About Me

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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me


you are, my fire

Here's something I've had to come to terms with lately while living in New York: I'm never, ever moving out of my house.

Now this isn't completely true. But after perusing the real estate section of Craigslist (new york times real esta--wha?) and almost starting to cry, I've started to see my living at home as a long term, rather than a short term, situation. I'd love to move out, get a studio somewhere and go balls out without mom or dad around, but let's be real--New York City is expensive. And I don't have a job. But I'm thankful to be a third-generation New Yorker; thankful that my grand & great parents, after getting off their respective boats from their respective parts of Europe, looked around Ellis Island and all that was in front of them and said, "Ah, this will do." They didn't have to go further west or south; they saw people talking just like them, saw a church and a pub or a salumeria and a Pastosa and decided that New York City had everything they would ever need. And years later their ancestor (angrily wondering why her great-grandparents decided to move their family out to Bensonhurst from the tenament on Chrystie St.--didn't they'd know how much a place like that would go for now?) believes the same thing--that this city has everything she'll ever want and need. And therefore will be sleeping in the same bed she's had since she was 5 for a very long time.

But that's not exactly why I'm writing. Since I've come to terms with my living situation, I've decided to better it by doing some remodeling. I tried cleaning my room and getting rid of things but it's like a Museum in there, amounting to what would be the world's most boring exhibition (and probably the only one featuring not one, not two, not three, but FOUR posters starring Sting). And I can't bear to throw these things away.

One of these relics was hidden behind my bedroom door, entitled "KATIE AND CLARE'S HOTTIE COLLAGE." Judging from who we cutout of TeenPeople, I'd say we made this in the Winter of 1999. There are two large photos, one of Freddie Prinze Jr. and Ryan Phillippe. The rest are medium to tiny pictures of people like Prince William, Jonathan Schaech, some Olympic swimmer who's name I can't think of, and my personal fav, Howie D. of the Backstreet Boys. I loved Howie in spite of everyone telling me he was gay (who's laughing now, all you Lance Bass fans?), and ignored the flat-ironing of his hair, thinking it wasn't "homo", as everyone said, but "progressively stylish" (this was before the term "metrosexual" was invented). I said I liked Howie because he was nice, reserved, not as flashy as the rest, did a good job with the two-part harmonies, but clearly I loved Howie D. the most because he was kinda Hispanic (note: AJ McClean is also half Puerto-Rican, but I wasn't a big fan of his retarded-looking glasses). It's also why I loved Freddie Prinze Jr. while Clare loved Ryan & Prince William.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I think I kinda just wanted to talk about how much I loved Howie D. and have an excuse to post a picture of this "Latin Lover."

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

be wary of the stories you post, it may wind up on cnn.com. cw

I wonder if my writing has even improved?