"We will restore chaos..."

I found the most incredible British website with the most extensive collection of Bush-isms ever! They have clips that American media either missed or purposely chose to ignore, and they are all hilarious! I always knew Mr. Prez wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed - though a tool to be certain - but I have never ever ever heard anyone talk such gibberish in such a comical manner! There are clips in which it's not even possible to get a gist of what he's trying to say, that's how garbled his thoughts are. Congratulations America. You have officially elected a mentally retarded man to be your leader. Time to smoke him out! ;-)

So speaking of places you can hear such funny audio clips and more, my show proposal did get approved by the program director at Fairfax Public Access, so now I am waiting for a time slot to be assigned. I just received the letter on Saturday. I'm pretty excited. Good thing I've been spending every free moment stalking the internet for audio content and interesting stories. The Mariya Alexander Show will prevail - you mark my words, oh haters and silent admirers alike!

On the personal front, Janey's visit home was too short for how ridiculously saturated my schedule is. I really only got to hang out with her a day and a half, and naturally, we spent the last part of that time bickering. As soon as I picked her up from the airport on Wednesday afternoon, I had to run to work and stay there until about 8:30. And that's after already being up since 3:30 AM and doing my time at WJFK. It really is amazing that anyone could question my devotion to the station and to the show. I get up at the most ungodly hours to go work for FREE. I ASKED to be assigned to this show too. I could have chosen a different show to work with when I applied for the internship. I could have had more sleep. I could have had some semblance of a sex life. (Yes, unfortunately there has been a temporary drought for the past week, due to utter exhaustion.) I wanted to work for the best show at WJFK, though, and so here I am. Hate if you must, but I am anything but ungrateful and un-dedicated.
Boy, how I digressed! Anyway, so Wednesday went by, and Thursday went by even quicker. I worked all day, 9 AM until about 8:30. Then Friday it was back to the radio station in the morning, and then back to work at the salon in the afternoon. At least Janey and Thanasi and I had time to grab some lunch at Ri Ra before I went to work on Friday. Ri Ra is THE BEST Irish restaurant ever, by the way! Even their vegetarian options are delicious and flavorful. I always feel like restaurants don't even bother with trying to make their veggie dishes taste good - they just have them to be politically correct. This place, on the other hand, infuses each dish with flavor and fresh ingredients. And the waiters are so cute! I have a weakness for the Irish and their sexy accents. If you do too, go to Ri Ra in Bethesda and enjoy!

Now for the pay-off of this whole entry. If you've read this far and managed to stay awake, stay tuned just a bit longer, because my life is the most awkward, painful experience ever! So remember how I mentioned that I liked the nice Japanese girl who applied for the receptionist position? Well, as soon as I began to train her, she turned into that little creature from "The Grudge" and started to scare the living shit out of me and everyone at the salon. It really is surreal how I attract the most crazy of the crazies. Within a couple hours of being at the salon ON HER FIRST DAY, she began going for breaks every 15 minutes or so. She kept complaining of being tired and having a headache. Then she asked if it would be alright if instead of coming in at 9 AM when she's supposed to actually be there, she would come at 9:30. I said that no, that would not be alright because we hired her to work specific hours and she said she could do it. So then she confessed to being on several strong psychiatric medications which often prevent her from waking up at a decent hour in the morning. I tried to keep my composure and be encouraging, but frankly I knew right then that her time with us was to be short-lived. She then continued to regale me with stories of parental abuse and long stays at mental hospitals. Then, to top it all off, when I asked her to pick up the phone and start confirming appointments, she looked me dead in the face and said "Oh... I'm scared... I have really bad phone anxiety." Talk about lying at your interview! This girl may be crazy, but she was smart enough to lie to us and convince us that she had at least some basic social skills. We just thought she was foreign and cute with her accent. Turns out she's just off her rocker and can't even control the inflection of her voice because she's so disconnected from how normal humans interact and behave. She asked me in her high-pitched voice "Mariyaaaaaa, whaat do I doooo if I really liiiiike someone but he doesn't seeeem to liiiiike me at aaaalllll?"
"Who is this someone?" I asked her. "Someone you went to school with? How do you know him?"
"He's just some guuuuuuy that works at Trader Joooes. I reaaallly like taaaaalking to hiiiiim, but a coooouple of daaaays ago I toooold him abooouut a psychooootic episooode I haaad, and heee called me a psyyyychoooo." (She really draws out her vowels like that)
What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? That was her second day at work, and at that point we had all had enough. The clients were afraid of her, all the stylists were flabbergasted by her, and so the salon owners told me to call her and let her down gently. The salon environment and the extremely social, busy, PHONE-oriented work it involves simply wasn't right for a phone-phobic, episode-having freak. I really actually liked her on a personal level - she entertained the hell out of me and was so deferential that I could have really gotten used to having her around to cheer me on. But alas, I did what I had to do. I called her, couldn't reach her, so left a polite message on her voicemail telling her not to come in the next morning.....
That night (Friday), as Janey and Thanasi and I were chilling out with some beers and queers (okay, no queers), my phone rang at about 11:30 PM. It was HER! Boy, all that depressive niceness went right out the window! She was suddenly fierce!

"Whaaaat am IIII suppoooosed tooo dooooo?! Thiiiiis is veeerrryy unfaaaaaaair! I aaaalreeeeaaaaady quiiiiit my ooother joooooob. I waaaaant to seeeeee a coooopy of the emploooooyment contraaaaact!"

Contract? It's some shitty hair salon! She filled out an application, not a contract! No one owes her anything. It even says on the application that the company reserves the right to fire anyone at any time for any reason, and she signed it! I tried to explain all this nicely, gently, but she was relentless. I've never seen or heard anyone fight so fiercely against being fired. Finally I had to basically cut her off because I was beginning to nod off. It was late! I quickly said good-bye and hung up, cursing myself for giving her my cell #, and praying that she wouldn't find out where I live. Janey, my darling little sister, had a Japanese stalker once -a virtual stranger that became obsessed with her and showered her with gifts and late-night suicide calls. I remember this lasted for years. I don't have time for something like that right now.

On Saturday I had to work all day too, 9-5. This day flew by quickly, though, and brought a final solution to all our problems. I don't mean final solution as in the eradication of all the crazy Japanese girls, but rather as in the hiring of my dear friend Jenn to work at the salon. It just so happened that she left her old job a day or two before, and the timing couldn't be more perfect! The owners and the stylists really liked her, so we put her to work immediately after the informal interview. I could finally relax and cut back on my hours like I've been wanting to do!

After work on Saturday, we had to run to meet my parents for dinner at Tara Thai. We hadn't seen them in weeks, and they really wanted to at least get us all together while Jane was in town. It was a regular old dinner with my folks - slurping, burping and overeating (mostly my Dad's accomplishments). It was yummy and fun nonetheless. I love the casual relationship I've always had with my parents. We can literally talk about anything - sex, drugs, rock and roll - nothing makes them blush. So as we were sitting there and having a great time, Thanasi suddenly tensed up as he looked out the window.

"Oh shit, here come my mom and sister!" We all started acting like awkward teenagers trying to avoid someone - looking down at the table, whistling, shifting around in our seats. Then we realized that we were acting like jerks - we couldn't just avoid my husband's mother and his sister no matter how badly we wanted to. We ambushed them at the door and greeted them a little too warmly and enthusiastically. We forced them to join our table, even though we were half-way done with our dinner, and they looked like they wanted to cry and run away too. Everyone tried to make polite conversation, but I could tell we were all dying inside. So just as the waitress brought out mother-in-law's and sister-in-law's main course, my husband and sister and I did the best possible thing. We got up and left. We had to leave anyway - we had a friend's dance performance to catch at Joy of Motion, but the timing just couldn't have worked out better and funnier. My poor parents! My poor mother-in-law! They were left to navigate the murky waters of forced small talk on their own. I only wished we had a way to watch the whole thing come crashing down after our departure. I can laugh about it now, but I honestly almost fainted from anxiety.

The dance performance was an adventure too! It was a showcase of all the different dance styles offered at Joy of Motion, with each class performing a choreographed, complicated number for our amusement. With evidently no standards for any prerequisite level of expertise to participate in this show, you can imagine how hilarious it was to see people of all ages and shapes and sizes gyrate and contort to music together. I could have sworn I saw an old Jewish lady that goes to our salon doing the "jazz hands" and lifting up her skirt to reveal her scraggly legs during a big Broadway number.
The friend we were there to support was good, though. I've been out dancing with her, and already knew I could expect a good show.
Afterwards, her entire group wanted to go out and celebrate. We walked to a nearby bar/restaurant, and everyone spent about half an hour trying to figure out where to sit. We ended up breaking away from the pack and just went to the bar, where I met a pretty funny stand-up comedian/bartender named Pete. He was chubby, he was balding, he was angry - hilarious! I got his email and will friend him on MySpace as soon as I finish writing this epic entry.
And that's about it for my weekend. After having a few drinks, we left the merry group to celebrate and went back to the house. I amazed myself by staying up until like 1 and drinking several more Heineken Lights. I guess I was revved up from all the excitement of watching tutu-clad senior citizens and fatties prance around. I would definitely recommend attending such dance recitals often. They are cheap, if not free, and guaranteed to please!

Janey Poo and other types of poo too

My little sister will be here in about an hour and I couldn't be more excited! This creature has been a pain in my ass for so long, I honestly can't believe how close we've become lately. It's amazing what growing boobs and getting drunk together can do for a relationship. She's the one that has done most of the boob-growing in our family, so I can't take any credit there, but still. My little baby is all grown up! I can't wait to see her.

Today was my first day back at the station since the grand club-fest on Monday's show, and it was uneventful and quiet, which is good. As thrilling as all that attention was - the suggestions to fire me, the name-calling - my racing heart needed a little rest. The good news is that The Big O himself smiled at me and said hello very nicely when I greeted him today, complimenting me on a job well done, so I guess I really can't ever turn down his request for a sandwich as I previously planned on doing. ;-) Also, a friendly member of the custodial staff is now leering at me suggestively and calling me "hot" whenever he sees me. Ladies and gentlemen (mostly gentlemen), I have arrived!

Last night was fun. My dear Jenn came over and entertained me with stories of almost joining a Mexican gang in Cali while Mr. T was teaching his class. Then we ran to Chipotle and darted through the door literally as they were about to lock up for the night. I know all those poor people behind the counter were wishing they could spit into our food. Instead they seemed to have made my burrito extra spicy, which led to unfortunate circumstances during my private contemplation time this morning. How can something be even spicier coming out than it was going in?! Despite this, I just polished off the remaining spicy green salsa (medium by Chipotle's ludicrous standards) with some chips, and expect more pain to come later tonight. I never learn. How do Hispanic and Asian peoples deal with this problem? Are their rectums numb?

meat bikinis

This has really been an exciting day on many fronts. Besides the obvious on-air spectacle - the unveiling of this god-forsaken blog - I also contributed my share to fight racism in the workplace, and even went grocery shopping too! I guess if I make any comment on the weak criticisms I've received from the few unhealthily obsessed fans of the show so far, I should say that whatever somebody's opinion of me personally may be, their comments on my "grammer" are completely out of place. I received a perfect score on the English part of the SAT's, actually scoring in the top 2% of the country, and have never gotten anything besides an A on an essay or paper; so to all the rednecks with their flannel boxers in a bunch over sentences that may be too long for their comprehension: I cannot be deported because I am a permanent resident of these great United States! I endured persecution and prejudice in the Mazerland (say it with a thick Russian accent), and I guess I'll have to keep suffering the same fate here just because I have a sense of humor. So be it. But if I were an overweight, bald man who spent his time trolling online message boards (i.e. the Junkies message board... you'll know him when you see him), I wouldn't publicly announce my hatred of women and completely kill all the slim chances of ever getting laid again. Just a thought.

Anyway, what I really wanted to say was that I just received the funniest email from a girl I recently interviewed for the salon position. We've been looking for a part-time receptionist to cover those precious hours that I'm interning and making so many people so angry, and this really attractive, stylish, articulate young black woman came in for a meeting. I asked her about her work experience, her ability to deal with insanely rich and finicky old ladies, and her answers were very appropriate. She seemed like the perfect fit, except that she said she has a full-time job and is only available evenings and weekends. After the owners and I complemented her and assured her that she would be an asset to our salon, we explained that we would have to call her after we find someone to cover the times I can't be there in the mornings and then would try to find some hours for her. We told her we would call her when that happened and sent her on her merry way. Well today I got a hilarious email accusing us of being racists because it was such a short interview, claiming we were surprised that she was "an African American woman" because she sounded so "Caucasian and professional" on the phone, and that her friend even suggested she contact the NAACP. I just can't help but run into crazies! I explained to her that all of us actually loved her and were upset she wasn't available more hours, but were definitely planning on calling her. I mean, what did she expect? It's a freakin' salon! It pretty much takes a couple of moments to ascertain that someone can successfully answer a telephone and book an appointment, but I guess she wanted us to really delve into the inner qualities and life experiences that would have made her a stellar receptionist despite being a disadvantaged black woman. She wrote back embarrassed and apologized. I sympathize with her hasty display of emotion so badly, I feel obligated to still offer her the job. She and I are sisters in our vulnerability - she is black, and I am a Ukrainian Jew who really loves hip-hop. I doubt she would take it, though, and I don't really want to work with the kind of unstable person who always feels so insecure in her own skin. We'll see what happens. Right now the morning slot forerunner is a Japanese immigrant with a really cute accent. She even signed the application with Japanese characters, which I thought was the coolest thing I've ever seen. As far as I'm concerned, she's hired based on that alone, but we'll see what the owners say after she comes in for a little trial run tomorrow.

Last night's "Family Guy", by the way, was probably my favorite ever. Peter's stroke face was genius.

May the baby Jesus bless you all.

God Knows You Lonely Souls

I'm exhausted - a walking zombie - but alas, I can't sleep without my beloved. He's away at the Torpedo Factory, making art torpedoes... or teaching random people how to sculpt the human nakedness. Either way, he isn't here, and I can't sleep without him. Thus I am caught in a cycle of sleep deprivation throughout the week, which culminates in a completely useless Sunday, when I lay around comatose and feel guilty for not accomplishing something during my long-awaited "free" time. Just like this past Sunday. What a waste.

There are just too many things to think about. I am not the type to know what to do about all of them, so I just sit and think and worry. Or run around and think and worry. I try to chip away, one little thing at a time, and I try to reward myself by allowing tiny moments of feeling good, but mostly I am just scared. But I keep pushing myself to do the pointless things I do anyway.

This Saturday is the last radio production class at Fairfax Public Access. I have to submit my show proposal and then my very own weekly 1-hour show will be bestowed upon me. I want to be excited, but I just feel numb. It's no huge accomplishment, really. No one really pays attention to public access/cable-cast/web-cast little shows, do they? I need a web guru to help me promote. Better yet, I need a hilarious, jaunty co-host, but where is he? I decided that I would definitely prefer a HE, because a SHE would compete too much. I need to be unique. So far I'm doing okay on my own with the little practice runs we've been doing on the air, but come on. How long can I sit and talk to myself before I start to lose touch with reality? I need someone who can at least argue with me a little bit, make fun of my utter insanity. Where could that someone be? Why do all my friends have to be so flaky and/or nonexistent? *sigh*


But enough whining. I really shouldn't complain. Things are moving right along. My internship at 106.7 WJFK is going swell. The guys, the locally famous Sports Junkies, or just The Junkies, as they are now known, treat me great... considering I am a girl. It's just really depressing to be surrounded by so many men and feel their physical attraction to me and their simultaneous indifference toward me in every other regard. They can't even fathom that I may know more than them about the world at large, or that my IQ is most likely higher than their IQs averaged... maybe even put together.. haha. But either way, they have no idea about any of this. All they want to know is when the last time I hooked up with a girl was, and do I prefer to have sperm land somewhere on my body, on my face, or in my mouth. I mean, the very idea that any woman actually likes for sperm to land anywhere near her is preposterous, but whatever. That's the world I am in. Sperm, and sports, and machismo oozing out of every crevice. And honestly, I wouldn't trade it for the world. Okay, I would trade it for the world and many different things in the world, but I wouldn't trade it for any regular office, or retail, or customer service job. And I ultimately really like everyone I work with on a personal level. It's just frustrating to not have everyone immediately recognize my greatness! But why should they? They need to see a finished product of some sort before they can judge me. So that's what I'm doing with this whole public access business. Hopefully some semi-decent demos will be made so that for once I can look someone in the eyes and ask them where they like their sperm.

Lindsay Blowhan

Okay, is it just me or is Lindsay Lohan aging prematurely? Those atrocious "Marilyn Monroe" photos of her do the complete opposite of flattering her flabby, freckly body. She's got droopy boobs, cellulite-ridden thighs, and absolutely no waist! And this is coming from someone who used to think she was seriously sexy! This may piss some people off, but she clearly looked her best when she was anorexic or whatever. Emaciated is the only good look for her. It's that damn rehab, I just know it! They always teach people to replace their "destructive" alcohol and drug addictions with something else. Most people turn to cigarettes and sugary foods, and thus die an even more miserable, untimely death than they would have had they just stuck to the Mary Jane or the peppy nose powder. Poor Lindsay. She has what my art professor husband calls a "peasant proportion" body type, meaning her torso is stout, and her limbs are short and stubby. Is there anything wrong with peasants? I don't think so. I like them as people and appreciate what they do, but do I want to look at them naked? Not usually, no. I blame this debacle on her choice of photographer. She worked with the same guy who shot the original Marilyn series which they attempted to recreate - Bert Stern. The only problem is that technology has since evolved to allow us to completely alter a person's appearance on camera for the better and he is clearly oblivious to it. He is also probably old and senile by now, and in his day fat, butter-guzzling ladies were the pinnacle of beauty and elegance. Someone really should have cautioned Lindsay against working with him. If she wanted to show her ta-tas, either Playboy or Maxim could have done a much better job on making her actually look like a 20-something year old rather than an over-the-hill trailer park mother of seven. That's all I have to say. I hope I never feel compelled to actually comment on celebrity news with such passion ever again.
Check out the photos here:
http://media.nymag.com/fashion/08/spring/44247/

PS. Tune into http://stations.swcast.net/urbancowgirl777

on Saturday Feb. 23 between 9 AM and 12 PM to hear a ten-minute teaser of my weekly radio show, The Mariya Alexander Show.

A Star Is Born

A handsome old friend (who has recently popped up in a dream of mine) asked today if The Thought Spot has no new posts, does it mean I'm not thinking... And it got me to thinking about the tornado of thoughts I've been living with for the last several months without any real outlet and how rusty my brain hinges have probably become by now. This is unacceptable, my faithful audience of at least one confirmed reader! I will now reveal all - prickly legs and bruised shins - the whole package!

If I remember when we last left off, I was struggling through an unsatisfying job as a salon receptionist. I was engaged in a catty, prolonged battle with the so-called salon manager with horrible linguistic skills, and I am proud to declare that I ultimately won. I drove her completely mad with my physical near-perfection and sharp wit and made her quit without notice or any hope for referrals after her 6 years of slave-like servitude. Even though this satisfied my ego for about two weeks, this ended up being a disaster for me personally. I naturally became the new manager, and immediately realized that I don't ever want to manage anything, especially a hair salon owned by an old, half-senile, self-deluded Jew who thinks himself the local Vidal Sassoon. My cushy schedule of about 30 hours per week turned into an arduous 50+ hours without any overtime pay. If I was at least paid overtime, then the decrease in sex-like activity would have been just a bit more bearable. As things were going during those hellish summer months, however, I was becoming suicidal. My sister working by my side during her summer break helped a little, but not much. Let me just conclude this sad little chapter by saying that by the time I gave my two weeks notice in September, I knew exactly what had made the former salon manager so peevish and short-tempered. I can't account for her inability to pronounce or spell simple words, but I know that her anger and anxiety stemmed from the truly evil atmosphere that permeated that whole place. The stylists were like rabid dogs, the clients like deformed trolls and goblins out of a Clive Barker novel, and the delusional owner who spent his days oiling his unsightly, amateurish sculptures was pointedly oblivious to the demoralizing state of things.

Quitting the salon opened up my schedule to dedicate all my free time to school work. Even though we met for class only two nights a week, I must have spent almost every waking second in the studio suites working on my video and audio editing projects, writing and recording commercials, skits, jingles, etc. That was probably the most satisfying period of time - no stupid job to get in the way of creativity - but it was also the most financially trying. My husband's salary kept us alive and well enough fed, but I can assure you, no exciting new purses or boots were added to my collection of redundant luxuries, and this fact still pains me. At any rate, I did what I had to - made good projects, made connections, forged bonds with my classmates - and I suppose it ultimately paid off. Now the semester is over, and I am second in my class GPA-wise, but I received more awards than any of my classmates for various achievements, and I was voted "The Rising Star of The Class" by all my teachers - a unique award in its own category. Am I bragging? Yes, yes I am. It's nice when people see the plain truth without being told to see it. I may not have the most distinctive speaking voice, and I may not be a good song announcer, but I've got the most unique brain inside this new blonde head of mine, and through my big blue eyes (and my sharp, slightly inappropriate one-liners) others were able to see through my cranium to view this splendid brain in action. Of course the next step is to apply my star-like qualities towards the acquisition of a job in the field, which I am just about ready to start doing. This is the first week that I can actually spend some time at home, and I'm taking full advantage of this rare opportunity to vedge. I have to admit, though, as much as my body is enjoying the relaxation, my aforementioned brilliant brain is restless, anxious for the next exciting thing to happen.

In other news, in my attempts to become familiar with the world of showbusiness, I've gotten myself some spiffy headshots and gone on a couple of auditions, just to experience the sort of interaction that takes place at these things. The only problem is that DC is probably the last place in the world you would want to be if you're trying to act, model, or entertain in any other way - unless of course you're a stripper or a naked model, in which case you're always in need. It's really quite insulting to have to convince the hacky locals of your talents as you read their ridiculous college thesis script with the full awareness that their movie will never ever become anything worthwhile. Another great example was when I went to audition for what was advertised as a part for a car commercial, but ended up being a solicitation for a "spokesperson" for a dealership in some ungodly part of rural Maryland where the lucky candidate's job would be to attend special sales events and greet customers while acting dumb and pretty. There was a vague possibility of a commercial to be shot, but the panel of obese, horribly dressed "judges" (the owners and managers of the dealership) didn't seem to care much about that or about the acting skills of all those auditioning. The question they kept raising was "What does PERSONALITY mean to YOU?! Because we need someone with PERSONALITY!!! " In an attempt to showcase my personality I rolled my eyes a lot and told one of the dealership owners he looks and sounds like Dr. Phil, but I guess that wasn't what the rednecks had in mind. Two days after the hilarious ordeal I, along with the other rejected girls - received an email with a sad face in the subject line informing us that some other lucky girl got the much-coveted part of balloon distributor for this fine auto import retailer. Wow. A sad face in the subject line. These people are clearly seasoned professionals.

Less embarrassingly, I am in the talks with an old acquaintance who now works for a development company about a photo commission for the lobby of a big new office building. I don't want to say any more, lest it falls through and I feel stupid, but this is a guy that has always liked me work and is a true art enthusiast, so I know he'll do what he can to make it happen.

On the personal front things are quiet. My old friend Ruth disappeared during her last visit to the area. She had me pick her up from the bus station, and then just never called me again, even after my repeated attempts to get in touch with her. I can only conclude that ultimately my company wasn't as enjoyable for her as the company of her other friends who unconditionally worship her every word, regardless of its irrationality or stupidity, and I can only wish her the best. I had great hopes for her - her spunky quirkiness used to be so refreshing - but then I realized her youth and immaturity and the sheer desire to be outrageous were the driving factors behind everything she said and did. Her thought process was starting to make less and less sense to me. When asked to articulate how she arrived at a certain idea, she would get frustrated and pick a fight. It would have been no problem for me - I like controversy and enjoy stirring it up among my family and friends - but I suppose for her the blind support of an admirer was more important than the scrutiny of an honest friend. So be it. From her myriad of new MySpace and Facebook photos, she's having the drunken time of her life in Brooklyn.

An old high school friend of mine moved into the neighborhood. I look forward to having someone close-by to hang out with.

And I really miss my dear old Erin. She's busy with school too, so at least I don't have to seethe with jealousy that someone else is taking up her time instead of me. But still. It would be nice to get together for some stiff drinks and cynical commentary on the world at large.

As for my marriage, it's rolling along. I suppose we are now reaching the first real speedbumps in what has so far been a fairy-tale romance. My being so busy lately has majorly cut into our intimacy. Leaving the house at the crack of dawn and getting back near midnight almost every day was so exhausting that it never even occurred to me to have a sexual thought. It's sad, too, because when I look at Thanasi purely objectively, when he's getting dressed for work or doing the dishes or something, I feel truly moved by his beauty and feel very stirred. It just always seems to happen when we don't actually have the time to act on these impulses. We need a tropical vacation, big time! Maybe we can get away for a quick Miami frolic during winter break. That would be wonderful.


p.s. Last week I began my orthodontic treatment. I now wear a bite fixer (retainer-like thing) which makes me sound like a mildly retarded person with a lisp. I am also trying desperately to find a way to fund the making of my new nose - apparently $5,000 doesn't just fall out of the sky exactly when you need it, god dammit! I would take out a loan, but with my student loan and the monthly payments I have to make for my teeth, that doesn't seem like an option right now. So if any benefactor wants to bestow some money on me without the expectation of sexual favors, that would be super.

pathetic

You know, it doesn't matter how old I get and how much I evolve - getting stood up by so-called "friends" never seems to hurt any less. This weekend brought a new level of disappointment when an old friend my husband and I haven't seen in a really long time didn't call or show up after the last thing that we said to one another earlier that day was "Okay, I'm driving up there now. I'm going to pick up my girlfriend , and we'll meet up as soon as I do."

Another similar instance involved my so-called "best" friend who is back home from NY for a week, and who called me before any of her other friends to tell me she's coming into town because she needed a ride from the bus station, but then ignored my calls for the entire weekend while partying with these "other" friends. What am I, some sort of social cripple? I like parties. I like meeting new people, but she purposely makes excuses to not invite me and to avoid me when she hangs out with these people.

Whatever. It's just embarrassing to find myself in such a vulnerable, needy state. I shouldn't care. All I do when I am around people is innumerate their flaws in my mind and smirk with satisfaction. I guess it just eats me that I've been deprived of the opportunity to do it this weekend. It would have been nice to see our dear old friend interact with his white trash girlfriend who is really just messing with his head. Likewise, it would have been great to see my ditsy "BFF" vie for the attention and approval of her other friends. The times I have seen her outside of the private clique consisting of her and me, she behaved herself in a much more reserved, rather dull fashion. With me she is boisterous, witty and scathingly funny. I guess her maddening need for acceptance drives her into the midsts of these mediocre groups of adolescents where she isn't pressured to think and express herself. I guess being friends with someone like me is exhausting. Because I hate so much about myself, I hate it all even more in others. Actually, I just really hate others in general, so maybe it's all for the better that we got stood up anyway. Instead of going out and wasting money, my husband and I bonded and frolicked by ourselves. We went to brunch, we did mundane house things, and we indulged in carnal activities. We played with our cats, we watched a great Parker Posie film ("The House of Yes"), and laughed and laughed and laughed. I guess this is growing up and having a life. Why else did I get married? When you find truly great company, someone who makes you feel at ease no matter what else is happening, you begin to realize that losing other people only hurts your pride and ego, not really you.

Or so I keep telling myself.