About Me

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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me


if i lived in springfield....

...i'd apparently look like some crazy hippie environmental mom. or a cross between these two ( + glasses) :



"The Chinese people love controversy, we know that...Pearl Harbor..."

"You're trying to shock them. Can I tell you something about shocking the Chinese? These are the people that invented fireworks, you're not going to shock them."

This show is amazing.



Today I spent three hours--yes, three fucking hours--on the Simpsonize Me website trying to make myself look like a cartoon. I got tired of looking at that donut spinning around and getting eaten, and fed up with the whole process, so I just did it myself:

Crazy! It's like looking at the TV show!

Smaller Wonder



yea, i live in jamaica bay. sort of.



"If we were black, Al Sharpton would have been here," said the father of one suspect. "Because we're white and Italian, we have no civil rights. They have to fight this. It's ridiculous."

Today's front page of Gothamist, in reference to the firecracka' bust on StatenIsland (said 2X fast)

Oh, the injustices faced by us Italians. The media--just look at how the portray us! We ain't all like Tony Soprano. And just look at how we were treated in history! Wait, Sacco and Van-wha? Who they? Is that the name of a meat store on 18th avenue? It is, right? Let's go there and get a capicol sangwich, eh?

Please, don't bring Mr. Al into this. He's a waste of time, but you don't have to pull the race card like he does. I know it totally sucks that you got arrested for doing something illegal and then fighting the cops, but it has nothing to do with your being Italian. It does, however, have everything to do with you being a wannabe John Gotti goumba.

I can say all of this because I'm Italian.


i'm watching oprah as i write this, can you tell?

"it's too much," i've heard it been said, "the highs and lows of love are just too much."

Now I've never been in love, but I've crushed pretty hard before, which has usually resulted in me just being crushed. None have ever stepped up as the big L. Have I cried over these silly things? No. But that's not something I'd ever go around admitting even if I had, so take from that what you will.

Yesterday I met up with one of my friends who's been having a rough time. A rough time made worse by a stupid, silly, trifling-ass man who ain't nothing but trouble (that's me channeling Mo'nique). We ate overpriced Mister Softee (i wonder if he's single?) and sat in front of the Plaza and she stole internet from the Apple store and let me read emails she had sent out before. Those emails--the emails--the emails tons of girls talk about sending but never do. An email that once and for all, at least for now, cut one of them sorry-ass boys out of her life.

These emails are rare. Most of the time they don't really mean anything because the boy is back in their life a week later, a reward for a lame "sorry" or "i don't know what I was thinking when I let you go" and bullshit of the like. My friend seemed to mean it, which meant she was hurt and confused and sad. But she did it.

We talked about how far she had come from who she used to be--the strong, independent, self-proclaimed feminist (but one who shaved). All for a boy, for that four-letter word people would give anything to hear. "I need to get back to me," she said. And it reminded me that everybody does.

"I know what it's like to wish someone to change their feelings for you, " I said. "You know better, or at least claim to. And you tell everybody, 'no, no, it's fine, I'm ok with how things are, I'm just to lucky to have him in my life as a friend." And you swear you don't listen to Jenny Lewis and cry about it at home, but you do. And you wake up ever morning with a slightly psychotic/Stuart Smalley-esque affirmation of "Today. Today is the day things are going to be different. Today is the day he will fall in love with me, he will see the change, I will no longer be just his friend. Today. Is. The. Day."

But it's not the day. It might never be the day. You still wish for your phone to ring--is that him? Did...did he just send me a text? You still check your email, thinking that your day would be that much better if he happened to send you one for no reason. Because with each form of communication from him--however small--there is that hope, that tiny glimmer of hope that he'll say something to keep the hope going. To not make you seem so desperate. And to let you wake up the next morning and not feel so crazy when you begin: "Today is the day..."

"It's the possibility that keeps us going, not the guarantee."

I read this in someone's AIM profile once. I think of it in situations like this. Maybe my friend read it too, all those times she kept letting that loser back into her life. What was she thinking when she sent out that email? What gave her her chutzpah back? Rock bottom, epiphanies, breaking points--we all claim to have them. But then we all waste our time banking on possibilities, praying for guarantees, and changing ourselves for the sake of someone else. The idea of someone or something. I should practice what I preach but I'm gonna go on preaching--don't waste your time. Don't waste your life. If he's in your life and no good, cut it out. If he's in your life but not in the way you want, well, fuck it--cut him too. Even if I don't know you, I know you're too good to be waiting by the phone or computer. The next you find yourself flipping your phone open, thinkinghopingwishing for something, think of my friend sitting on a park bench stealing wireless internet and fighting so hard to no longer wish and wait. You didn't see her face but I did, and it was sad and confused but strong. Determined. She knew there were better things out there. She knew she had the rest of her life to live, and so should you.



I wonder if my writing has even improved?