I Pity The Fool

1. Thanks (Miss Banks), Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin.
There is one person I’ve met recently who made me feel good about myself.  Should I be worried that this happens to be a 50-year-old black lady with a bouffant who works at the women’s prison?  I say no, not at all.  The phenomenal Miss Banks has consistently treated me with dignity and charm since I met her at a picnic table in front of her worksite about 3 weeks ago.  I was eating breakfast, she was chainsmoking, and we both admired each other’s panache.  Miss Banks wanted to know if I have a boyfriend, and when I responded, she was shocked.  "Why not?!" she demanded, and when I told her that I’m constantly asking myself the same question, she laughed.  Her prescription: put on a bikini, paint my nails (all of them) red, and hit the beach.  She also couldn’t believe I was baking my own birthday cake, but admired me for doing so.
Miss Banks is exactly the kind of sassy older woman I hope to be someday (well, perhaps minus the diabetes and nicotine addiction).  Having a sweet, total stranger relate to me in that way (and in that place) is a momentary distraction from this mortal coil.
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2. Mortal Combat*
I got home last night and spied another one of what my Italian grandmother used to refer to as "uninvited guests."  A week or two ago, there was one on the kitchen floor.  I employed the dual techniques of squishing and poison-spraying: there was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide.  Its demise was lengthy and unpleasant.  Then last night, horror of horrors, there was one on the floor of my *bedroom.*  I made a sound like a puppy caught under a rocking chair, profoundly startling my mother, and was unable to catch it, kill it, or see where it escaped to.  Panic.  My only recourse was to spray the same combination of orange-antibacterial cleanser and Oust odor eliminator as before, on the floor and at the perimeter of the room.  Before leaving, my mother ever-so-helpfully reminded me that "they’ve been around for millions of years longer than we have, and they’ll be here when we’re gone."
Fast forward to today, I was napping on the couch, and when I woke up, I noticed a suspicious little carcass by the door.  Upended roach (or according to my landlady, "just a waterbug…yes, they can fly!").  Definitely from the same family as the others…hopefully the same one from last night.  I scooped it up with a paper towel and decided it was a great time to take out the garbage.  My house is clean, so I suspect migration from downstairs or next door, both of whom are doing renovation…on the other hand, my mother seemed to think that roaches like clean places (I said, "What do they eat?" and she said, "Soap."), so I guess you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
My landlady’s advice was to not open the windows without screens…these would be the windows she’s supposed to replace anyway, but that’s another story.
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*Should I add this to my Amazon Wishlist?
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3. The Devil’s Work is Never Done.
As if the casting of John Travolta in the role immortalized by DIVINE wasn’t proof enough, check out what’s coming down the pike.  Ugh.  And, need I mention the Bratz movie?  Not a joke, sadly.** 
At least they’re bringing It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (go here and scroll down, if you aren’t familiar with it) back again!  And, now that I have DVR (wonderful invention that can record a whole series, and even be set to record an extra minute at the beginning or end of a show), my early-to-bed/early-to-rise job won’t prevent me from following along.
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**The only amusing thing about that is that according to IMDB: "Paula Abdul was
originally hired as the movie’s Executive Producer, Fashion Designer,
and Dance Choreographer. During an episode of her reality TV series, Hey, Paula (2007), she found out that she had been fired from the
movie through an e-mail message on her Blackberry."
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4. Krazy Tip
For the second time in as many weeks, I got Krazy Glue on myself.  At least this time, I didn’t actually krazy glue myself to myself: last time, it was my thumb to my index finger, on both hands…pulling my fingers apart was not the most comfortable sensation.  Also, unlike last time, I already had a bottle of acetone nail polish remover on hand.  I guess putting it on right away may have helped lessen the effects of the glue, and I certainly don’t mind using a bunch of the remover in one go, since I rarely paint my nails.  The glue thing hopefully won’t become a regular occurrence, either…but here’s a (krazy) tip: if you’re planning on using the glue, you might want to buy some acetone nail polish remover to keep on hand (and try not to glue your hands together!).
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5. Last, But Not Least
I had an excellent time out of town this weekend, visiting folks in DC.  I will write more about that when it’s not bedtime.  Then this weekend, I will be in Chicago.  I will write more about that after it actually happens.

Time Warner Cable came today; I am officially reconnected to the world of the interwebs, plus have a fancy new cable connection (HDTV, DVR, plus the challenge of choosing an aspect ratio that doesn’t stretch out everyone’s faces) to play with.  As I type this, I’m sitting at my table in my underwear, with nary a concern about frappucinos or signal loss.  If I want to, I can peruse IMDB at 3 AM, say, to look up a certain film (see below) I’ve been compulsively watching over and over again…not to mention delete spam while waiting for my dinner to cook, finish uploading the "cookies against the war" pictures I mentioned in my previous post, you name it.

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Incidentally, the film to which I was referring, The Holiday, is a romantic comedy that came out just before last Christmas.  Those of you who know me well may understand why part of me feels the need to cringe (or shower) when acknowledging my affection for a "romantic comedy."  On the other hand, those of you who know me even better know that my personal movie collection includes well-worn copies of Moonstruck, Betsy’s Wedding, The Wedding Singer (in fact, an astonishing/embarassing number of movies with "wedding" in the title), Amélie, and other, less-traditional fare that nonetheless has something in common: happy endings.  I admit it, despite my cynical and even at times, faux-frosty exterior, I can be a bit of a sucker for them. 

…Maybe it’s because I am living vicariously through them…

The truth is, despite the various things in my life for which I am grateful, the good fortune of which I may even be somewhat undeserving, and the amazing daily miracles that I try to remember not to take for granted…I’m still not happy.  Or rather, not content.  I still feel like there is more out there for me, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t have it.  Specifically, I am not happy about the one area of my life that makes watching those films rather bittersweet…the area that, regardless of all the other successes and luck I’ve experienced, feels empty.

In case it isn’t obvious enough to you what that area is, rent The Holiday.  I saw it for the first time over Memorial Day Weekend, after choosing it as likely to be a crowdpleaser for the group of 5 adults over the age of 50 who were all upstate with me (my dad, somewhat egocentrically, chose Babel- I was indeed interested, but it’s absolutely not the kind of thing my mom enjoys).  I had no interest in it when it came out last December, and held similarly low expectations for the rental version. 

However, it completely surprised me.

Then a month or so ago, I spied a previously-viewed copy of it on sale at Hollywood Video, and scrounged up 3 other DVDs to get the 4/$20 sale price…convinced Jackie that she needed to see it as well, then at some point invited her over to watch it together.  That was awhile ago.  Now that I’ve moved into my new place, by chance (or not) it was the first movie I put into my new (well, used) DVD player…and it’s been in there ever since.  I’m ever-so-slightly sheepish about admitting that I have watched some or all of this movie *every day* since then.  Yet I figure at this point, I’ve confessed enough here already that it’s hardly going to tip the embarassment scale…

Why am I so drawn to this film?  I think, besides the happy ending, there are two other main/related reasons.  One is that the narrator, Iris, reminds me tremendously (and in some ways, painfully) of myself.  The other is that Iris + happy ending = hope for me.  I feel like going into any further detail here will just be beating a dead horse, so all I will add is that if you still don’t get it, but really want to understand…rent it and see.

See me.

By the way, in my previous post I neglected to mention precisely what was so special about my ill-destined birthday cake.  See that picture I drew on it in green gel?  That’s a person being boiled alive in a cauldron, in keeping with the zombie/tiki/tropical island theme.  Naturally, I was upset that no one got to admire my handiwork in vivo, so to speak.
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Who remembers the sad fate of the honey bunny?  Bear witness to the chocolate bunny’s funeral (though the pics will appear in reverse chronological order).
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This is the sluttiest vegetable I’ve ever seen in my life.
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These cookies are against the war in Iraq.  I will actually have more pictures of them, as soon as I upload them from my camera to my computer, and then put them online.
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I spent the night at my family’s house last night, taking advantage of the free laundry and internet…my parents are out of town, but I hung out with my brother.  It took an extremely long time to get here from my new place, since the N train went local through Manhattan and the first 4 stops in Brooklyn…then went express at Pacific, forcing me (and my large bags) to get out and wait for the R local…for what seemed like eons.  Allow me to advise you that even if you do decide to stay up late watching amusing British cop movie spoofs, it is still probably not a great idea to have seconds on your spicy Chinese food, plus a chocolate cake chaser, around midnight.
Breakfast this morning?  Pepto Bismol and an Excedrin chaser.
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It’s striking how much bigger and cleaner my house seems now that I don’t live in it anymore.  Striking and slightly sad.  I head back to my apartment tonight, and the shifting mounds of cardboard boxes, cookware, clothes to be ironed, et al.  Living alone is taking some getting used to, as I expected.  On a related note, I scheduled cable installation today.  I’d had difficulty deciding whether to get TV (internet being an absolute given; how else can I look things up on IMDB in my underwear at 3 AM?), but ultimately decided that I like TV enough to splurge.  I’ll probably really appreciate it when it gets cold outside…plus maybe fall 2007 will be the breakout season for new, ultrahip, non-reality sitcom!!!  Not.  I’m not going to lie to you, I plan to use my fancy new flatscreen, HDTV and DVR to tape Kathy Griffin, movies shown at 2 AM, SNL, and Reno-911!, plus re-watch things like "I Love the 80s" and "Awesomely Bad Celebrity Hair."  And I’m comfortable admitting that.
As for the internet, I must say I’ll be relieved when I can rely on having it available anytime.  Until then, darlings, any urgent matters (ha) should be taken up with me by telephone.  TTFN…

Life has been full of excitement and ch-ch-changes.  For starters…
I live in Queens now.
Yes, the life-long Brooklynite has packed up and been sent "up top" or "up north."*  I must admit feeling a bit weird after re-leaving the nest…I’d been there since graduating from OC in 2001.  I didn’t really prepare well, in terms of packing ahead of time (this makes me wonder how important so much of my life-s detritus could possibly be- the papers, mainly).  My dad kept asking when I’d spend my first night here at the new place, whereas my mom was much more chill (but admitted her ambivalence to other people).  Then again, my dad has been calling me at work and on my cellphone more than ever, it seems…enough for my coworkers to notice!
Couldn’t help but feel a bit sad myself, as I got ready to become head of my own, one-person household for the first time ever.  I thought about how, when my mother left her home, it was to get married (not to mention the fact that she was younger then than I am now…actually, she was younger than I am now when she had me!)…then again, she was Catholic, and also didn’t have a doctoral degree…and it was the 70s.  I digress.
My parents have of course been invaluable in this whole process, in spite of also driving me crazy half the time.  But what else is new?  I don’t want to bore you with the whole story, but let’s just say it’s involved a lot of shopping (Operation Target Storm was last weekend, took up a ton of time and energy, but at least was most likely more successful than certain other Operations with "Storm" in the title), furniture assembly, and discussions of temperature/humidity.  Certain friends have contributed valuable advice and gently-used housewares.  My grandmother has contributed the latest of a lifelong series of inappropriate/poorly chosen/useless gifts, but this has also been exchanged for housewares.
As I settled myself in to this new home of mine, I realized the full import of getting my own place.  For the first time in my life, everything in my home belongs to me (hello, history of dorms and weirdly furnished rentals).  Following that logic, if there’s anything I don’t like in this house, it’s my own fault and I can’t blame it on anyone else!
Well, except maybe the gigantor roach I spied on the kitchen floor last night.  That cannot have possibly been my fault!
I’m messy, but NOT dirty- I clean anything remotely bacterial immediately, never leave food out, or any other materials that can grow their own ecosystem, etc.  The downstairs neighbors/landlady/broker didn’t strike me as unclean, but I smell their cooking all the time (in spite of the air freshener I covertly put at the foot of the stairs) and wonder if they’re leaving food around.  Shudder.
Side note: speaking of shuddering, I saw a girl on the train whose t-shirt definitely made me shudder.  She couldn’t have been more than 18, tops, and had a sleeping toddler in a stroller with her.  Her t-shirt said, "My boyfriend’s babymama can’t stand me."  Nice.  Go ahead and pop another one out…with any luck s/he WON’T be one of our students in 17 years or so…  Like I said: shudder.
Moving on.  The next section deals with my Return of Saturn in a different way.  For those of you unfamiliar with astrology (not that I’m such an expert), the first Return of Saturn happens when you are about 27 or 28 years old, and is apparently associated with major life changes , important decisions, and more or less your arrival at personhood after prolonged adolescence of some sort.  Mind you, I learned about this from an unusually friendly MidWesterner who worked at a dress shop.  Other people have admitted to me that they believe in it, though.  Regardless of what the stars may portend (and, honestly, it’s difficult for me to imagine that everyone born around the same as I was in 1979 -Mike B. and Ayca come to mind- has the same destiny), there have been some big changes in my life of late.  And now concerning the birthday itself:
Okay Smarty, go to a party…**
my birthday party was on Friday the 13th, and as befitting a classy occasion, the theme was zombie, tiki, tropical-undead kind of affair.  Wouldn’t have it any other way.  Intimate gathering, intimate friends- I told people that if they couldn’t come, to send apologies and a piece of their brain. 
For the second year in a row, an important aspect of the festive comestibles fell unceremoniously to earth…to be specific, I made a beautiful cake, and fortunately took a picture of it before leaving the house:

When I got out of the train station, loaded down with birthday-related goodies and accessories, disaster struck.  My purse strap broke.  I had the brilliant idea of using birthday candles to make flames around the cauldron, and actually managed to find some at a store!  Unfortunately, when I arrived at the bar, it was locked.  In juggling items and packages, I dropped my purse…and the cake.  It didn’t touch the sidewalk, so it was still technically intact…unfortunately, it was intact in the form of a Jabba-the-Hut-like blob, with no recognizable picture anywhere except possibly on the aluminum foil I’d used to protect it.  Le sigh.  Needless to say, I made everyone admire the precious photo on my digital camera’s screen throughout the evening.
Well, that’s enough for now.  I do have more I could say, but this is getting lengthy and I’m also worried that the internet signal I’m currently "borrowing" could stop working at any moment (which is what happened the other day).
Signing off, from Saturn (or Queens, whichever is closer)…

*those are jail slang terms for having to go serve out a sentence at an upstate New York prison, for those of you non-correctional folks.
** words of the estimable Young MC- an alum of my very own high school, incidentally!

This is the couch left behind at my apartment by the previous tenant.

This is the staircase that someone needs to negotiate to take the couch off my hands.

I suspect that the landlady/broker (aka Little Orphan Annie) was being flaky (rather than manipulative) and may have promised the previous tenant that I would buy the couch from her…whereas I said I would only even consider it if the couch was a sleeper sofa.  As a matter of fact, I have a general policy on not accepting hand-me-down plush furniture or other items that cannot easily be disinfected.  In any event, it is a moot point, because the girl left the couch there and refused to come back and get it.  Then Little Orphan Annie tried to convince me to keep it anyway, even though I explained that I was planning on buying a new (SLEEPER) sofa and have no need or desire for a cramped, two-sofa living room set-up.  Ultimately, she asked me if I could arrange for my mover to take the old couch out, and tip him extra (which she’d theoretically pay me back).  I was annoyed enough to just tell her it would be taken care of.
Other people pointed out that I may as well keep it until my new couch arrived, and then my brother and dad both said that they could help me move it out if necessary.  But still other people had a much better idea: if the previous tenant was too lazy to sell it herself, there’s no reason I shouldn’t try to sell it.  Therefore, it’s now up on craigslist, for sale to the highest bidder who can get it down the stairs.

I’m going to be pissed at myself tomorrow for yet another night of <6 hours’ sleep.  However, I can triumphantly drift off into dreamland, resting secure in the knowledge that:

• I finally found a "man with van" available on Saturday, who actually answered the phone (while not in the movies), and can come during the daytime.
• I discovered an airline I’d never heard of, which appears to be the only one that can get me in and out of Sacramento at normal times of the day (Sidestep.com pointed me in the right direction; it’s called Frontier Airlines and I don’t give a crap that I won’t be earning double Orbitz points on this one)…thus, I will finally get to lay eyes on my cousin’s now-14-month-old baby for the first time (before he becomes a big brother in 6 months…damn, that was fast).
• I found $5 crumpled up on the floor of my new apartment…this doesn’t *entirely* make up for the annoying amount of hair also scattered around on the floor, nor for the annoying non-sleeper-sofa abandoned in the living room (at the top of a double flight of stairs), but I felt I deserved it nonetheless.
• I’m only slightly ashamed to admit a guilty pleasure in the thought that the $5 might have belonged to my landlady’s bratty kid.

Tomorrow I head for the women’s jail for the first time ever…luck be a lady… ;)  Seriously, please be a lady, and not a lady with a beard and a switchblade.
You think I’m joking???
P.S. Did you notice that my previous IPTF posting was #150?  I did, but chose not to mention it because I was still wallowing in self-pity…whereas now, I’m too busy to wallow, but I’ll acknowledge that I’m still dipping my toes in a small puddle of it from time to time.
P.P.S. Shout-outs to those of you who did not allow me to wallow too much (or at least gave me proverbial waterwings.  Silly-looking waterwings that we can all laugh at).  You know who you are.

It’s been awhile.  At times, I’ve had stuff to report, but I’ve also barely had time to sit at the computer and make it coherent.  Which of the following do you think are true?
a) I got an apartment right away from "Liz."
b) I met several brokers and none of them showed me anything I liked…so I will remain a Brooklynite for the forseeable future.
c) I found a place that was expensive, and had to decide whether it was worth it.
d) I moved already.
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Well, the answer is c (isn’t the answer always c?).  I actually did meet several brokers ranging from super-hot (George at Realty 2000), to ice queen (Sonia at BuySell Real Estate) to flake-tastic (Angelica at Capital Realty, who Lauren and I nicknamed "Little Orphan Annie" due to her petite stature and poof of red hair), among others.  The first broker (the afore-mentioned Liz) was totally disorganized; when I got to her office, there was another client there, and she told both of us that all 3 of the apartments she’d listed were gone already.  Then she took us to see a place that made me feel like I was trapped in the bottom of a boat with old people…essentially it was little more than a studio, and felt like a basement even though it wasn’t…plus it was fully furnished by the elderly and highly inquisitive landlords, not to mention rather far from public transportation and shopping…  She also got on the phone with some other landlord, speaking in Italian to him (not knowing I could understand) about how old I am (apparently, 27-28 is too young?).
But I digress.  In the end, I wound up agreeing to my absolute maximum rent price on an apartment that was otherwise ideal, well-situated, etc.  It was shown to me by Little Orphan Annie herself, who also turns out to be the landlord…but only revealed this to me after I had agreed to take it, signed the lease, and paid her a large amount of money- besides rent and security, she actually got a broker’s fee from renting the upstairs of her own house.  I guess I should be flattered that she liked/trusted me enough to let me live upstairs from her and her daughter, but it still seemed a little odd to me.
I have not moved in yet, since I have no one to drive me there, need to buy a new bed, and as yet possess few cooking utensils to speak of.  Some of my friends have chastised me for the fact that I am already paying rent but am not taking advantage of the place…however, I had basically anticipated this happening and resigned myself to the idea of that cash output regardless.  Hopefully I will be moving a substantial amount of things there this weekend, then doing a major Target shopping trip the following weekend.
What else…well, in other news, some of you already know about the ups and downs of the past week.  I don’t feel like getting into too much detail at the moment, but I kind of flipped out last week due to some work-related drama.  Probably not coincidentally, I am now battling a feisty and exhausting little cold.  I was seriously questioning my decision to work summer school, among other things, but I guess for now I’ve already shed all the tears I currently have at my disposal.  So the only thing left to do is try to keep on keepin’ on.
One thing that helped me (at least temporarily) was a Saturday evening excursion with a couple of my ladyfriends.  Originally, I just planned on meeting for one drink, then going home to make a scheduled phonecall.  This is not what happened.  I did have just one drink at the FIRST bar we went to…but this was followed by multiple glasses of a certain cocktail mix at a certain karaoke bar.  At about 2:30 AM I sent a text message to 10 or so of my friends and acquaintances, providing a rundown on both the negative (beer thrown on my shoe) and the positive (I sang a Pat Benatar crowd-pleaser of a song, and also found $15 under the table!  So I actually MADE money by going there!).  Later, we almost got into a fight with a South African lesbian who was enjoying a birthday party and aggressively pursuing total microphone control…I didn’t care too much by this point -live and let live, and so forth…I could still stand up there and sing anyway- but Jackie was getting pissed.  Then Vanessa accidentally hit someone with the microphone while swinging it around by its cord, but I think the victim was too drunk to notice.  All in all it was a worthwhile excursion, despite the ensuing throat pain.
Got home at 4:30 AM, yet still somehow rose again at 8 to go get the keys to my new digs.  At work, a certain coworker pointed out that I could only blame myself for my current symptoms and discomfort…I rasped back: "I can’t help it if I am a social butterfly."  He had to agree.