groceries

i was going to write a blog about how i know how to cook a few things and can't buy groceries beyond what i know how to cook. but instead, i could spend the time learning a new recipe. except, oh well. too late.

other things i intended to cover:

high school weird girl, with huge mustache. way bigger than the mustache i have today.

the garden in greenpoint is a stupid place with stupid hipsters.

a polish girl who was 15 was giving me attitude at the drugstore where i was buying mustache bleach, possibly for accidentally looking at her boyfriend. i found this surprising, as i was buying mustache bleach.

i saw a really fat guy on the g train.

i don't like it when people look at me in a rude or obnoxious manner. it's like, mind your own business, retard. where do you think you are going to get with that?

my boss is a very whisical guy. i asked him to indicate which 40 of 200 distribution points he wanted me to put on this ad, and when his assistant delivered his answer to me, it was "Put Everything." he's just kind of whisical like that. it's funny, like living in a satire. our promotional holiday party has a name: "Magic Party." huh? well, whatever.

tracy morgan is cooler than alec baldwin. black people are sometimes cooler than white people.

someone made fun of nina lalli in a letter to the village voice today. that girl went to my college. the first time i saw her i got sort of freaked out. she was wearing huge hot pink feather earrings and a tight t-shirt that said "lush shiksa" and designer jeans that probably cost about $400. she had the most intense, 80s aesthetic designer jeans i had ever seen in my life. i hate sometimes how i went to school with shitty rich kids who had such nice clothes that they make you feel like you weren't good enough or something. anyway, they made fun of her for being racist in an article she wrote about food.

recapitulated

i am just writing another post now because i feel like it. i bought 2 psychedelic shirts from beacon's closet.

SCAMS AND FLAMS

i was listening to shim sham club over and over again today. OH MAN AMANDA LISTENS TO THE CHERRY BLOSSOM CLINIC WITH TERRE T

sometimes i want to ask people:

how is that funny?

i am going to stab my eyes out now with a little mermaid dagger.

BRIMFUL OF STARLIGHT, AND HE SAID: THE STAMPER OF THE SKIES,
HE IS A GENTLE ROEBUCK; FOR HOW ELSE, I PRAY, COULD HE
CONCEIVE A THING SO SAD AND SOFT, A GENTLE THING LIKE ME?

pong

My office has a ping-pong tournament every Friday at 5:30. It started three weeks ago. Today was the third tournament. The same person has won all three tournaments so far. (Not me). I always feel stupid when I lose to him, as I am the 2nd seed and I really think I should beat him at least half the time. I think it's more of a rules issue than a skill and experience issue; I was good about declaring the sharp pieces of wood and "Hoy!" dropbox out-of-bounds before the tournaments got underway; but not about making sure everyone knew that the server has to declare the score before serving, and then enforcing that in my own games. I tend to be easily manipulated! Psychologically, we are well-matched opponents. So I need to investigate why I'm losing, psychologically. I decided then I've been relying too much on kills and not "pushing the volley". And also, part of it is skill and practice. Like, today I developed more of a forehand.
I told my boss on the train home today that if I played him at ping-pong, I would destroy him. This is the kind of thing you are not supposed to say to your boss. But it was true, and I was pretty tired, so I said it. The tournament's pretty fun- I would like to do that at work all day (not really). It's a nice way to beat people at things that don't matter so they give you mad respect (actually, that doesn't really happen so much). I don't like beating people who are way worse at it than I am, because I think they aren't even trying. Yesterday I played this girl, as the tournament was set up wrong, who I had to wipe the table with just so I could practice in a hard-core way. As I developed my forehand.

Five hours later: i feel less like a person who played ping pong and more like someone who is tired and ill, as I slept very little the night before, and just got back from a noise rock concert with my roommate. I met Andrew's friend, George. I also met someone from Dallas named Avi who knows my blog roll occupant/improbable accquaintance Jeffrey Max. So I know your real last name now, Jeffrey. These two occurances may seem improbable, but the noise-rock community is very small. No, not really. But the Dallas private school (I think) community is very small. And my roommate knew George from the west coast.

12 hours later from that: I doing weird stuff with pictures.

3 hours later from that: I am sitting and doing nothing I am going to get nothing done this weekend. Like, oops. But at least I am going to hang out with my friend named Brian Koplow.

1 hour later: Man, I fucking hate being a "gentry". I hate that people think I am a gentry. Although, looking at who I associate with I guess I am a gentry. I don't know anyone in this neighborhood who used to live here. Maybe that's what I'll be for Hallowe'en instead of Joelle Van Dyne. A gentry. Riding a broomstick horse.

3 hours later: I am sitting at my computer eating dinner in the dark. I would rather sit in the dark even when I'm alone. I would also rather there were no streetlights, even though that would increase the danger quotient, supposedly. I don't totally think that's so. When there are no streetlights, your eyes adjust, when there is starlight.

Dear Diary,
I just ate so many pieces of pizza!
My past blog post, which I just read over, is so confusing.
Let me say this:
bad stories: not going to tell you which ones
gaye advert---> song "gary gilmore's eyes" ---> norman mailer's true crime novel (true crime? what's the real name for that?) about gary gilmore.
root beer glasses: there was a drinking root beer incident with volleyball --->hanging out with an old teammate

bleh! i am going to be raymi for hallowed 'een. oh, not so. all i would have to do would be buy an orange dress and wear knee socks and take lots of pictures of myself pouting, and take pictures of food. oh yeah, exhibitionist blogging.

i don't actually plan on spending my halloween "in the blogosphere".

i'd like to offer my congratulations to dave s. for being named "best dogwalker..." by the village voice. i assume he has friends at the voice. not that he is not the best dogwalker.

i'm watching gossip girl because that's what all the cool people do. it's kind of...good? my favorite part is how the costume designers can barely dress the really tall main character. none of her clothes fit her!!! ha ha. she's probably less than 6 feet tall, too. it sucks to be tall. it sucks to not be average, which is kind of weird. what's wrong with me? sorry that this is my blog.

smoking room

I am doing some major procrastinating right now! Trying to avoid reviewing these horrible stories. Sitting in our little undecorated basement common room, oriented towards the television set.

Gaye Advert.



It currently smells like fireplaces in Bed Stuy, curiously these smell the same as fireplaces in Middleburg, VA, where my parents' best friends live. It's rural so maybe it's the smell of a bonfire. They are friends with one of the Smothers Brothers. Now it smells really ridiculous, like a yew log is burning.

A fruitless google image search for yew log has left with the feeling that I really meant "yule log".
Today I hung out with an old volleyball peppering partner, Erin Raker Sisk. Erin is even taller than I am, 5'11"! We went into an art-supply store to ask someone a question about the location of B&H, and there, while idly staring around the store, I noticed a handwritten sign:

(image to come)

it said "williamsburg black oil: lead-based painting oil, $18 a bottle".

It was fun hanging out with Erin- both of our jeans were a little too short, and she is so amazing at parallel parking (like me).

We both admitted to having stress dreams about volleyball.

Something weird is that we both looked taller to each other than we actually are. I told her I thought it was because our eyes are only like 5'7", and that's why it's hard to tell.

Erin was smart enough to quit the team when the immaturity of our 24 year old coach, Brian, became an issue! That guy was pretty good at volleyball, though. He could dance and prance and jump around the court with grace. He had an immature fit in front of all of us once that made Amanda Christiansen cry.

david holzman's diary

i am watching a movie i chose at photoplay, a greenpt. video store amanda recommended to me. it's called david holzman's diary. right now a stoned guy with an accent is saying really serious things and seems very concerned and he's shooting like from standing on a sofa and there's a weird painting behind him and it's a very long take and a pretty long shot. i don't think i'm doing justice to how good this movie has been so far. i chose it because the cover was so laudatory and it said it was in the lib of congress along with some things like "touch of evil". i need to see the orson welles movies. i like photoplay. the guy there told me to rent "broken english", a sad thing that i could hardly watch, but it was good. the thing i like best is that they have "the milky way" which is this completely insane bunuel movie, right there on the wall. that movie is what i imagine wes anderson is referring to in the dvd extras of "the royal tenenbaums", when he refers to bunuel. the PA thinks he means "the discreet charm of the bourgeoisie", but when he says that, wes anderson makes the saddest, most helpless face. ok