Wednesday, May 31
They're sending me mail. A lot. And I don't know if you know, but AARP is an advocacy group for people over 50. No offense, but AARP is for old people -- people who still have a chance at getting social security.
There's nothing more shocking than opening your mailbox and getting mail for old people when you've only been a quarter of a century old for two weeks. Worrying about being a half-century old will now commence.
Tuesday, May 23
So when the F becomes an A (and of course, everyone acts like this is normal, like a shift in sexuality, but you know it's not! The F should be an F! The F should stay an F! It shouldn't convert to being an A!) it skips my stop. By a lot.
And then suddenly the most efficient route home is to transfer from my former F train to the jizm. The jizm, in case you're wondering, is not one of the greatest trains of NYC. But transferring seemed like a good idea at the time.
Broadway/Nassau approaches, and I'm transferring. 'Course, it's been so long since I've actually taken the jizm, that I forget which way I want to go -- Jamaica? Broad St? Metropolitan Ave?
I walk through the station, doing that thing where you don't know where you're going, but you act real confident as you go. I call this being a New Yorker. I'm pretty sure I want to take the train to Metropolitan, but of course, I'm actually on the wrong platform.
I'm walking to switch over when all of a sudden I hear:
Oh baby I like it
And I think, thank god for my iPod! I get to pretend I didn't hear that & definitely, that's not about me!
Oh baby I like it raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAW
I mean, I'm not going to look around at this point, but there's a chance that Ol' Dirty Bastard himself had come back to life to try and ride the JMZ too.
Thursday, May 18
Here's mine: there's been some internet outage at my apartment (a lovely gentlemen named Paul from the Philippines helped me through our issues) and some health outages in, well, my body.
So. I am full of stories about umm, stuff, but you're going to have to wait.
Friday, May 12
So, I’m pretty excited for the big birthday.
In one of his typical comforting phone calls from the distance of six-years-older, my brother let me know that things were really just going to get much worse. 25! Pish-posh, said he. Wait until you’re 31. It’s gonna be fun when I turn 30 and he gives a wave from 36.
I hate to do the clichéd thing, but there was a momentary flip-out on Monday. You might call it a hint of an oncoming quarter life crisis. I was signing up for YouSendIt because I wanted to send my friend a CD over the ‘nets. It’s a free service. Except of course that nothing’s free, so you have to handover all your personal details except for your social security number.
Filling out the email was easy enough, name, occupation. These were all cake. Then I got to the drop-down menu for my age.
Friends. My bracket has changed. No longer am I in the most desired age demographic. So long being marketed to! So long having all the buying power and might of 18 – 24. So long having television geared towards all my loves. Oh good-bye 18 to 24; hello 25 to 30.
Come celebrate my birthday (I will be sloshed!) at Ace Bar. 10 PM. 5/13. See you there!!
Sunday, May 7
I stayed far enough away from his car that he couldn't grab me and shove me in. My mom taught me that when I was nine, and I've been successfully thwarting potential kidnappers ever since. We were both on 7th Avenue South. I was walking uptown, back to work, and he was driving downtown.
When I walked closer, he started speaking again. "Can you tell me how to get to Brooklyn?"
"Sure. Well...where in Brooklyn?" I asked. Closer up, he had gray hair, a bit of a gut, and a pained-looking wife riding shotgun.
"Anywhere," he replied. "Just get me to Brooklyn."
I gave him directions to get to the Brooklyn Bridge (or at least, closer to the Brooklyn Bridge), but I can only imagine what happened after he crossed the water.
Monday, May 1
Oh, they're on! With the warm legs, and the '80s style and the mocking. I'm there. Bring it, fashionistas.
There's nothing you can say that will make me feel bad about my comfortable and sexy choice (yes, that's how I feel about my leggings. They're the unity of comfort and sexy).
Take that mockers.
(photo of Lohan yanked from go fug yourself)