to fulfillment
But I'm not yours for the taking

But you are what you love
And not what loves you back
So I guess that's why you keep calling me back

I'm fraudulent, a thief at best
A coward who paints a bullshit canvas
Things that will never happen to me
But at arms length, it's Tim who said
I'm good at it, I've mastered it
Avoiding, avoiding everything

But you are what you love, Tim
And not what loves you back
And I'm in love with illusions
So saw me in half
I'm in love with tricks
So pull another rabbit out your hat

see? don't you feel better already?


we drink & we dry up & then we crumble into dust...

Everybody has an alter-ego when drinking.

There's the SluttyDrunk, where people rub up on everyone they can and makeout on dancefloors and wake up the next morning going, "Who's bed am I in?"

Then there's the BeligerentDrunk, which results in broken bottles and lots of yelling and trips to Central Booking.

I can't forget about the CryingDrunk--sitting in the corner, weeping into their Long Island Iced Tea, mourning the end of their last relationship or wondering why so-and-so won't love them.

When I get drunk, I don't change into another person.

I stay the same, just in more severe stages. In fact, I have three stages when drinking.

Generally happens at around beer 4. If there's music playing, I start singing along; if there isn't music playing, I just start singing. If I'm in a bar with a DJ it's around now that I decide to start harassing the person spinning to play "Gloria" or "Higher Love" or some other embarrasing song that I wouldn't admit until Stage One that I loved. This is also when I start dancing.

Stage Two: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T WATCH "30 ROCK"??!?!?!?!?
It's no secret that I love TV--I talk about it all the time when I'm sober. But somewhere between beers 6 and 8 I start getting really, really intense about "my shows" and what's happening on them and my other problems within the storylines. My worst display of this (and, well, of my life) was at Catherine Grady's 19th Birthday Keg, when I (on camera, of which the tape [that i own] will never be seen by anyone, ever) got real emotional and serious about...Luke and Lorelai kissing on the season 4 Gilmore Girls finale. This highlight was rare; I usually end up recommending shows to people, berating them for not watching them in the first place and telling them that the shows they watch are "shit" or "contributing to the breakdown of American culture." Oh hey-- that last line leads me to the last stage...

Oh, Stage Three--how I've offended so many people while hanging out with you. You wanna hear what I think of the President? Get me to beer #10, and I'll be all up in your face like I'm Bill O'Reilly. Speaking of Bill O'Reilly--"you watch that asshole? fuck him. fuck you. you'll be sorry you voted for Bush in the last election, you ignorant bastard. it was an inside job, do you hear me? google that shit, IT'S ALL THERE!"

The thing about Stage Three and my semi-intelligent political rants that come along with it is that it never ended well. For starters, there's no place for that talk in a bar or at a party or in someone's dining room at a dinner party (especially when they don't agree with me). The only time it's cool to get like that at a table is when it's on the set of The View...and a booth in Connolly's is not The View. So after I offended one-too many people, I had to do a little reflecting and cut Stage Three out of my life.

Sure, it was hard. I didn't stop drinking, but I did make a concious effort to stick to Stage Two. Which meant watching more TV, which I didnt' really mind.

And what's past those stages? Is there a Stage Four or Five somewhere in my future? And if so, what would they be? Maybe a SluttyDrunk or something, so I can finally get some action.


hot damn!

two weeks ago i got off the E train with a friend & was walking to get the 6 when i saw two young kiddies making out hardcore by the escalator. because i have a modicum of decency i turned away, but for anyone who's ever seen something like this in public, you'll know how hard it was for me to do so. i'm no creep, but i am human.

then a few days after that i got off the B train and saw the same thing--different couple, this time pinned up against the window of the Rainbow on Kings Highway, hands and mouths sloppily going at it like they were in the back of a car.

and just last night, as I got off the E at 50th, I saw yet another couple--this time they were older, which made it a little more gross--pinned up against the glass and practically dry humping in front of everyone.

jesus, what's going on, people? i only thought this sort of stuff happened in the movies. is it the weather? is there some connection to it being close to subways; maybe one of them is either coming or going and it's been a long time since they've seen their close friend?

and was it out of character for me to walk past all three of these scenes and not scream "get a room?"


in the city there's a thousand things i want to say to you

In the city, in the city
In the city there's a thousand things I want to say to you

the jam.


where you lead

Gilmore Girls--the show I've blogged about and agonized over and hated and loved at the same time--wasn't renewed for an 8th season. This is actually a blessing, considering the show started seriously sucking halfway through last year. The Gabmore Girls were all talked out, and it was painful to watch.

I wasn't really sad to see it over. In a lot of ways my relationship with GG had became unhealthy; I wasn't getting any enjoyment out of it and I'd complain to my friends about how much I hated it when it wasn't on, yet I'd still sit down to watch it every Tuesday. And as much as I went on and on about how bad an 8th season would be--"i can't barely sit through it now, how am I going to sit through it then?"--I knew, deep down, that as long as aired I'd still show up to watch it. This, in essence, made Gilmore Girls my abusive boyfriend. And even though I felt slightly burned, I'm glad it broke up with me first, so I wouldnt' have to. Because I honestly don't know if I could.

But we've had some good times, so here's my swan song to the show that has been a big part of my life. I discovered the Girls the summer after season 1, via Gilmore Girls Beginnings, a marketing scheme created by the WB that pretty much aired repeats with a cornier beginning. The corny scheme worked--I made sure to watch the 2-hour season 2 premiere that September, making my mom sit down to watch it with me so we could bond. I was 15, and Rory was 15, and I thought it was cool that she took the PSATs the same time I did (although her score was ridiculously higher). I'd later grow to hate Rory, but that was no matter, since I already liked Lorelai better. She was funny and smart and everybody seemed to love her. She also gave me the false confidence that I, too, could have a baby at 16 and move to a cute town and own and Inn and look fabulous while doing it. Thankfully I was too big of a prude--and lacking for opportunities--to get knocked up, so I never had to learn the hard way the difference between fantasy and reality.

After years of soap opera 'shipping, Gilmore Girls gave me plenty of will-they or won't-they drama with Luke and Lorelai, a couple I loved before time and bad writing ruined them. Still, I dreamed (and maybe still dream) of one day fall falling in love with someone like Luke. I've searched for signs of sexual tension between myself and every cranky, stoic, mysterious, 'misunderstood' and emotionally unavailable (or downright unavailable) guy I could find. As you might have guessed, it hasn't turned out very well. Lesson learned: not every asshole has a heart of gold hidden inside. Some assholes are just assholes. Or, you know, not available.

Did I know who Norman Mailer was before he was a guest of the Dragonfly Inn? No. Embarassing, yes, but honest, and I have the show to thank for giving me some literary cool points as I dropped his name in conversations (if only they knew). Same goes for Ayn Rand and Sparks and Grant Lee Buffalo/Phillips and all the other indie, painfully cool bands and pop-culture figures and 70s TV stars that became blips on my radar all thanks to the show. I've always been the Queen of Random, the go-to girl who knew so little about so much, but GG just heightened my status and my knowledge. Again, thanks.

I used to get a lot of pleasure out of my Tuesday night ritual; there was a lot of love there. This relationship has run it's course, and now it's time we go our separate ways. It's time I find another show to love, to obsess over, to talk incessantly about. Gilmore Girls meant a lot to me at a time in my life where things like shows were supposed to. I've laughed and I've cried, and you just can't let that go completely.

I'm growing up, and so are my favorite TV characters. And I'm finally ok with that. I'm finally ok to let them go.


I graduated college yesterday.

At the end of the ceremony confetti shot out of cannons and fireworks sound effects came out of the speakers and I couldn't help but feel like I, too, was exploding and scattering all around the Great Lawn, floating in the sky and landing wherever. Where am I going? Why do I feel unfinished?

Four years behind me and I still talk about high school with immense nostalgia; am I really ready to be a college graduate?

I guess I have to be. Allow me to reflect.

When I started at St. John's as a 17 year old I didn't know what I was getting in to. My first year was a lot harder than I thought--I overestimated my ability to adapt to new-ish surroundings (I was still in Queens, after all) and really expected my college experience to somehow find me as I played Snood for hours or took long naps in my top bunk. It took me a while to realize that there was a lot available to me, if only I'd get off my ass to find it. I moved out of Donovan Hall feeling happier than I wanted; I didn't want to admit defeat, or weakness, but there was no denying that my first year at St. John's really sucked. And that pizza as a side dish at dinner would catch up to me.

Luckily things got better with time. Sophomore year I moved into Carey Hall and had a huge suite with a great roomate and great suitemates. I had balance, a crew, a set dinner time every night halfway through the 5 o'clock Gilmore Girls. Things were good, I became more involved with the station, started doing what I came to college to do, and all was right in my life. Then in April I received what I thought at the time was the worst news I could hear--there was no room for me the next year in the dorms. I sunk into a deep dark spiral of despair. What was I supposed to do...live at home? COMMUTE? I felt beaten again, screwed over by SJU. But thankfully I spent a weekend at home after getting that letter and had a nice long talk with my mom over Spumoni Gardens and she reminded me that 1) this was not the end of the world and 2) this was not the end of the world. And Erica (who also didn't receive housing) and I had a long conversation over AIM where we realized that life was better in it's uncertainty. Like true young people we felt invigerated by the challenge, by the change, and since then I haven't been so afraid of it.

That summer I finally bit the bullet and learned how to drive; I passed my road test all thanks to Carmen, my amazing driving instructor who broke parallel parking down into simple steps and engaged me in conversation as we drove around Far Rockaway. I got a sweet car and starting loving my time in it every morning and night, allowing my commute to become a time of reflection and regrouping. I took a creative writing class that semester--probably my most important class because it got me back into what I love to do the most and allowed me to develop some lasting relationships. If it wasn't for that class I wouldn't have gotten a job at the Writing Center, which was such a huge part of my Senior Year (but I'll get to that). May of '06 I stepped on an Al Italia flight all alone, my destination Rome and a month of studying abroad. I've written enough about what those 30 days have meant to me so I don't need to go on. But you get the idea.

I spent the first semester of my Senior Year working and wasting all my time in the amazing place that is the WC. I helped people--which really is a great feeling--and hung out with great people and found, like I did with the radio station, a homebase on a campus that can be big and lonely. That October I applied to my full-time, 5-day-a-week internship on a whim and by the end of the month I found out that I got it; and there went life changing on me again. But I wasn't scared anymore, remember?

Since January I've had this amazing experience and I've grown up a lot and made some connections and really reaffirmed what I always thought I wanted to do with my life. And then yesterday I waved from the stage and threw my cap up into the sky and became a graduate of St. John's University. I say it went so fast, I say I sometimes feel like I'm still in high school, but really, when I stop to think about it, it's been a long and fulfilling four years. Maybe I don't feel so much like the confetti that scattered on the white chairs and green grass and graduates; maybe I'm not giving myself and those in my life enough credit for how grounded and secure I really am. St. John's has given me alot, and for a school many consider to be the easy road or a given or just merely convenient, it's been a wild ride. So thanks.


so what are you doing after graduation?

For every single person that asks me this--here's my answer:

near future:
take long naps in my hammock. start running. write. work on my tan. read more books. go fishing. walk my dog. float on my back for hours in the ocean. bike across both bridges. play volleyball. cook. watch entire seasons of tv shows in one day. finally visit Roosevelt Island. plant. take a food-related road trip. have marathon talk-sessions on Clare's porch. go to as many mets & cyclones games as i can. barbeque as much as possible. play Uno for hours. eat Baby Rattles and Bubble-Gum Baseball Ice Pops from Mr. Softee. go to concerts. throw a few wild parties.

future future:
get a job. move out of my parents house. travel the world. write. fall in love. get married. have some babies. rescue abandoned puppies. live in a big old house. kick the bucket with a smile on my face.


chivalry is dead

Nobody asked me, but here's my explanation on why I don't give up my seat on the subway to pregnant ladies or old people--

I know you're supposed to. I know the MTA even puts signs up encouraging you to do so. But in my daily train rides, I have rarely seen someone take the offered seat willingly or with appreciation. Usually when a person offers there seat the old lady looks at them funny and goes, "It's ok, I can stand."

Then the person feels like an idiot for even offering it and for assuming (rightfully) that the person in front of them is an old bag who might need a seat.

With pregnant ladies, it'd different. If a woman is obviously pregnant I'll get up, but there are some months within the gestation period where I think it's hard to tell. I wouldn't want to think someone was pregnant when they weren't. A few years ago I was coming home on the train and some guy stood up with a smile on his face and said, "Here, sweetie, have my seat."

I took it, but to this day I don't know why he offered it. Was he just being nice? Did he know I had a long day? Or maybe...

Maybe he thought I was pregnant. And this is what bothers me--people thinking I'm pregnant when I'm just fat. Not cool.

I wonder if my writing has even improved?