I Hate You, Urban Outfitters

It was just a matter of time before word of my (one time) unique necklace reached the head honchos over at Urban Outfitters...


boo.

No matter where I am or what I'm doing, every once in a while I remember, we have a new President. And I can't help smiling.

One of the French guys who own the wine-tasting business next to my work had a baby on the 4th. "I don't know which I cried harder for," he says, "my son, or the election." A new country, a new child, a new life for Luc.

Our regulars have been especially lovely lately. A man offered to nurse our poor bald orchid back to health today. After he had a triple by-pass surgery recently, everyone sent him orchids and he found that the notoriously finicky plants flourished under his care. The secret, he tells me, is to avoid watering it too much. "They don't like standing water."

Honestly, I may miss these people more than a little. The familiar faces break up the workday and provide a short respite from the fake customer service shtick. There's Stan, the lonely middle-aged man with a bull-ring piercing, whose lifelong partner died ten years ago, leaving him a priceless art collection and rare Marlene Dietrich memorabilia; Jonnie, who calls me sweetie and brings me flowers from her community garden plot; and who could forget Charlie, the early 40-something chainsmoking poet with the soul of an ADD five-year-old who works as a clerk in an office to pay for his $400/month shared room but who lives to somehow involve himself in everything else in the city, from radio to making anthologies, to acting in independent movies.

What an interesting time we live in.

A Hell of a Town

I'm in Chelsea, in New York, in a hostel, eating a Whole Foods salad (in which I kind of wish I hadn't included dried cranberries), with five minutes and fifteen...fourteen seconds left of internet time left.

Today I:

Saw the Statue of Liberty from the subway (how is that possible? It goes over a bridge to Brooklyln).

Fell in love with Brooklyn brownstone neighborhoods, with pumpkins on the front steps and leaves piled up on the sidewalks.

Went to a Brooklyn flea market and found the cowboy boots I've been searching for for years (for $25! No one here wears them).

With just a minute left (I'm slow), I'll just say that I'm off to the Upright Citizen Brigade show tonight (impov w/ Amy Poehler!). Love you.

Pearls of Wisdom

"Take my advice: don't do heroine.
Just smoke pot,
and beat off about three times a week."
--Toothless middle-aged man chugging champagne on the Muni.

It's no argument that San Francisco is one of the weirdest places I have ever been. My roommate and I attribute the strange behavior we see to the lack of peer judgement. Everyone is so out there that after a while, you stop listening to the old man screaming "Fuck you all! I'm going to kill you all!" on the Muni and don't bat an eye when a middle-aged drag queen with sequins stuck to her face asks you where she can buy pot. And so life goes on; and people continue limping through the daily races. It should be liberating to know you can do anything (and I mean anything) and not be judged, but it's not; it's heart-achingly lonely.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Twenty-four.

Here's something that made me smile this morning:

Ok, "smile" is a bit euphemistic. "Squeal, laugh, and say 'awwww!!!!'" is more like it. My cousin's baby already has a Halloween costume; I need to get thinking of one for when I'm in New York! All my good ideas involve me in drag (Marty McFly, anyone?). Why are boys' costumes so much cooler? I refuse to be a slutty nurse/red riding hood/maid/bumble bee...

I had some deep birthday thoughts this morning, but they have unfortunately been replaced by thoughts of PANCAKES (my roommate is taking me out for brunch).

Much love.

Hard Candy Christmas

Like the geese, I'm heading South for the winter.

Hey, maybe I'll dye my hair

Maybe I'll move somewhere

Maybe I'll get a car

Maybe I'll drive so far

They'll all lose track.

Me, I'll bounce right back

Maybe I'll sleep real late

Maybe I'll lose some weight

Maybe I'll clear my junk

Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine.

Me, I'll be just

Fine and dandy

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas

I'm barely getting through tomorrow

But still I wont let

Sorrow bring me way down

Hey, maybe I'll learn to sew

Maybe I'll just lie low

Maybe I'll hit the bars

Maybe I'll count the stars until dawn

Me, I will go on

Maybe I'll settle down

Maybe I'll just leave town

Maybe I'll have some fun

Maybe I'll meet someone

And make him mine.

Can you tell I've been listening to the 8-album Dolly Parton CD my co-worker made for me? Good times.