Rainfalls

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

My grandfather passed away this past week and as I was stumbling to find something to read at his memorial, I went back to some of my old writing and pieced together something…
The old Soul left on a Tuesday Night
Nine fifteen to be exact

Leaving the old Charm and Character

That Night, the rain teased the rooftop
Tapping like you wanted them to
Drums of my childhood
Proudly sitting by
Your fireplace
Dusting
They aged
You aged
In pain


Leaving your soul on a silver platter

That night, the old Soul never woke up
And so I never said goodbye
You left me, me, me
The thumb wars
The stories
The laughs
Me, You
us, me
mom


Leaving a life you once belonged to

That night, with the sweet tenderness of the rain
You left me the last bit of your spirit
Knowing there was no hope
Not a tear was shed
Life just goes on
Rain, only rain
When it rains
I’ll know
It's you

Leaving with the rainfall

Because only you
Believed the magic of rainfalls

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A 10pm Stogie

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

It seems that every night when I go for my last stogue for the night, I imagine my future, I reflect on the past and present, (Take a drag) I examine every little bit of what life has to offer and finally…(exhale) I am confused.

Every time I lean on my window, staring at the stars, I feel empty. I have goals. I have ambitions and yet, I am not complete. Strange.

I know people would die to be in my shoes, or so they say. I tend to be quite radical with that. I’ve come across pretty good professional liars and I’ve learned my lesson. You see, TRUST is such a strong, liberating, profound word and yet, I take it for granted (one more drag, long deep release of smoke through my nasal canals and I feel high).

I wonder if my neighbors think I am crazy because I talk to myself. Hmmm…

Lost…

What am I doing with my life? (drag)

On the other hand, I'm fine. Content. true.(Exhale)

hmmm? (Drag)

Ha! And I always thought it was perfection. (Exhaling slowly, realizing that once again I am talking to myself: shit!)

I can only walk forward. Don’t look back, because it might just be what you don’t want to see.

What are the probabilities that I might be an editor? 1 out a 192837384978347565765389783? I work for Newsweek don’t I? Ok. 2 out of a 287324874378973458938797538.

Oh boy! What about a writer? Scratch that.

(Fighting for that one last bit of drag, perhaps it will be my omen)

(Exhale)

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I am trying I guess...

Monday, July 9, 2007

Growing up, I always held the ideal of the 'NY woman' as my aspiration -- fashionable, feminine yet assertive, tough, and always extrodinarily put together. I acheived my goal when I was 18, during my first year of my women's college experience. I was always well dressed, 15 lbs thinner, make-up on perfectly, the perfect first date who laughed at the the dumbest jokes and struck the balence of making a woman feel like a million dollars yet making her second guess whether you were completely into her. The year I began my first year of college, I was unstoppable when I went out. I would walk into a straight bar and I would end up pushed against the wall being ravaged by some hot sexually confused woman.

Now let's examine where my I am 6 years later. 15 lbs heavier, forgotten how to put on make-up, there is something always eskew with my outfits (yesterday I ran out of clean clothes and had to febreeze myself and this morning I got deoderant all over my black summer dress that did not quite fit perfectly), and I lost my nasty streak -- the streak that made women find me so insanely attractive.

See, my undergrad was co-ed, but I considered it more of a women’s college due to the lack of men and the absurd amount of lezies and bi curious girls from no name towns. So, with that said, my “women’s college” education made women more assertive, allowed us to pursue our intellectual potential with minimal male classroom domination and all in all, a women's college education makes us better humanbeings. If I am such a better humanbeing, why am I pining away for the days when I was 18? The days I would laugh in a girl’s face if she didnt kiss well, buy me my drink on time, or wasn't hot enough for me. Granted, I am a nicer human being, I no longer laugh in girl’s faces, give everyone a chance (because there may be a diamond in the rough), and try to keep in mind that even the less fornuate looking women are humanbeings with a story to tell.

Fuck my education, college gave me a conscience.

Living in sweatpants for 4 years will mess with a girls sense of fashion and her self esteem. Granted during those 4 years I worked on my "self:" I can debate the validity of Nietzsche, hold intellect in the highest regard, and value life experience rather than the mall experience. I learned to value myself as an intellectual as opposed to a cute well put together NYC Lezie. Hence why I have been sorta single ever since. Living in those sweatpants taught me that sometimes fabulous people dont always look so fabuous.

For the past two years, having become a bonafide NYer, I have tried so hard to become the woman I once was..the woman who always had her hair- did, always had a quick joke, an a cigg dangling out of her mouth ( not too sexy I suppose). The woman who would never get horribly drunk, who sipped her vodka as opposed to chugging, and cured hangovers with water and fruit as opposed to scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. I tried hard within this past year to become the woman I was at 18 but since I work in publishing, and there are no eliglble lezies who I work with, I went back to old habits – the partying, the “I don’t really give a fuck look” You may have chugged coors light back in the day, my friends and I chugged shots of absolut vodka while playing power hour.

Now that I have everything in place that would force me to become the woman I have always wanted to (appearance and alcohol consumption wise, everything else I am really happy with myself), I think I forgot! This morning I got my deoderant all over my black summer dress. Instead of making a big deal, scrubbing it out, I shrugged my shoulders and rationalized that we are all human, as I pulled my hair back into a messy bun.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I have spent the last 5.5 years romanticizing the messy intllectual, the quiet one with a nose in her book, who always looks slightly astray. I am 24 going on 25... I am working with cute straight ladies with probably even cuter friends. Oh 18 yr old me...where are you?

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Word of advice

If you are at a party, and there are pictures being taken, don't assume that they are not going to photograph you--especially if you are dressed up very stripper-ish, I mean elegantly. Furthermore, in this day and age of internet, don't assume that they will not put up the most uncomprosiing pictures of you.

Evidently I was even more scandelous when one sees my behavior in snap-shot form.

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A Lonely Thursday

Thursday, July 5, 2007

This, my friends is what happens when you work in Publishing and it is a Thursday afternoon.

me: shoot me!
NYU: only if u shoot me at the same time
me: ha! I’ll try
NYU: arghhh
me: how are you keeping yourself busy?
NYU: im on college humor. I need coffee... again
me: hmmm...try to think of something else to keep u awake
NYU: like... sitting here with nothing to do?
me: yeah. That can help
NYU: oh it’s working already!
me: i bet. Don’t you worry. U only have 2 hrs to go
NYU: an hour and 50 minutes haha
me: actually an hour and 53 min. according to my pc
NYU: its wrong!
me: really? Shit. My phone says the same thing. ur pc is wrong
me: you are just trying to get out 3 minutes earlier
me: shame on you

5 minutes later:

me: how do you feel about the name "Lucy". I know its random.
me: hmm I wouldn’t even know how to begin answering that
NYU: it reminds me of I love lucy
me: lol
NYU: Why?
me: yeh. This lady from edit just came to say hi to me. She just had a baby. And so I said, "oh, what's her name" she responds with a "its Lucy. Isn’t it cute?"
me: so I lied. I said "yes, its beautiful"
me: but truthfully, i think it may be the worst name in the baby book
NYU: ya I don’t like that name. I thought u were gonna say it was your moms name or something
me: nah.
me: couldn’t she have thought of something cuter? I wonder what tiff is going to name her kid.
NYU: apparently not. Haha hmmm lets ask her
me: u do that. She already thinks I’m like this pregnant women hater
NYU: haha
NYU: nathaniel shea or haley joy
me: shea like shea stadium?? Hardcore Mets fan.
NYU: totally.

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The Ex is a Douche

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

I am starting to think that I should start a blog with the title “My Ex-Girlfriend is a Little Bitch”. There would have been ample material to update every week--on some occasion’s daily. We've recently stopped talking. Or, to be more specific, I stopped talking to her months ago. She has started to text me randomly, which I guess involves some amount of speaking- sorry, typing on her part but mostly it's me ignoring her pitiable attempts to upset me.

However, this is not exactly what relegates her to little bitchdom. What downgrades My Ex-Girlfriend to Little BitchdomEx-Girlfriend has had some crazy times at work. Unfortunately, she has a real job but is one of the company bitch. So she complains a lot and wants me to listen and be a friend. This is unfortunate because I am not one of those girls who can wish exes well. I wish them a lifetime of poverty and sexual abstinence. I kid, I kid.

She finds occasion to whine about everything endlessly in a 5-minute phone call. After a cursory glance at the caller ID on my phone, I find that the call was largely due to a horrid day at work/girlfriend issues, roommates’ drama. It is highly unlikely that a misogynistic douche-bag would suddenly find the time and motivation to go out and make horde of female friends that come over and chastely play a dyke game of Pong. One can only conclude that I have made it onto the list-serve entitled "Girls I am Fucking or Would Like to Fuck or even better – girls I pretend to be friends with" hereafter referred to as GIFWLF.

On these GIFWLF calls, lines are often included to target a specific girl/issue (and I suppose to reassure to me that she is in fact a little carpet muncher - eww) such as "that girl is so hot" or "ugh, she lives so far, I can’t be in a relationship with someone I can’t see". I tried to make myself feel better for a bit by pretending that the whole operation was a clever way to get under my skin. However, I am not that easily manipulated, even by my own self. The truth is I have left the confines of a serious relationship to enter Ex-girlfriends harem, which includes one other ex- and short-term projects.

My presence on the GIFWLF call list insults me, but in a horrible girly way that no lesbian’s logic could comprehend. This is partly my fault for refusing to accept that any girl I have slept with could actually be a misogynistic douche-bag with no redeeming qualities.

But I think I'm coming around to the idea.

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Pussy Status

Monday, July 2, 2007

There is a CEO who...terrifies me. Scares the shit out of me. Makes me want to hide underneath my desk.He is blonde with a very cute boyish smile that he only uses when delivering bad news. When he makes (what I think are) jokes, he does not smile at all. Sometimes he will laugh, which I believe is intended to be reassuring but is actually frightening since he has mastered the strange art of laughing without smiling.

Jokes include:"I don't see why your position isn't part-time."
"You're saying you sent that e-mail? I'm saying you're a liar."
"You are completely useless to this company."

Thankfully, none of these have been directed at me. Maybe he senses I am fragile or a bitch from NY. He does, however, issue vague yet urgent directives which I run around trying to complete without asking for clarification because he is so fucking scary. For example: At 10:00 this morning, CEO told me to get some sales figures. The actual words out of his mouth were "You know how to run that sales report for 2006? I need it for this meeting." He then marched out of my "office" leaving me with the thoughts: What meeting? Which sales report? What the fuck?When he left,

I had a fit of panic and figured I could just get all the sales figures for all our ads. I am just now realizing this is a stupid, stupid plan, and I need to go ask him what exactly he needs the figures for. Unfortunately for me, an hour has passed since his request and so I will appear either retarded or lazy. Instead of dealing with the situation I am writing this, further compounding the problem.

I know, I am a total pussy

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