A Christmas List

My mother has requested a Christmas list for items I can open on Christmas day that will fit in my bags when I return home. These items usually consist of CDs and DVDs. There are some CDs I have on the list this time, too. But also clothing accessories (I won't let my mom buy me the actual clothing) and footwear (socks and shoes). There isn't much else I want/need that I can get in my suitcases.

Since I am going to Florida for the holidays, I will be taking very little clothing so I may, indeed, return home with more stuff that I came, gifts and belongings alike. I have come to miss my CD collection the most and it pains me to know that they are all boxed up. Much like R. Kelly is trapped in the closet (and painfully making us aware of it), my CDs are housed in my Mother's foyer closet.

Along with these personal possessions, coming back with me will be what I really want for Christmas, The Reverend Ritz Hootboobley MacDougall. Yes, bitches, my cat has schooled herself into a reverend while at Brother's Work Camp in North Central Florida. Prepare to be saved come the New Year, New York.
The Reverend Hoot is preachin'!

My Refridgerator Is on the Worst Dressed List

Everyone go see the Doctor @ Playing Doctor and guess which refrigerator is mine.

http://showyoumine.blogspot.com/

Sick Leave

I've been sick since Sunday! So that is why I am not talking. I went to work on Sunday thinking that I had a hangover from three beers and when the afternoon came around and I was feeling worse and shivering, I figured I must be running a fever.

I woke up Monday with a terrible sore throat and my left eye swollen shut. Pink eye! I looked it up online, as my health insurance does not start for a couple more weeks. Viral Conjunctivitus. Apparently, it is all the rage.

Well, my eye was halfway decent on Tuesday and to save myself from dying from boredom, I went to work.

Today, it seems normal, but it is my day off anyway so I am just lounging around anyway.

I am working another reception tonight! Holler for money!

The Puma Bike

There is a special design exhibition at the Museum. On display is the new Puma bicycle. Someone should buy me this for Christmas:

I'll have a Vodka Tonic with a squeeze of Design Show Opening

I've been drunk at work twice this week. Ok, ok, maybe not drunk but I had a few good drinks.

Let me clarify. Tuesday night, there was an Exhibition Opening reception for Museum employees and Trustees. I was reluctant to go and was eventually talked into it. I agreed to stay for only 30-40 minutes. Four drinks and two hours later, I was catching the subway home.

Open bar. Top shelf liquors. Some really good (vegetarian) hors d'oeuvres. Holler!

Fast forward to Saturday night, I signed up with Special Events to work extra hours and was a "Drink Monitor." Basically, I stood at an assigned gallery entrance and made sure no one took their drinks inside. At breaktime, you basically become a guest and go to the bar and order drinks and eat the hors d'oeuvres. Then, you go back to your post and the night gets a whole lot better. Also, when one of your friends takes their break, they will bring you drinks, too. So you end up telling people they can't take their drinks any further as you take a sip of your vodka tonic.

Good times, good times.

The Inner Ring of the Seventh Circle

In Florida, there are no basements for a reason: they would flood. The houses and apartments of 16 million people would be floating on indoor pools.

In New York City, however, there are basements. Guess what? They flood.

Apparently, when a basement floods, appliances in said basement malfunction. This must have been what happened in the basement of my building as yesterday I discovered there was no hot water.

"We'll send someone over as soon as possible, today."
Said the lady at the property management place.

So, last night - no hot water.
This morning - no hot water.
This evening - no hot water.

Even though it appears that the hot water of the other tenants has been fixed, ours has not.

Having no hot water means no showers or cold showers. No showers can only go on for so long. I have been "European" or some people prefer "French" showering , but decided that I needed to shave and basically just clean myself, wholly. So, I took that task on tonight.

Tap water in New York City is some of the coldest, glacier-freezing water I have ever encountered. My bathroom is already one of the coldest rooms in the apartment and all white which gives it a colder feeling, too. I turned on the water and readied myself for the shower. When I peeled back the shower curtain and climbed inside, I made sure that the showerhead was pointing as far away from having contact with my body as possible. Little did I know I was standing in a desert of flaming sand where fire rains from the sky.

I shaved first, as this did not warrant a full commitment of getting wet. Shaving with cold water is kind of hard. The soap doesn't want to come off of the razor. I can feel the razor bumps developing as I type.

Afterward, I try my feet in the water. Cold.

I know, I'll wet my hair...squeeze out all the water...don't let it drip doooowwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnn my baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack....ugh...

Oh wow...now I have to do the rest of the body. I'll ease into it...lather up first with the shower poof.

Ahhh, that is cold...not so bad, though.

Dr. Bronner's Soaps lather well with very little water. That is what that freak made them for.

But now I have to rinse.

Again, use the shower poof...but it doesn't do the whole job. I have to ease into the stream...

OMG. OW. I am in pain. Get out. Pain. Pain. Pain....

Cold, cold, cold. My teeth start to chatter. I think I am developing hypothermia. I am going to die in here.

Finish rinsing, fast, please, just end this, it hurts so bad. Places on my body that I didn't think were suppose to ever experience such pain are screaming for me to get out of the water.

I am clean. I am sure of it. Turn off the water. Wipe away the tears (literally).

Towel off. Clothes on. Wrap myself in warm blankets.

In a perfect world, this problem would be taken care of tomorrow. In New York City, we will be lucky if this problem is taken care of on Monday.

I think I am going to boil water for a bath tomorrow.

Subway Conversations

Recently, the subway has been the happening place for me.

Last Sunday, on my commute home from work, I transfer to the G train. I choose the last car because it is the one closest to the stairs at the Metro-Grand Station. It is a popular car, because it is a popular station.

During my short G commute (four stops), I saw a gentleman checking his bags of rock and snorting cocaine. Cocaine is a hell of a drug, and he was vacuum-cleanering it up his nose right there is the open of the G Train.

Monday, for some reason the F train was running on whatever tracks it wanted to and was on the E line when I was going home, so I hopped it. Even though it was rather crowded, I got a nice place to stand. It went to the next stop and a woman decided she was going to push herself onto the train. Here is the conversation that erupted:

Small-In-Her-20s-Hispanic-Woman: Excuse me, there is no room for you on the train.

Slightly-Larger-And-Much-Older-White-Woman-Possibly-Polish-And-Going-To-Greenpoint: I'm getting on this train, make room for me.

SIH2HW: (Getting louder) THERE IS NO ROOM. What do you want me to do step on this woman (gestures to woman next to her).

SLAMOWWPPAGTG: (Pushing herself onto the crowded train) Make room for me.

SIH2HW: GET OFF OF ME. YOU ARE PUSHING ME INTO THIS WOMAN. I AM STEPPING ON HER. YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSE TO BE ON THE TRAIN.

Doors close and silence continues for a few seconds, then:

SIH2HW: DON'T TOUCH ME, MY BAG IS WHERE IT IS SUPPOSE TO BE. DON'T TOUCH ME. LOOK, I WILL GO OFF ON YOU. DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME, LADY. YOU ARE PUCHING ME INTO THIS WOMAN AND YOU ARE NOT EVEN SUPPOSE TO BE ON THIS TRAIN. YOU DON'T FIT. THIS IS NOT YOUR TRAIN.

After this, the excitement died down slightly and the train got to my stop and I got off. I hope that SIH2HW and SLAMOWWPPAGTG worked out their spatial differences.

Al-Mouserra Strikes Again


This time the target is the career of our favorite Fug, Chloe Sevigny (Actress, Fashion Disaster)
Damn, I want a pair of those sunglasses!

Leak

My apartment is leaking. When it rains, water gushes in from around the rusted steel header spanning the tops of the windows. Legal advice would be appreciated.

Shopping Carts

A little known fact about me is that I am fascinated with shopping carts. I think they are amazing items of design perfection.


















Shopping carts bring immediate scale:














Their usefulness is taken for granted:

Celebri-Watch

People I Have Seen Lately;

Viewing art:
I believe Mr. Bennett was wearing this very suit.


















Browsing shoes at Saks Fifth Avenue:
Daisy Fuentes...



















New York City is Chock Full of Nuts loaded with people like this. Jealous, bitches!?

Man at Subway Station (E Train at 53rd and 5th)

You're there sleeping in the afternoon, perhaps drunk from a day of drinking. If I were you, I would choose a more inviting subway station. What is the draw to this particular one?



Perhaps the Museums surrounding it? The Churches, shopping, the hustle and bustle of a Midtown station?

What were you saying Sunday morning when I got off the train and went up the escalator. Something about Julius Caesar being a great man, not bowing to the will of women. In fact, you said he would "pierce a woman with his sword" if confronted with her authority.

What is up with that? What have you against women and why are you bringing up a man from circa 40 B.C.E.?

Am I as confused as you? Will I be yelling out in the station soon about Julius Caesar not taking any lip off women?