Hi

Oh hey there, ghosts. Glad to know you didn't go far.

just because

i mean, is anybody really going to argue with me?

humanity, it is good

so, today i wore stupid pinchy flats that are supposed to make walking and being chic easier, but really do not.

i haven't slept well in weeks.

my alarm went off at 5:45am, which is just stupid.

it is 90 degrees in new york city.

it is 1,290 degrees in new york city's subway system.

these factors alone are usually enough to make me want to give up on civilized life. but apparently the gods are testing me, because after walking from a meeting on ninth avenue this morning in a suit in the 90 degree heat in my stupid pinchy shoes and sleepy and cranky and limping down to the seventh circle of hell that is the subway platform, i swipe my card to get slapped with a beep and this kind message:

INSUFFICIENT FARE

now, mind you, this greeting is usually met with a sigh, a digging for $2 or, if i'm lucky, my next-month's card. today i had no spare card, and though i had a few bucks on me it didn't matter, because i was in one of those stupid metrocard-entry only entries with no kiosk, and after staring up at the heat-blurred staircase back up to the street i think i really might have been on the brink of grabbing the third rail had i actually GOTTEN onto the platform, when a generous soul came by to restore my faith in humanity.

me, looking around, helplessly svitzing all over the place and trying my card again as people exiting the station eye me suspiciously: "fuck!"

kind black woman in capris with blue leather purse (i won't forget you!): "you need a ride? here."

and she digs into her bag and swipes me in with her unlimited card. beep! GO.

kind woman in capris, thank you. i hope the spirits reward you with handsome young bucks feeding you bonbons and fanning you with peacock feathers. or, you know, whatever your heart desires. here's to paying it forward.

only in fucking brooklyn

so, i notice earlier in the week that decorations are up, signs are posted, children are wearing cute little costumes and face paint. purim is here. okay. fine. after last year's purim -- who could top the old hasid dressed up as a freaking PUERTO RICAN, with baggy jeans, bomber jacket and a puerto rican flag as a do-rag -- oh wait, maybe it was the guy in the asian-in-a-rice-paddy costume leaving my apartment building -- i think, i'm ready for anything.

i step off the J to the blaring of a party bus driving down Broadway-- a huge souped up luxury bus blasting jewish music with lights flashing inside. ok, fine.

i then turn the corner on Rodney, where the hasidic social club is. an SUV blaring music lurches into a parking spot, with one wheel up on the curb, and the driver, dressed as a pimp -- i kid you fucking not, cane, bright neon trench coat, the whole bit -- stumbles out and runs into the club. ok, fine.

and THEN, as i'm crossing in front of the car, the guy in the passenger seat, a young guy, stumbles out. he is dressed head to toe in prison stripes and wearing a 2-foot black afro. he is saying something to me. i ignore him, as i would any stupid drunk man at 5pm. he follows me, stumbling across the street and halfway up the block to Division, calling something to me, pointing his finger at my face, and for a moment looking seriously as if he's asking a question.

i turn down my ipod to listen. i mean, it's rare that hasidic men don't hug the wall or otherwise pretend i don't exist (except my landlord. he's honestly great), so why not engage this once? even though my neighbors won't shake my hand -- "oh. my husband doesn't shake hands with women" -- this kid clearly has something he wants to get off his chest.

and you know what the motherfucker is saying, as he points to me face and chases me down the street?

"china? ching chong? ching chong! you ching chong!!!"

after three years in south williamsburg i thought nothing the neighbors could do could surprise me anymore. but a HASID wearing a TWO FOOT AFRO just CHASED ME DOWN THE STREET screaming and pointing "CHING CHONG!"

i'm baaaaaaaaaack

and i must ask ... when was the last time YOU did the forbidden dance?

the environment. and pretty people.

as C pointed out, we're screwed: screwed!

we've totally done it to ourselves, and we KEEP ON DOING IT.

and it's not just us. we've ruined so much natural habitat that now animals are taking on our bad habits, drinking and killing themselves violently.

why can't we learn our stupid lesson? it makes me sad.

but this isn't a thoroughly depressing day. chew on this:

in the past week i've had dreams of falling into a lake while waterskiing and landing in george clooney's arms, and swimming away with him, and then also of being at a snowy lodge and having chris martin follow me around telling me of course he was in love with me, that's why he wrote that song. and don't i remember that time in the hottub?

i don't. but i wish i did. so instead, i provide eye candy for you.

my number one. i know, he's japonesa, my father will not be happy.

G's number one. pffft. i *guess* i get it.

C's former number one. but he's a scumbag ... on the search for new candy!

i don't know anybody else's number one. but this is fun. north koreans and al qaeda!

and today, i eat

lots of things have happened since i last posted on this blog. i turned 28. i went hiking in the catskills. i sprained my ankle. i camped for the first time. i canoed (17 miles!) for the first time. i ate mac 'n cheese from a box for the first time in two years. i clocked a year with gbang. i bought the most beautiful dress, EVAR! and oh, i changed jobs.

but today, something truly monumental is happening: i am finally, finally, FINALLY, going to bite into the (in)famous $32 daniel boulud burger at db bistro moderne. it's ground sirloin, packed with short ribs and goddamn foie gras, served on a parmesan bun with a heap of pomme frites. how do you get short ribs inside a burger? how do you get shortribs and foie gras inside a burger? will a lump of melty goose liver be wrapped in ribs then cloaked in sirloin? do i really need twice-fried potatoes to accompany my meal? is any hunk of ground cow really WORTH a meal for two at most of my favorite restaurants?

these are questions that shall be answered, my friends. thanks to RA for being one of my favorite gossipy, carniverous, healthy-appetite publicist friends ... if i don't have a heart attack on site, i will report back shortly.