little troll man

I've been in a relationship for a long time. Only recently during a ladies only event was I reminded of what loneliness can sometimes drive you to as I related a story about my dating days. I was a bad dater. By this I mean that often, the men I found myself drawn to were beneath me. This sounds snotty, but literally, they were shorter than me and one of them didn't have shoulders. His body sort of went large'ish head, neck and then super sloped shoulders. My story at the ladies only event was centered upon one particular suitor who I met on a student film project. The only reason I think I was remotely attracted to this chap was that we had to repeatedly kiss for a scene It wasn't so much that he was a good kisser, it was just something to do and as a poor actress just coming to the city with no friends and no social life to speak of - I NEEDED SOMETHING TO DO! His name was Asaf - very typical of my inclination towards the Jewish persuasion - and he had hair everywhere except his receding hairline. Let's just preface this with saying - I decided I didn't like him early on, but continued to date him because I was lonely. Always a smart move. The particular memory of note began with quite a lovely meal at a sushi restaurant. I love sushi so this was great with me. After we ordred, the dinner conversation went a little something like this:

You know Ann, I think you're really emotionally intelligent

I'm not sure what to say. Thanks? Let's see what he has to say next:

Have you ever had your IQ tested?

Pushy. I had and didn't want to talk about it so I lied and said no.

I had mine tested - basically I'm a genius

'Really? how's that workin' out for you? I guess pretty well. 'Cause you figured out how to get me to go out with you. Ohhhh! This is fun! Tell me another story about how GENIUS you are!' Which of course I didn't say. But oh sweet Jesus, to go back in time!

After our lovely meal of sushi and condescension we headed back to my place in Brooklyn to have an 'evening' together. It was one of those box lay-outs and everything was painted girly pink (not my decor inspiration) with paper thin walls. Upon receiving him in my boudoir, he asked if he could see my closet.

ummm... okay. weird.

I had a beautiful 1930's slip that i had thrifted that summer. Asaf picks up the delicate garment with his grubby little hands.

can i try it on?

Now, I was brought up to be polite and so typical of my upbringing - I didn't want to offend his creepy inclination to ask if he could try on my lady things. Also I was thinking - 'I can't believe he is for real. I'm just gonna go along with it so in case he's joking, I come off as cool and put to rest that whole 'emotionally intelligent' nonsense. But he was for real. Oh yes, all 5'6" of his hairy little troll man body draped in my vintage silk slip was so, so, wrongly real.

It was really an experience I can honeslty say I'll never forget. And that's unfortunate. Or maybe not. I definitely know how to spot a troll now.

excuse me

Okay. So this happened: I was standing in line, as I often do on payday, at the H&M dangerously situated 1/2 a block from my temp job. Anyone who has shopped more than once at the 5th Ave. location, as I have, knows that each register has a separate cue. Noticing that there was one cue with no-one lined up behind the last customer, I switched lines. And then: you know the type of person who sort of has a slightly disgusted look about them at all times and dresses as though they collected their ensemble from the bottom of the closet? Well, one of them was standing in the line next to mine. Sort of like Rhea Perlman except with no hope.

As soon as I step into line - she looks over and notices that she's in the slower line. The lady she's waiting behind is taking FOREVER and she lost her chance to get in a better line, MY LINE. Except! Except! Oh wait folks! Maybe there's a glimmer of hope here! Maybe she can put her thinking cap on and better her chances and somehow her life by cutting in front of me!

Now, there are a variety of ways that a person can execute a cut - and usually there is a certain degree of finesse and self-poise the executioner possesses. When cutting in line for example, you want to carry it off as though it's the most natural thing in the world. God GAVE you this spot and there's no sense in pretending anyone was there before you. Sure someone may say 'Hey cutter! I was here first!' In which case you give them your best 'reptilian come no closer to me' look and turn your back for they exist no more.

Not Rhea II. No, she took a different route: the diplomatic cutter route:

'Excuse me, I think I'm gonna go there' pointing to the space in front of me.

My response was one of my proudest to date because it was so perfectly timed and had that cutting, stop you in your tracks superiority of Mrs. Huxtable, Felicia Rashad herself:

'Oh, you do?'

At which point I shot her my best 'reptilian come no closer to me' look and turned to the register to check out.

Oh Paula

Hey y'all! You ever just think life is passing you by? Like hours through the sandglass? Let's just break it down:

1. I'm at a job where it is so quiet, and so boring, that i can literally hear the air. This is no joke. I wish it were.
2. Someone told me they LOVE doing expense reports, and they were serious.
3. And I'm thinking of going into the ladies bathroom stall and having a good cry because I can hear my dreams dying, like the slow fart of a once robust red balloon as it deflates. Finally coming to rest on an oil slick smeared with rotten cabbage and pidgeon poop.

I don't have to be sad though! Because you know what? I'm getting paid to pop a squat ladies and gentlemen! Well, not literally but, well basically. I eat a LOT of fiber. So, I'm a seat warmer! And you know what seat warmers do?! They watch an excessive amount of Paula Deen Youtube videos! When the goin' is tough, and let me tell you - I sure have seen my fair share of roughage, ladies and gents - it's time to turn the channel to the one woman who can wrap you up in a blanket of butter and make you believe everything's gonna be okay:

SING OUT LOUISE!!!

Well, little miss muffet may be sitting on her office chair right now, but at 4:15 this evening she will commit the harrowing act of auditioning for a musical titled: 'Nudists In Love' *no nudity involved so keep your pants on there jack*. I haven't sung in front of a crowd since my appearance as a dance hall girl in 'Sweet Charity'. And yes, I CAN show you a good time. I love to sing - but i have shied away from it for years because - well, this is New York - home of Broadway Belters and grease paint and character shoes and tight pants and - you know? I love musicals but i'm just not like THAT. You know, the musical theatre tribe. Though I love what they do, I love what they do - i'm just not like that. Never could relate. Anyway. In spite of my fear and doubt, I'm excited! And nervous. Whatever the outcome of today, I hope that I will keep trying to sing out because - it makes me HAPPY to sing. Just this morning, while i was singing in the kitchen in my underwear to prepare - i felt that jolt of energy and magic that happens when you open your mouth and shine out a little song. And the more I think about it - it's something that all of us posess (some not as melodic granted) - and I think - desire. Like sex. And on that note - here's a little number by an old gal with a lot of knowledge on the former and a little knowledge about Unbreaking a Heart:

David Militello

This week, for some reason, has been tough. No motivations, no inspirations, no good. And it's not like things aren't going well. But this temp job is KILLING me. I have a flair for the dramatic, i suppose, and when one area of my life sucks -I sort of allow the rest of it to go to sucksville too. I know I shouldn't. It's sort of like I'm choosing to eat cardboard. I know it's not good and I can find something better to eat, but right now - I'm just gonna eat the damn cardboard.

So with that premise lain: Usually at night-time, i wind my way to the television in our bedroom. Lately, I've felt sort of guilty about this because I know if I were more productive, I would maybe work on my show or write a symphony. Anyway, last night, guilt ridden, I tucked into an episode of 'America's Got Talent. I usually feel even more guilt ridden for enjoying these kinds of shows because I know how exploitative they can be and there's this whole mean schadenfreud thing built into them. But last night, there was David. This tiny little 9 year old boy with autism who was gonna come on stage and sing. They have the whole backstory with the mom and dad. David sitting on her lap. David with a dreamy look in his eyes. David turning into his parents for a hug. DEAR GOD PLEASE LET HIM BE GOOD. I lost my shit at 'Ben':


Sometimes, it's good to remember that there is good in this world. I don't mean to be heavy, I just mean David reminded me that it's okay. Life is good. Sometimes, even on a show like 'America's Got Talent', true beauty and love make an appearance. People are not all robotic office stiffs and sometimes the little guy wins.

anticlimax

i'm trying on a new blog identity. it's called dots. hope you like it. i like it. i'm trying to be possitive. i am really trying. did you ever dislike someone so much that you don't even want to see their face? and you make up tart comebacks to say to them when they get you ruffled?...heh-heh, yeah. guess you could say i'm in that space right now.

need a new camcorder. think the old one is busted. have to take it into b&h and see if they think some extra life can be squeezed out of it. sort of how i feel everyday in this box. j/k! no really. i had a list today and i checked everything off! yay!