Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Open Letter to Today: Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Dear Today,

I'm not sure quite where to begin thanking you for being such an incredible day.

Maybe I should begin with the CD's of great radio and a friend's band that were waiting at my desk this morning, having arrived in yesterday's mail and how great it was to listen to those CD's after lunch . . .
Maybe I should start with the really friendly lady at the dry cleaner on the way to work this morning who made me feel good about dropping off my sheets and towels to be washed and not embarassed and guilty as I'd been feeling all along . . .
Maybe I should start with how even though my toilet broke this morning, I found the Super and showed him the problem and gave him the keys and I'm highly optimistic that the problem will be resolved by the time I get home tonight . . .

Today, I could begin so many places telling you how awesome you've been . . . how awesome you still are: the promise of a good visit to the gym after work, maybe a glass of wine with a friend, some time on my new computer, early to bed.

You are the girl-next-door of great days. It isn't that anything terribly special happened - no presents, no promotions, it isn't a holiday - just that every aspect of my day has been so plesant. Mundane but delightful. Today, you are in so many ways ideal.

Thanks, Today. I know that there are ups and downs in every relationship, but this one's been great from the very beginning. I hope I'm lucky enough to find more days like you in my future.

Lots of Love,

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Saddest Story Ever

Today's entry at Girls Are Pretty (http://www.girlsarepretty.com/) put me in mind of the Saddest Story Ever. Here it is:

When my dad was little - maybe two or three years old - he and his sister (just a year older) were given a puppy for Christmas. Of course they were thrilled. They were in love. They were as happy as anyone can be on Christmas morning. They loved the puppy so much that they did what, for three and four year olds is perhaps the most selfless and loving thing: they gave the puppy all of their Christmas chocolates from their stockings. As you may or may not know, dear reader, chocolate is poisonous to dogs. They fed the puppy which they loved more than anything all of their chocolate because they loved it so much, and the puppy got sick and died.

Saddest Story Ever.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Good Hair Day

Lawrence is the security guard at my office.
Every morning, when I come to work, Lawrence and I enjoy a short chat while I wait for the elevator.
Here, an excerpt from today's banter:
L: Your hair looks nice today
Ee: (shrugging modestly) It's clean . . .
L: (with gusto) It looks REAL clean!

Friday, November 19, 2004

Bad Dream

Tonight after work I'm going to see a movie with a friend and, after, we're going to go out for dinner. We've selected a restaurant that I used to frequent with my ex - I found it, but it was near where he used to work.

I was thinking about these plans as I walked to work this morning, and I had a fantasy.

I imagined that I was sitting there with my friend and my ex came with his new girlfriend - the one he left me for and who's super jealous of/paranoid about me (in real life). He tries to convince her to go somewhere else, but she realizes something's up. He's in a corner and he has no choice but to come clean and admit that I'm there and that's why he thinks they should leave. She and I have never met and she's curious and feeling like the victor in the situation, so she starts to make a fuss, digging in her heels. This is when I notice that he's there and quickly ascertain what has happened. While I do everything I can to remain incognito, I am now obliged to begin explain the situation in hushed tones to my dining companion. The next thing I know, this woman is standing over our table, saying something antagonistic. She's saying something insulting. She's implying that she wants us to leave - that she and my ex somehow have more of a right to be there. I'm calm. I'm centered. I say that this is between her and my ex and between me and my ex, but there is absolutely nothing between she and I and since everything I've heard and, now, seen about her fills me with derision, it's probably best to keep it that way. I address my ex calmly over her head, using my pet name for him which I know will make her crazy. "We've already ordered and this is Manhattan. Surely you could find some other place to enjoy your meal . . . I just think that if the two of you stay, none of us will have a very nice time this evening." The matter is settled. I turn my attention back to my friend sitting across the table from me. He is startled but impressed with my cool ferocity. The ex is clearly embarrassed by his date. Now they're having a fight. He half drags her out of the restaurant. I win.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Serves Him Right

This afternoon I had occasion to spend just a few fleeting minutes with my sweetheart.

He is awfully sweet.

We were walking along together and I mentioned, casually, that I started a blog today.

His eyes got all big and an "oh no" expression came across his face. "I don't think I want to read it . . . you'll probably write about me . . . you'd better not write about me!"

I laughed at him. "Who do you think you are?"

"What else do you write about in a blog except for boys? And no one writes about women because only women write blogs. I suppose I could imagine a lesbian writing about women . . ."

I really hadn't planned to mention him. But he kinda asked for it.

Probably, he's secretly delighted.


Three things.

1. Last Friday, walking up Ninth Avenue, I was coming up on my neighborhood friend, Ken. "Holy Shit! It's Ken Webb!" I said. The man looked frightened and turned around. Not my friend Ken. "Oh god. I'm sorry," I said. "I thought you were someone else . . . and I was . . . mocking." What I meant was "and I was . . . swearing," but I was too embarassed to even call attention to it.

2. The night before last I was walking to the gym, heading East across 56th street. I saw my co-worker Ken Beck walking West heading home, I presumed. "Ken Beck!" I said as we drew near. I can't remember what he said, only that as we passed and he turned back to look at me he seemed horrified. I also seem to recall that, whatever he said, came out of his mouth with a Brittish accent. I appologized profusely again.

3. Last night as I approached the corner of my street and the avenue, a man eating dinner in the window of the resturaunt on the corner looked enough at first glance like my dad for me to have a fantasy. The fantasy was that this man didn't merely resemble my dad but, in fact, looked exactly like him. A twin. The weight of such an encounter becomes more apparent when I reveal that, in real life, my dad died a little less than two years ago. So, imagine that on the corner of your block, you run into a man who looks exactly like your dead dad. In the fantasy, I walk up to the window of the resturaunt and just kind of stare at him. I stare and I'm feeling somewhat alarmed. Before too long, this man can't ignore my bizare stare any longer and both he and his dining companion turn to look at me. I explain through the glass "you look just like my dad. you look exactly like my dad. my dad died but you look exactly like him." In the fantasy, I go to my apartment - just a few doors down - and i get my dad's glasses out of the drawer where I keep them and I bring them back to the resturaunt. I go inside and I tell the man to put them on and he does. And he looks even more exactly like my dad. And I just stand there and cry. I get the glasses back and go home. In real life last night, I took out my dad's glasses for the first time in a long time. They still have gross dirt on them from when he was in the hospital but since it's gross from my dad I can't really bear to clean them off. I miss my dad.

Open Letter - Breadmarket Cafe, W 52nd

Dear Breadmarket Cafe on West 52nd Street between 5th and 6th,

Why is your coffee so bad?

It used to be pretty good. There was a lovely period in which I'd swing by on my way to work and get a cup of coffee with milk, give you my dollar and a smile and be on my way. I'd get to the office and feel satisfied with your product.

No more.

Lately, whenever I go your coffee tastes really terrible. Worse, it leaves terrible coffee taste in my mouth - like some coffee curled up in there about six weeks ago and died. Adding insult to injury, this morning my coffee cost $1.15. You're charging more for worse coffee! That's no good at all.

From now on, I'm gonna get my coffee somewhere else.


The Alpha

And so it begins.

I am sucked into the narcisistic world of the blog.

I'll try not to let you down . . . you . . . out there . . .