I Will Bring My Heart; I Will Bring My Face; You Name the Time and Place

Ah, the close of 2005. To quote Pride and Predjudice (The BBC version of which I have watched more times than a cool person would be willing to admit to):

"Go, go,-- I would not wish you back again."

I've actually caught myself muttering that to myself. I'm pretty sure I'm boderline Tourette's. That, or because I'm reading Motherless Brooklyn, where the narrator has Tourette's. Either way, I'm batshit insane.

I had a hilarious dream last night where Sharon and I were trying to bellydance (in truly horrendous hot pink get-ups), but I kept getting shot with a tranquilizer gun by Chris' brother, Aaron (who, though I don't know well, I knew way before Chris because Aaron is Aron's close friend and former bandmate--follow?). The tranq gun would only paralyze my ass. And my hair was very long, like when I was in high school. Hmmm...maybe I should let my hair grow out. Very Bohemian, it was. But kind of a pain in the ass...ok, I'm over it.

I'm done talking about myself. I haven't decided whether I'm going to end PornandChocolate on the New Year, which was my original idea. I don't know. We'll see. So maybe there will be new posts in the new year, maybe not. In the meantime, here are some stories that I find entertaining:

These stories amaze me. How the Hell do you not know you're pregnant? I know sometimes women can still have their period when they're pregnant (as if all the uncomfortable joys of pregnancy aren't lovely enough), but COME ON. Cut the chord and head straight to Jenny Craig. Because I've seen pregnant women. They're HUGE. And if you're packing so much meat, you don't know there's A HUMAN BEING GROWING INSIDE OF YOU, well then, maybe you should have laid off the kebabs. And I like how this article mentioned they went out a-celebrating for Christmas, booze and all. And probably 9 months worth of other celebrations as well. Now they have a bundle of fetal alcohol joy. Dumbasses.

I'm glad I watched it before. Don't get me wrong. I love those South Park boys like they were my own Spawn of Satan. And I'll defend them to the teeth. Yay, free speech! Offend everyone! We are a ridiculous species! But holy crap, I had watched this one with Dru and the Unmentionables and I have to say, Wow. Not that I was offended, but I clearly recognized they crossed some sort of line, even for them. It does annoy me that they can offend everyone, but because some high-up dude is a practicing Catholic, they'd bow down to the pressure of it. In my opinion, if you're a Catholic and offended by this (which I can totally understand and respect--they are crapping on your beliefs)--why be bothered to get it off the air? Don't watch it, and curl up, peaceful in your beds, knowing that there is a special bungalow in Hell for Trey Parker and Matt Stone. But don't deprive the rest of us, who have our own special places in Hell beside them. Because as out there as that episode is, this line is quite possibly the funniest shit I've heard:

"'A chick bleeding out her vagina is no miracle,' the pope declares in the episode. "Chicks bleed out their vaginas all the time.'"

Brilliant. And we'll never get to see it again. Poo on censorship. Light a candle for them.

I love Useless Information. Dear Lord, I do. And who knew that 8 year olds picking their noses and eating it might have had it right this whole time? Turns out, they're wise sages. Just don't shake their hands.

And because it can't be the end of the year with out a list of some sort:

My top favorite songs that I listened to this year [I specify that I listened to them, because I realize I don't listen to anything really current or mainstream and I don't feel like researching whether or not a song came out in 2005]:

In no particular order:

1)A Cautionary Song by The Decemberists

I had tried to get my mom into The Decemberists. I put it on the CD player while we were driving. She took a long, hard listen and said, "This is like drunken sailor music." And that's exactly why I love it. And the way she nailed it is one of the reasons I love my mom.

2)Anxious Arms by The Jealous Sound

I've written about this song enough. It's just awesome. And the lyrics have made up at least 20 entry titles on this thing.

3)I Would Hurt a Fly by Built to Spill

I'm new to Built to Spill, since I'm only a NeoHipster and therefore, not cool enough to jump on these things while they're floating around Williamsburg or something. But this song is wicked cool.

4)Date with the Night by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

By far and away, my favorite song to pump me up for going out. Honestly, I'll put this on when I'm heading up from the subway, and I feel like a Warrior Princess. Then I kill a dude. It's awesome.

5)Volcano by Damien Rice

Damien Rice is the winner for New Favorite Sad Music. When I'm feeling all Bronte-sister-ish, he's the man to look to. And this one in particular speaks to me. And then I cry and eat chocolate. Some jackoff who could have looked into the whole AIDS/Cancer/Alzheimer's thing decided to do a study and found that when people are sad, they like to listen to sad music. Well, duh. We're all snotty and sobby and incoherent and we need something to speak for us. And if you've got head phones on, it's harder to stick your head in the oven. Harder, but not impossible. But the extra effort when you're miserable and lazy just isn't worth it. So hey, man. Whatever makes you hold on.

That's about it for today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You are a rock star trapped in a librarian spinster's body. Go shake your money-maker.

That Girl Needs a Muzzle and a Note from Her Mother

It's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last

I kept changing that last entry. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't articulate my thoughts, so I deleted most of it. Maybe I can sort it all out later, but I'm pretty sure someone switched out my brain with Folger's Crystals. Oh well. I wasn't really using it anyway.

The theme of it, though, is Cautious Optimism. 2005 sucked. Hardcore. But the tough lessons needed to be learned and at least I know I have soft places to fall. And I'd rather get hurt because my heart was too open than to always be so closed off I never feel anything at all. Just keep reminding me of that the next time I get my heart all squished again.

This made my wee heart go all pitter-pattery [the note reads, "Where's Carrie?"]:



Though it totally looks like Spring might be a little evil there. Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Blood is the Shield Against the Weather

I love my family--both real and adopted.

Fuck 2005. 2006 is going to be the Year of the Fabulous. I can feel it in my bones.

Your Voice Was a Satellite Spinning Next to Me

Satellite just went down...

Juliet introduced them to me. Wowsie, kids. I like them a lot. Billie and I approve. I pulled all these songs off a mix Juliet had in her car during our Epic Morning Travel the other day. The only problem is, Juliet is so indie that I couldn't find all the songs online that I didn't know. So I put all the ones I couldn't find through lyrics and whatnot under a "band name" called "Juliet Might Know." When I get back from the holidays, I'm going to need to ask her. Though, upon further reflection, I really like as a band name "Juliet Might Know." It'd be really cool if that turns out to be the band's name. And if not, it should be MY band name. You know, once I learn the guitar, gain music composition abilities, etc. etc. It really sucks when you really like the song but you have no idea what context to put it in. Much as my life is mess and chaos, music is the one thing I like to feel in complete control of.

Some of you may know this already, but I'm a bit of a music Task Master.

Yes, yes, I shelled out some money to be able to go online whilst I sit here at La Guardia. I am so sleepy the only thing that sucks me in for long periods of being awake is this stupid computer. So I figured it was a solid investment to ensure that I didn't fall asleep at the gate. Which, not gonna lie, is pretty tempting.

Cuz you know, California Dreamin' on Such a Winter's Day and all.

That's right. Off to visit the sister in San Damn Diego. Mom and Gary shall be joining us as well. I think I'm there for a short enough period that Mom shouldn't be able to drive me to cut myself or anything. Don't get me wrong. I love my mama. But like the rest of us in the family, she's fucking nuts. And a particular brand of crazy that can get under my skin like no other person. I get extremely angry and loud at inanimate objects. It takes a lot for a person to make me so.

The Stupid Transit Strike of '05 messed up any plans I had for Christmas-preparedness. I have bought nothing. I was so stressed getting into work the other day, I missed my dad's birthday. I am the WORST family member in the world. Sheesh.

On the strike front, it has now ended and hopefully, the world will be returning to normal shortly. The worst part about the whole thing (which wasn't too bad in the end for me, I worked from home yesterday and probably got way more done than had I gone into the office) was that they ended the strike, and there's STILL not a contract. So, yeah, they decided to strike and they decided to end that strike without achieving a goddamn thing. Except for seriously inconveniencing 7 million people of the City of New York. Wow. Too bad you can't put that on the fridge. Mom would be sooooooo proud.

Succumb to this Passive Sensation

I feel like a Raw Nerve today.

I'll be Waiting with a Gun and a Pack of Sandwiches

I'm not going to reveal the reference there. You should know it.

Ah, Day 2. Couldn't take off any more work, so conveniently enough, my friend Juliet had a car. It is not difficult to find passengers (for those of you NOT in New York, the city has mandated that anyone traveling in Manhattan below 96th--where it starts being more commercial--cannot have a car with less than 4 people). It was an adventure. A slow-moving, I can't believe I woke up this early, kill me now, adventure.

Here's what annoys me [well, many things about this situation annoy me, but I'm talking commute-specific].

We are all aware that an estimated 7 million commuters have been left without a ride. Everyone is finding cabs, carpools, shuttles and whatnot. I think it's safe to assume that coming into the city, we're all going to be experiencing a bit of traffic, heavier in some places than others. And, for the most part, I would say the city has turned fairly generous. Robert got offered a ride from a dude in a van and just jumped in. Thus, turning the world into opposite day. I can't imagine any other time that you would just hop into a van in New York (or anywhere else) from some dude that offers you a ride. We let a dude named Jorge jump in our car just to ride across the Brooklyn Bridge.

But come on people, we're all in the same boat. I hated when we'd be caught in a particular section of gridlock and something like THIS happens: No one's moving. NO ONE. And then some asshole gets it in his head that laying on his horn is somehow going to fix the situation. Dude. Look at this city. This is a city that doesn't drive that is being forced to. And I can't be certain about it, but 7 million extra people on the roads are going to cause some back up and some people aren't going to move for a while. You honking isn't going to solve anything. I highly doubt the traffic we are sitting in right now is because at the front, two dudes in their cars don't know the light is green. That is the only time I think it's acceptable to honk, and even then, only a light tap to say, "Hey! Put down the bong! The light is green!" Laying on your horn for 20 seconds does not get rid of the 7 million extra people. It will not make your car sprout wings and fly over the traffic. It only serves to abuse the ears of people who cannot move to escape it. And then what? You're still in traffic! Wow. That was incredibly helpful. Now you just have a ton of weary commuters who hate you and want to push your car over the bridge.

Chill out. We're all in this together, kids. Put on something mellow--maybe something in a Radiohead, or perhaps an Enya might fit for the older generations-- light a cigarette, light whatever you have to (though I think a crack pipe might make you a bit more agitated), but relax. You're not getting into work on time, and I don't care what kind of email/notice they gave you about it; deep down, they know you're not getting there on time, too. So lay off your horn and let's enjoy the view, shall we? The Brooklyn Bridge is really quite lovely when you take the time to notice it. And looking at the long line of cars ahead of us, we got nothing BUT time.

Now if you happen to have a spare potty, I drank a lot of coffee. I suppose I could hang my ass off the bridge. But that's my problem, not yours.


---------------------------

on a random sidenote:

---------------------------

I believe all of my problems will be solved once I win my bid on this jacket on eBay:

Having New York City by the Short 'N Curlies

That disgusting phrase is courtesy of my mom. Where do you think I get it from?

They were bluffing Friday, but not today.

STRIKE!

I'm at home. I can't find a way into work, and it's four miles in 22 degree weather if I wanted to walk, so ummm...yeah. Doing the best I can, but at this point, doesn't look promising.

I don't feel too bad. I stayed late (very late) last night to get stuff done that needed to in case something like this happened. And it did. And I probably would have been very grumpy had I done all that work and there WASN'T a strike. Not that I wasn't grumpy about staying late, but I'd be even grumpier.

New York is a little frantic right now. I just hope this all gets cleared up by the time I need to get to the airport to go to San Diego to be with my family for Christmas, or it could be the Strike that Ruined Christmas. And that's a PR nightmare for them I can't even begin to comprehend.

This city does nothing if not keep you on your toes.

Heaven is a Place on Earth

Not even the slightest bit ashamed to be listening to this. You all know you loved it back in the day.

I'm really done with Monday.

Office Crush is kinda boring, but really cute. Talking is overrated anyway. That's where all the trouble starts. I'm going to use mating calls from now on. And I imagine it will be slightly similar to the "Angry Platypus" noise I make. Take some of the guess work out of it. I call, whoever comes, and we go from there. We are the only creatures on the planet who can fuck up and complicate the one thing that every other species simplifies--the procreation of it.

But I imagine that dolphins wouldn't mind a few candles and roses every once in a while. But I imagine they can't be lit--you know, being underwater and all. And they've pretty much covered the bath-salt area. I wonder if any of those weird dolphin noises are actually their attempts at a singing karaoke version of "Let's Get it On."

I hope that if I work really hard on myself and do some deep soul-searching, I will grow up to be a penguin.



Minus the freakin' cold, they've got a pretty sweet thing going on.

[Some Hilarious Family Guy Quote I've Forgotten]

That was the intention at least.

Conor and I engaged in all-day-most-of-the-night Steady Drinkfest 2005. Consumed:

--6 pack
--4 pitchers of Sangria
--This is the part I love--ran out of Sangria, which we had made with tons of fruit. Once the liquid was gone, we took the well-soaked fruit out and made Sangria smoothies. Yup. Waste not, want not.

I had to go into work today. I wasn't hungover because though there was much consumption of liquids, it was spread out over a 10 hour period. So it wasn't binge drinking, it was endurance drinking. And it was like how it always should be. Conor tells me about his life, and then I call him on his bullshit. Then I talk about my life, and Conor calls me on my bullshit. Our friendship is the Great Equalizer. There is no hiding from it. And he was pretty right about everything. But then again, so was I. And then we gorged on food and nectar of the gods and laughed and watched far too much TV/DVDs for our own good.

I tapped out at 2.

Conor has the little low loft on the floor with his bed. Don't ask me to explain it further. His apartment is awesome, but it's like a treehouse. Too many layers to describe. But I sat up in bed and tried to get out and banged my head on the platform. Nothing says, "Happy Going into Work on a Sunday"! than a gaping head wound. Sheesh. NOW I feel hungover.

It was fine, though. Not too terrible. And then I came home and ate pizza and chatted online and watched hours upon hours of the Law and Order: Special Victim's Unit Marathon on USA.

The good life, I swear.

Cliche in Slippers

I went to work.

I did a Secret Santa thing where I got a letter from an underprivileged kid and bought them a present for Christmas. I went to the mailroom to have them ship it off (the firm is nice enough to pay for shipping), and I looked pleadingly at the the mailroom guys to help me find the shipping labels and they just looked at me and said,

"You look like you've had a long day."

That's about the closest thing to an insult you can get. My self-esteem plummeted below sea level.

I went straight to babysitting. It's always an amazing example of timing when this family calls me. And it's usually about the time that I'm feeling that I couldn't be MORE done with my debaucherous lifestyle. And spending an evening with a very well-adjusted, smart, and inquisitive kid is just about the best therapy a girl in my position can get. I fixed him dinner; he just turned 8. It's about the time where their Playstation becomes far more interesting than making up weird games and being creative--it's all about the toys now. He played with it while I made dinner (let's not get all crazy, it's not like I'm Sharon--we're talking VERY simple). I thought we had a nice little conversation going while we were eating but mid-sentence, he jumps up and goes back to his SpongeBob Square Pants game. As soon as he was done, he was done with me.

Ah, damn. This is where they start getting too independent for you.

I clean out the dishes. And while I'm scrubbing the silverware, I let out a long sigh. I realize that this was the same sigh I heard my mother give whenever she felt underappreciated and weary. I sounded so like a MOM that it kind of freaked me out and I scrubbed a little harder. And that freaked me out more.

But like any boy, they all come crawling back to you around bedtime. Only the intentions are purer at 8, and I'm great at bedtime stories. Come to think of it, I'm great at bedtime stories with 25 year old boys as well, when the intentions are anything but pure.

I tuck him into bed and rustle his hair:

"Good night, goober."

"Good night. Come back soon, OK?'

"OK."

I come home and need to be about as Single Girl as I can be. I put on my favorite nightgown, that makes me feel fat--but the fabric is so lovely that it feels amazing against my skin. I sing Ani at the top of my lungs again (the boys are all out at some party that Derek's company is throwing). I fantasize once again about learning the guitar. I research bridesmaid dresses online, being unable to actually find out how much the one dress Sharon and I agree on costs. I crack open a beer. And I put on the fresh infusion of Sex and the City episodes on HBO on Demand.

All I'm missing is an army of cats and I'd be all set.

And for now, I'm okay with that.

Why Don't You Give Me a Call When You Decide You're Willing to Fight

For what you think is real
For what you think is right

To me, Ani Difranco speaks to the essence of who I am. She is my Bob Dylan, my Joan Baez, the woman I look to when I can't seem to articulate my crazy. Somehow she finds it and she puts it in a way that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. Maybe just because I'm in a Winter Clean-Out phase, but a lot of changes need to happen in my life, and I think I want to learn how to play guitar. Though, taking into account my freakishly small hands, perhaps I would be better off learning the ukelele.

I mentioned that I needed more Ani and true to form with all the amazing love and support I've been blessed to receive, not only now, but my entire life, Marina sent me 3 Ani mixes from D.C. Thank you, Marina. It has set off ANI BINGE FEST 2005, and it's all going on Billie and I am currently singing it at the top of my shattered lungs.

That must annoy your cubicle-mates. Ah, no; fret not, friends. I took a sick day.

I've been feeling somewhat poopy all week, and to be honest, it's been both emotional AND physical. I keep losing my voice; it could be the weather, it could be all the crying I did, or it could be some sort of fun voicebox-eating bacteria. Who knows? But I lose my sick days at the end of the year, so this was as good of a time to use them in my opinion.

Ah, but something looms on the horizon tomorrow that could throw everything into a tailspin.

The MTA has threatened to strike. For those of you not fortunate enough to live in New York, the MTA runs the public transportation system here. I don't know if it's a nationwide thing, but it's safe to say that a good means of public transport is the majority of how us humble New Yorkers meander around this great city of ours.

I don't know what they're pissed off about, but I've seen their uniforms and it ain't pretty, folks. No matter what they're upset about, I hope they added new uniforms on their list of riders. Because if you're going to shut down the heart and soul of this city, let's throw some good-for-the-soul demands in there as well.

If they strike tomorrow, pretty much all of us are fucked. I'm nowhere near any of the alternate things (mainly the Long Island Railroad or the PATH trains). Everything else, the buses or the subways, are going to be non-operational. So it could be sick day #2. I'm going to try and see what I can do, but you can imagine that cabs are going to be hard to come by, and car services all over the city are already booked up. And beyond that, my only option is to walk about 2 miles into work in below-freezing weather. And if I'm getting sick now, I can't imagine that doing that can be at ALL good for my health. So we'll see.

I don't know what they're fighting for, but it's got to be something pretty good to shut down the whole scene here. And I say to them, do what you gotta do, man. This city's rough and your uniforms are hideous. And I'm secretly fighting for a snow day. So there you go. We all have a cause near and dear to our hearts.

And let's all be willing to fight, shall we?

I guess that Push has Come to This/ So I guess This must be Shove

The last I'll say of the unpleasant recent events is that I've found my theme song for it, and these things are cathartic to me. I keep sending people what I've written about it and everyone keeps telling me that if it's how I feel it's okay. But I'm a writer and I want to know that I wrote everything WELL. I want to know that these things are clear and coherent and that I don't sound like a crazy bitch.

I realize that I must have, since I keep getting, "It's how you feel..."

Then again, I AM a crazy bitch, so at least I was true to form.

There are two things that have given me real joy and real happiness since all this went down and my brain and heart melted into a nasty concoction of gruel and booze:

1)This. These two have seen me through some of my darkest moments, and I like to think I've helped in the slightest with some of theirs, and it's true. We all get out of hand, but I've seen them as a couple when they are quiet and loving and redonkulously domestic. I really could not be happier for them if it was me getting married. They are good people. I wish nothing but the best for them, and all the happiness they deserve. And they deserve a lot. Believe me, they deserve a lot.

2) The overwhelming amount of support in amidst all my crazy from my friends humbles me. I do not deserve it. I put myself in this place and now I'm dealing with the consequences. I brought this on myself. I even feel bad that I know Dru is feeling bad because I know he didn't mean to hurt me. But it doesn't change that he did. No one wins here. No one at all. But in the past few days, I've had more love thrown at me than Tom Cruise at a Circuit Party and it's incredibly...um, incredible. I don't know. Work with me here, folks. I'm pretty tired today. Oh, and I guess the past paragraph will be the last I'll say of it. See? One sentence in and I already lied to everyone. I am a terrible person.

I feel like the storm has passed. I feel calm start to settle back around my brain. I hadn't been able to remember the last time that I cried before all this, and so maybe a year? six months? worth of built-up slights and injuries and embarrassments came crashing down on me in a 4 day period.

I remember saying it before, and I'll say it again:

Beauty in the Breakdown.

I want to do yoga all the time. I want to throw the best bachelorette party the world has ever seen for my friend Spring. I want to heal Sharon. I want to see Gwen. I want to hug and laugh with all my NTI friends. I want my big sister to protect me. I want to make up stupid religions with my best friend Ashlee. I want rest my head into Conor's chest, even though he ALWAYS wears too much deodorant. I want to play play play. I want my mother to drive me crazy. And I want to make Gary cry with the sappy Christmas card I pick out for him. I want to start respecting myself. I want to become a woman I am proud of. I have so many amazing women whose leads I can follow. I want to grow up a little bit.

I want I want I want...

This is my Christmas Wish List.

Happy FUCK YOU Anniversary

So I put this in my LiveJournal, but I'm deleting that at the end of the day. Starting fresh. But this even happened to me a year ago today and I wanted to keep it in my records since it was before PornandChocolate's birth.

she may be small and yappy, but she is FIERCE...

i should pre-empt and clarify some of the concern over my last entry.

--------------------------------

an acting teacher at nti wrote in my evaluation:

"you are a fireball of pure energy. you are more than a woman, you are a force of nature."

i took this as a very large compliment. and while he was referring to my presence onstage, it's gotta come from somewhere, i imagine.

there should be some sort of state-of-being check when you are about to post on livejournal. something should come up and see if there are tears running down your cheeks. there are? sorry, you can't post. and something to check your pulse for shock. it's racing? sorry, you can't post. and certainly, if there is any combination of the last two, if there is any whiskey in your system at all, you should not be allowed to post. the disk drive should shoot out a valium and tell you to try back in a half-hour.

so to be fair, i was only feeling fired, dumped, and mugged last night. which is valid. it was my state-of-being. and i could get bogged down in the semantics of the actuality of the first two, but i won't. it's not my purpose in writing today. i'll leave that one up to the east german judge.

but i was, in fact, almost mugged last night. but in true carrie fashion, it's kind of an amusing story. and only amusing in the fact that you have to know what i look like as i tell what i did. so for the benefit of dr. mike or anyone else who reads this and doesn't know me:

i'm 5'4'' on a good day. i weigh 120. i have freakishly small hands and feet. i have short, red, very curly hair and i often get carded for cigarettes because i'm mistaken for 16. even in nyc.

ok. so that's out of the way. let the story begin.

--------------------------------

i've always wondered how i would be in a crisis. when we were in middle school, for some reason, it became tradition for us to ride our bikes to fudruckers and then back to kristen's house where we almost inevitably would end up watching speed. why? who the fuck knows? not because it's a stellar movie, that's for sure. and i always thought of that woman in the first scene in the elevator who was too scared to get out of the elevator even though it was about to drop.

"come on lady!"

"i can't, i can't"

i always thought that would be me. not cool or collected or helping others, sheer terror and pissing yourself in the back of an elevator. the movie "day after tomorrow"? i would see the tidal wave coming and quote stephen baldwin from usual suspects "bad day...fuck it." why fight it?

the evening started out quietly enough. i got home, i showered, devon and i ordered mexican food. i had a meeting with my nti-ers out in brooklyn to discuss daniel's project. the meeting goes well. we all have various strengths and contacts to exploit in the city--chloe's job is working with theatre companies, liz works at a pr firm, marina works lawyers, and daniel has someone who will help us get non-profit status. becca has a space, someone's dad owns a printing company. and me? well, i'm the fireball. and for daniel's show, there's some dancing necessary.

"i know a little about dance."

this gets a laugh. mainly because they've seen me in my purest form. we had to do a found text piece (where you somehow dramatically interpret something you didn't write--like a recipe or an interview or a news article). my choice? i choreographed a ballet variation to a mozart piece that i love. wait, where's the found text? while in my tutu and point shoes and classical variation, i spoke the words of a penthouse forum letter. these people have seen me grand jete across the floor, screaming "fuck me! fuck me with your big cock!"

my teachers had never seen me swear, nor knew any aspect of my sexual personality. david jaffe, our guru of sorts, stood up after my piece and said astonishingly, "little carrie taylor..."

it was perfect. and a fine example of the walking contradiction that is me.

i suppose that was a bit of a digression. but it amuses me.

i should add that becca's boyfriend had really nice whiskey. i can't recall the name, but i'm sure all you boozers would ooo and ahh when i told you. he generously shares a bit with me. and by a bit, i mean more. but not too much. we're discussing business and i hate waiting to come back from brooklyn drunk and having to pee. but i'm pretty buzzed all the same.

the meeting ends. i get on the train to come home.

-------------------------------------

it's about midnight. the time stamp on my entry last night was messed up. it was about midnight.

i was walking down 86th street, thinking about things. like how i had seen this happy family on the train--a dad and two kids. and one of the kids yelled happily about something in the train, to which the dad chastised him since it was ridiculously loud, and the kid pouted and looked so depressed. for about five minutes. and then he was laughing and joking with his dad again.

i marvelled at the ability of children to forget pain so easily. they have shorter memories. us? we have long ones. we are haunted by ghosts and stung with regret. we have knowledge of all of our crimes and trials and we are still serving out the sentences for those while adding new ones to the list.

it makes me nostalgic for a childhood i'm pretty sure i never had.

i'm at 86th and 2nd. food emporium is across from me and i miss the cross walk. so i take a turn on 2nd to go up to 88th and then continue. this is, of course, what i told haley she shouldn't have done when she had her "incident." but i was lost in myself.

i sense someone behind me. paranoia? maybe. my tai chi instructor said i had one of the best senses of presence he has ever seen. perhaps people's auras tickle my curly hairs and i just know. i see his shadow before i see him. he's got something in his hand. i don't think it's a knife. some sort of club.

oh shit. you just know.

i see his shadow raise over my head and come up to me. i duck. i'm small and i can move quickly out of the way. not far enough. for though whatever he was trying to hit me with didn't work, i was still close enough to where he grabs at my purse, which stupidly is only on one shoulder. i had been meaning to get out my cell phone and call haley to tell her i was home safely.

he grabs my purse. i hook my elbow around the strap. for some reason, i'm not going to let this guy mug me. I REFUSE TO BE A VICTIM TONIGHT. is it smart? probably not. do i have anything of real value in my purse? no. i have seven dollars and a check card for a checking account that is laughable at best. but goddamnit, i will not be victimized.

i've since had a revelation about the best line of defense in a city like new york. all you have to do is prove that you're crazier than the other guy.

what did i do? though it feels like ages, i'm sure we're only struggling with my purse for a few moments, and then i use one of my strongest traits as an actor. i can carry my voice. i start yelling "FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!" i'm pretty sure they heard me in long island. this guy is obviously thinking, "uh, this bitch is crazy." and i'm also causing a scene and it wouldn't be long before people noticed. he runs off.

whiskey carrie wakes up.

i run after him (so much running lately). i'm still screaming "FUCK YOU!" in any rational sense, why on earth would i do that? i don't know. did i think i was going to catch this guy? kill him? with what? there's nothing in my purse. was i going to text-message him to death? chase him down and put listerine strips in his eye? i don't know. i was just so pissed.

i chase him for maybe a block and then realize this kid (he must have been like 17) probably has a geometry test in the morning and it's not worth it. he's spared me using lip-balm as a deadly weapon.

i walk home like a warrior. stone-cold carrie. it isn't until i reach the apartment safely and see that none of my roommates are home that i start sobbing and shaking and kicking things. and i can't get a hold of anyone i know or need and so i post on livejournal.

so there you go. four months into living in the city, and i'm lost but still going. this city is doing its best to destroy me, but in the words of my lady ani:

"i'm gonna do my best swan dive
into shark infested waters
and i'm gonna pull out my tampon
and start splashing around
cuz i don't care
if they eat me alive
i've got better things
to do than survive."

and this is the way the world ends.

-----------------------------------

It's been a year. And the city keeps trying to break me, but I guess I'm just not having any part of that.

Now Every Pop Song on the Radio/ Is Suddenly Speaking to Me

That's an Ani line from a song I don't have on Billie. Here's an Ani Song I was really wishing I had:

Just please don't name this
Please don't explain this
Just blame it all on me
Say I was shameless
Say I couldn't slow it down
Let alone stop it
And say you just hung around
'Cuz you couldn't top it

I only have one (and we'll get to it--man, I need to borrow some Ani CDs. I think an army of Ani Difranco songs will help) Everyone else can say how I'm feeling better than I can. On Billie:

This place is a prison
And these people aren't your friends
Inhaling thrills through $20 bills
And the tumblers are drained and then flooded again
And again

I know there's a big world out there like the one i saw on the screen
In my living room late last night,
It was almost too bright to see
And I know that it's not a party if it happens every night
Pretending there's glamour and candelabra
When you're drinking by candlelight

What does it take to get a drink in this place?
--The Postal Service

Most importantly, my theme song (this has been put on repeat so many times it's ridiculous):

There was a guy making a plan
Find a girl, she'd understand
And say, "Please don't worry"
This one was right, well that was the thing
Closing your eyes, see wedding rings
Well there is no hurry
A day like today, waiting for wings to form
You're waiting for clouds and storms
And for safety
And I said, "I will"
And I ask you please lie still
Your faith means everything

The one thing that I protect
Well don't you know, don't you forget
The sound of my voice
And hands down in the hold I brace
Put your hands on your handsome face
And lie when you say
"I haven't got much, maybe today"
And it's all you won't become
And it's everything you might have done
My dear
Closing in fast on another year

And I will be anxious arms
Beside myself when there's no one else
Would you be my answer then?
Won't you be my answer?
Say it again...

And you care
(And you give what you have and it's all that you've got)
What you have
(And you hope it's enough but you know that it's not)
And you say
(You say)
"Please don't worry"
And you care
(And you tear it apart and you count up the cost)
In your heart
(And your head swims, it all gets lost)
And you say
(You say)
"There is no hurry"
--The Jealous Sound

I know all of this is an overreaction. But this is not my imagined response. I'm a little shocked that I'm not more understanding, that I can't seem to wrap my head around the joke of it all and non-malicious intentions of all involved. But I start to think and memories flood me and shame overwhelms me and the guilt the guilt the guilt and oh-God-how-did-I-let-this-happen-to-myself and oh-God-the-guilt-and-what-the-Hell-am-I-Catholic, embarrassment that had I not been told, there would have been a $10 bet that my ex-boyfriend, his new girlfriend and my close friend made and we would have smiled and laughed and drank and caroused and it's all a fucking sham, I have been such a fool...

And then I'm a mess all over again. And then I put the Jealous Sound on Repeat.

When I get Low I get High

That's an Ella Fitzgerald song. I bet if she knew the snarkles it would create for every stoner in America, well, chances are she'd join the party. Cuz when she gets low, she gets high. Sort of like the jazz version of Sublime's "Smoke Two Joints."

Busy weekend. Let's see--got home, cried and cried, didn't sleep, wrote a tweaked out email from lack of sleep and even more crying. Cried all day on the phone to friends, cried myself to sleep and woke up in the middle of the night to cry some more. Woke up and thought I'd break from tradition, but decided to stick to the familiar and cry some more.

You know that familiar bed I crashed in last weekend? Apparently, there was a $10 bet that I'd wind up there. Dru bet that I would. If I were Dru, I would've put at least $20 on it.

Dru has absolutely no sense of business.

I understand that it was a joke. I understand that I was the punchline. I understand the context, I understand that there wasn't intentional malice behind it.

I don't understand why Dru would do it when he knows how sensitive I am about such issues. It was Sleazy that presented the idea. I expect shit like this from him. I could care less about him.

But Dru was fucked up and didn't really know what he was doing. We've all done really stupid shit when we're drunk out of our heads. I guess I just wished he had just gotten drunk and punched me in the face. It would've hurt much less in the long run.

I am a $10 bet. I am a fucking joke.

I spent the morning looking through my photo albums. Not a single person in those albums would have ever done that to me. It would never occur to me to judge or joke about any one of them, no matter what I was on. And Lord knows, I've pulled some doozies in my day.

Something about implicit respect. Something about trust. Something about lack of judgement. Something about my own guilt complex about the whole situation. Something about helplessness.

I made the mistake of trying to integrate myself into a Boys Club. This is what happens to a Girl in a Boys Club. In the end, they were never going to give me the password to get in the treehouse.

I'm playing with Billie. And when I get low, I get high.

I'll get through this. I've been through far worse. I guess I just thought I'd never have to.

PS-I am going to leave this up for maybe another week or two, and then I am officially retiring PornandChocolate.

They know your secrets and You know Theirs

...courtesy of Beck. Good song.

I love my little Nano. I've named it Billie. It's not very interesting to anyone else how I got the name, but think a long stream of consciousness and far too much thought put into it.

Yesterday still turned out great. I went after work (after getting out at a reasonable hour) over to Dru's. I finished the follow-up to A Million Little Pieces (READ IT), My Friend Leonard (READ IT). And Dru had given me The Plot Against America, but that was done as well, so I went two whole days without something to read on the train. Lots of staring out the window at...well, unless you're going over a bridge...a whole lotta nothing. I can't seem to read enough. But I figure there are far worse things I could be doing. Anyway, so I went to drop that stuff off for him and pick of The Secret Life of Bees. We'll see how it goes.

As per usual, I wind up hanging with Dru for a while. Here's the part where I love Dru more than those other BOYS OF DOOM: Dru is not afraid to indulge the stupid little child in him. I can't seem to NOT indulge the stupid little child in me. After discussing our various reading choices and his upcoming tour...

"Ummm...what do you want to do?"

Any of the others would probably turn on the TV.

We put on music and decided to write limericks and haikus and put them as comments on people's MySpace profiles. We get goofy and silly and take it far too seriously, with edits and input and whatnot. I love that boy. We always come up with a thousand ideas that we'll probably never get to, but there's this script he had started with Sleazy that he thinks we could finish and do it right. Hells, yeah. I'm down for that.

Before I know it, it's 11pm. And you know what that means--Daily Show. Well, hell, it's getting a little late. And then there's the Colbert Report. Shit. Past midnight. Looks like I'm taking a cab home (I really shouldn't spend the money with the holidays coming up and funds being low from finally crawling out from debt). But whatever. I'm in a very happy place. Then the South Park season finale. Oh, hell. I guess I'm staying till 12:30.

The other boys show up somewhere in the start of South Park. They had a studio session in Brooklyn. They look cold and drained. Sleazy seems pissed that we encouraged his girlfriend to go to work. Whatever, Sleazy. I, once again excited to have a fresh audience, bust out Billie for everyone to "Oooh" and "Ahhh" over. This thing is so like my child it's hilarious.

"Why, I just think it's the cutest and smartest little thing on the whole planet!"

Junebug indulges me, holds it, acts impressed. He wins points there. Sleazy sits at the computer and I hold it out to him. He brushes his arm away and says, "Yeah, I've seem them."

Honestly. That boy is such a killjoy. I have absolutely no clue why I ever dated him. He has absolutely no sense of whimsy. Kind of sad, really.

Upon thinking about it, it's been about (and maybe exactly, I'd have to check LiveJournal and I just don't care enough) a year since we broke up. I chuckle at how distraught I was over the whole thing. You can look in the archives in here and see for yourself. But man, beyond decent sex, I was always on my tip-toes around him, wondering if I was proving myself to be "cool" enough for him.

You know what? I'm not. I'm a lot of things--some wonderful, some dubious...but I will never be cool. And I'm quite comfortable with that. The man who truly loves me will love me because I'm nerdy and awkward and I like to spend my evenings with friends doing stupid things like writing haikus and limericks. And if I get so much as a MOLE that excites me, he'll indulge me there, too.

So anyway, poo to him. Billie's the coolest thing I've gotten in a long time, a sheer guilty indulgence gift, but damnit, I've earned it and as soon as I put some music on it today and pressed "Shuffle," I had no idea how I functioned without one of these guys. Especially with my job. It's been a very pleasant day. Much easier to handle with a nice mix and not having to switch CDs and all.

A snow storm is moving in tonight. Winter has come earlier this year than last, much to my chagrin, but it IS December, I guess. Time to brace myself for 3 months of my hair standing on end and shivers and blankets and layers and...other cold stuff.

And then it should be time enough to start bitching about the heat.

All in good time, my friends. All in good time.

Office Christmas party tomorrow. I hope to God it's as interesting as I've built it up in my head to be.

If it is, you'll be the first to know.

Nipples Hard in Designer Bras

That's a little sample of this song, which cracks me up. Man, and I thought 'Lil Kim was dirty.

I love playing this song at my desk while I'm looking at VERY technical things. Cracks me up every time.

Absolutely lovely day. And that's saying something. That lyric was inspired by the fact that it should be a totally shitty day, due to this. That's right, people. IT. IS. FREAKING. COLD. TODAY. The kind of wind that takes half your face with it. Should be a crappy day, but it's not.

A couple of things contributed to this good mood.

Never one to ask for something frivolous for Christmas, I decided to break with tradition. So even though I need:

--A bedframe (mattress still on the floor, kids. Classy)
--A microwave (and I'm tired of heating up tortillas on the stove)
--A bookcase (I'm finding books that I have stashed in every possible crevice in my room)

Fuck that. I've worked my ass off this year. I want something fun. So I asked Dad for an iPod.

And today, it arrived. And not just any old iPod. Look at this badboy:



Dad and Freda even had my name engraved on the back. AWESOME. Considering so much of my time at work is spent in front of my computer on quality control, lots of music is key, and I'm tired of all my CDs.

Bring on the technobabe. For reals. I have no clue how to use it yet, but I'll get there. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it.

On the work front, I took on an extra project of researching images that could be used for the firm's ad campaign. It was a nice way to do something creative, and think outside my little team box. And generally I feel unnoticed or underappreciated in what I do, but then I get this email from the guy I had been working on this for. He sent it to our hiring attorney and apparently, the partners of the firm:

-----Original Message-----
From: [DUDE I'M DOING THE PROJECT FOR]
To: [IMPORTANT HIGHER-UPS]
Sent: Wed Dec 07 11:00:57 2005
Subject: Carrie

Carrie's been doing a great job on the image search for our ads. She got it right away and came up with a number of images that I (and [WAY HIGHER-UPS and EVEN HIGHER-UPS) loved and I think we're going to end up using. You should drop by if you get a chance and see the ads. We need to do a little more searching so I hope she can help us a little bit more. Thanks. [DUDE].

_______________________________

Well, that just makes a girl feel nice. And it opens the door for other opportunities, I hope. But it's nice to know all the extra work I put in to do it (skipping lunch, working from home when I'm not at the office, etc) didn't go unnoticed.

And to put a freaking cherry on top of it all, Sharon is kindly setting up a brunch at her and Jeremy's place with me, Chris, Spring, and the first guy who gave me the flutters in a really long time. Not a date (I have to find a wingman, otherwise, it's totally conspicuous the intentions of said-brunch), but just a do-we-vibe-each-other gathering.

My friends are good to me. Even when they shouldn't be. Because I'm embezzling from them. HA! I'm kidding. And you know I'm kidding because all my friends are just as broke as me.

[Sigh]

Happy Day. If it were 1230948293849 degrees warmer, it'd be perfect.

And now your teeth are red and there's a little bit about you I don't Wanna Know

Man, I love Spoon.

Good stuff.

I realize I haven't been writing as much. Work is keeping me fairly occupied, and my thoughts have been keeping me moreso when that's not the case.

It's a little bit about creation. It's a little bit about destruction. If you listen to the First Law of Thermodynamics, we have no control over either.

In my own world, it makes me wonder where self-destruction fits in.

Wound up in a familiar bed over the weekend. It doesn't take too far of a stretch of the imagination to figure out where.

I told Spring, that my theory is this: Two things can happen when you have sex with a friend--

It is good.

It is bad.

If it is bad, the friendship is safe. It's all, "Ha ha, that was WEIRD, right?"

If it's good, you're screwed. Literally and metaphorically.

Except this weekend, something seemed off. The friendship seems to repairing itself quite nicely in the face of...ummm...a really good time (which would normally be the downfall). I wish he didn't make my knees buckle so much. But, then again, if things remain friendly (and not in that way, even) as they seem to be, I really don't see the problem. It was only an issue when I was wanting more (and I realize now that will never happen) and when he was treating me like shit (which he hasn't been). So now it seems it's not quite the two-steps-forward-three-steps-back as much as three-steps-forward-two-steps back [cue Paula Abdul]. At least some progress is being made slowly but surely. Surely, right? So all the swirlies in my head and thinking and rethinking and all such things...

[brain explodes, heart flees to China]

So once again, I feel like I'm on Square One.

I'm going to write a book one day, and I probably will still have not figured a damn thing out, but it certainly promises to be entertaining.

Perhaps the passage of the weekend where an incredibly wasted Dru was yelling at the snow, calling it a "WINTER WONDERLAND!!" and refusing to go home. My weird guilt about enabling him to be so and practically mothering him into nonexistence. He started getting pissed at me. "You've never been like this! Why are you being like this!?!?" I just didn't want him falling down again. I love Dru, he's like a big brother to me, so I guess he didn't take too kindly to me trying to be Mommy Dearest. Somehow, I still felt guilty-- I take on the sins of others--I'm like Jesus. Ha, ha. Not really. Because I'd have a ton more money if I could do that water-into-wine thing.

Commercialization of miracles. Welcome to the 21st Century, folks.

Speaking of the bastardization of Christianity, it's shit like this that makes me glad I don't associate myself with that crowd anymore. Not-so-intelligent-design, methinks. Let me know how God takes that one when you show up at His door. I love to see Christians really get into the spirit of the season. Give back. Give back and give concussions. That's what Jesus would do.

And I should know.

And yo ho yo ho, it's off to work I go.

I Almost Forgot

Sharon and I went to go see this.

It was creepy and fascinating. I was hungover and had to sit and rest when it got overwhelming. Because these are real bodies, kids. And I think I've had the idea of where my cervix is all wrong this whole time.

Weird.

****************************

Yesterday was a horrible day. I had no fewer than 3 meltdowns at work, which is embarrassing, because I pride myself on no one seeing me cry (sober, that is).

And I'm trying to explain what's wrong and I can't really place it and none of it sounds like any good reason for ME to be crying. Bad shit is happening around me, to people I love, and I'm on my period and I'm stressed and exhausted and you get to a point where it still doesn't sound justifiable enough.

You want to just make something up to explain it:

"My puppy got eaten by a landshark."

But one of these days I am going to get a puppy and it will be eaten by a landshark and then I'll feel bad that I already used the landshark-eating-puppy excuse to explain away an emotional mood.

Parumph. Parumph, I say!