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Thu, May 25

Holla Back, Girl

This is just the best thing ever:
Hollabacknyc

Ah. Good times. I remember I was walking past the McDonald's on the corner of 7th and 55th when a young construction worker on break asked me:

"You wanna sit on my dick?"

Oh. Yes! That would be fabulous. Let me just go to Au Bon Pain and buy myself a sandwich, then finish reading the New Yorker, and I'll meet you right in THIS VERY SPOT so we can go ahead and do that. That sounds like fun. Wow. Am I lucky or what? Score!

What I actually did was stop dead in my tracks, turn around, and give him the finger. Usually I am too shocked in situations like this to actually react (the "What I should have done" usually comes to me later)--which is probably better any way becuase all they want is a reaction. But I just had to give it back to him this time. I am not the type to use the F word let alone give the hand signal but my hand couldn't help it.

My cousin gets hit on all the time on her walk back from where she teaches on Avenue D. Last summer she was feeling horrendous, sweating from the heat and the walk, and her hair was a big fat frizzy mess (she usually blow dries her curls straight.) She's just praying she won't run into Brad Pitt and staring at the ground. All of a sudden, there's this chorus of "Ay Mami"'s coming from under some deli awning. She couldn't believe it. These guys obviously couldn't have thought she looked good--they just couldn't ignore that innate desire to holla at any female walking by. When she told me the story she said, "I was like, can you just give me an hour? I'm going to go shower, reapply my makeup, put on a cute outfit and THEN you can "Ay Mami" me."

Posted by lexzog at Thu, May 25 | Comments (0)

Sat, May 20

Tonight At Radio City Music Hall

Here was the excellent lineup at tonight's concert: The Roots, Bilal, Erika Badu, Mos Def, DAVE CHAPELLE and get this
...Jay Z! I looooooove Miss E. Badu, expecially since she sang, "You Got Me" which was the first song that got me into The Roots in the first place. I am so glad I went.

Unfortunately, I had had an extra ticket on my hands since J had to bail (for a bachelor party in Atlantic City). We had given Emily's friend who got the tickets for us in the first place, practically a month to get rid of the ticket. I think they only tried to pawn it off starting yesterday, which isn't really trying too much in advance. In an act of desperation (since I had only $65 to my name, which is also the price of a ticket), I found myself going up to random people, acting all shady and being like, "Hey, you need a ticket?" I should have parked my ass right up against the dark corners of buildings, worn a big hat and muttered under my breath, "tickets, tickets, want a ticket". Instead, I cheerily went up to random folk with a cheery smile. Nine times out of ten, I realized I was trying to sell my ticket to a real scalper.

Finally, someone took the bait. It took her about ten minutes to get through her billion and one phone calls to Rashida, Taniqua, and someone called "B" before she finally acquiesced. Her friend looked at me skeptically: "Why you have an extra ticket?" she asked, giving me the once over. What, did I somehow appear MORE "gansta" than most of the people swarming around me in front of Radio City? Did my frilly top with the little bow in the back, and my banana curls and heels make her think that I operate a secret underground scalping facility in my apartment? Girl, please. When I handed the girl on the phone the ticket she asked me to come with her to the entrance so that she knew my ticket was "real." As we were approaching the ticket taker, she said to him, "Sir, I'm about to buy this ticket from this girl and I want you to check and see if it's legit." The guy looked at her, and said, "I did NOT just hear you say that. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Who friggin tells the ticket guy at a concert that she is about to buy a scalped ticket? Way to blow my cover, Lady.

So in the end, I sold it for $50 instead of $65, which I figure just would be even if I didn't buy one of the $20 bottles of water or mixed drinks during the concert.

What a feel good concert. After Jay Z brought the house down at the end, every single one of the performers from tonight came down with a marching band, off the stage and into the aisles. Erika Badu and her eight foot afro (gorgeous!) was an inch away from me. I snapped a pic on my camera phone.

Ok, bed time. Yoga tomorrow.

Posted by lexzog at Sat, May 20 | Comments (0)

Tue, May 16

Pret a Screw me Over

I'm one of those people who can't function without her coffee in the morning. The number one way to get me out of bed is to lure me with a latte (a trick that J has learned to use every Sunday when I try to sleep in.)

During the work week, the one thing I love and look forward to in the morning is my cup of steaming hot Medium Roast organically grown coffee from Pret a Manger, the coffee shop (previously owned by McDonald's) downstairs from where I work. I work hard in my relationships, and had half a year fostering Pret friendships with the cashiers and management. I was disappointed when all my Pret buddies slowly started to disappear, being dispensed to "other locations" . I suspect they have been shipped off to the so-called "organic farms" and are being forced to do field labor there.

I was forced to make new friends with unfamiliar faces. People who didn't give me free coffee anymore. I noticed a subtle, darker change in the Pret atmosphere. They've been playing a lot of moody Sade songs from the speakers. And I've noticed that the people behind the register have started leaving and getting replaced more and more frequently.

Losing friends, fun morning banter, and my coffees on the house was bad enough. But I still had one more perk, to which all Pret frequenters were entitled: The Coffee Punch Card. Yes, I USED to get three punches for every one cup of coffee with the old Pret employees, which changed when the newcomers arrived. Even still, I go so often that I get those nine punches quite easily. Often within a week (for twice a day coffee weeks). The great thing about the "free" coffee you got with the card, is that it could be ANY kind of coffee, even "special drinks". For example: a super large capuccino with a little bit o chocolate sprinkled in.

This morning, I had just finished reading an article in last week's New Yorker about the truth about organically grown food (Paradise Sold: What are you buying when you buy organic?) and was on my way to do my small part--to buy my morning coffee from the organically grown coffee beans that Pret claims to use. I slapped down my card, and was told, quite coldly from one of those new and unfriendly Pret cashiers, that "we will no longer be accepting punch cards from this location."

I was steaming even more than the cup of coffee I'd placed on the counter. I felt like a dumbass for forking over $1.50 for a small cup of coffee every morning and some afternoons, but at least I knew that with every purchase I was contributing to a thrifty cause (if not an earth-minded one, with the whole buying organic thing): that free capuccino. The one perk in my low-paying publishing world that requires that I need more than the average person's amount of caffeine to get through the day: the payoff that some of that caffeine would be FREE.

No longer. So folks, I might just become a new patron of the Dunkin Donuts across the street. You know. Just to prove a point and all. I am SO sure the bigwigs at Pret will miss my business.

Posted by lexzog at Tue, May 16 | Comments (1)

Mon, May 15

Magnolia Cupcakes and Sad Clothing

I always make the same mistake: I eat out way too late (say, 10:30 or 11 pm), in the Village (say, "Extra Virgin"), eat way too much (say I share a plate of fried calamari, and have salmon tartar, and grilled codfish), and then decide that I absolutely MUST have a Magnolia cupcake. I mean, since I'm in the nighborhood and everything.

And this is strictly hypothetical.

Who am I kidding. Its not. Any time I am near Magnolia, rain or shine, full or beyond full, I cannot pass up on the opportunity. Every time I pass the Marc Jacobs store on my right, just a block away from sugary goodness, my heart starts to beat really fast. And then when I get there. Oh the dilemma! Should I have a good old fashioned cupcake or...the banana pudding? What to do?

This past Friday, I opted for the pudding. Good call. J asked for a glass of water and the cashier was like, "Oh, we sell bottled water." J said, "No, thanks. Tap is just fine."

"Really? I don't think you want to drink that." said the cashier.
"Why not? Its just New York Water."
"But its from the back and we rarely drink from there," she countered.

Isn't it funny that water comes from the same source, but somehow loses its appeal when it comes from a bathroom faucet, or the laundry room faucet, or WORSE, the faucet that Magnolia employees "rarely drink from?"

J decided to forego the water. Thank goodness Jarett purchased some chocolate milk with his four cupcakes. Best of all, I got to drink it with a straw. How fourth grade!

Speaking of vices, I wilfully went to see "Stick It" last night with D. Yes, it was formulaic (the badass girl with a mysterious past trumps going to Juvy by going to Gymanstics camp instead. She wins over the girls who hate her and befriends the "popular girl" who isn't pure evil, in fact, she has a really awful mother and that's why she acts like she does. Oh, and then she kicks butt in the end of the movie.) I really liked that fact that the heroine did not have a love interest. Most of these movies always have that cute guy character (not the HOT guy, he's always the decoy, the one that the girl thinks she likes and then realizes he's a total jerk) who engages in witty banter or competition with the protaganist. By the end, they form some kind of bond and there's an inevitable hand holding or kissing scene. Cue the youngin's in the theatre who say "Wooooooooh!" Anyway, it was a great feel-good flick.

I've found a new bar I like. Or rather, Aly suggested a fun new place. Belmont Bar on 15th between Lex and Park. All the college buds met up the other day because our good friend Jessie who has moved to Cali was in town. It was a really nice time, though too short. And when I went to use the bathroom, I was following this girl inside, when she looked back at me, glared, and SLAMMED the door on my finger. I still am black and blue and it is a miracle she didn't chop it off. Obviously I didn't realize it was a one person bathroom. It wasn't like I'd walked in on her peeing or anythinng--she had JUST walked in. I waited until she walked out and told her she'd slammed the finger on my door. No, that's not a mistake, it hurt so badly I could hardly speak English. Miss "I'm too busy to listen to your problems, I'm on my cell phone even though I just exited the bathroom a nanosecond ago" looked at me, and said a curt, "Sorry." She so wasn't.

Phew. Just got finished with laundry. What an accomplishment.

I can't help it but every time I open my closet, there are these same eight or so shirts/dresses/pants that scream to me, "Donate me! Give me away!" but I just can't. I'm such a wierdo that these things weigh on my mind as actual "dilemmas", but sometimes I feel the burden of owning too much, or owning things I do not use. I am trying to rebel against my inner hoarder. It is too hard. I attach sentimental value to shirts that make me feel ugly when I wear them. For example, I have this one shirt that is way too short, has lace sleeves, and some kind of painted girl face on it. Its really pretty looking, in the abstract sense. Like, on the hanger. But on ME, it looks like something I might have worn in 8th grade. You know, shirts with "pictures" on them? And, I don't mean the ironic ones. I mean like, teddy bears and kitty cats. You know what I'm talking about. Anyway, I cannot get rid of it. I bought it my Junior year abroad in a flea market and I thought it was just so original at the time. Original, and really cool to actually wear. Now I just think it is original. I swear I've placed it in the "donate" bag five times, and by some unknown force it manages to wiggle out of the bag, and climb back onto a hanger in my closet.

What would Freud say?

The worst part is, when it comes to said ugly piece of clothing, I feel guilty for not wearing it. Guilt! The same kind of guilt I used to feel when I'd favored one stuffed animal or doll over another, and then realized " but what about the other animals/dolls?" Even if I didn't really like the neglected doll all that much, I'd sleep with it by my pillow to make "it" feel better. And then, when I grew too old for dolls, I made sure I put them in a box all nice and cozy so I wouldn't feel too guilty about having become a teenager and needing to hide them from what I imagined would be the many many boyfriends that would frequent my bedroom. Hahahhaah. No seriously. You could open one of those boxes and see that the dolls are having an actual tea party in there. Just so I know they're um...not too unhappy with out me.

Now that I think about it, this is how I feel about my various creative interests. Guilt. I feel guilty for not working on "my book." But then again, I just finished putting together a production last Tuesday. Don't I get a break? "No." Says my conscience. Must. Make. More. Must. Write.

By the way, this drivel doesn't count.

Now I'm gonna go pack a neglected shirt to wear to work on Wednesday since I'm staying at J's tomorrow to cook a "healthy" dinner inspired from a Mario Batali cookbook.

Posted by lexzog at Mon, May 15 | Comments (0)

Sun, May 14

First Thing's First

I have much to report, but first of all: The SHOW on Tuesday. Nuts! The best! The apex, creme de la creme, super best show of all Inner Monologues. Guess that kinda makes sense, cuz it was the tenth show. A sort of anniversary?

Not only did we pack the entire upstairs room (which officially seats about 65 people) with people all crammed into the seats, standing against the walls, and milling about the back of the room, but we had some people in the other room where they watched the show through live TV by the bar. I have no clue who all those people were! They just were...there. I think the performers did a great job of rallying their friends to come.

Dan is going to make me a website where I will post all the pieces that were read. Some highlights: Abby started off the night (I always make the new ones go first) with a story about a very strange night at the Opera. Koba told us about a beautiful blonde who threw up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, and tried to make up for it in her own way. Julie told us about her undying love for Shelley Long. Emily spoke about a brief encounter on the subway with an old camp acquaintance who remembered that she was his first kiss, and had hoped that he was hers too (Wrong!). Raquel had people laughing so hard we were in tears--her impression of her very smart and worldly boyfriend's hick parents ("Raaaqwell, thas mah good robe, doncha go fartin' in it") was priceless. Dave recounted a plane ride with a porn star seated on one side of him, and a Yeshiva student on the other. Jess Delfino surprised us all with her head to toe red suit and rocker boots, and her rap song, "My Pussy is Magic" (you had to be there. Maybe one of the best things I've ever seen in my life). Finally, ThisisJoshua closed the night with his classics: "Senior Citizen Lovin', and "NYU Girls Wouldn't Talk to Me If I Were On Fire With a Bag Full of Money."

I am so excited to do it all over again. I felt like complete ass that day--allergies were at their all time worse. And I had to get up early that day for Justin's graduation ceremony for NYU, at Madison Square Garden. I was drugged up on Afrin, Sudafed, and Allegra. By the time the show started I was running on pure adrenaline. It was great to see my Grandparents in the city and sit down at a little booth for lunch and catch up. Usually we're all spread out at a big dinner table, but this time, we could all actually hear each other. Justin was really happy and we were all so proud. Sad though, he's definitely going to Israel for Med School.

Off to see "Stick It" with D. More later.

Posted by lexzog at Sun, May 14 | Comments (0)

Sun, May 7

Tribeca Weekend

The weekend was insane--and I knew it would be really busy, so I "centered myself" by going to yoga on Friday after work. That night I was planning on meeting J and Thomas at a benefit party for a youth arts organization. What to wear? I fretted and planned throughout my sivasenas and downward dogs. At the end of class, Greg read us a yogi quote, as he always does. It ended with this message: "Every second you spend worrying or being angry is a minute you lose being happy." I decided to put off worrying over what to wear, at least until after our final meditation.

After class, Justin asked if he could show me where he'd be subletting this summer. The 1st floor walkup on 1st Ave was not what I expected: It was dark, and there were pictures--the kind you'd find in family rooms and basements, dating back to the 70's, all over the wall. His roomates encouraged one another to hang family pictures everywhere. Two forlorn looking goldfish stood stock still in the murky water of the vases they each occupied. One of Justin's new roomates, Britney, who shares a room with another girl to save on rent (imagine!) came out of her room in a flurry of hairspray, long dark hair, a 1950's style wrap dress, and vintage pumps. Of course, she was headed to her bartending job at Milk and Honey. I thought, "this is what it really means to live in the East Village." Not the banker/lawyer filled brand new builidngs that are slowly creeping towards Avenue D. Justin may not be living in the best room (the roomates think it is haunted, and it has no windows), but he sure will have some stories to bring with him to Israel when he goes to med school in September.

I met up with J and Thomas at the party on 28th and 5th. I knew this would be a VERY different apartment than the one I visited just a few hours before. J had text messaged me on my way over: "Holy shit."

The apartment looked like a funky art museum. There were Andy Warhol paintings in the bedroom; and old, tattered baby dolls in canary bird cages. There were stuffed fluffy chickens under glass, lining one of the tables. Servers were offering shrimp skewers firmly planted in tiny plots of fresh grass. There was even a fondue pot with what Thomas told us was one of the most amazing French cheeses you could taste. To drink: Tangerinetinis. My favorite thing in the apartment: The white bulldog that casually sniffed the toes of each guest and tried to jump up to the fondue pot.

At around ten-ish, the boys suggested dinner. Thomas had invited this really nice, Jennifer Garner lookalike to the party, so the four of us went to Bar Pitti and sat outside. It was a perfect New York night. We had wine, pasta, and espresso.

Clara was at a birthday party near Leroy, so the four of us met her there. Upstairs was hipster heaven. Wherever I looked, I saw jet black hair, striped extra long tank tops, combat boots and heels, and lanky long-haired boys shaking to the music of a band I'd I'd never heard before.

Like I said, I am so done with hipsters. Downtown needs a new look.

Saturday morning for some bizarre reason, I was craving Mexican food. I hardly ever crave Mexican. J took advantage of the opportunity to take us to Paquitos--a tiny little dive takeout joint near THE NEW APARTMENT. When we'd had our fill of chorizo nachos and shrimp tacos, we headed out to take a walk and bumped into Jarett and Emily, J's new neighbors.

Around 2:30 I met up with some Inner Monologues folks at DBA to rehearse our pieces for the show on Tuesday. I can't wait to see how this will pan out in that huge room. I even got to request whatever mike I wanted, as many as I wanted, special acoustic things, lighting design. Sadly, all I need is one mike and I have no clue what kinds of mike is the best but it is cool to be perofrming in a venue that even has options. The itinerary Mo Pitkin's sent me said that I get "5 beers in dressing room." Dressing room? Interesting.

Afterward, I went to get a manicure for my badly bitten fingers (anxiety). I couldn't open the door to the place, however, for a too cute for words bulldog was blocking my way. Lately, all I see are bulldogs and pugs--similar to how women who want babies and can't have them suddenly see babies everywhere. This is how I feel about dogs, and more specifically, the ugly kind. I want one soooo badly. But I know it would be impossible with my schedule. Anyway, there was this drop dead adorable doggie blocking my way. I bent down to give him a tentative pat. His collar said, "Mutsy." He stared into my eyes with his innocent big brown peepers and nudged his chin up in the air appreciatively. Then he leaned into my hand, as if begging for more pettings. I couldn't help it. I plopped right down onto the sidwalk with my bag on the ground and sat and talked to that dog for a good ten minutes. Passersby complemented me on my adorable little buddy. It took a while for me to coax him aside, but I no longer wanted a manicure. Instead I wanted to get him some water--he looked and felt hot! His owner inside was getting a back rub. "Who owns Mutsy?" I asked to the entire nail salon. His owner casually raised her hand, didn't even say "I do." "He looks thirsty," I told her. "Can I get him some water?" "Sure. If you want." I hope Mutsy's mommy isn't this blase about him all the time. I wanted to kidnap him and take him to a better place albeit in the hands of someone who has never spent more than ten minutes with a dog. But whatever. At least I wouldn't let him dehydrate.

Last night I met J at Pace University to see a Tribeca Film: "Crime Novel". On my way there, I was crossing the street when a voice from a car that had just come off the Brooklyn Bridge and was stopped at a sign yelled my first and last name. I turned around. It was the daughter of a good friend of my grandparent's--someone I hadn't seen in years. We tried to catch up as much as possible in that fifteen second window between stopping and merging into a lane. What a small world! I never knew I was that easily recognizable.

The movie was amazing! Subtitles were hard to follow because the plot was so complicated but I loved it and I hope it makes it to theatres here.

This morning I stayed in bed and finished a fun teen book I picked up on Friday. Then J and I set to cleaning the apartment. Nothing makes me happier than having a bottle of pledge in one hand, and paper towel in the other. Just wait till September--when I move in there dust will be a four letter word.

J came with me to meet my family for brunch at The Tribeca Grand--the only place EVER that I've taken my mom to that she actually liked. Ashley ate a huge plate of bacon and sushi and shrimp cocktail--then she went twice to get dessert. This of course, made Mom's and Grandpa's day. Justin graduates on Tuesday so this was kind of a joint happy graduation/early mother's day brunch.

We ambled along and basked in the sun on West Broadway. So many people out and shopping! I popped into Anthro and made J endure my many attempts to make him buy super girly bedding with flower decorations, verbena eau de toilette (for room spray!) and pretty little knobs that we could use to replace the knobs on the closets. No luck. "How do you expect to buy a lamp shade if you don't even know the size of the lamp or which lamp shade you want to replace?" he asked. Oh. Hadn't thought it out that far. I was blinded by the impeccible taste and perfect color patters that Anthropology has for merchandise.

Tonight we had an early dinner at J's mom's house to celebrate his aunt and grandma's birthday. I know, more eating. Well, you'll be proud that I didn't have seconds of anything except blueberries. Big family day for J and I.

And now, it is time for rest. Tomorrow I am getting an MRI as a super precautionary thing just to see if it might reveal the cause of my constant headaches. Wish me luck that they don't make me remove the earring I haven't removed since I was 16 in my upper left ear! Kind of superstitious about it...

Posted by lexzog at Sun, May 7 | Comments (0)