Friday, May 31, 2002

I'm not in the best of moods right now. I just realized if I wanted to buy a condo in Hoboken, I'd either have to become a very successful exotic dancer or live at home till I'm 30 in order to afford the downpayment. This sucks because I could totally afford a mortgage payment and taxes, but I don't have a nice trustfund that I can dig into or a to afford the downpayment. It's safe to say I'm bitter.

Thursday, May 30, 2002

So, the new words of choice in finding my site are "preakness boobs" and "Jason Giambi, shirtless". I'm not sure which one horrifies me more.

Early word on "The Hamptons" says it's really agitating. If it involves making a mockery of rich, snobby people, I'm so watching.

Wednesday, May 29, 2002

Oh lord, can my company get any worse? Yesterday, it was decided in our office that if we make up 2 hours a week by staying later, coming in earlier or working through lunch (all of which I do all the time, so it doesn't bother me), we can leave 2 hours early on Fridays for the summer. This is a change from last year where we just got those two hours for free. Well, the big company head honchos don't agree that summer started last Friday -- they say it starts July 5th, a day we have off anyway, and that summer hours can star then. Ummm, summer hours have never been a problem before, and it doesn't cost the company more money, so I'm seeing this as just a purely evil game they are playing. We don't get raises, bonuses or any other kind of perk and they expect us to just smile and bear this, too? They know they've got us pressed because the economy is slow, but it's starting to speed up a bit in our industry. I hope to god there is a backlash of people walking out when the tide does turn -- that would be sweet and it would be so deserved.
There's a rumor going around that at least half the players in Major League Baseball use steroids. I'm wondering why it took so long for people to figure this out. Look how many no-neck, hair-losing, temper-tantrum throwing 30-year-olds there are in the big leagues. My favorite thing about all of this is players dancing around the topic, acting like there's a witch hunt going on. Oh please. I just wonder why they'd risk the whole shrinkage thing. I guess dollar signs in the eyes will blind you.

Monday, May 27, 2002

If this weekend was any indication of how my summer is going to go, I think I'm going to be very busy. From Friday night's Museum of Natural History/Upper West Side Ugly Naked Guy shenanigans with Hollis, Damir and Chad, to Dexter and Vicki's semi-impromptu fiesta, to a day of small winnings at Monmouth Park with Laura, Paul and Dave, I had little time to be bored.

Highlights from Friday: The string trio that really had four people; Hollis and I "breaking" a magnet-globe in the museum gift shop; Telulah the dog and her alien noises; the 96th street exhibitionist who could thankfully only be seen from the waist up.

From Sunday: Driving to Hoboken and deciding to risk it and look for a street parking spot. I find one on 7th and Clinton, think I'm cool for being so close to the Gasque/Obe Chalet, then notice that half the cars in the town have vacated for the weekend and I could've parked right across the street; Shucking corn in the backyard; The superb feast cooked by our hosts; A very tight few games of Taboo that started with only a few people and expanded to include almost all of the party guests. A very fun, yet nerve-wracking game -- you try describing stool pigeon to people; Driving home on the Parkway at 1 a.m. and being the only car on the local side.

From Today: One of my horse picks (which was grey and speckled and Laura said looked like "dog food") winning and getting a whopping $9.20; Dave doing a one-box trifecta for the first time and winning 57 bucks; Me doing a one-box trifecta for the first time and getting two of the three horses, but since it didn't pay well, it didn't matter.

Friday, May 24, 2002

Today, the BENNIES/WEBS make their grand return to The NJ Shore. No one is more exhasperated by this than me. And since so many of them are a cause of such pain for us, let me take this opportunity to inform these folks of the dos and don'ts of commuting by train from New York to their beachside mansions.

WEBS, listen up:
-- You do not reserve the right to complain about train service. If a train is delayed, crowded or hot, keep your mouth shut. There is nothing worse than riding a train 200 some odd days and nights a year, dealing with problems on a consistent basis and then hearing some rich snoot going to Deal/Sea Girt/Spring Lake for the weekend 'tsk' about the annoyance. You haven't earned your complaining badge and therefore forfeit every right to being pissed off.

--Limit your cellphone discussions, or better yet, don't use the phone at all. You may not realize that the paupers who live down the shore year round are trying to relax and are getting into their weekend mode when you whip out your instrument of mass annoyance and decide to talk at the highest decible possible. No one cares about how your summer home is decorated or with whom you're sharing that night's lobster dinner anyway.

--Don't bring luggage you can't lift into the overhead racks, then take up two seats with your bags, only to get angry when someone asks you to move them because the train is overcrowded with the likes of you out-of-towners. Your luggage didn't pay for a seat, anyway.

--Don't try to sound like an NJ Transit/NJ Shore expert. For instance, when your friend asks 'How much longer to our sprawling estate in Spring Lake?' don't reply by listing all the stops (which you'll probably give out of order anyway) before your destination. Also, don't assume you know the best places to eat, drink, swim, golf, boat on the Jersey Shore because chances are you've been going to the same places every time you visit and don't know jack anyway.

--If you drive a luxury SUV and live in the lap of luxury while down the shore, and listen to Bruce Springsteen, this does not make you salt-of-the-earth, gritty or anything else the Boss' songs embody.

--The Sopranos are fictional. If you hear someone speaking like they're from Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, (Dawg, Whaadda, Yous Guys, etc.) it's probably because that's where they were raised. So when you see some Italian-looking guy with New Yawk accent get on the train, he's probably not packing. But he might slap you if you get out of control with your cellphone.

Tuesday, May 21, 2002

So, let me get this straight: My place of employment doesn't offer raises or bonuses for salaries that don't meet the cost of living, allows only 5 sick days, frowns upon taking a lunch hour, charges you with a half personal day if you're 15 minutes late, has us working on issues with the smallest staff possible, and now we're not alllowed to have the company-issued half day this Friday because we have to squeeze out two issues. My question: Is employee morale supposed to be good?
Along with navy blue shirts, dimples and that laundry detergent scent, I used to say I found guys with colds adorable. I'd like to amend that -- guys who don't use their sickness for attention are cute because they seem so sad and sounding stuffed-up is kind of sweet. But there are dudes out there who cough loud, sneeze loud and play up said illness just so people give them attention. FYI, dudes -- This is not endearing. We see through that crap from a mile away.

Monday, May 20, 2002

Today's topic is regret. Now, I normally don't have regrets because I think they are a waste of energy, but I've come to realize I do have one when it comes to a small friendship I lost after college. Since I always go through this sentimentalness around the time I graduated, this isn't really out of the blue. Anyway, I was a senior, he was a freshman. We bonded at the newspaper and I considered him my "find" (even though he found us) because he was an amazing sports writer and saved my partner and I a lot of time editing. I think he looked up to me, which was a nice feeling and he was one of the sweetest guys I ever met in college. We weren't best friends, but we'd have a good conversation every now and then and he was just an overall great person.

Well, when I graduated, we e-mailed a few times, and I thought how great it was to stay in touch with him. Fast-forward a few months, when he and a friend of mine who was still at college had a falling out, and having a stronger loyalty toward this friend, I stopped e-mailing him. What I should've done was not taken sides, but I was so disappointed that he treated my friend this way, that I couldn't think of what to write to him anymore. And in taking sides (and not hearing his side of the story) I may have hurt his feelings. I'm not entirely sure about this. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit and he just forgot about me.

After not writing for two years, I finally e-mailed him over last Labor Day weekend, hoping that maybe I would get a chance to see him over Homecoming and we'd get back to being friends. But he never wrote back. And I'm left to assume that I made a major mistake by ignoring him.

I regret that he's graduating soon and I can't offer him any real world advice. I hate that he's probably going to make it big and I won't get a chance to congratulate him. I kick myself for possibly disappointing one of the nicest people I met at Delaware. Part of me hopes that he's just been busy and has forgotten me and that's why he hasn't written. But there's always going to be that part that wonders if we'd still be buds if I hadn't been so stupid.

Regret sucks.

Sunday, May 19, 2002

Why some guys are pricks, case No. 6532: Riding home on the train Friday night, I sat in front of two girls from Little Silver who were coming home from a night out at a bar with their co-workers. The one girl was complaining about a guy coworker she was dating, who told her it wasn't working out. She was confused by it because they seemed to be having a good time together. Then, at the bar on Friday, the dude got semi-drunk and explained the real reason he didn't want to date her -- she lived too far away. So, I'm thinking he lives in California and they were long distance dating or something. Um, no. The jerk lives in Manhattan and because she lives "all the way out in Jersey" it's not good enough for him. Now, I understand wanting to see the person you're dating, but it's not like she's THAT far away. There is train, bus, and ferry service, as well as the thing we call a car that can get one to and from Manhattan. I'm sorry, but I have to write this guy off as a shallow asshole, and since I think guys haven't dated me (one even came close to saying as much to me) because I'm 'so far away', well, let's just say to hell with jerks like this. A train ride away is a pathetic excuse to not date someone. And why would you want to be with someone like that anyway?

Friday, May 17, 2002

I've decided that Ebay is the new way of getting a second chance. For instance, I had this adorable squirrel family and their little log house when I was a kid and like every other toy I had, I have no idea what happened to it. My parents and I were remeniscing about the squirrels and I got this pang of regret that I never held onto them because they were so damn cute. Well, of course e-bay was auctioning off two of them yesterday. And by some chance (or over bidding) I won one of them. I'm waiting to hear back from the owner on how I'm supposed to pay, but I should have a piece of my childhood back by the end of next week. I have, however, stopped myself from placing a bid on the Weeble Haunted House...

I'm going with Booklet in the Preakness tomorrow. Request for Parole is gone, but Booklet's trainer is cocky about beating annoying trainer Bob Baffert's War Emblem, so I'm behind him.

Wednesday, May 15, 2002

If one more disgusting freak decides to sexually harrass me, I swear, I'm going to lose it, and it's not going to be pretty. Just once, I'd like to wear a skirt and not be reminded of my appendages. And it's not like I'm wearing a leather mini and stilettos -- more like an Ann Taylor khaki with loafers. It's one thing for a guy friend to say something in a nice way, or a boyfriend or husband or someone who is legally bound to find you whistle-worthy, but some sleaze off the street? I mean, really, how am I supposed to respond? "Thanks! Think of me the next time you jack off! Byeeeee!"

Believe me, I'm happy with what the man upstairs gave me, but it's the creepiest thing to be walking down the street, and some strange dude is announcing his "appreciation" for you. Go take a cold shower, asswipe.
Whatever happened to Nelson? I'm having an "I Can't Live Without Your Love and Affection" kind of day and just thought of them.

Tuesday, May 14, 2002

I may as well have waded across the Hudson River to get home last night, that's how soaked I got in the downpour that occured exactly at 5. It was a choice between waiting out the wrath of God or actually getting home at a decent hour. I chose the latter, and was not two blocks from my office before my shoes, socks, and 3/4 of my pants were drenched. Then the rain decided to start trickling down the back of my jacket, onto my backside, soaking me down to my undies. It was not a pleasant ride home, especially when I realized my black bag had semi-bled on my light khakis. But I can't tell you what a great feeling it is to peel off wet socks and such.

If they whine about drought conditions this summer after the past few weeks, I'm going to slap someone.

Better late than never... photos from my pre-bday.

Monday, May 13, 2002

I'm in an 80s smooth jazz sort of mood today. Like I could do just fine with a bowl of beef vegetable soup, a blanket and " FInd 100 Ways" by James Ingram, "Heaven Help Me" by Deon Estus "Piano in the Dark" by Brenda Russell. Gloomy days do this to me.
Can someone please explain why everyone thinks living out in NJ is sooooooooo far away? Like there's no transportation to and from The Center of the Universe (NY) to that pesky Garden State? Yes, I'm getting sick of living at home, but only because I'm sick of people not taking me seriously for living 'all the way out there'.

Sunday, May 12, 2002

My dad came back from getting the oil changed in our Chevy Cavalier and he uttered the words I knew would be coming sometime soon. We need a new car. I have a sentimental attachment to the white 1994 Chevy. I've bonded with it over the years, and even when my parents got the new Malibu, I still prefered the Cavalier, such was my attachment. Let's see, the first week we had the car, my parents trusted my 17-year-old self enough to leave me with it while they went on vacation. So what happens? The first day, Des and I are driving back from the Freehold Mall when a truck a few cars ahead of us loses its cargo. Since the two cars ahead of me blocked my view, I still to this day have no idea what I ran over when the afformentioned cars swerved out of the way. I think it was a mattress, Des says it was a fence. Either way, it made the car go 'ka-boom@!' on the right side when I ran over it, scaring the hell out of us. But we were fine and had a nice laugh until a mile later, the horn fell out of the steering wheel, into my lap. It was a pleasant drive home, what with me having to drive with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the horn, and Des flirting with construction workers and my parents being out of town. Luckily, we brought the car to the dealership and they popped it back in lickety split. And then there are my memories of high school, driving in, getting sick at school and having to drive my self home while delirious. I don't think I ever prayed so hard to get me home in one piece before. The only time I've ever been pulled over was in the Cavalier, and that didn't even bother me because I'd had my heart smashed to pieces by some idiot boy the week before and the idea of getting a ticket didn't seem that devestating. The cop let me go, and I think it's because I didn't try to manipulate him by crying and I promised it wouldn't happen again. Des was in the car for that one, too. And then there are the countless drives to Delaware, singing along with the radio; about a bazillion trips to Barnes and Noble in Holmdel; Hauling friends to the beach and the truckloads of sand that came out of people's shoes; My now-deceased dog Rookie running out of the house and the only way he'd come home was hearing the Chevy's engine start up -- he'd run home, thinking he was going to go for a ride; And let's not forget my University of Delaware sticker in the back window, and the huge sense of pride I had pasting it up there when I got back from Freshman Orientation. Anywho, I guess I'll like the new car, whatever we get. I'm not too picky about vehicles. I don't think I'll be one of those people who needs a new car every 3 years or whatever it is people who waste their money feel the need to do. I mean, I was taken home from the hospital in a Pinto, afterall.

Thursday, May 09, 2002

Thanks to Carolyn for this Smart-Ass view of New York.
Today I hate:
Ex-girlfriends (Last night's episode of Felicity perpetuated this one.) Why does it seem like they always come back into your man's life and ruin everything?
Being pushy -- It's not my thing
McGraw-Hill -- for their new bomb threat policy
Air conditioning -- especially when it's 50 degrees outside and rainy

Finally, photos of last weekend's Yankee Stadium shenanigans. They're a lot grainy-looking, but if you want clean versions, let me know and I'll send them to you via e-mail.

Wednesday, May 08, 2002

So I got all absorbed in the VH1 100 Greatest One Hit Wonders (100-61) last night and I learned something I never knew in 1986 -- "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off" was actually sung by a man, not a woman like I always thought. What a great list, though. All these awesome songs just bring you back, like "Bust a Move" and "Maniac". But I have to disagree with the No. 1 choice, which will be aired later this week. It just isn't old enough in my book, and how can you know the staying power of a one-hit wonder only 5 years after it came out.

Tuesday, May 07, 2002

There are people complaining right now about banning smoking at NJ beaches. I can see both sides -- The non smokers because cigarette butts in the sand are disgusting and it shows a complete lack of respect.
-- The smokers because I'd be sick of hearing people complain about 'polluting the air' when these whiners are probably schlepping their families down to the Shore in a gas-guzzling SUV that will no doubt sit in beach traffic with the other SUVs and cars of mass destruction and do more to damage the environment than a few Marlboro Lights ever would.
A few of us at work just had a discussion about how it sucks to have to be so self-concious when wearing a form-fitting shirt (and it doesn't have to be low-cut) because of all the men who like to stare at boobs. What is the fixation? They don't light up, play music or give you last night's box score. It must be because men don't have them. Then again, some men do and that doesn't stop them.

Sunday, May 05, 2002

My horoscope for the day says that 'within the next 24 hours, many of your fondest desires will be fulfilled'. Well I'm all for that! I have about 3-4 fondest desires, so tomorrow at this time, I'll let you know if any of them were fulfilled.

I'd post photos of yesterday's Yankee outing (yes, I went twice in one week, but when Des' dad offers us free tickets to the Yanks, how can you pass it up), but my disk is giving me attitude and won't cooperate. I have some really cute ones of Des, Carolyn, Jason and myself. And I still have Wednesday's game pics to post. Damn technology.

And Request For Parole didn't win, but he did finish fifth which is pretty admirable for 20-1 odds. Horses with boring names always win the Derby anyway.

Oh, and I may have either a Preakness Party or a Belmont Party. Since the race is only like 2 minutes, this means it is really a drinking party/BBQ with horse racing as an excuse.

Thursday, May 02, 2002

It's Kentucky Derby time! And as you all know I have a freakish liking for all of the Triple Crown races. But it's not for money or odds that I watch, I just like the horses. And the fact that the races mean summer is almost here. So I bet you're all wondering who I'm picking this year. I rarely ever pick the winner because I don't go by odds or anything scientific like that. I go by the coolest name. And this year it's Request For Parole. Isn't he pretty? And how can you beat a name like that?
Although, I have to admit, Castle Gandolfo is cute in his little hat...but it's the name that counts here.
I'm running on fumes and can't type correctly as a result of lack of sleep. The Yanks lost, and Des and I cut out in the 9th so we wouldn't have to walk back to New Jersey. And since the game itself was kind of blah, the surroundings provided Des and I with a few laughs. I'll start with the two shmucks sitting in front of us. They were your typical Manhattan-living, Abercrombie-wearing, NY Times-carrying, nauseating artistic wannabes who talk throughout the whole game. Each whipped out their cellphone on several occasions, and since I find cellphones at the ballpark as annoying and out-of-place as Donald Trump at the ballpark, they were subject to my (quiet) wrath. Des got into the spirit as they were blocking her view with their big heads, and started throwing Crackerjack at them from the cereal-sized box she had bought. They were too engrossed in complaining about their seat location, and to busy harassing the kids in front of them to notice.

Then there was the luxury box right near us. A joy any person sitting in the Loge has to deal with is the rich and pompous who have to sit caged off from everyone else in their luxury suite with their equally rich and pompous friends. Des and I notice a commotion going on near the one closest to us, and we turn around and immediately see why. A fake big-boobed, fake-tanned, midriff-baring chick with hair the color of a post-it note was leaning out of the box, much to the delight of the fat bastard drunks sitting near us. Even though this sleaze in the box with her had his hand on her waist, she 'flirted' with a dude in a normal seat a few rows ahead of the box, or 'slumming', if you will. Then her equally hussy-looking friends came to the window ledge and flirted with everyone, reminding me of an Old West brothel. Des and I both suspected these women to be either strippers or part of an escort service, as they were at least 'attractive' to almost everything with a penis around us (a fat old guy was watching them intently thru his binoculars for about three straight innings), and here they were with very ugly guys. Then again, if the guys were rich, that was probably 'attractive' to them. Anyway, I think a cop yelled at them for leaning out of the box so much (Des and I were waiting for one to fall out so we could laugh) and they went back inside. Men around us sighed in disappointment and Binoculars Guy looked very melancholy at having to actually watch the game.

I'll post pictures later, with quotes I took at the game thanks to Des who carries 3 pens with her at all times. And I'll let Des describe the scary couple making out on the train ride home.

Wednesday, May 01, 2002

I'm craving friend Oreos. Is there going to be a street fair in anyone's neighborhood any time soon????