I am...a New Yorker

[Previous entry: "a Shitty Secretary"]

Saturday, October 13, 2001


Pizza with BBQ chicken and carmelized onions.


No movies, because my ass is lazy!


Havng the maid fnd my dual-action vibe, the Clitopatra, under my jammies. I'd called because they haven't cleaned my room n a month. One week I was home sick and asked them not to disturb me, the next I asked her to take away the house sheets because I'd bought my own. She nodded and said, "OK," but obviously she didn't understand. I called on Friday and the woman who answered n housekeepng kept tellng me they wouldn't clean my peersonal sheets. I kept tryng to fnd new ways to say I didn't want them to touch my personal sheets, just to take away the ones belongng to the residence. I guess she still didnt understand entirely, because they still made my bed and folded up my blanket and towels. At least they fnally took those bleached-out sheets away.

I am...too lazy for New York. Most of the time, I'm happier for it, but today I runed my planned day of "You're n New York -- act like it!"

My orignal plan for the day was to hit a gallery show mid-mornng, come home for lunch and then go see Muriel's Weddng at BAM. There's an auction I was gong to go to at 10, wehre I might've acquired an autographed script or backstage tour of my mom's soap, which I figured would make a great Christmas present.

Part of the plan was to motivate myself to make more of the meals at my residence. It's not so much that I'm starvng, obviously, but the meals are ncluded n the rent, so I'm only wastng money when I eat out (except for dnner on Saturday and Sunday, when there is no meal provided).

In an absurd fit of optimism, I set the alarm for 8:45 n order to trudge down just before breakfast ended. Instead, I don't even remember it gong off and I woke up at 12:50. Luckily the midday meal on the weekends is a dnneresque meal that lasts until 2 p.m. The only thng I can say to my credit is that at least it gave me the chance to shower before I went downstairs.

After dnner, I went back upstairs, ostensibly to grab my jacket and backpack, but ended up nappng. I'd already missed the 1:30 showng of the movie, but I set the alarm for 4:30, so I could still make it to the gallery before it closed at 6 and catch a later showng of the movie. But noooooooo!

I fnally rolled out of bed for good at about 5:45, too late to make the gallery show. I called to be sure of their hours and found out it was the last day of the show. It sounded so nterestng, too. It was called "Hello" and was a series of photographs based on the six degrees of separation prnciple. the photos ere organized side-by-side, with one person from the previous photo appearng n the next photo, and on and on. Many of the photos featured celebrities, but many were family portraits of regular folks. The concept sounded fascnatng.

I haven't been back to Brooklyn snce the WTC and had no idea how the tran lnes were runnng, so I decided nstead to go to The Screenng Room, which is playng a series of HBO documentaries this week and next. For whatever reason, I could not get motivated, so I scrapped that idea, too.

Fnally, about 7:20, I left the buildng for the first time today, it was already dark. I decided to go to Bed, Bath and Beyond to pick up a shower massage for my sore, tired muscles (shut up!), after luggng the laptop home all week. As an aside, I'm glad I borrowed that a few times, so now I k now that size does matter.

I also found red flannel sheets, after a brief mournng for the lack of sheets with glow-n-thedark stars and such. I should've bought those the last time. I also found a small, cheap trash can for my bathroom (I can't see spendng $20 for a trash can) and a $4 toilet brush (ditto). They had a bunch of fun stuff for Fang's Halloween care package, too. It's her Christmas, so I go all out and almost never "Russian" it (what we say when we're gong to be late with cards or presents, based on the tardness of Russian Christmas).

Now I'm havng dnner n a coffeehouse and contemplatng a late movie or at least a trip to the local Pnk Pussycat on dear bitch Antonella's endorsement.

[Next entry: "Not Dave Gorman, Are You?"]
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