Her Umbrella did What it's Owner Could Never Do

She sits in the subway. The train moves along like a bug that won't die. And it's no surprise to her that people say that the city makes you hard. The city IS hard. Hard and cold steel surround her and everyone else. The cobwebs are scaffolding. The sound of trees blowing in the wind is the sound of cabs whizzing by her at ungodly speeds. Trees are replaced by buildings, tall and proud and filled with the anonymity that she finds peaceful.

It makes you hard. But it doesn't make you dead.

At night, sometimes, she swears she can see the city exhale.

And she looks at the eyes of a child she once knew. It's amazing how quickly they grow. They grow and they learn and they don't recognize her anymore and that's the way that it should be and the way that it will always be because you have to leave the part where you leaned on others behind in order to realize that you can stand on your own.

It doesn't help her feel less isolated, though.

Isolation. A blessing and a curse to a girl like her.

The city offers her a comfort in its indifference. So many faces pass by her like the tracks that flash and streak around her on the train. She is just another face to them, as well. And there's a certain camaraderie in it all, a quiet understanding that her face will pass from their mind as quickly as theirs pass from hers, and it's all just part of the tapestry of this manmade nature that is Manhattan.

She thinks about a year ago--lost in kisses and caresses and the sheer exhilaration of being infatuated. And how long ago that seems, and yet how freshly she can still recall it. Do all loves stay with you like this, she thinks to herself. Or is she just one of those people who can cling to a memory so closely that it becomes her comfort blanket. She lays it on herself as summer truly dies and she curls up in her bed, and the cold air that has descended has taken the pain and heat of summer away. She doesn't miss him per se; in fact, she's pretty sure she doesn't miss him at all. She'd think she missed infatuation, but it's still a sentiment most familiar. She's always in love. And always alone. So she doesn't miss him, but she misses something. She's missed something.

She thinks that he looks like an angel when he sleeps. But she doesn't mean the one who just passed through her mind. Perhaps the new one whose kisses make her weak in the knees but whose distaste for her socks her in the gut. And then she wonders what "he" she is referring to at all. Maybe they all look like angels when they're sleeping. They're devils to her in the day; but at night, they are calm and they are warm and they do not hurt her the way that they do as the light does when morning comes.

The light is painful and sharp, but the light is fading in the city and she rises from the subway like a phoenix and steps out into the cool dusk and makes her way through her steel forest.

She sighs. And pulls her jacket a little closer to her chest. She's never one to leave her heart exposed. Not for long, anyway.

Volcanoes Melt Me Down...

Sorry. Haven't had much time lately to write anything substantial.

I'm currently obsessed with Damien Rice. It's my brand of suicidal melancholy music without being as hipster as Elliot Smith. Not that I have a problem with that or anything, but I have a bit more of the surreal touch to my melancholy.

Sharon's seen this on my LiveJournal, but here's two examples of stuff that could have been ripped from here or from my actual physical diary at home:

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea

Or try this little ditty on for size:

We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate

I had said that it breaks my heart. My heart breaks so easily though, at this point, I'm not even really sure I have a heart anymore; it's turned more into a heap of confetti.

Late night at work last night. Thanks to Marina for helping out from D.C. It's hard when you wait late enough in the day to make plans and then a minute after get an assignment that keeps you there for hours and hours beyond what you were expecting. It's the lack of consistency that I find frustrating. I threw a pen. But we were all in it together, and that's teamwork. Go Team!

We have now been attacked by an army of boxes that I must attend to.

Here's My Impersonation of this Administration...

aka, I refuse to take personal responsibility for any of it.

But, instead of blaming the declining moral fabric or the Democrats, my culprit is far more simple.

I blame the Brazilian wax.

See? That was easy [the blame, not the wax, cuz ummm...DAMN. That hurt].

Now to get my Sinful Self to work.

Find Me at The Matinee, The Dark of the Matinee

So, yeah. This week wanted to kill me. But once again, I'm left standing. My room apparently shows all wounds though. It certainly looks like a battleground.

I'll clean this weekend. I think.

But a breakdown of the issues:

1) Roommate: Well, Travis has found a new place to crash. We're meeting Potential Roommate #1 on Saturday.

Derek: I couldn't understand her. Her phone was cutting out and she has a very heavy British accent.

Me: Luckily, I speak British.

Also, as long as this chick can write checks that clear, I don't really care if we can't understand her.

2) Health Stuff: Well, that's all taken care of. I'm as good as new. And all the damage I've been inflicting on myself emotionally at least didn't translate physically as well. Which is lucky, considering I fucked guys named Sleazy and Junebug. I blush with shame just thinking about it.

Oh well. Onward and upward, I suppose.

3) Work: Well, Fed-Ex kinda screwed us. But at least it wasn't my fault. And at least it's Friday. So I'm relieved of the stress for two days. And we got all the high priority stuff done a day early, so go us!

4) Hurricane of Doom: Well, it's not looking as bad. And Gary is safe and secure. And wonder of all wonders, Amy couldn't get out of Houston and had to bail to Kingwood. The Prodigal Daughter returned after much absence and heartache on Mom and Gary's part. Nothing like an Act of God to get your daughter to finally reach out. She and her two cats are now in Kingwood, where they'll ride it out together. I wish we had cameras in there. Because that SO sounds like a set-up to a wrenching family drama that would get nominated for Oscars and such. I think it won the Venice Film Festival. Oh wait, no. The one about the gay cowboys did.

Time to relax. Until the next set of tragedies. But if you can't enjoy the calm before the storm, well then, you might as well live in Louisiana or Florida or Texas.

Hold strong, Texas. You weren't your own country for nothin'.

It's The End of The World as We Know It and I Feel...Scared

Gary has decided to stay in Houston. Oh wait, no, it's worse. Mom tells me he's headed to Louisiana.

WHY?!?!?!?

Look at this:



No good. This. Is. No. Good.

I'm very nervous. This week is apparently trying to finish me off.

It's Cold as a Tomb, and It's Dark in Your Room

I don't really know if I have the time to do it all justice.

In essence, the emotional roller coaster of this week has certainly convinced me that up has become down, right-wrong, and black is the new black.

What?

Exactly.

Marina came in a whirlwind dayish trip to the city. I don't know how I'd feel about the firm having me fly up for two seconds. But then again, they'd never entrust me with stuff like that. I'm like the wayward stepchild here.

Robert and Lee tease me mercilessly about it, too.

Oh yeah. Lee's back. She snuck up on me when I was writing in LiveJournal and scared the shit out of me.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"By killing me? Yup, that'd do it."

"You look good [I have finally managed to find the motivation to wear makeup again]."

"Thanks. You look well-rested."

Ha ha. That's funny because she had mono. Get it? Awww, fuck it. Nevermind. But it's nice to have her back.

But I digress. This should be nothing new to those of you who read this on a regular basis. My blog is like the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Minus the tea. And the hats. So I guess that just leaves mad.

Sounds about right, I guess.

I've decided to give up on Office Crush. Not because he has a girlfriend, though. Let's not get all altruistic or anything. You should know me better than that. More to do with the fact that I realized I just desperately wanted to cling to something other than my current feelings. But it would just make me crazy in a different way. And wouldn't solve anything. And we all know that booze is the answer to ALL problems.

I kid, I kid. Everything in moderation, kids.

I had a horrible scare the other day. Things had been pretty shitty. Work was so stressful it made my stomach curl up and turn into a kitten. A very stressed kitten. I don't even understand that image myself, but generally I write these things as they come. Travis apparently has to go. We're in month 2 and have yet to see rent. Or bills.

And then the kicker came when Devon called. Apparently, there's some porn charges racked up on our cable bill. Ordered at 6:30 in the morning. Honestly, people. The name of my damn blog has porn in the title, so this comes from no place of judgement. But damn, man. 6? It's a little early to be whacking off in our living room.

And he did it on the first. Perfectly aware that he wouldn't be able to make rent, he thought buying porn would be the way to start the day off right.

Grr. Argh. I don't want to have to pay for someone else's porn habit.

I decide not to answer my phone. I miss a call on my BlackBerry.

It's the Lady Doctor. Tests results are in--Please call back.

And....

Cue Panic Attack. More like PANIC ATTACK!

This has been my worst fear all along. And then they kept telling me the doctor was unavailable. It was getting near 5 and we all know doctors don't stick around, so I was facing the prospect of having to sleep on such information.

I was crying a little. Which I hate doing. But I could barely keep it together. Luckily, one of the temp attorneys found leaving a message like that and not talking to me to be unacceptable, so she called the doctor herself. She pretended to be my mother (I guess because you accept bitchiness when it comes to your brood, not your coworkers) and we get some answers.

And it's nothing. A lady problem most common. One antibiotic and I'm good as new.

The best part is that it does not make me have to feel like the DISEASE SPREADING WHORE and have to make calls or, I don't know, call a band meeting.

I go to meet Spring to celebrate. And just to hang out. I haven't seen her in awhile. The girl is an onion. And I don't mean that if you cut her, the fumes will make you cry (though they might). But she constantly surprises me. I love that. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've written that about her.

People thinks she's hard. They're wrong. But she doesn't try to stop anyone from feeling that way about her. But you cannot be heartless and love They Might Be Giants. A big heart and soul are required to enjoy the genius that is the album Flood. It's just the way it is.

Damn. There's more stuff, but I'm tapped out.

Goodnight, Gracie.

I Should've Known...

[hits self on head]

Office Crush has a girlfriend.

[throws hands up in air]

I give up. I finally met someone that pre-empted thoughts of The Unworthy One, and felt I could really, you know, like, date and stuff.

Damn.

SOMEBDOY SET ME UP WITH SOMEONE NICE! I apparently am no good at this.

Park that Car, Drop that Phone, Sleep on the Floor, Dream about Me

Honestly, people. Today is too weird for me.

I come into work this morning and check my email. There's an instruction from Ashlee on someone I should Google.

Back in our freshman year, Ashlee and I hung out with another couple of girls, Amanda and Jannette. Now, Amanda was a wild one--prime pickings for a Girls Gone Wild video. Watching her at it, you would think making out with her was part of Freshman Orientation. She wanted to sleep with 50 people before she graduated college.

Jannette was more civilized. A lot of fun, but definitely more reserved than her roommate. We'd all go out together, go to a frat party, get drunk, dance within ourselves, and maybe make out with a frat boy.

You know, typical freshman stuff.

And we grew apart, and Jannette went to Harvard or something like that, then came back to Austin, and then--

Apparently went batshit insane.

I don't even know what to do with that. Honestly, people, I just don't know. Sadly, I've come pretty close to behaving the same way. I just don't understand how people don't want to have sex like 3 or 4 times in one night. And I get pouty and pissy. I've never physically threatened anyone, and I wouldn't, I don't think. Maybe I have. I don't know. I'm always wasted. I don't even remember the last time with Junebug. But all the clues indicated that we had sex, so you just have to go with it.

But still. Dear Lord.

Still reeling from all this nonsense, I go outside for a cigarette.

Wait a minute. I know that lady.

Awww, hell.

It's one of the temp counselors from Core. Like, from when I worked there. Like, from when I sucked so bad they got rid of me. I feel all my office administration inadequacy flooding over me (followed by a deep blush).

I register surprise. She registers confusion as I see her desperately trying to place me.

She recognizes me. We exchange awkward banter. She has a couple permanent paralegal positions she's hiring for--

"So if you know anybody..."

Wow. You don't want me working for you, but you'll hire my friends? My brain is desperately trying to sort this all out, but it all sounds like Earthworm in my head.

I take her card. I flee into my office like there's free cake being offered inside or something.

At this point, I feel really weirded out by my day. And it was like 11 am. No good. The universe is seriously fucking with me. I figured I'd walk outside and there would be Sleazy, Junebug, and Mahdi--all playing badminton or something. With penguins. Together. I was waiting for it.

ACK!

I'll escape to my little Cuban restaurant (after running into a guy I made out with at the Cingular store--my phone is now fixed, kids--feel free to call. But yeah, I'm pretty shell-shocked at this point).

My Cuban restaurant will save me.

I'm staring off while waiting in line. It's always kinda hopping at lunchtime. The food's amazing. But no one I ever knew had heard of it. I'm looking forward, blankly, resembling this dude--like after electrodes in his eyes or whatnot--I have yet to make it all the way through Clockwork Orange.

Someone grabs my arm. I swear to God, if it's the guy who mugged me, I QUIT. Quit what, you ask? Fuck if I know, but I'm quitting.

Not the mugger. My office crush.

I am consumed by blushing. I try to banter. But he's with two other guy paralegals and seems a little distant. Just like a man. Whatever. I bet he'll come crawling back to my inbox in no time.

Heh. I think "my inbox" will be my name for my lady parts. I think that's brilliant.

Not that Office Crush has seen my inbox--but if he plays his cards right...

Oh, somebody please stop me.

I have no idea what kind of indication this is for my weekend, but I'm a little apprehensive.

And I bet there's a unicorn waiting for me in my room when I get there. Just wait.

That's a Metaphor, Not a Reality

Yesterday was insane. Boxes were flying at me right and left.

It was the first time I could see why one of my coworkers has an ulcer.

It was the first time I wanted to cry. At work. BECAUSE of work. Now, there's a switch.

But at least for now, all is Quiet on the Cubicle Front.

On the upside, my office crush instigated email banter. Which I've decided is the young urban professional's version of passing me a note in Homeroom. I checked the "yes" box.

If I'm feeling brave (and I have a feeling this will be in direct proportion of how much caffeine I consume today), I may invite him along to go see Conor perform at the Bowery Poetry Club tonight.

I have this thing, now into my second year in New York. I wonder if it's the same for everyone. But it was such an eventful year, I now compare everything I'm doing now to what I was doing this time last year. I hope it's just a second-year thing. Because we're about to enter territory that I really don't feel like reliving.

It wasn't until Kristen was telling me about Brazil day while she was here, that I realized that Eric and I had gone to it the year before. Holy Hell, ERIC. I know. I can hardly imagine. And after he visited, I got all freaked out and fucked around with Sleazy. And thus began my descent into madness.

I wished I had drank so much that every happy memory became erased with the bad. I guess that's very Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind of me.

But having to go to the Lady Doctor the other day, I realized I was expecting all this Shame and Judgement for my year of sexual activeness. When I searched her face for any sign of judgement, it wasn't there. I guess I forget that this is New York; and even on my wildest night, I'm still probably Strawberry Shortcake in relation to so many activities that New Yorkers get themselves mixed up in. I guess in the end, for all my Sexual Empowerment, I still feel a little Victorian hangover of Any-Sexual-Activity-Is-A-Bad-One. But as long as there are phermones floating around, you can make Parcheesi a sexual activity. There's just no avoiding it. And I've been as safe as I could be (physically, emotionally I sort of wound up in trench warfare) and I'm okay with myself. So I should stop feeling like a diseased-spreading-whore. Because I'm not. Screw you, society, for giving me these conflicted feelings! And by screw you, I mean that metaphorically. I don't think you're ready for THIS jelly.

La La La I'm a Huge Dork

I have a crush in my office. We banter well.

I had him right in my clutches, and I missed the opportunity.

Should've gone something like this:

"Well, if you're going to be off pretty soon, you should come grab a drink with me and Robert."

Instead:

"Well, I'll see you later."

I'm hopeless. And I blush easily.

More Pics of Pretty Ladies...

I LOVE this picture of Kristen. LOVE IT.




This one of me frightens me a little.



Kristen's really good at taking pictures that make her look like a rock star.



I'm in the tail end of a panic attack here (I'll try to find time to expound on that), but like a true narcissus, it helped calm me to focus on taking a picture.

Nice, eh?

**UPDATE**

I totally forgot to add this one picture. Abby wanted a sense of how red my hair is and I think this is a good example.



It's that red. Also, I'm getting a henna tattoo in this picture. It's slightly off-center and it bugs me but the design is pretty. And nothing says Brazil Day quite like henna, which I don't think is particularly Brazilian. But I don't know. Read for yourselves.

It also should be noted that there is one of my famous Vitamin Waters right in my purse. And there's one sitting right next to me at my desk right now. So predictable. Oh well. Could be worse. Could be crack. So I guess I should thank my lucky stars that I happen to like ginseng instead.

Happy Tuesday, I guess. I have my annual exam, where I get to find out how badly I've wrecked my body in just one short year. One short year, one long debaucherous run of it.

That's Why I Say Hey Man, Nice Shot.

Here are some pictures from what I like to call:

How the Hell did Kristen and Carrie stay up until 7am Without Stimulants Night?



This was "The Action Shot" in Times Square. And then I realized I just took a picture in Times Square, immediately was downgraded to "Tourist" status and forced to leave my hipsterness at the corner of 46th and Broadway. And then retire to Connecticut.



This was us Pre-Booze at Brazil Day. You can almost smell the B.O. and crepes.



These people were in a group doing Capoeira. It's pretty cool stuff, folks.



Flatplex smells funny. Kristen smells pretty.



Aren't we ADORABLE?! And by adorable, I of course, mean wasted.



And the answer is, YES, it is hard being that sexy.



This is Robert. We LOVE Robert.



See? Kristen loves Robert, too. In an epic love triangle twist, you cannot see Robert's friend Michael just off to Robert's left, who could NOT stop staring at Kristen all night. He was adorable. And hopeless. And didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell.

And just to show how the night ALWAYS turns out...




Yeah, I don't know. And I kinda like it that way.

Now that I've finally gotten around to what happened Labor Day weekend, I'll be spending the rest of the week trying to catch up on this weekend (which was quiet, relatively speaking, but in typical Carrie fashion, filled with awkward hilarity of her own making--and yes, somehow along the way I've become comfortable with referring to myself in the third person).

Money: The only Concrete Faith in the World

So, this week was a wash. Maybe next week will be better.

But I sent the boxes off to the people who need them in Houston, and my soul feels a little better about the whole thing, though the more I read about it, the angrier and sadder I get about how the whole disaster thing was handled.

It wasn't good, kids. This should've never happened.

I was chatting with Ashlee last night, and we both seem to be in the same sort of holding pattern.

"I just feel like there's not a single area in my life that I'm satisfied with."

I feel her on that one, I tell ya. Everything blows right now. The only difference is I have a few more friends to shield the blow. But most of them are men, and I've already discussed how I feel about that.

And then we discussed how this whole transition into adulthood thing sucks. It's given us a new perspective on feminism. I would have never previously even considered the possibility of just letting a man support me, but now it seems like SUCH a doable option. A nice, not-beat-me-when-he's-drunk, sugar daddy. Taking care of myself has become such a bother. I wouldn't even have to like him all that much (though I would hope he was, at least, tolerable).

I said to her:

"Yeah, I gave up on true love a long time ago. Money is something concrete I can believe in."

She made me promise that I would title my entry like that. She'll have to settle for part.

Busy weekend already planned. Happy Hour with Dru, maybe Cliff's party in Brooklyn (though I really don't feel like seeing the author of the EMAIL OF DOOM, but I can only hide so long)and on Saturday, I'm hanging with Sharon and seeing a movie and seeing how much of Manhattan we can drunkenly cover.

But we all know about the Best Laid Plans. Especially when I make them. So we'll see how much I stick to this schedule, eh?

Let's Make Believe that We are Wealthy for Just This Once

Things are weird now. I'm not quite sure if I'm getting mono or if I'm just depressed.

It was great to see Kristen, though. I'm gonna wait on detailing our journey until I get:

a)my pictures back
b)Kristen's pictures sent to me [hint hint]

But things are hard at my job right now. It's hard when you're not liked. But I'm doing the best that I can and that's all I really can do so, eh.

Yup.

Eh.

So I did what any girl in my position would do. I planned on going to bellydancing and then going to Hooters.

Neither of these things happened. Sharon's feeling woozy from too much sun on her vacation, and I respect that. So I went home.

And I had the place to myself. This is exciting on multiple levels. Well, really just one. Because I live with three boys. And they're great, but right now, I hate men so much I get slightly rageful at being around any man.

So maybe this isn't the best time to try to start dating. It wouldn't be a fair shot. Jesus could be courting me and I'd be all,

"Water into wine? What, are you trying to get me drunk and then take advantage of me? Pig."

"But Carrie darling, I'm the Son of God. I am peace and love and redemption."

"Do you have a penis?"

"Well, yes..."

"Then get away from me, piggie."

It's kinda like that.

When you're feeling as low as I have been, you gotta take care of yourself. Having the place to myself was freeing. I had a beer (or two), cleaned out my closet (I'm organizing between me and the temp attorneys and my fellow paralegals a shipment of goods/supplies/clothes for the hurricane victims) and watched what I always get made fun of for watching at home. Which would be my excessive obsessions with both Forensic Files and Six Feet Under.

In my underwear. Hells yeah.

It's hard feeling so self-obsessed and self-pitying when you KNOW there's real stuff going on. I thought organizing the supply drive and stuff might help, but nope, still feel like shit. But at least there's more room in my closet now.

I feel bad. I had cleaned out my closet pretty thoroughly for this move, so there wasn't a lot to choose from. And what do you send when the only stuff you can really get rid of (because they're not clothes that you wear all the time and wear to work and stuff) and the only things left are kinda skanky going out tops that you never wear? Well, I decided to send some of those anyway. But after you survived a hurricane and displacement, do you really want a sparkly black tank? I don't know. We'll see. But that top always made me feel fat, so maybe it will help someone who lost everything feel fabulous.

I still feel like shit, though. Oh well. Hibernation it is, then.

It's so Early in the Week to be so Suicidal

I hate my life. I need to be drop-kicked off the face of the planet.

[crawls into hibernation, never speaks to a soul again]

Waiting for Clouds and Storms and for Safety

I actually got off work while the sun was still out. I didn't really know what to do with the extra time. I'm used to coming home--an hour of TV, an hour of reading, play on my blackberry a little, drink a beer or two, smoke a cigarette or two, and off to bed!

Rinse. Repeat.

I finished reading Love in the Time of Cholera and moved on to Pale Fire by Nabakov. I'd forgotten how much I always loved reading for pleasure. I remember how reading Nabakov makes me feel like I'm waltzing. And Nabakov will always remind me of Ashlee.

But now I have multiple hours. Hmmm...I decided to climb up unto our roof and enjoy the sunset.

It was a lovely day, in direct opposition to conditions elsewhere in our country. We're coming up on the four year anniversary of 9/11 and it's hard to imagine for me. We have a lovely roof that overlooks lower Manhattan. I have never seen the Twin Towers or how the skyline looked before. I have no sense of the chaos that is occuring in New Orleans. It's like trying to imagine what a room looks like with the door closed.

From our roof, you can see the Statue of Liberty as well. From the distance, it looks like she's giving Brooklyn the finger. I think that's utterly brilliant.

I had to share the moment. I call everyone I can possibly think of to chat with. Very few are home. I end up managing to get a hold of Amy. I remember the last time we talked in depth was during all those hurricanes last year that hit Florida. We agreed the world had to be ending. And here we were, a year later, saying the same thing. I don't know what it is about her that makes me want to call her when the world seems to be going all to Hell.

She just finished reading a book that proved a certain bread mold that caused massive hallucinations was probably responsible for the Salem Witch Trials. And every other outbreak of "witchcraft." I try to recommend Love in the Time of Cholera.

"Well, I kinda wanted to read this book on the history of murder."

Of course you did, Amy. Of course.

And then Kristen called and I broke off with Amy. We discuss what we'd like to do while she's here. I'm really excited to see her, and even more glad that a lot of my melancholy has passed and I won't ruin another one of her visits. We're going to go to Coney Island. I've never been, and I think it's exactly what I need. Kinda away from the city, but not really. A vacation from immediate surroundings without feeling too detached or like I'm running away.

By the time I'm finished talking with everyone, the sky has gone dark and the sun is well past set. There's a gentle breeze and I lay on the curve of my roof and look up at the cloudless night. I make a wish on what I thought was a star, but after a time the light grew brighter and bigger and then moved. I realized I just wished on a plane. I wonder if you wish on a plane, if you have to go to that plane's destination in order for your wish to come true. Knowing my luck, I'd probably have to go to Detroit; but in my head, I dreamt of Prague.

I smile. I exhale. I get over myself.

Happy Weekend!

Open Up My Head and Let Me Out

Alright. Before I go into my self-indulgent tales, you'd have to be on another planet to not be following this. This shit is scary, folks. But, thankfully, luckily, our friend Bridget (NTI-er) is safe and has fled to Texas. Bet they never thought they'd have to worry about people running over the LA/TX border.

I am digusted that the relief effort seems so botched. I am disturbed that with all the technology we have, apparently they thought a big sand bag would prevent New Orleans from flooding. I am furious that people act like it was such a sacrifice for Bush to cut his vacation early to deal with this. Of course he did. Welcome to being the fucking president, you jerk off. The fact that he is ALWAYS on vacation is even beside the point. I am sad that so many people couldn't AFFORD to evacuate, basically condemning them to death or the chaos that has followed. This is wrong. This seems to be the gods telling us something. This looks an awful lot like the end of the world.

I know, I know. Concerned about someone other than myself? What have you done with me?

Well, shit. Now that I've written that, I don't really feel like going into my epic night of fun last night. I guess I should go Cliff Notes on it, then.

--Saw a band that hasn't seen me naked. They courted me on MySpace and I went to the show. They were good. Like Flaming Lips odd and some of the band members looked like Napoleon Dynamite, but interesting. I'll probably check them out again.

--Weirdly enough, this kinda cute guy who was chatting me up turned out to be IN that band. I come back to the table with a grin on my face (not even because he was cute, but out of the sheer coicendence). Robert takes one look at me and says, "You've met another rock star, haven't you?" Ha ha. I'm on a No-Rock-Star-Diet.

--Conor and his lady friend joined us. I was very,very happy to see him. We haven't hung out in two months. For reals. I find it unacceptable and we're both to blame for that. After seeing how happy we were in each other's company again, Conor's lady friend decided to move back to California because she misses her best friend. It's sweet and yet a little odd at the same time. Sorry, Conor, I guess. Oops.

--I totally did not know how to tell the cabbie how to get to my place in Brooklyn. We get way lost and I tip him an exorbitant amount for putting up with my ignorant and fairly tipsy self.

--I come home and chat with Travis. Nothing weird there. I wake up this morning and he's passed out naked on the couch (he had a blanket covering, well, almost all of him). Naked. Except for socks. I swear. He's an odd one, that one, I tell ya.

I'm a little sick to my stomach today. I'm on my second Vitamin Water and the day is nowhere near finished. I'll be very happy when Lee is back because Robert and I have been working our butts off. I like my pace a little slower and easier, thank you. But perhaps mono is looming on my horizon, and then she can cover me.

That is, of course, unless the world coming to an end beats me to it.