A Blast from the Past

Today has been something of a waste, at least where studying for the bar exam is concerned. I woke up early with the full intention of getting a solid day's worth of studying done. Well, early for me, which is around 9 a.m. So did I study? Hardly. So far I've gone through about a quarter of the material for Evidence, which is just one of twenty-two (count 'em, twenty-two) subjects I must master before July 26th.

But I did finish reading Love in the Time of Cholera. Overall, it was a decent book, although its casual treatment of incestuous child molestation freaked me out. I mean, I know its literature and I shouldn't get my knickers all in a knot over it, but it still bothers me a little bit. At least with a book like Lolita, child molestation is the theme and is presented as a moral dilemma for Humbert Humbert, but in Love in the Time of Cholera, it's just like, "Hey, so Florentino the 80-year old hero of this story who slept with six-hundred-and- sixty-two women also seduced his 12-year old niece. He did this by playing games with her. Like, wheee, let's take your panties off and put them on the teddy bear. Wheee, let's dress up this doll in your camisole. Wheee, let's give a kiss to my old dickey. Yup, he made a woman out of her. Then one day he dumped her by bringing her to the ice-cream parlor instead of his love-nest in the lighthouse because Juvenal, the 82-year old husband of his life-long love, finally croaked and he was determined to be free for the widowed Fermina." ("Dickey" is Gael Garcia Marquez's choice of words, not mine. Just letting you know.)

What else did I do. I started reading Anil's Ghost, by Michael Ondaatje. My friend Amanda loves Michael Ondaatje. I don't think I will. However, it's a distraction from studying so I'll probably finish the book. I also read National Geographic cover to cover and am now filled with a mad desire to see Rome and/or to quit lawyering (before I even begin) to become a marine biologist. I took quite a few naps. I categorized the 2,366 songs in my ITunes according to their genre. I fed Miso. Poor Miso. Yesterday she underwent surgery (to remove her ovaries) and she is really sad. (Ahem, which is the only reason why I didn't go to class. I wanted to stay home and keep an eye on her. It had nothing to do with being lazy or oversleeping, nothing at all.) Also, she has to wear this big cone around her neck so that she can't bite or lick at her stitches. It makes her look like she's wearing a bonnet.



What else. I felt homesick and called Andrea and talked to her for about an hour. It's so nice to hear the voice of a good friend. Andrea is one of my funniest and smartest and easiest to talk to friends. Of course we spent most of that time talking about our love-lives, since we both had broken up with our long-term boyfriends recently and we were both talking to our ex-boyfriends again and not completely sure how things should proceed.

* * *

On one hand, I love Andrew. I just love him. But on the other hand, *sigh* this is the third or fourth time we've broken up, I can't even remember how many times we've gone through this. I'm just tired of starting over, again and again. And I'm afraid that maybe we're just trying to band-aid our pain, because in the short term it's more fun and easier to get back together than to struggle through a miserable break-up and force yourself to move on with your life. I don't know. But then again, it cheers me up immensely to get a text-message or an IM or a telephone call from Andrew. It just makes me really happy. Sooo... it can't be bad to be with someone who makes you happy, can it?

* * *

Speaking of telephone calls, right after I got off the phone with Andrea my cell phone rang. Andrew had been texting me to ask if I was on the phone, so I thought it was him. But it wasn't. It was Sasha. A blast of putrid air from a rather unpleasant time in my past.

I met Sasha at a nightclub in New York the last time I was broken up with Andrew. He had dreads, drove a flashy car, did business in New York and LA, and was pretty much the complete opposite of Andrew. So, we went out a few times but he was a little too aggressive and a little too crude and on Valentine's Day he insisted on stopping by at close to midnight with a gift. I was a bit uncomfortable but I let him come upstairs and he gave me this bracelet in a Nordstrom's box. I said thank you, I made small talk with him and my roommates at the time, Aleesia and Jocelin, and I kicked him out. Afterwards, I passed the bracelet around to Leese and Joss for inspection. The verdict was unanimous. The thing was plastic. Was he joking?

Okay, I don't like to be judgmental, but I was insulted. This was a man who drove a Mercedes S-Class, wore a Movado watch, dressed in expensive, impeccably tailored suits, and always smelled really good. It's not like maybe he just didn't appreciate the difference between fine jewelry and REALLY cheap costume jewelry! I mean, WHY BOTHER? He didn't have to get me anything at all; I wasn't expecting or wanting anything at all. I would have much rather he not have given me anything!

Anyway, I decided not to let it bother me. Like I said, we had only gone out a few times, nothing fancy, nothing romantic, so maybe it was meant as just a light, friendly gesture. I didn't want to criticize a gift. But then he started going crazy on me.

First, he invited me to the Winter Music Festival in South Beach. He told me we would have separate accomodations at the Delano, all paid for by his company. I agreed to go with some misgivings, but my friends were encouraging me to "get out there and have fun." A week before we were supposed to go, Amanda, who is also involved in the music business, called to ask, Are you going to the Winter Music Festival with that guy you met? Me: Yes. We're going next week. Amanda: Weellll... people at Virgin are leaving today. The festival is this weekend. Me: FREAKOUT!!!

Next, when I called Sasha to confront him over it, he angrily told me I shouldn't second-guess him, and next week Vibe Magazine was having a separate music festival for the hip-hop community, and that I should have known that. Why should I have known that? He didn't tell me that! Feeling creeped out, I cancelled on him for South Beach, whatever music festival it was. He told me he was mad but we could still be friends. Thanks, buddy.

The final straw came sometime shortly thereafter. One Friday, he called me eighteen times in the span of three hours, while I was at the Museum of Modern Art. It's rude to pick up your phone in a museum, so I didn't. He left me an angry message telling me that I was very shady. I called him back and left him a message telling him that I wasn't obligated to pick up his phone calls and if anyone was shady it was him and to never call me again. And he didn't.

Until today, probably a full-year-and-a-half since those angry voicemails. He kept calling me "girl." He asked me if I wanted to go to any concerts or parties because he could "hook it up." *Vomit.*

Paranoia

Here is a list of things that are stressing me out at the moment:

1) The New York bar exam. It's a month away and I'm not ready. I know I have a month BUT I'M STILL NERVOUS ABOUT IT!

2) The New Jersey bar exam. It's a month away also. I'm not ready. I haven't even cracked open my New Jersey Civil Procedure book. I'M SUPER NERVOUS!

3) Dealing with a lawsuit. I'm being sued in relation to a car accident that happened two years ago. This is particularly stressful because of the conditions surrounding the car accident. i) I was driving my friend's car. ii) That friend was completely drunk. Because she insisted on leaving the party, I told her I would drive her car to my apartment so she could sober up before going home in the morning home. Unfortunately, we got into a car accident. She never stopped blaming me for it. Once she told me if I had saved up $20 a month to give to her to make up for crashing her car that would have shown her I was really sorry. The end result is that we are no longer friends. iii) That friend's parents and my parents used to be really close (I mean, we would go camping every summer and skiing every winter) until our older brothers got into an accident with each other circa 1996, and there was some fight about fault and money. After that the relationship between our families turned very bitter. iv) That friend's father is also named in the lawsuit (as the owner of the vehicle).

So anyway, the plaintiffs (the driver of the other car and a passenger) drove away after the accident. Meanwhile, the car I was driving was pretty much totaled and the cops insisted on packing me and my drunk ex-friend off to the emergency room. So those guys weren't hurt by a long shot. And this lawsuit comes after they tried and failed to get money from the insurance company, which rejected their claim. Apparently they are already collecting worker's comp and the insurance company determined that the injuries they are blaming the car accident for were actually pre-existing injuries from whatever it is they are getting worker's comp. So, the case will probably not go to trial and if they do the plaintiffs will probably not win. But I'm still worried about it. They are suing me for the ludicrous sum of five million dollars. My lawyer said not to worry. BUT I DO.

4) Character and fitness. Specifically, what if I don't pass the character and fitness examination of the Board of Bar Examiners? What if they find me unfit to be a lawyer? I did get suspended in seventh grade. And, two of my old bosses didn't like me very much. Personality clashes. I left one job on very bad terms with my boss, who was an evil crazy woman scientist who made me cry. The other job - it's not so much that I left on bad terms, but neither I nor my boss was sorry to see the back of the other. So what if these old employers say horrible things about me? And plus that lawsuit... what if they look at my driving record - a ticket for speeding, another for following too closely, and a car accident resulting in a lawsuit... what if I'm unfit to be a lawyer? Everyone tells me I shouldn't worry and its not like I ever did anything dishonest or unethical and that I'm a wonderful person and it will be fine BUT I'M FREAKING OUT!

5) Being in Toronto and having all my mail being sent to New Jersey. What if I miss some important correspondence? AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

6) I think that I am missing in a filling in one tooth. And I think another tooth has a cavity. OUCH!

7) I need to sell my car. Oh god, that damn car. Do you know that my car has been hit three times whilst parked? It even happened in Toronto! It's cursed! So, I need to sell it but I still have about $5,000 left to pay on it. What if I can't get enough to cover the balance? ARGH.

8) I have no money. CRAP.

9) I need to find an apartment. What if I can't find a good one? What if the only ones I can afford is in a seedy neighborhood? What if there are rats and roaches and the water in the faucets always comes out brown? AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

10) I still haven't got a final confirmation of my job offer. But, the initial offer was in December. And I did get a letter in April saying that I will be sent a letter in August with my starting date and instructions on how to report to the office. But the letter also said, "Final confirmation of this offer is contingent on your successful completion of law school and checking of your standard references." What the heck? They didn't check my references yet? Oh NOOOO - what if one of my horrible old employers says terrible things and they rescind the offer? And how could they not have checked my references yet? HELLO! The initial offer was in December! I'm sure it will probably be fine and it was just a form letter...BUT I'M STILL WORRIED ABOUT IT!

Kiss Miss

Tonight, Erik and I went to dinner with Santos*, Lucas's "ex-photographer-buddy" and arch-nemesis. I'm not sure what the whole story is, because a lot of the time when Lucas and Erik talk I tune out. I got in trouble for that yesterday. Lucas had stopped in at Solferino between court and his dental appointment. Lucas and Erik started talking about... something... I don't know exactly what it was but it was about something that I knew nothing about and wasn't too interested in. Probably the political affairs of Canada. And I was feeling downright unsociable at the time. So while they talked, I read the New York Times online. Lucas interrupted me several times to ask what I was doing and to make comments on what I was reading. Erik asked me outright if I was bored by them. I guess I should have picked up that they thought I was being rude, but I didn't. I just found out today. But whatever! I was in the middle of studying and otherwise doing my own thing; I didn't realize I was expected to entertain Lucas's social call! I thought he had just popped in to talk to Erik!

Anyway. Lucas and Santos had a falling out a few weeks ago. Something about Santos "borrowing" Lucas's favorite flash and then dropping it into a gorge while he was trying to get that million-dollar shot of a rare red moose. (EWWW - total aside here but the neighbors upstairs are apparently having sex. It's like creakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreak moan moan. Gross. Not that there is anything wrong with sex, but I don't like to hear it happening - unless it's me.) So, Santos apparently has been trying to hang out with Erik lately in an effort to squirm his way back into Lucas's good graces. Erik is a Lucas loyalist so he's been ignoring all of Santos's efforts, but Santos showed up at Solferino today close to dinnertime (and Erik is convinced it was no coincidence). That's how we ended up going for dinner and drinks with Santos, whom I found to be a really sweet guy. He had to leave early to meet his girlfriend Macarena*, and when he left, he gave me a two-cheek kiss, Spanish-style. I'm usually not a cheek-kisser (unless I'm drunk, then I cheek-kiss left and right). I find it mildly pretentious when Americans who grew up, in say, Iowa, transplant into New York and then start giving people cheek-kisses for no good reason. But whatever, Santos emigrated from Brazil ten years and it's what he does.

Unfortunately, that move gave Erik some funny ideas. After Santos left he half-jokingly, half-sulkily asked why Santos got kisses when he's hung out with me far more times and has never once gotten a single kiss. I replied its because he never tried to kiss me whereas Santos had. So Erik responded that he would like a kiss as well so I airily gave him a kiss on his left cheek and then on his right in the manner of greeting or farewell I had just given Santos. But then Erik grabbed the back of my head and tried to kiss my lips. I turned my head and said, "I think we're overstepping the greeting-kiss boundary here, Erik!" Erik let me go and said, "Oh, yeah, I just thought that would be funny." HA FUCKING HA Erik. Hilarious.

*Some names have been changed.

Love in the Time of Canada

Did you know that in Toronto during the week, the TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) stops running at 1 a.m.? That means no buses, no trains. That means last night when Lucas, Erik, and I had our last drinks at 1:30 a.m. at Scotland Yard, I was stranded. Again.

Lucas offered to drive me home if I took a cab with him, but I told him I would rather crash on his couch. Even though the last time I did that I had the worst night's sleep ever - his couch is more of a loveseat and therefore about two feet too short to stretch out on. But I've learned that not coming home at all is better than coming home in the wee hours of the morning. I was actually really tired and ready to fall asleep the minute I sat down on his couch, but Lucas was feeling chatty. He showed me his Arabic copy of 1001 Nights (very beautiful book) and gave me Love in the Time of Cholera and some Michael Ondaatje book to read, which I can't remember the name of but is not The English Patient. I've always wanted to read Love in the Time of Cholera. It just sounds so ... weird. And I like Gael Garcia Marquez.

Then I saw he had a book on Hannah Arendt and said, "Oh, Hannah Arendt. The banality of evil." That comment just blew Lucas wide open. For the next two hours I heard all about Arendt, Heidegger, Eichmann, Nelson Mandela and Trudeau, the greatest Prime Minister Canada has ever seen and whose wife cuckolded him for the Rolling Stones and Studio 54, and also Michael Ignatieff, who is apparently going to be the downfall of Canada if he is elected Prime Minister. He even showed me pictures of Trudeau and his partying wife, Maggie. Finally I said, "Um, Lucas. Do you like to sleep at night? Because I kind of do."

Oh, I'm making him sound like a weirdo. He's not.

* * *

I miss Andrew so much. Yesterday I was having a bad day about him. Finally Erik (Poor Erik, I study with him and that means he has had to listen to all my emotional outbursts about Andrew for the past three weeks.) had had enough. While I was outside having a smoke, he took one of my index cards that I use to make flashcards. On the far left side, he wrote "Take him as he is," and drew a big heart and colored it in with my pink highlighter. On the far right side, he wrote, "Move on," and drew a highlighter-yellow sun with highlighter-orange rays. Then in the middle he drew a giant box, wrote the word INSANITY in the middle, and put a little X and a "You are here" underneath. He also drew broken hearts, clouds, and crying faces, and scribbled the words, "Why?" "Drama" "Groundhog Day" "What does this mean" "Expense" in the box. He left the card in my book so that I would find it when I turned the page. Funny boy. I had to admit he was right though. I am insane.

Bile

A list of things that make me feel: like vomiting (1) to repeatedly sucker-punched in the gut (5).

1) The name Martha. (And possibly Megan.)
2) Girls who post pictures of themselves practically naked on MySpace.
3) Tommy Fox's.
4) My car which feels like an unwanted love child.
5) Andrew Zitelli.

* * *

Alright, let me be completely honest. I might just feel sucker-punched to the gut and like vomiting because I've been imbibing a tad too much alcohol. I wonder if Canada or Andrew is responsible for that. Probably both.

* * *

Breakups are so strange. Three weeks ago, I had a boyfriend. I would check my cell phone compulsively to see if he had texted me, and I would call him or text him if I hadn't heard from him in a while just to say, "Hey." We would email each other or chat online at every opportunity. We would call each other at night to tell each other we missed each other. He would say, "The time will go by fast. You'll be back before we know it and things will be perfect." Almost exactly one month ago he drove me eight hours from New Jersey to Canada. Six weeks ago he gave me a ring which I was to wear every day while I was in Canada to remember him by. Two months ago, I gave his mother long hugs as she cried on my shoulder, mourning the death of his grandmother. Three months ago, he would come to my apartment on his lunch break and I would fix him pasta or a quesadilla or a turkey sandwich. We would snuggle on the couch while watching VH1 Alternative or MTV2 and before he went back to work he would squeeze me tightly and kiss me. Two years ago, I threw him a surprise birthday party. Three years ago we would drive down to the shore and do crosswords on the beach, or lie drowsily in the sun, our arms touching. And throughout much of the past three and a half years, we spent almost every night together.

Now, he's an impossibility. I deleted him from my email contacts and took his number off my phone. I threw away all his pictures. (Okay, I kept one. We look so... happy. But we didn't have a lot of pictures to begin with; I feel like he didn't like to take pictures with me.) If, in a moment of weakness, I check his MySpace page or something, I feel like I'm "stalking" him. (I guess that's what it is. But I swear that I'm not going to do that anymore. It only make me feel stabbed in the heart, and for no good reason.) He went from my lover, my friend, the future father of my children, to something further than a stranger in the time it took to say "Goodbye." With the snapping shut of a cell phone, he was gone.

* * *

I think I knew on that trip that our relationship was doomed. That last night in the hotel he just wanted to watch TV. Much Music. And somehow we ended up in an argument about Nelly Furtado. I would have liked to lie side by side and talk and cuddle and give and take attention. And he didn't seem all that upset when it was time for him to leave me and drive back to New Jersey. Meanwhile, I sobbed uncontrollably.

I don't even understand what happened. I feel like he changed so much, so fast. I have this theory that when his best friend Paul broke up with his girlfriend, Andrew started feeling trapped, like he wanted to be free and on the singles scene too. And it was bad timing, because that's also exactly when I was mentally preparing myself to leave the country for two months and wanted him to spend more time with me. I wanted to be taken out on a date or some special night. I wanted him to want to take me out on a date or some special night. He just always wanted to go out with Paul or do things with his band. And when I would argue with him because he was cancelling plans with me or prioritizing time with me as secondary, always secondary, he insisted on interpreting the argument as "You don't want me to ever do anything!" rather than what it was, which was, "You said you would spend this time with me and now you're not here." Or, "I thought you weren't going to make plans for this particular day so you could spend time with me and now you made plans to go out with Paul/play a show/whatever?" And he would scream and curse. ... I never did get a date with him before I left. I should have known this would happen. I did know. Whatever the reasons were, the signs were all there.

Teen Angst

Last night, Lucas drove me home after a late dinner of fondue and mussels with Erik. It was about 12:30 when we left BeirMarket, and by 1 a.m. we had arrived on my brother's street. He put the car in park and turned in his seat to face me.

Okay, so I'll admit it. I was slightly... nervously excited. I have a teeny tiny crush on Lucas that is probably as much a function of wanting a rebound to help me move past Andrew as it is an actual attraction to Lucas. (I mean, he's not necessarily attractive by conventional standards. He's too tall and too skinny. But he's extremely smart, charismatic, confident, and opinionated. His conversation is always mentally stimulating.) We had been sparring all night on various topics and we had both accused each other of being the most argumentative person we'd ever met. (For me, this counts as flirtation. Sadly.) And it was a nice, balmy night. Moonlight, okay, streetlamp light, filtered down through the rustling leaves of the tree overhead. The mood was right.

At least for me. Apparently the mood was right for Lucas too - to start a debate with me about the merits of Canadian constitutional law and American constitutional law when it comes to hate speech and the protection of minority groups. We talked about this for over an hour. Granted, it was a very interesting conversation and I definitely learned a lot about the Canadian constitution, the Canadian Human Rights Commission, and the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal. But good lord! It was late! It was dark! We'd had a nice night! What does a girl have to do in this godforsaken country to get a kiss?

Eh, who am I kidding. If he actually tried to kiss me I probably would have freaked out. And to be honest, about one hour into the whole U.S. v. Canada constitutional conversation I didn't really want to be kissed anymore. I was really getting sleepy. And I also knew my brother and Julie were due to come home from their trip to Pennsylvania any minute. And indeed, at around 2 a.m., my brother and Julie drove past Lucas's car to pull into the driveway. I immediately panicked. I was stupidly smoking a cigarette, which I thrust at Lucas with a "Here, hold this!" I then rolled up my window and slunk down in my seat. Lucas was bewildered and then amused as I explained to him that my brother and Julie would kill me if they knew I smoked. He scoffed at me that they knew already ("Nonsmokers can smell a smoker miles away!") and then asked, "Anyway, what are you, in grade school? Why are you afraid of them?" To which I explained that I wasn't afraid, but I didn't want to upset them or disrespect them by blatantly doing things that I know they wouldn't like, especially when they were being so generous as to let me live with them for the summer. Lucas, who is 33, then asked how old my brother was. When I told Lucas my brother was thirty he was really amused.

Anyway, so then I didn't want to go in the house because 1) I was hoping if I went in much later they wouldn't think I was the person outside in the car and 2) I wanted to "air out" and not smell like smoke. (Note to self: Smoking is gross! You have to "air out"! Quit already!) This was fine with Lucas, since he still had plenty to say about constitutional jurisprudence. So he offered to drive me to Tim Horton's so I could wash my hands and get some gum. He also laughingly offered to buy me air freshener so that I could douse myself with it.

By the time we got back to my brother's house it was almost three and it was time to face the music. I crept up to the front door like a fifteen-year old trying to figure out a way to sneak into her house when it was past her curfew and she had been drinking. I made it into my room and thought it was safe but my brother charged in and demanded to know what on earth had I been doing sitting in a car outside with some guy. Now I really felt like a silly kid. So, I did what any silly kid would do. I lied. "What car?" I asked innocently, rounding my eyes. "You weren't outside in that Ford Escort?" he demanded. "Who, me? I just got here." He looked at me suspiciously but then just sighed irritably and stomped off. I mean, seriously. I AM 26 years old.

* * *

Yesterday as I was walking downtown, an eight-year-old Middle Eastern boy ran up to me and slapped me a high-five. I think it was because I was wearing my red "South Korea's Got Seoul" t-shirt. Lucas told me Bloor Street was madness after the South Korea - France game. Apparently the Koreans were parading up and down the street, waving flags, cheering, and generally creating a ruckus. We have such team spirit. I loved how the commentators kept remarking on how loud the Korean fans were during the game. At one point one of the commentators said, "Wow - I think the Koreans have actually stopped singing. Woops, there they go again!" I'm so proud.

* * *

Austin, the guy who works at Solferino, the gelateria I go to study every day, is pretty cute and loves movie soundtracks. Sometimes he plays the soundtracks to all the James Bond movies, other times he might play old Western movie soundtracks. Today, the soundtrack was for Soylent Green. Today, he didn't let me pay for anything. My affogato al cafe, my regular coffee, and my two bottles of water were on the house. It was so nice of him. So when I went outside and this homeless girl who looked about my age asked me for change, I gave her all the change I had. I'm patting myself on the back.

Taking Sides

Last night, I went to see the Lake House with my sister-in-law Julie, her sister Gloria, and two Italian sisters named Simona and Katerina. Simona and Katerina emigrated from Italy to Canada only six years ago. Of course, conversation turned to the World Cup. We had all watched the US - Italy match. Gloria, who is obsessed with Italian culture, was commiserating with Simona and Katerina about Italian's non-win and bashing the American team. After sitting quietly for about five minutes (after all, I didn't know if I wanted to get into this, being the only American in a carful of Italians/Canadians), I decided I needed to speak up for the Americans and point out that they played almost half the game with only nine players against the Italians who had ten and that the Italians still couldn't score another goal against the Americans. Simona and Katerina were appalled that I dare imply that the Italian team did not play as well as the American. Simona reminded me that the Americans didn't even get their own goal, but that an Italian player had put the ball into his own net. Of course, I responded by saying that just goes to show how stupid and uncoordinated the Italian team is. Simona and Katerina glared daggers at me for that comment. Gloria almost put me out of the car. No one talked to me for the rest of the ride, except Julie, who is married to my brother, an American also, and therefore has some American loyalties. She leaned over to whisper, sotto voce, that she had been secretly rooting for the Americans too.

* * *

Today is South Korea against France. Apparently the entire Korean population of Toronto has rented out some convention center downtown and will be watching together. It sounds like a lot of fun and if I didn't have to study and if I knew some people who were going I would have loved to go. *sigh* What a horrible summer. Studying for the bar exam. Getting over a break up. Being stuck in Toronto and homesick for New York. Oh well. Self-pity will get me nowhere.

Bad Timing

My sister-in-law Julie came bouncing into my bedroom this morning like a frolicsome bunny. (And by bedroom, I mean the room in which I sleep on a bunch of blankets in the corner.) I was feeling guilty about creeping into the house at 2 a.m. last night, waking the dog and disturbing everyone's sleep, so I was up, having roused myself as soon as I heard their voices in the living room, and pretending to be studying. She was in a great mood, which was good, because she's kind of been mooning around the past week or so. Apparently yesterday she had stayed home alone while my brother went out and just played guitar and sang her lungs out to mellow country songs all night. And that raised her spirits. Not exactly my idea of a fun Friday night, but hey, that might just be because I can't sing. Or play guitar.

Anyway, she decided I had to hear one of the songs that she had taught herself. She's Canadian, so she's into Blue Rodeo. Do you know the song "Bad Timing"? she asked, all smiles. Not waiting for a response (well I guess she knew the answer would be no) she put it on the stereo and started plunking away on the guitar.

At first I didn't really listen, having heard some Blue Rodeo before and not being terribly into it. But then the song started to draw me in; I'm not a fan of country but it is a beautifully composed ballad about lost love (of course). Anyway, before I knew it I was thinking of Andrew and all our ups-and-downs and how absolutely dead and defeated I felt about our relationship. And started crying, hard but quietly. I was really grateful when the song was over because I had turned myself over in the bed (I mean, my pile of blankets) and Julie hadn't noticed. But then she started playing the song AGAIN, saying Man this song is so good! And then Miso (the dog) came over and began crawling all over my face, making me laugh, but the laugh came out as this really weird gurgle because of the crying. So then Julie noticed and was like, Oh crap I'm sorry! I didn't think! I'm turning it off I'm turning it off! And then she tried to tickle me to make me feel better, like I was five years old and had just dropped my ice-cream cone into the gutter. I guess it kind of worked, because she made me feel so silly I ended up gurgling some more.

* * *

So my friend told me that his long-time usually long-distance girlfriend who is back in town for the summer is feeling that their relationship has become distant. They don't talk anymore. So, to rectify the situation, the girlfriend has requested my friend to write her a letter every week explaining his feelings. She will do the same and write letters to him. This is all intended to draw them closer. My friend is skeptical about this idea, which the girlfriend apparently got from Dr. Phil. But being a good sport, he has written his first letter.

When I was in college, I brought a little diary with a cute picture of a blue cartoon bear. The purpose of the diary was so that my boyfriend at the time, Henry, and I, could draw closer by sharing our feelings. Henry would keep the diary for a week and write an entry every night, and the next week I would take it, read what he wrote, and write my own entries. We actually did this for a good six months. Henry wrote a lot more than I did. I always have good intentions about keeping journals and diaries and whatnot but my record for keeping them is pretty poor. (I'll be really impressed with myself if this blog doesn't end up falling completely by the wayside.) Henry ended up getting a little sulky a few times because he would pour out pages upon sincere pages in a week and I would write short, perfunctory messages. I was pretty terrible. Henry was a really good guy.

So. How much does Dr. Phil get paid to dole out his precious bits of advice about relationships? Because I could do his job. Pish. I thought of the whole writing-letters-to-each-other-weekly thing years ago.

Old News

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Everything hurts. My jaws. My head. My stomach. My back. My eyeballs. My heart. My heart. My poor, bleeding, ripped apart heart. My heart. My unwanted, cast aside heart. My heart. I don't know why I'm doing this. Yes, I do. I loved him. Did love, have loved, will love, must...not...love. What a silly thing, this love. Pah! I spit on it. Oh, but I would have done anything for love. I did anything for you. I wanted to do everything for you. I only wanted one little little little small thing - you. I just wanted you to give me you. I gave you me. Maybe you had no you left to give. Maybe you gave it all away another time. I think maybe, maybe that's it. I have no me left to give anyone. I have no me left over for myself. I have to make a new me. Help - I'm dying for you. Help - I'm pining for you. Help help help - make me mad. I can hate you when I'm mad. But I can't can't can't stay mad at you for long. I can go to bed mad, but I can't wake up mad - I can only wake up sad sad sad sad sad. I sound the wrong kind of mad. I don't know why I'm doing this. I was never like this before. Before, I was you. Before, I was half-pitying, half-sorry, but rather relieved, thinking it was for the best. Before, I yimmered and yawed all that, "It's not you, it's me, I have nothing to give you" crap. Before, I hung up the phone, felt bad, terribly bad, but on the whole not too too bad. I never felt battered and discarded. I was never crushed. I never sobbed so hard my eyes went bone dry and my jaws felt sore from the being in the constant crying-frown-position. I never felt that I would never ever ever love anyone else ever ever ever again. If you still talked to Henry you could confirm how heartless I was. But honestly - you're a fool. Or maybe I'm the fool. Oh I don't know anything anymore. Stupidly, I have nothing left. I reviewed everything in light of you. My life was you. Before you, during you, between you. Now I have to fight the after you.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Dustin: Neoconservative. Smart. Funny. Likes attention. Nerdy looking, but everyone says he is sleeping with the best-looking girl in our class. They sure hang out together a lot. Suspiciously, he's been observed walking out of her apartment in the morning with wet hair. Grade school, high school, law school - the gossip's always the same. DustinAS: yo appel: yo DustinAS: work it appel: i'm always working it DustinAS: that is not what i heard appel: you're talking to the wrong people, then DustinAS: catherine told me DustinAS: so what exactly happened last week? appel: you mean cathryn? appel: car accident appel: sucked DustinAS: who was driving? DustinAS: where? appel: i was. west side. big mess. don't want to talk about it. DustinAS: ok DustinAS: sorrry DustinAS: glad u are back in class DustinAS: we missed u DustinAS: immensely appel: sure you did. appel: i didn't get any cookies. DustinAS: i made cookies but then DustinAS: i was told DustinAS: .... DustinAS: that u do not like that type appel: yo appel: i like ALL types of cookies DustinAS: even tokles cookies appel: is that some kind of dirty cooky? DustinAS: what is a cooky DustinAS: i have never had one of those DustinAS: and i am clean DustinAS: so it can not be dirty DustinAS: what ae u doing? appel: appellate brief appel: i'm hungry appel: all this talk of cookies DustinAS: and??? appel: and what appel: whats with the multiple exclamations DustinAS: i just like multiples appel: oh appel: are you hungry? do you feel like bringing me food? i have a gimp leg. DustinAS: i am not near campus DustinAS: sorry appel: drats. appel: its ok. i'll forgive you because i'm magnanimous like that. DustinAS: nice voacb appel: thakns

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

	Love What a fucking joke.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Misery It's always at night. The howling voices sweep past the walls of my fortress, so reliable by day. They chase each other giddy in the corners. They swirl around the ceilings, and they slither against the walls. As the dark deepens they grow bolder. They knock the pencil from my hand, and they slam the textbook shut on my fingertips. They dance madly across the laptop screen until my eyes blur in exhaustion from trying to look past them. They poke my arm when I try to sleep, and they nudge my shoulder persistently as I walk around the house. They laugh in scornful glee when I try to drown them with late-night television, and if I open a novel, they shake their heads in mock pity before flipping the book out of my hands. They are killing me. All night long they harass me, and in the morning as they fade away I'm left a wobbly, exhausted mess. I drag myself to school and back, I nod in my chair and ignore the lecture. I wait for breaks and for class to be over, I inhale a dozen cigarettes, I seem to be eating only leftovers all the time. Maybe he did really love me, but I couldn't believe him because I'm crazy. But I'm not crazy. And I can't believe that he really did, no matter what he says. It's funny how I only write during these harsh post-breakup periods. It's funny to read what I wrote almost exactly a year ago, about the same person. Funny in a just-got-kicked-in-the-stomach kind of way. Currently Reading Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books By Azar Nafisi

Saturday, February 07, 2004

Saturday It's 3:02 on in the afternoon. I just smoked a cigarette, and in its lazy hazy aftermath I am taking a break from my ferocious studies in Crim Law and noticing things. From downstairs, I can hear the muted tones of a television show in Spanish. A woman is murmuring softly, and a man is responding angrily. I can imagine the closeups- the woman's tearful gaze, her perfectly Revlon-laquered lips trembling; the man's furrowed brow, his snarling mouth. There's an airplane flying overhead. From whence did it come, to where is it going? Is there a passenger looking down on my house right now, a little square chip in the midst of a hundred other square chips? Is he wondering who lives in that house, what does she look like, what music does she like to listen to when she lays down to sleep at night, what book has she read over and over? The apartment is a mess. The kitchen table is covered with unopened mail, stacks of catalogues, and brochures from various law schools. They should quit sending me stuff, I'm already enrolled. There's a million magazines - Time, New York, Harper's, the occasional Vanity Fair and Vogue - stacked in piles against the bookshelf. Unwrapped but unused Christmas gifts are scattered about. There's one of those little doodads that you blow into at midnight left over from the New Years Eve party on the computer desk. The fondue pot is getting tarnished. The Ikea box for the chair I bought a month ago is still leaning against the corner of the kitchen. It's very lonely in here. Currently Reading Walden By Henry David Thoreau

Tuesday, December 30, 2003

New Years Eve Eve I'm back. I've been gone a long long time but now I'm back. I can't say I feel different or refreshed. I can't say things have changed. But things are astir. I'm waiting on my LSAT results. I hope I didn't do too badly. One of my friends just took her GMATs and she has to take them again, and I'm hoping I won't have the same fate. I'll simply die if I have to take that stupid test again. Not that I found it particularly difficult, but it's just such a pain in the ass. And expensive. I'm really annoyed that having applied to only one school so far, I've already spent about $400 on test registration, materials, LSAC registration... Such crap! Anyway, if I did ok on the LSAT there's a slight chance, a very slight chance, that I will be able to attend law school beginning in January, as opposed to next fall. I say "slight chance" because supposedly Cardozo will consider my application even though it was two weeks late, even though they won't get my score until three days before orientation. But the dean of admissions said I could still apply, so I did. I still can't believe I am applying to Yeshiva University. I'm not going to tell anybody that. If I go, I'm just going to say "Benjamin Cardozo School of Law." Also, my brother's getting married. Everyone asks me if I feel weird that my brother's getting married, but I really don't feel weird about it and I think it's high time he finds someone anyway! He's practically 30, you know. So tomorrow night is New Year's Eve. Ben is flying up from North Carolina; I'm going to go to LaGuardia to pick him up tonight with Jay. I'm so excited! I haven't seen him since the Chris's wedding in August. That's where I met his mom. His mom is so cute; whenever I call his house she picks up the phone and chats with me awhile. Last time we talked she told me she loved me. I thought that was hilarious and I think Ben was mortified. She's too nice. Oh yeah, so tomorrow... I think people are coming over. Ben, Jay, Andrew, Andrea, Rob, Andrea's two friends, Kelli, Dominique, Eugene, Chrissie, Nick. Possibly Paul Gomez. Possibly Kurt and Kara. I'm kind of nervous. I have to be a host. It's going to be my fault if everyone doesn't have a fun time. I have to buy lots of champagne-that's a guarantee of a fun time, no? Currently Playing Speakerboxxx/ The Love Below By Outkast

Friday, September 19, 2003

	boo! ha. gotcha, didn't I.

Thursday, September 18, 2003

	bored board I am seriously bored. Bored beyond belief. Mind-numbingly bored. Bored to near comatose state. So bored I can't even think of anything mildly not boring to write about. I went on a board hoping for diversion. It didn't work. It's so pointless. I hate jobs. Currently Playing This Is Hardcore Pulp

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

	movies I picked up The English Patient. "C'mon Janet, you know I can't stand stupid shit like that." Right. How come I can sit through Re-Animator and Dawn of the Dead and Slashers, and you can't sit through The English Patient? Although, I guess you did sit through The Road Home. You actually liked it. And He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. You fell asleep during Amelie, though.

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

more I went home today again for dinner. Hey, I'm broke, and my mother's food is delicious, nutritious, and best of all, freeeeee!!! Anyway, as I was sitting there spooning rice into my mouth, my eye fell on this custard bowl. Something about the film on the bowl caught my attention. To confirm my suspicions, I bounded over to the fridge and opened the freezer door. Oh my. Not just one, not two, not three, but four, count 'em, four cartons of ice cream! UMMA!!! What? She came rushing in from watering the plants, wiping her hands on her apron. My poor mom. She's just like me (or, I'm just like her). Ridiculously sweet-toothed. Ma, you're not supposed to be eating this! Four cartons of ice cream? No no, that's for Bible study - someone from the group brought it. Ma. What was in the bowl? I picked up the bowl and shook it at her. I only had a little! Mom! This bowl was full! This is a big bowl! You can't be eating ice cream! It's weird to hear a parent whimper. I only had a little. Did you feel sick after? A pause. A little. Sigh. Kids, even grown-up kids, shouldn't ever have to see their parents get weak. ******** On another note. You've come into my bed, but not into my heart. The door was left open but you can't seem to find your way in. Slowly it will shut against you - you better hurry. ******** That totally sucks. Don't ever ever use that. ******** My girlfriend was telling me about how Korean actresses get their facial bones shaved. Apparently, it makes a big difference- thinner faces, more delicate features. Personally, I think it's pretty gross. I don't want to sound judgmental, but I really think young women who go for plastic surgery are pretty shallow. You can't hold onto your looks anyway, sorry honey, time and gravity will make you ugly. Better work from the inside out.

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

rant rant rant #1. Why all the rants on Craigslist about Asian females dating white males? It makes me feel very self-conscious. It's funny because as a matter of preference I probably would rather date a Korean guy. There's just more simpatico. We can tell each other really cheesy Korean-American jokes, like "Why does everyone prefer Korean tissues? Because they are hyu-ji." We can go eat Korean food together without my having to explain everything on the menu. He knows what I mean when I say I feel ddabddabheh. But whatever. I like my boyfriend, thank you. He's cute, he's smart, he's funny. He's good at crosswords. It's just weird because I never really gave the fact that I was dating a white guy a second thought until I started reading Craigslist. Even the whole Korean preference thing was consciously formed - because I was weighing pros and cons of dating Korean guys versus white guys - directly as a result of reading too much Craigslist! I have a problem because all Craigslisters have a problem. Why does an Asian girl dating a white guy have to mean that the Asian girl is selling out? Or that she is trying to climb a social ladder? Or that she is too ugly to get the attention of a decent Asian guy? Or that she has no pride in her own culture? Or that she is simply a sex object being fetishized by the white guy she's with? It's pissing me off! I am allowing myself to be negatively affected by the stupid tripe of mindless posters. #2. Had a very depressing cry-into-the-pillow type of night last night. This time it was a result of the dinner conversation I had with my mother, not Craigslist (Craigslist would never really affect me that way). I really wish she didn't tell me everything. I really don't want to know. I really want to ignore ignore ignore. #3. I hate my job. It's despicable. Horrendous. Draining. Numbing. As I started my last entry, so shall I end this one. Currently Playing Low-Fi at Society High The Figgs see related

Friday, August 15, 2003

s.o.s I absolutely despise my job. My mother came over last night at approximately midnight, braving the dead traffic lights. We sit in candlelight. She says, "Your father has changed since you moved out. He used to love you so much, brag about you all the time, carry your pictures in his wallet. Now he never mentions your name." I say, "I never felt that he did all those things." When she leaves, I cry into my bedcover. But only a little. I'm okay. I'm always okay. I'm tired of New York. There's an MK party tonight at Centro-Fly. I will roll my eyes and go, acting jaded and secretly wishing for some new excitement. I have a stupid stint for the next four Saturdays promoting Levi's Type 1 jeans. The dumb skirt is tight on the ass, loose on the waist. But who says Korean girls don't have booty? That lovin' feelin' is gone...gone...gone...whoa-oo-oohh. Help! Currently Reading The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath By Sylvia Plath, Karen V. Kukil

Thursday, July 31, 2003

reunion I really don't know why we were having a reunion, it was only five years since we graduated high school. I still kept in touch with all my friends from high school on a regular basis and to be mean but honest I thought there was really no one else I cared to see. Actually, that's not true. I did want to see Melissa M. Only because that girl hated me in high school for no apparent reason and still does, even though she's seen neither hind nor hair of me since our graduation. I know this because she happens to be working with my friend Agnes in the same office. Agnes IMed me one day last week to tell me. Vannah: Hey, I just found out one of my coworkers went to high school with you. Appel: Yeah? Who? Vannah: Melissa. Appel: No shit! Melissa M-??? That girl hated me in high school. Vannah: Haha! I can tell. Appel: What? Did she say something? Vannah: No, I could tell by the way she asked 'Are you friends with her?' Appel: Oh my god. Vannah: It was pretty funny. Appel: Did she say anything else? Vannah: Well, she said you were in some snotty clique in high school. Appel: I was NOT! Vannah: That you started. Appel: I did NOT! Vannah: She also told me Dorothy was a lesbian. Appel: Was a lesbian? She probably still is. Who cares? What a bitch. Vannah: Yeah, she seems pretty bitter. She also started drilling me about what you do these days and if you have a boyfriend and such. Appel: What did you tell her? Vannah: I told her I really didn't know. Appel: Good job. Ask her if she's going to the reunion this Saturday. Vannah: She's out to lunch. Too bad Melissa never showed up. I am glad I went though, even if the only reason I did was because Andrea was the organizer and she would have hounded me to death if I hadn't. It really was so cool to see everyone again. Slouching, chubby, shy Dennis, now tall, handsome, confident Dennis. Cathy, the girl who never had a boyfriend in high school, first to be married. Eric, out of the closet and awesomely hip. So many others, some changed a lot, some just a little, some not at all. Fly in the ointment: Dr. Ostfeld didn't recognize me! He called me JiYeon! JIYEON! THEN he later told Andrea he didn't recognize me because I looked so much more mature than I used to! What does THAT mean? Does that mean OLD? Eye cream, eye cream!

Wednesday, July 09, 2003

mourning Storms are brewing. I know this not just because the air is getting thick and settling damply on my skin like dark furry moss, but because clouds are rolling into my head, roiling and building over my heart, stirring up a tempest inside my skin. I don't know when my soul began to reflect the physical climate, but if this keeps up I am going to have to move to the Tropics. But I wonder if monsoon season would kill me. I bang on my steering wheel and sigh, watching the wind scatter cigarette butts and dirty napkins across the intersection. I want the sun to shine, but not merrily, pouring down cheer and good will. I want shimmering, merciless reflections off the blacktop, chrome, and steel around me. I want the concrete buildings to be blinding. Surrounded by all that sinister light, I can hate him. I can think of all the things he said that were little and stupid and mean. I can see him as an arrogant asshole with more issues than Michael Jackson. But when the sun fades, all of that goes away. The hurts creep in. It's bad when it rains, imagine how it is at night. The drizzle begins, and the edges of everything blurs. This rain is going to build, it's a matter of minutes before fat splashy droplets are going to drum, hard and fast, against the roof of my car. God, remember back in January or so when he went to see About Schmidt? I assumed he was going with Lauren and that gang, but then Lauren asked him that night at Bar who he'd seen that movie with anyway, then looked at me and asked if it was me. He just shrugged and said a friend. Friend? What friend? Was it Liz? I want to know... I don't want to know... I want to know... No I don't... Damn it! How could I be so stupid? Remember how I said loyalty was probably my strongest character trait, and he quickly said well he had no loyalties. Why didn't I think about what that could mean? Why did I ignore it? Why was I so dumb? Remember how he said he didn't want to get too serious, he wasn't ready, what if, say, the summer came around and he wanted to see someone else, hypothetically, he didn't want me to be hurt. God, that was so weird! I thought that was weird back then... What, was he thinking that Liz would probably be back in town for the summer and he would want to see her? Why why why why why did he do this to me? I didn't even like him at first, I pushed him away the first time he tried to kiss me, I dreaded hanging out with him for a week and almost backed out, but then figured hey, I shouldn't be so retarded, this was a college buddy, good friend of a good friend. What the hell! He's stupid, unmotivated, he's lucky he graduated, lazy, he still doesn't have a job, damn it his band sucks, it really does... The rain is defeating the windshield wipers. It's ridiculous. He's not worth this. But then remember, the last time he stayed over, how he smiled up so lazily from the pillow as I bent over to kiss him goodbye before leaving for work. That smile breaks my heart. You know, the world only looks like its dissolving through the windows of my car. I actually am.

Tuesday, July 08, 2003

not for nothing do i love the french and more random thoughts Certainly, the most violent grief that can be felt is, for a mother, the loss of her child, and, for a man, the loss of his mother. That is violent and terrible. It overwhelms and rends a man. But you overcome these catastrophes as from wide bleeding wounds. Now, certain meetings, certain things half-perceived, or guessed, certain secret sorrows, certain treacheries of fate which stir up in us an entire world of painful thoughts, which abruptly open up before us the mysterious portal of complex incurable moral sufferings, all the more profound because they seem benign, all the more burning because they seem intangible, all the more tenacious because they seem artificial, leave in our soul an aftermath of sadness, a bitter taste, the sensation of disenchantment from which it takes a long time to be free. Guy de Maupassant - Menuet I think it was May in the novel "The Secret Life of Bees" who felt every sorrow of the world so heavily that eventually she had to commit suicide. How horrible it would be to be May. I only feel May-like when I have some small personal tragedy weighing on my shoulders. I hope the movie tonight is good. Spellbound. I did use to love spelling bees myself in elementary school, so I have to admit I'm dorkily excited about this movie. I invited Jay to come with me and Amanda, so I guess tonight sparks may fly, since Amanda has broken up with Seth since last time she and Jay met. Currently Reading Georgia OKeefe: American and Modern By Charles C. Eldredge

Thursday, July 03, 2003

The Break-Up Well, I suppose it wasn't really a "break-up," since we had "broken-up" a full ten days earlier. But this was a little different, in the sense that this put the relationship irrevocably in the dead zone, in the no-chance-in-hell-of-us-getting-back-together zone, the no-i-really-mean-we-are-going-to-be-just-friends zone. We were driving. The conversation started off innocuously enough. We were talking about his sister and how she couldn't get over her ex-boyfriend. They had broken up several months ago but had continued to jealously guard over each others' hearts. But now the ex-boyfriend was dating someone new, and she was heartbroken. I mean, of course it's hard, but she has to put her mind to it. And give it time. It might take a year, but it will happen, I said. Yeah, but she was in love with him, he said. So? I asked. So you can't force yourself to get over someone, he said. You can't? This was news to me. I had forced myself to get over every single ex-boyfriend I had ever had. What was I supposed to do, listlessly pine away? Of course you can, I said. Otherwise what are you going to do? Stay in love with someone who doesn't love you anymore? He shrugged. I continued, So then how did you get over Liz? Or are you not over her? I turned to look at him. His hands gripped the wheel, and his ears pinked. What? he asked. Are you not over her? I heard my voice involuntarily rise, just a wee bit. Then, as is my customary habit, I excused, Well I guess you did go out with her for five years, as I turned to look out the window again. Six years, he said. It was a long time. I agreed. It was a long time. I fell silent, looking out the window, suppressing an urge to cry, while he rambled on about showing me where his band practiced, what kind of beer should he get for Craig's party, he hoped the party would be good. I nodded assent whenever it seemed appropriate, and continued looking out the window. Well? he said. I took a breath and turned back to him. We were in the parking lot of the liquor store. I'll wait here, I said. You go in. He looked at me. What's the matter with you? Why are you so quiet? Nothing. Then let's go. No, I'll stay here. Come on. You're scaring me. What's on your mind? Nothing. It doesn't matter. What doesn't matter? The fact that you just told me you're still not over Liz. He started the engine back up and started leaving the lot. Where are you going? I asked. Why aren't you getting beer? I don't feel like it anymore. Maybe I'll get it later. Look, you shouldn't worry about Liz. She has nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me, I screamed in my head. What does that mean? How could he say that, when for the past seven months we were supposed to be falling in love? Was she the reason why we didn't fall in love, and only I did, alone? Was she the reason why I finally broke everything off, having gotten too hurt after seven months of feeling his indifference? I wanted to rage at him, kick and scream and punch. But instead I simply said, You're right. Let's not discuss this, it doesn't really matter. What do you mean, it doesn't matter? He at least knew me well enough to hear the tone in my voice that said it did indeed matter. It doesn't matter because we're not together anymore anyway. It's nice to know I made the right decision, and this explains a lot about our past relationship anyway. Like what? Like the fact that I always felt like you didn't care about me. He said, you know that's not true. I like you, I really do, why do you think I spend so much time with you? I turned to face him. So much time? I asked. The week I broke up with you, I saw you on Sunday, didn't speak with you until Tuesday, when you came to my apartment to wake me up at two in the morning when you knew I had work the next day. Wednesday and Thursday, I didn't hear a word from you. Friday we were supposed to hang and you ditched me for your Paul and the 18-year-old girlfriend. This time it was his turn to look out the window. Listen, he said, I really miss you. I was hoping we could work things out. What is there to work out? I asked. You are still in love with your ex-girlfriend. Do you expect me to compete with six years of your life, to kick her out of your memory? The tears spilled. You like me, I'm sure, but what's the point of me being with you when I'm sure all it would take is a phone call from her for you to forget me. I turned to face him. It doesn't matter if we have the best relationship or the shittiest. What would you do if she called you tomorrow and said 'Hey, I miss you. I want us to be together again?' I would say...What are you doing? No. His voice cracked and wavered. What are you doing? I deadpanned. I don't believe you, I whispered. I faced the window, feeling my face harden with hurt and anger. Look, he started. His voice faded as he watched me watch the wind sway the glossy green leaves of the bushes on his lawn. I guess it's all fucked up now, huh. Yes, I said. Not just our present and our future, but our past too, I thought. Currently Reading Lonesome Traveler By Jack Kerouac

Friday, June 27, 2003

friends and lovers So last night I went to watch "Blind Spot: Hitler's Secretary" at Makor on 67th Street. Originally it was planned that Amanda, Andrea, and I would go together, but Andrea flaked and so I invited Jay to accompany Amanda and me. After the film we went to Panchito's for margaritas, which turned out to be not margaritas but banana-strawberry pina colada. A pitcher of it. Now, Amanda is one of my closest girl friends. We are part of the same crew from high school, and though we drifted during our college years we've always kept a connection that is at its strongest now. Jay is a college buddy; we bonded over our year abroad together in Scotland. I value him as one of my few "guy friends." I say few because platonic opposite-sex friendship is a rare and exotic specie in my world, difficult to obtain and even more so to maintain. So imagine my shock when Jay leaned across the table towards me after Amanda had excused herself for the ladies room. So what was she saying about dating other guys? he asked. I arched an eyebrow. (Ok, I didn't, because I'm physically incapable of it, but if I could've, I would've.) Why, are you interested? I asked back. Maybe. Hmmmm. This was... a development. Two days ago I had introduced Jay to Alison, a coworker that I was friendly with. Friendly with, not friends with. Not close friends with. I wouldn't have minded my close guy friend dating my coworker, but did I want my close guy friend to date my close girl friend? The answer was no. I tried to explain to Jay later, on the train home, that Amanda was 1) currently dating a guy anyway, and 2) that if he did date her, he and I could not possibly maintain the same friendship, because how could I be close to her and him separately if they were together? If they started going out, I couldn't call him up and ask him to meet up with me for happy hour, or have him come over and watch "Best in Show" or just hang out alone in general. He would become "Amanda's boyfriend" and the nature of our relationship would totally change. Didn't he CARE? Apparently not. He said I was jumping the gun and supposed he wouldn't ask her out for drinks because she was seeing someone at the time anyway, but he was going to send her an email to tell her he had a nice time that night. Email? How did he get her email? Oh yes, I had forwarded him the exchange of emails between her and I concerning the film and where to meet. I grit my teeth. I guess I should be a grown-up about this and not care, and I'm sure a week from now I'll look back at my silly anxious left-out and unloved feelings tonight and laugh, knowing that this is a result of a combination of my totally unrelated feelings of insecurity in the current boyfriend, workplace stress, and probably fluctuating hormones. But for tonight, I think I'll sulk and glower, and just dare my friends to like each other.

Thursday, June 26, 2003

	this and that What is it about shopping that is so therapeutic? I know its such a sad little cliche, depressed woman goes mad in department store, but its so true. All my friends are guilty of it, from the vegan ones to the trendy Korean ones...ESPECIALLY the trendy Korean ones. I actually hate malls, but thanks to the Internet and ever-increasing credit card limits, I am guilty as of two minutes ago as well. I must say, after my little spree on Bluefly.com I am feeling somewhat sunnier. I should ride my bike tomorrow morning before work so I can look semi-decent in my newly purchased bathing suit by 4th of July weekend in South Beach (a bachelorette party for yet another soon-to-be-yoked-to-in-marriage friend). Haha. Okay, let's be honest, it's past one in the morning, I'm a little drunk, and there's no way I'm going to wake up by five or six or some other ungodly hour so I can sweat before getting ready to be in the office by 8:30. Whoa, I just tried to Xangazon search (or whatever it's called) for Life of Pi by Yann Martel for currently reading and NO MATCHES WERE FOUND! What a travesty. The NO MATCHES, not the book. Everyone should read this book. Well not everyone, but someone I know so I can pepper them with questions about it. It's a book that merits discussion. Ok, so what's with this Friendster thing? Granted, I am a very old lady and not hip to the whole internet community (or any community, really) but I mean, really. I don't need to go to some website to find out I have a gazillion contacts but only 1 friend, and that I should request friends to be friends so they can confirm friend status and up my friend number, and wonder why such and such person got such wonderfully nice testimonies and I get just okay testimonies and get all tied up in a knot over it then read my old flame's and his girlfriend's testimonies to each other and break down into tears over that and then call a friend to vent. (I didn't do any of this. The friend who introduced me to Friendster, which I checked out for two minutes before pushing the cancel button on my account, did all this.) Currently Playing: Songs for the Deaf