Chupa Chups

to the walking dead

Dear Walking Dead:

I understand the job isn’t as fulfilling as you would’ve hoped it would be. I understand we aren’t the loudest or most active bunch during the day, but please pep up your step. You are dragging me down. As I see you walk to and from the bathroom, I just feel like shooting pellets at you. Isn’t your boss the Popper of Hips? He would be disgraced if he saw what came out of his department; his hips wouldn’t pop as much if he knew. Please pep up your step, Walking Dead. I get crept out seeing you walk. It’s like you have no purpose of being. Sometimes I feel like running up to you and just shaking you. Shaking you so hard you would wake up. As if your morbid walk isn’t bad enough, it seems you have to walk back and forth at least twice an hour. Seriously what are you doing in that bathroom? Clearly you aren’t in a rush to pee, so what is it? God have I told you how much I want to shoot pellets at you, Walking Dead? Why do you walk so slowly? WHY? Are you about a hundred and fifty years old? Can’t you physically walk any faster? I hear your office back there have push-up competitions, so what’s wrong with you? WALK! Walk faster! Walk as if someone is shooting at you. Walk as if I’m shooting pellets at you! PEP UP THAT STEP! How’s about we walk at normal speed for one day! One darn day!

Best Regards,

Dashing Diva at the Desk

musically defined

3:00pm on a Friday afternoon on a hot July day in the year 2009 and I can confidentially say that I can define myself musically; i.e., I know what my musical tastes are and what my musical persona is. Yes, you’ve heard correctly. I can define myself musically. I like Sia, Fiest, Coldplay, Jem, Natalie Imbruglia, Dido, Bitter:Sweet, Massive Attack, Plumb, and similar artists. I can easily define my musical tastes. I know what I prefer to listen to and what I’m most attracted to. However, I cannot say the same for everything else in my life. With music, I can clearly define myself; with other things in life, I simply can’t. I am, however, grateful that I can clearly define myself in at least one aspect of my life. For years now I’ve been struggling with my sense of self; trying to define who and what I stand for, what person I want to portray to the world, and what person I want to show to my friends. For now I’m content with knowing what I like musically. God this feels like such an achievement. Slowly, but surely, I am getting there. One baby step at a time.

make-up?

For about two years now music has been an integral part of my life. I groove to it. I dance to it. I bop my head to it in the streets, at work, and in class. What is it about music that has finally affected me? Is it the lyrics? Is it the melody? I find myself discovering a new world through old country classics such as Dolly Parton, Tammy Wynette, Loretta Lynn, and Johnny Cash. For a while Janis Joplin and Joni Mitchell were my groove. I’m slowly beginning to define myself through music. I’m a fan of Diana Krall, Michael Buble, Dean Martin, Ray LaMontagne, and the like. I think my musical classification is folk, jazz, blues, Motown, and country. Ironically, most of the music I listen to seems pretty much the same. They are mellow, relaxing, and soothing beats. They are by no means back that ass up and show me what you are working with. Although I do enjoy pop and electronic beats such as The Ting Tings, The Fratellis, and Sara Barellis. Besides my new found life through music, I am also discovering an 11-year-old girl who is learning about make-up. She doesn’t know what anything is called but she wants to play with all the color palettes. For now she is content with looking as natural as possible. She does not appreciate clown make-up foundation; actually she does not appreciate any foundation. She loves playing up her eyes. She loves the drama she can create or the subtleness of a little mascara. Unfortunately, color lipstick is so not her thing either. Her teeth look weird. As any new beginner, she feels shy and embarrassed to ask the sales associate for help. Make-up sales associates are rather knowledgeable in their fields, so she feels like they won’t have any patience for her. They start throwing words at her that she feels she should get a dictionary to understand. For some reason the sales associates don’t understand the minimalist inside this 11-year-old girl. The 11-year-old girl has discovered that make-up has common color bases. They either appear yellow, peach/rosey, green, glittery or matte. She doesn’t like any of these. She just wants enhancements to her beautiful look, blemishes and all.

morning commute

As I walk to work this morning, I notice familiar faces and garbs. It’s the same (more or less) young girls with their hairs tied up and the nude colored tights underneath their shorts. Ballerinas! The only difference with this morning is that I finally decide to question it. Why am I seeing so many ballerinas throughout the city? And every day! Yes, I see ballerinas throughout the city. I have no clue what they are doing but this morning I’m intrigued. I know of one studio location because I see a line wrapping around the block almost every morning; but every morning? I don’t get it. Why are there so many ballerinas this summer? Is there some sort of American Ballerina Idol training going on? Who knows but I’m intrigued. Have you ever walked through Union Square where the Farmer’s Market should be on a Tuesday and/or Thursday and noticed how big the area is? Have you ever noticed that it could be a scene in a movie? Have you ever noticed that as in many movies it is a perfect scene for a shootout? I guess it reminds me of the movie where the Russians or whoever they are is chasing this guy....what's the name of that movie...or other movies that have scenes in parks that when the pigeons fly away in a hurry you know there is going to be trouble. In any case, this is my morning commute. On certain days, it does involve quite a handful of hooting and hollering from construction workers; but, ironically, when I finally decide to take a stand and report these people to the construction companies, the workers just seem to stop. Oh well. On this very special morning, with all the roaming ballerinas, I got a panic attack, or several little ones. Out of the blue, the shortness of breath begins. I feel anxious, scared, and hopeless. My eyes begin to tear up and I can’t stop. I try to calm myself by thinking of beautiful gardens but it doesn’t help. I go into the City Chow café and finally reach some serenity. The cashier asks if I want my corn muffin toasted. The question at the moment seemed odd to me. Corn muffins are eaten toasted? I never heard of such a thing. Well, I have heard of such a thing, I just haven’t seen anyone eat one like that in years or even mention it. I guess the regular cashier saw the confused look on my face and rushed to aid her colleague. She packed my muffin as I normally like it. I paid my bill. Off I went. As I step outside into the cruel New York City streets, the panic attack commences. I thought I was over this. Obviously I wasn’t. I try to calm myself once again, and again, nothing happened. I’m now at the lobby elevators. The panic is still there. I reach the office. The panic is still there. I get to my desk. The panic begins to subside. I turn on my computer. The panic is still there. I go to the bathroom to wash myself. The panic begins to go away.

snotty I am not your mommy

For someone who is constantly complaining, whining, and stressing over having nothing to do or not knowing what to do, I sure do sign up for a lot of crap. Ok, so it is not crap, it’s volunteering. Just this afternoon I signed up for a reminder for the NYC Teaching Fellows program, Big Brothers Big Sisters, and sent an email for some rape advocacy group in Chicago. Did I also mention that I sent out emails to various dig archaeologists? I did. I’m all over the map. However, when it comes time to show up I totally freeze. I feel overwhelmed. I’m always like crap…when am I ever going to find time to view my General Hospital. Oh well…I guess this is for the best. After all I seriously have spent months and months just watching TV. Besides it’s not like General Hospital is going to go off the air and as if I don’t DVR it. Yup. So that’s where I’m at. I’m always out to help others and sometimes feel too overwhelmed. I should slow down but I can’t. I need it. I need to feel useful. I feel as if I’ve retired. Nothing truly motivates me. I don’t want some snot-faced kid to call me mommy and I don’t want some tub-o-lard calling me his wife. Yuck. I grimace at the thought. Anywho…that’s my stance for now. Hmmmm seems hypocritical of me to not want some kid call me mommy and volunteer to be a Big Sister. 

:/

Who’s been a raging B (and that with a capital B) lately? I HAVE! For some unknown reason, I’ve been the biggest B to my friend who’s only been nice to me; even my roommate is getting the silent treatment. It seems everything these two individuals do irritates the crap out of me. From the way they sit on a couch to the way they dress, nothing seems to get approval from me. I refuse to believe it’s my period causing all this rage inside of me---but one must wonder.

Here I sit at my desk on yet another Thursday morning. Trying to figure out if I’m meant to be here or searching for polar bears at the poles. For now I’m fine with the sugarless oatmeal I just ate and the carrot I’m about to eat.

To switch matters a bit, I’m reading a book- Confederacy of Dunces—about a guy named Ignatius P. Reilly and all I can say is that that guy is super annoying. (Even a character in a fiction book is annoying me!) He treats his momma like crap and worse of all is another momma’s boy. He’s thirty years old, graduated from graduate school, held a job for about two weeks once, and now is safely at home living with his momma. He has no ambition to ever move out or get married. Hmm….I wonder why a grown “man” living at home with his momma irritates me. Oh I don’t know…could it be my fatal attraction to them. Yuck. Can I ever escape momma’s boys?

what an emotional rollercoaster.

I cannot believe how much you irritate me. EVERYTHING you do seems to just get a rise out of me. Whether I’m trying my hardest to be polite or whether I flat out don’t care you just irritate me. I don’t know what or why it is, it just is. From your mindless conversations to you’re your little mannerisms, everything you do just seems to irritate me. I try and pray my hardest to be nice to you and not be all mean but you just get it out of me. I’m extra sarcastic and sometimes I look down on you. I run my mouth off about how much I can’t stand you but act like a hypocrite when I invite you to events. I don’t mean to be this way and I honestly don’t know why I’m this way. The only thing I can remember is when I dated someone in the summer of 2007 where I sort of acted in the same fashion. I couldn’t stomach to kiss that one, so at least you are light years ahead of that one. What do I do? Do I cut you off? I feel like I should just let you be. I feel as if I’ve stripped you down to an empty shell of yourself. I feel horrible when you try to make contact and I pull away. I know that you are this affectionate individual; an individual who likes to be touchy-touchy, someone who like caress at every second of the day….I’m not. I especially get bothered when people try to touch me in the summer. When I’m out having fun, I don’t want to be touched. I just want to dance and enjoy conversation. I feel and know that you need human contact. Unfortunately I can never give you what you want. I feel badly that I restrict you in certain ways. I don’t want to. I think it’s best if I don’t continue to poison you any more. Yes, you say you love hanging out with me…that you love just being around me. I sometimes hate that. At first I agreed because I saw no harm in that but now I sing a different tune. Sometimes I feel you like the plague that just won’t go away. Sometimes your chivalrous acts make it hard for me to be “mean” and make me feel as a big a-hole. Last night I was tired of standing and you looked around the room for a chair I can sit on. God, why do I feel this way? It feels like a hate filled emotional rollercoaster. One minute I like you and the other minute I just can’t stomach you. I know that what is down on paper isn’t what I want but some little acts you do are sweet and my attitude towards you shifts a little. This is never going anywhere far, of that I am sure of, but what do I do in the interim?

don't mistake me

Obviously you must have me mistaken for someone who cares; someone who gives a damn (hmmm…this is starting to sound like the song). I don’t care about your day at work. I could care less about your boss’ illness or love life. Do I care that her son likes to pretend he is a superhero by wearing a brown paper bag? Heck NO! He’s probably got a mental retardation and needs to have it checked out. (I’m definitely kidding about this. No offense.) I don’t care about your business venture and I especially don’t care about the mundane things you tell me; for example, your workout routine at the gym, what you had for lunch, what you ate for dinner. Get it?! Talk to me about something interesting. Talk to me about the world. Talk to me about ancient history, today’s politics or the latest indie flick you saw. PLEASE don’t talk to me about your mother, your sleeping patterns, how lovely you think the rain is or whatever mundane thing you want to talk with me about. Yes, I understand that you are a decades older than I am but just because you are older doesn’t mean you know everything. It especially doesn’t mean I don’t know anything. I know how to pitch a tent, start a fire, and spread a ready-made fudge mixture into a pan….for goodness sake. What, do you think I can’t read? If I don’t know something, I can definitely figure it out. I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP! If I ask for it, by all means do what you can. However, don’t believe me as inept as to not know anything. Thank you!

conversations that persist in my head

So I finally wake up after setting up five different alarms. I do my morning meditation, shower, eat breakfast, and continue with my morning routines of checking email and seeing what occurred while I was sleeping on Facebook. The good thing about having friends all over the world and in different time zones is that when you wake up to check your Facebook page, they would have already done something with their days. Onward I move with my morning. Since I woke up before 7:30 this morning, I was expecting to leave at roughly 8:30. Sadly this wasn’t the case because I left after 9am. Thankfully my employer allows us until 9:30 to be in. So as I’m walking over to work, late and all, I start thinking about random things, as is always the case when I walk. The first thing I start arguing (yes because I can’t have a nice delightful conversation with myself) about is Verizon versus Time Warner Cable. I’m upset that I’m stuck with effing Time Warner. Seeing as Verizon FiOs has infected Manhattan, I was thinking that finally I can switch over, which is so not the case. The only thing Verizon has to offer me is DirectTV- satellite. Unfortunately, I’ve tried satellite before and it definitely won’t work with my current location anymore. I’ve resigned to this fact for years now. Still I don’t get how I still can’t get FiOs. Anyway…the gods that be must not like FiOs for me. Once I’ve reached Union Square I start thinking about that a-hole who ditched me with a massive bill and a difficult financial situation. I mean the only person I should be mad at really is myself because he did the exact same thing before. I knew what I was getting into and I had faith that he wouldn’t screw me over. Luckily for me he could care less and still screwed me over. From what I gathered from the Facebook world, he and his boyfriend are soon flying off to Iceland. How effing nice?! You ditch me with all this crap and you fly off to Iceland. As I pass the soon-to-be Pret-a-Manager (or however you spell it), I start thinking about my not-so-great financial situation. I can manage but I can’t breathe, especially not take big gulps. My friends in London want me to visit but with the summer prices there is no way I can afford it. I’m stuck being a responsible, practical adult now; an adult that sees everything in a dark, dark financial light; one that feels constrained to stay put because she can’t do a darn thing. Hmmph!

arch nemesis

She returns. The arch nemesis returns. She doesn’t know she’s my arch nemesis and neither does anyone else for that matter. BUT she is. She’s the one girl in my high school who always got better grades than I did, had better looks than I had, was just a bit more popular than I was. UGH! Did I hate it when I got an 88 and she got a 90 on an exam. EVERYthing it seemed, she did better than I did. Now our fates meet again. This Saturday she’s going to be celebrating her birthday- even her birthday is earlier than mine…jeez. I know I shouldn’t attend, especially with this mindset but I can’t help it. I want to leave work to go shopping this very minute. I already know what expensive shows I should wear and exactly the kind of outfit I want to sport. I want to look drop dead gorgeous. I want her to see that I’m SO much more awesome than she is. I mean, I sort of already win because she has a kid- OR did I? Anyway….I want to look Maxim model gorgeous. Hmmm…I think I know the exact person for the job in that area. PERFECT! Gosh I’m so devilish. Alright…so the nemesis. She freaking stole my “most unique” title in high school…and she even had the nerve to steal my crown at prom. What was I? RUNNER UP! RUNNER UP! RUNNER UP! I want my big crown dammit!

oh yersh she did go there.

When it’s hysterical, it is most certainly historical. For weeks now I’ve been moping around. Wondering what has come of my life and what I should do next. I sat idly by. I pushed my fake boyfriend away. I hid behind books, unwashed hair, and dreary dark clothes. Nothing on me looked like Mary Effing Sunshine or Pollyanna. I was just a sulky sulk. However, it all changed last night. After I went on a tirade about life and not sticking to me like glue, I felt somewhat relieved. I felt like I had let out the negative; of course, the fake boyfriend didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of it but it was definitely necessary. I feel so light, airy even. I even feel like stalking my fake boyfriend. How should I go about this? First we have Facebook….then we can try to crack the code of his voicemail…if I knew his email I could do that as well.  Happy and Stalking about!

and scene

Scene: About five people are standing around a narrow corridor in an East Village apartment building putting on their sneakers and saying goodbye to one another.

Me: Hey! How’s it going? You feeling OK?
Boy: Yeah. I’m feeling a bit hung over but I’m definitely glad I stopped by tonight.
Me: I’m definitely glad you came by. It’s so good to see you.
Boy: You rushing off?
Me: Um. Not really. I can stay for a few minutes.
Boy: OK. Cool. Mind waiting for me?
Me: Sure.

Me makes a phone call to her friend who is waiting for her at the movie theater to let him know she’s on her way. Boy returns about five minutes later.

Boy: You ready?
Me: Yup. Let’s go.
Boy: So. How are you?
Me: I’m alright. Feeling a bit lost now that my school work is done with.
Boy: You were finishing up your masters, correct?
Me: Yup.

The conversation carries on mundanely until they reach the train station entrance. At which point Boy asks Me if she has any plans for the night. Me says she is on her way to meet a friend at the movie theater. Boy asks if she can spare five minutes to sit at Washington Square Park. Me says OK…because five minutes is all she can spare. The enter the park and stop for a few seconds to admire the blues band playing.

Blues band playing in the background.

Boy: You want to sit over at these benches.
Me: Sure.
Boy: Cool. Washington Square Park is my favorite park. You can find the oddest things here and yet have an amazing time. During the summer there’s always a band playing and people just hanging out.
Me: Yeah I know. I like it as well. Hate the rats at night but like the park otherwise.

Girl smiles. Awkward moment ensues. Smaller talk is had. Moments of silence. Me feels uncomfortable because she doesn’t know what to expect and is running a tad late now.

Me: I’ve got to go in five minutes.
Boy: Can I put my arm around you in these last five minutes?
Me: Um. Why?!
Boy: Um. Um. Nevermind.

An even more awkward moment ensues. Me tries to lighten the mood by making a joke that goes sour.

Me: You ready to go?
Boy: OK.
Me: So you like living in Inwood now?
Boy: Yeah. Ever since I moved back in with my mom I’ve been able to focus on a lot of editing and camera work.
Me (thinking how in the world do these mama’s boys find me): Oh that’s good.

They part ways at 6th Avenue and just as Me’s friend calls her to ask where she is at.

Scene close.

what am i to do

When things are meant to be for me I get really excited. I can’t do anything but think about that thing that is causing my excitement. My inner child is placated. She feels at peace. She is content and feels as if she’s on the right path. On the other hand, when I am doing things that are no what I’m supposed to be doing. I feel horrible; I doddle. I act like a bumbling brook. Things don’t get done as quickly and everything seems to go array. Right now I’m stuck between a few things. One is an invitation to lay on a beach in lovely Mexico, the other is to do something big for the fourth of July weekend, and the last my summer euro trips. As it stands, I’m most excited about the euro trip. I get to see some good friends. I get to travel cheaply from country to country. I get to enjoy my life peacefully. Mexico seems OK and I did want to do a nice relaxing beach vacation next but…. I don’t know what to do. Oh yeah…and what happened to my economic hardships? Traveling is definitely not a sign of a person under an economic hardship. Ha. I don’t know how I do it sometimes but traveling for me comes easily. I make it happen…just as the saying goes…where there is a will, there’s a way…and I always make it a way. Berlin, Stockholm, and London are calling me. Ha. Mexico seems like it would be a kill drag. Fourth of July is always fun. What to do. What to do.

a personal ad?

I absolutely love a good laugh. The harder and longer I can laugh the better; I want to be crying with tears of laughter. Whether it is because I’ve slipped on a banana peel or you ran into a glass door. God (or the divine powers that be) knows this about me. Check this out.

Last night a bunch of us met at our usual spot to chat and catch up but when we got to the gate it was locked. We didn’t know what to do so we called people to see if they knew anything about this gate. No one knew what was happening so someone thought it a bright idea to just hop over the gate. Seeing as we tried several avenues beforehand, we thought a little breaking and entry wouldn’t be so bad. So after a few of us hopped over the fence, someone thought it another bright idea to have chairs help the others climb over. Now we are all at the spot and notice a rather disturbing smell. Actually it was so strong that I don’t know how we didn’t smell it from the outside. As we look closer it was buckets upon buckets of sauerkraut. Sauerkraut! BUCKET LOADS of SAUERKRAUT! Who eats all that sauerkraut! The smell was so pungent that I don’t know how we stayed the whole time. In any case, as we were getting ready to leave two Ukrainian women come in steaming mad. Yelling god knows what in Ukrainian. Although I’m pretty sure they were cursing us out. One woman even proceeded to slam one of the chairs we had to help us over the gate on the floor. We didn’t know what to do so we quietly crept out…only this time using the gate instead of hopping it over. Oh brother. Ha. First the gate followed by the buckets of sauerkraut then the screaming Ukrainian women. Hahah. What a night! I love that the powers that be always provide me with one great chuckle each day. I think I could live happily ever after if I just had one good chuck a day. :D