Archive for September, 2005

Sep 28 2005

All the News That’s Fit to Blog

Published by under Uncategorized

The party lived down to my expectations, ending at 4 am. In addition to the catering, there was a professional DJ, so at least I was annoyed with no expense spared. I’m probably just jealous of the Trust Fundies, since at about half my age, they have already achieved the goal of being idle rich – a goal which has so far eluded me.

I have a pre-season cold, which seems as unfair as having to go back to school before Labor Day. However, it’s a good excuse not to do much of anything except feel sorry for Self (one of my special skills) and lounge (ditto).

I was lounging around watching the spectacularly freaky Varietease, starring the spectacular Bettie Page and Lili St Cyr, along with transvestites (why do they always have such great legs?) and an MC who was definitely high on something, I know not what, when the fire alarm went off. Trained since elementary school in fire drills, I assumed it was a mistake or a prank or a test. Imagine my surprise when I heard fire engines and they stopped right outside the building. Not even Bettie Page was more interesting than that. I ventured outside and saw smoke coming from the roof of the main building.

I let the firemen into the building and left them to it. I knew it wasn’t my part of the building on fire, and since my bro is a fireman, I know how much they hate an audience. Later, I learned from the superintendent that:

– The fire started on the roof, because the guys who were tarring it (though not feathering; that was the pigeons’ job) went to lunch, leaving the tar and its heating accessories unattended.

– The super had put it out before the firemen got there.

– The firemen were furious, because the funky old building has all these mysterious hallways and doors and passages, and it’s hard to get where you’re going unless you already know or have a native guide. They weren’t too happy to find the fire was out by the time they had negotiated their way Through the Looking Glass.

– There was a naked man sitting calmly on the fire escape, holding his clothes and watching the proceedings.

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Sep 19 2005

Same Old

Published by under Uncategorized

“Plus Ca Change, Plus C’est La Meme Chose.”
(“The more things change , the more they remain the same.”)
— Alphonse Karr, Les Guepes, January 1849

I’m still here, folks. Suzy has not (as yet) left the building.

I’m still struggling to come to terms with being Little Orphan Suzy. I have a lot of regrets about my relationship with my mother, as well as the sorrow at losing her. There’s no easy way to work through these things, and as you know, I’m not a big fan of the hard way or the long way in anything.

Speaking of which, I haven’t given up on my beautification project. Reason dictates that it’s easier to fix up the outside than the inside (either physical or psychological), but as anyone who has ever lived through renovations will tell you, it takes longer and costs more than you’d ever think. There are sudden, inexplicable work stoppages. Things that should have been done weeks ago are not finished, or half-finished. Sudden problems are discovered. And then there’s the noise and the mess.

The road to hell (aka the gym) is paved with good intentions, especially mine. I only went once last week, and the only other real exercise I got was dancing to Blackalicious at a small club. The club cardio was probably cancelled out by the two Cosmopolitans I had, though they were each just a tiny puddle in a huge glass. If gyms had martinis, I’d probably be more likely to go, but even my poor math skills tell me that 1 workout+2 martinis = no thinner (though definitely happier). And there you have it: the conundrum of this girl’s life. One of them, anyway.


– What to do about my temperamental computer, which had a temper tantrum last week and lost my email for that week, along with changing the URL of my blog (it must have felt like being incognito for a while). Other computer-related issues are that the track pad doesn’t work, necessitating the use of a mouse with an iBook, and only one USB port (that used by the mouse) works. The iBook is about 4 years old, but I think computer years must be even longer than dog years, and mine is about 90 now, hobbling around on a cane and being ornery.

– What to do about the upstairs neighbors. Their G-rated nickname is the Trust Fundies, due to their outstanding youth (about 25) and sense of entitlement (boundless) and apparent disposable income despite lack of obvious employment (ditto). Their dogs are still howling and barking, and when the guy who lives above them had the temerity to complain, Mr. Trust Fund went psychotic and the neighbor fled in terror. They have informed me that they are having a catered party on Friday, meaning: don’t complain about the racket, even if it goes on until 3 am.

Of course, it’s catered. These are the same people who spent $5,000 on hardwood flooring for their rented apartment and have their windows professionally cleaned, despite their youth. Can’t they afford to put their dogs in daycare, so they don’t howl and bark all day long? The only consolation I have is that Mr. TF and both dogs got thoroughly skunked a couple of days ago. Thanks, karma, but I’m kind of looking for a bigger gesture here.

3 responses so far

Sep 09 2005

The Embarrassing Day

Published by under Calamity Suzy

It was an unusually embarrassing day for our heroine, whose aliases include “Calamity Suzy” due to her amazing talent for being accident prone. Not to mention that in addition to the usual fights against gravity (boobs’n’butt), she ends up wearing part of every meal. Her eating style is probably comparable to Mike’s beautiful daughter Marina (though far less charming). I hasten to add that despite being a messy eater, our heroine does know what fork to use. The food just might not stay on it.

The day started out reasonably enough, with a cup of black coffee and a completely perfect peach, but deteriorated rapidly. I went to water the flowers so kindly planted by (but not maintained by) the Mystery Gardener. While walking out the door, I managed to trip and fall forward, smashing the pitcher of water and falling onto my side. My shoes had fled inside, and I lay there winded for a moment, hoping that no-one would see me. They would be all too likely to jump to the wrong conclusion based on the contents of my recycling box, against which I was gracelessly arranged.

When I was finally able to get up and breathe again and wash off the blood, I went to the doctor. Not because of the watering incident, but because of my oh-so-tenuous mental health. I burst into tears in her office. She increased my dose of happy pills.

I thought it would be too embarrassing to be seen on public transit, weeping and sniffling, so I treated my beat-up body and psyche to a cab ride home. Waiting at a red light, a loiterer on the street corner winked at me. I smiled politely. He said, “Meet you at the next traffic light, baby!” I just shook my head and looked away. Then he started knocking on the window of the cab, saying, “You can’t even look at me now? Aaaah, you’re blushing!” Which was true. This was the longest red light in the world. The cab driver was supremely unaware or superbly uninterested, since he appeared not to notice a thing. He has probably seen far more interesting things in his career.

I finally got home and decided to have a nice long bath, complete with a Lush bath bomb. I ran the tub, applied the bath bomb, which fizzed deliciously, and went to get my silly, fluffy novel and a glass of wine, which I set on the edge of the tub. While leaning forward to turn off the taps, I managed to slip on an errant piece of cinnamon from the bath bomb and knocked the entire glass of wine into the bath. The glass didn’t break, but I sat there thinking of an old commercial: “You’re soaking in it!”

4 responses so far

Sep 04 2005

Natural Disasters

Published by under Uncategorized

“When you die, they let you off the hook.”
— Bob Dylan

I’ve been having some random thoughts since my mother died, of varying degrees of weirdness and self-involvement. In fact, I’m self-involved enough to tell you what they are:

  1. The tragedy of 9/11 happened only days after I returned home to California from London after my father’s death*. The disaster of Hurricane Katrina occurred days after I returned home from dealing with my mother’s death*. In both cases, I watched the news and just cried, feeling the grief of those who had lost their loved ones along with my own.

  2. In both cases, I went home and watched Six Feet Under, which seems even to me to be an odd TV choice, but maybe it has its own peculiar logic. Or not.

  3. I’m finding my family’s diminishing life expectancy a little disturbing. My great-grandparents, all four of them, lived into their 90’s. My grandparents, who all died within one calendar year, were all in their 80’s. My father barely made it to 70, and Mom was only 73. Does this mean I only have 20 years left? If so, I better start having fun right now.

*Why do we say “someone’s death” like they possess it somehow, that death belongs to the dead person? Clearly, it’s very much the other way around.

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