September 03, 2007
I Couldn't Be More Aggravated
Wednesday and Thursday? Oh you mean the only two days I'm gonna be in Manhattan...GAAAAAHHHHHH
Posted by Bree at 08:00 PM | Comments (0)
August 08, 2007
One of Those Days...
When I'm just *SO STOKED* I don't have to rely on the MTA no mo.
Oh well. At least the millions of people trying to get to work today in 95-degree heat can wait in clean, air-conditioned stations and rely on clear service announcements and helpful advice from transit workers.
Posted by Bree at 10:21 AM | Comments (0)
July 28, 2007
Straphanger Serenade
Ah, the Metro. How I miss our special times together.
(Manhattan Borough President) Scott Stringer's office asked commuters how often someone sexually attacked or harassed them in the subway, and found frightening results. More than 60 percent of those who responded to the online study said they were sexually harassed and 10 percent said they'd been sexually assaulted. - [Newsday]
Sexual harassment, sure. Seen my share, but probably less than the average chick given my (patent pending denied) "Don't fuck with me you motherfucker; I am stronger than you, I am faster than you and I will eat you fucking alive" subway-riding death glare. And people wonder why I'm single.
Sexual assault? A bit trickier to say. Is it assault that I spent a small part of a weekday morning on a fairly deserted 2 train watching a totally vile man directly across the aisle beat off while he stared at me? I don't know if that is. I remember being only a little scared, but mainly just disgusted that he was using me; that somehow I was a part of his experience. Especially since I was *wearing a skirt suit* at the time. Oh dear GOD, where does it END?!
Granted, I was young at the time. I think that was my first summer in NY (hence the suit, I was on my way to an INTERWHOOOO!), which is the only reason I didn't move or get off the train or stand up and get someone to help me. I just sat there nervously until we got to Penn Station, the doors opened and I bolted. Honestly though, if that was the most offensive thing to happen to me on the trains, I'm one of the lucky ones. The fact there isn't cell phone service down there is a FUCKING NIGHTMARE that needs to be rectified. If I was still living in New York, that would be one issue I might ACTUALLY lobby the legislators about.
It is absolutely terrifying to be without a lifeline, floating in the nothing, anxiously waiting to make it back to the light. And that's coming from someone with the resources and strength to look after herself. I can't imagine what it must be like for the truly vulnerable: the sick, the tired, the old, the alone.
Posted by Bree at 12:30 AM | Comments (0)
July 22, 2007
Inbox
From: Mikey Macs
To: briggles, defender13
Date: Jul 19, 2007 12:30 PM
Subject: Yesterday
What you are both missing in NYC.
Sitting in my office when all of a sudden the building started shaking like the world was ending. There was an incredible Bang! and several more bangs, and then a rushing sound like you would hear if you had your ear pressed against an industrial air conditioner turned on high. It filled your head, you couldn't hear. We ran to the windows and looked down at the street for some kind of explanation, but all you could see was smoke and Third Avenue and streams of people running south. Traffic had stopped and everyone was leaving their vehicles and running. Away from our building. You could see people in the other office buildings and they were pressed up against the windows and some were running.
My cell network was busy, so I called Kristi from the land line. She could hear the sirens over the phone, but there was nothing out of the ordinary in her office, which was on 53rd street, so I felt better, it wasn't near her. I told her to get out of the building and to meet at our emergency spot.
We headed to the stairway but it was packed solid with people. Twenty four floors to go. People were orderly and text messages worked and it became apparent that it was not Grand Central and instead came out of the street. A lot of the younger women were crying. It was very quiet, just the shaking of the building and the sound of feet going down stairs. The catching of rubber soles on the painted concrete. I saw one of my friends who was in an office right above and he said it cracked the windows and there was a geyser of dirt, steam and smoke going up at least forty stories into the air. Getting down took about fifteen minutes.
When we got into the lobby everyone split up. Several people were discussing going to look around the corner and seeing what it was. I took one of my co-workers who lives in Brooklyn and headed straight east to the river. Figured we could swim if necessary. It would be faster than walking. The streets were thick with people. There is a construction site next to the FDR. I was thinking very clearly about what kind of wood would float the best. Not pressure treated. I was thinking about taking the inflatable tires off of the wheel barrows and where I would find a wrench.
Kristi met us outside the UN and we walked down First avenue. There were hundreds of floating islands of people, milling about, some walking with purpose, some in a daze. Traffic still moved at a rush hour pace, the M15 bus was picking people up, there was not a real sense of panic, just more of a kinetic confusion, people shocked awake by their regular schedules being upturned. The farther away we got, for a while, the more normal things became. Then it was a little weird. In the East Village there were no cars on the streets. Everyone was walking. We heard the subways were running, so we grabbed the Brooklyn-bound F at Houston. We got off at Prospect Park West and walked my co-worker across the park to the Q line. It was a different city. People were just going about their business. It was as if nothing had happened.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SImhkapRuIs&NR=1
My building is the black on on the left.
Look forward to seeing you both soon.
Posted by Bree at 10:56 AM | Comments (0)
June 29, 2007
Brooklyn Heights !
(ganked from Flickr...sssshhhh)
The new Catherine Zeta Jones movie, No Reservations (remake of Bella Martha), is set in my old stomps - B to the H. No word on if Laura Albert or the Goggle Boys or Daly or Steve - the boy I went on a date with once in 2003 and then awkwardly ran into, oh about 700 times over the course of my year there or Alex the boy I dated (in the plural) and then failed to RECOGNIZE when he approached me on the street or any of the number of other characters from the Heights (I'm lookin' at you, Captain.) make a cameo, but fingers crossed you at least see my old neighbor, Fishwife.
Oh Fishwife.
I owe you some apologies.
Sorry for all the late night parties. Sorry my BF always chained his bike out front even after you told him not to (he didn't listen to you on purpose! Sorry!). Sorry I sometimes rolled home at 7 a.m. all walk of shamey in front of your daughter (aka Fishegg). Sorry I never picked up the junk mail. Sorry I never gave you my phone number. Sorry I barbequed illegally on the back deck. Sorry I didn't give a shit about the building. Sorry, sorry, sorry, etc.
Posted by Bree at 03:03 PM | Comments (0)
June 14, 2007
Dayliner Cruising By
Dayliner, Baby Dayliner - show at the Mercury Lounge, June 30. (Link curtsy ANP!)
Need I remind you again to watch me dance like a spazmatron in his video? Need I remind you again to download all his fatty tunes from e-music or just give 'em a spin o'er to MySpace? Seriously...need I? Get! On! It!
And for those of you in the 212 or the 718 or, hell, even the 646 or whatever the exchange is in Hohokus, Get! To! That! Show!
Posted by Bree at 07:59 PM | Comments (0)
May 30, 2007
Count Balance
To counterbalance ("That word is redundant," Bree sniffed.) the saaaaaad weepy mcweeps picture of me below (which, I'll have you know, was snapped right here in the Baker District of lovely Denver...ah, this town - she's been so good to me. Easy to see why I'm back.), I hereby present this, the picture representing me at my absolute happiest (New Years, 2002 - about 45 minutes before McNamara jubilantly tackled me onto the sidewalk on Amsterdam Avenue):
First name: Pass the. Second name: Kir. Last name: Royale.
Posted by Bree at 04:49 PM | Comments (0)
January 30, 2007
I Want to Lick You
...but only if you want to.
Seriously.
Posted by Bree at 09:01 PM | Comments (0)
January 13, 2007
Golden Thighs
I also model here.
Posted by Bree at 08:45 PM | Comments (1)
January 01, 2007
Happy Double O Seven
Have a glamorous year, glamasauri. You all look fabulous.
Posted by Bree at 01:39 PM | Comments (0)
December 29, 2006
Funken Gonuts (Ah.)
Wow. Finally vindicated for the Dunkin Donuts debacle of '06 (wherein I verbally accosted my rude-n-rotund server, rightfully accusing the corpulent countess of crullers of, er, a rather impressive magnitude of bitchery), I will now descend to my position as the "2nd worst customer of all time."
Posted by Bree at 08:47 AM | Comments (0)
September 13, 2006
Stranger in a Strange Land (And I'm Not Just Referring to Union Square)
My favorite finance-o, Patrick of the Pit, just sent me this sad little link and asked if I missed the dating scene in New York.
Right.
No.
No I do not.
No, Noey, No.
But it reminded me of this (slightly edited) e-mail summation I wrote last winter in the midst of my own banker dating experience. It was a hectic few weeks of sake, opera, cabs and proper utensils. Thank God I got out of that one alive.
From: Bree
To: [redacted]
Date: Nov 12, 2005 10:06 PM
Subject: tangled up in
whoaaaaaaa. things are weird in NYC, baby -- went out w/the banker last night; ended up [hanging out] at his SWEET ASS LOFT on 14th street.
wow.
yeah.
wall street.
wow.
money.
skylights.
brick.
art.
oriental rugs.
expensive electronics.
dining room table for EIGHT.
seltzer.
uhhhhhhh. holy crap. different style than my usual crowd...
he gave me coffee with a SAUCER.
conversely from THAT, i pulled a fucking PLANT out of my drain today.
a live plant.
when i told heather she just said, "isn't it gonna be great when we have money to live in real places someday?"
it looked like a fucking sprout man -- it was GREEN coming out of my drain...
ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm???? what the FUCK?
Posted by Bree at 09:00 PM | Comments (0)
September 12, 2006
Tough Read
I found an article in The Globe and Mail about KBW and September 11th.
It mentions Greg twice.
While I'm not sure if reading the piece will be helpful or heartbreaking to those who mourn him, I do believe that after five years we all know our individual capacity for this one.
Hearts and love and keg stands and extra-special-deluxe smoox to the mad extreme, chiclets.
It's the best we can do.
Posted by Bree at 05:00 PM | Comments (0)
September 11, 2006
Missing
Posted by Bree at 12:01 PM | Comments (0)
July 13, 2006
Puff Didion
How many miles to Babylon?
Three score miles and and ten—
Can I get there by candlelight?
Yes, and back again—
If your feet are nimble and light
You can get there by candlelight.
I spent my last night in my Brooklyn apartment alone, reading Joan Didion's iconic, beautifully constructed and moving take on leaving the city, "Goodbye to All That". Lying there on a mattress on the floor - knowing my best friends were coming in the morning to help me leave them - I had one of those moments when you are totally aware you are having one of those moments.
So, now I am back east. And it is so much harder than I anticipated. Or, more to the point, naively failed to anticipate. Things are confusing; I am torn and somewhat rudderless. Which is frightening and invigorating in equal measure. It is hard to meet a cool guy and ask Marcus whether or not I should call him and hear, "Well...where do you want it to go?" And not know where I want it to go. It is seductive to get texts from my friends and family in response to my waffling that say things like, "Call Ernest; get an apartment" and "My favorite people are those who live by the Dickensian adage: it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind! Bring it the fuck on!" Mainly because the phrase "Dickensian adage" is so seductive. And because it makes me smile that Joe's real name is Ernest.
Then again, one hideously hot commute to Grand Central and I am ready to flee back west.
Though I recognize this is a state of impermanence, and that three months from now my life will not resemble what it is today, it is so very difficult not to want what I once had, and to be happy with what I have now...when what I have now is so very unknown.
How funny, then, to run across this Didion quote this morning in an excerpt from The Paris Review. (Duh...what were you reading this morning? Double duh with duh nuts.)
INTERVIEWER: Do you ever think you might go back to the idea of doing little pieces about New York?DIDION: I don’t know. It is still a possibility, but my basic question about New York was answered for me: it’s criminal.
INTERVIEWER: That was your question?
DIDION: Yes, it’s criminal.
If u have answrs, plz txt. thx.
Posted by Bree at 09:34 AM | Comments (0)
May 15, 2006
Cut-Throat Trout Takes Lad Book by Short and Curlies
In case your Sweet and Bitter title decoder ring hasn't come in the mail yet, let me put this news another way. According to Gawker, Colorado College alumnus Jimmy Jellinek has been named Editor-in-Chief of Maxim. Though one might think the toughest part of that gig would be deciding which Jessica (Alba, Biel, Simpson-Lachey) to hose down and throw on the cover each month, young Jellinek is a funny, funny man who just might be the shining star to finally bring the CC English Department the recognition it has so long yearned for, it has so long deserv-ed.
Oh! Just in from the Springs: in celebration of our new "golden grad," the lovely ladies of Bemis Hall will strip down and bikini wrestle in a pit of soy pudding, pot and old Birkenstocks. Upbeat rhythms to be provided by Maceo "Llamapallooza" Parker; hot hor'doeuvres and other light refreshments to be provided by Benji's "House of Puke" Café. Mercy flushing, indeedy.
Look for more info in your Worner Box.
Posted by Bree at 04:56 PM | Comments (1)
May 09, 2006
CrackNamara's Corner
As far as toilet clogs and Mike McNa go, few experiences could trump when he was forced - by events out of his control - to visit the 68th St. Food Emporium one evening in search of two things: a plunger and a six-pack of Bud. He's a simple man, with a simple lust for a good time - and good plumbing. So to the clerk who pithily remarked, "Wild night, eh?" - let me answer in his stead and say, "Yes. Yes it was. And yes, by God, there were more in store..."
Lo:
There is possibly nothing more terrifying than standing in your bathroom over your toliet, depressing the plunger, and realizing that the water isn't draining, it's actually getting higher. You stare at it, transfixed, and for a few delicious seconds you actually think that you are going to be alright, that it's not going to go over the top. Why should it? It never has in the last 31 years of your life. Then the sinking pit of panic blossoms as the water begins to stream over the sides of the bowl at an alarming rate. You lunge one way for the plunger, but realize its too late for that. You dart the other way, throwing your only towel into the two-inch deep lake at your feet while sliding into the kitchen, trying to find a pot to empty the toliet into the bathtub before the ceiling of the apartment below collapses. Finally it stops and you are left with a sopping bath mat, a tragedy of a towel (which you were planning on bringing to Costa Rica), a woefully inadequate sautee pan-bailer and a home-made slip-n-slide where the kitchen floor used to be. Truly a terrible experience.
************
UPDATE:
Because it's e-mails like this that make the toil of maintaining this weblog all so worthwhile...
From: Michael McNa
To: Briggles
Date: May 9, 2006 3:22 PM
Subject: Re: Urban Terror
Oh man you are so dead.
Posted by Bree at 02:56 PM | Comments (0)
May 02, 2006
Mmm...Package...
The Postmaster just brought me a big brown envelope of trouble straight from Brooklyn Heights...and by trouble, I mean snapshots of many years of debauchery and dastardly derring-do. Most of them involving me, Jenny and cocktail attire. You know how we bicches roll.
Oh the memories, oh the hangovers...
Click below for a random selection, and I'll probably post the rest to Flickr once I get another cup of coffee in me.
My besties are aces, man. ACES.
Oh happy days. I don't remember why, exactly, but Mike - you're a dead man. That much is clear.
Take it from the girl in the half Cleveland.
Because shorts over long johns is always the sartorially correct choice.
Posted by Bree at 08:59 AM | Comments (1)
Hunka Hunka Burnin' Lame
Wha? I arise this morning full of good cheer about my exciting new job, and see that the old abandoned factory 1/2 block from Daniel's house in Greenpoint is aflame. As in...big time.
Thankfully, nobody's hurt.
My God.
If you had any idea how often the Benz was parked next to that joint...well...let's just raise our glasses it doesn't need another full-body paint job.
D - I will be mailing you a care package of lozenges and Febreze...you can be assured of that.
Tan - this is NOT what I meant about Roastarama, but I appreciate the effort.
Heather - You look fabulous. I love your outfit.
Greenpoint represent - pierogies and larb gai all around.
Posted by Bree at 06:59 AM | Comments (4)
April 30, 2006
New York Eats Self, Coyote
Everyone's favorite salmon-colored rag (well, aside from FT of course) has an interesting piece on how some New Yorker's ever-obliging attitudes towards the city are shifting:
But do those who have given up intend to leave town? “Hal, the Central Park coyote, is essentially the only being that I know who would rather die than leave New York City,” she continued. “It was like he was called here by a larger force, and then, when faced with the prospects of going home, decided it would be over his dead body. And maybe that’s true of a lot of creatures who just get here, but I think if Hal had lived here for a few years, realized the competitive sport it is just to buy a movie ticket on a Friday night or get just a plate of eggs on a Saturday morning, let alone rent an apartment, he would probably have been happy to go back to wherever it was he came from.”
Pardon me while I enjoy a gloat-cheese amuse bouche washed down with a steaming smug of self-satisfaction. As for the main course? Coyote jerky. Naturally.
Posted by Bree at 05:58 PM | Comments (0)
April 24, 2006
Cess and Desist
Awestruck, dumbfounded, nauseated - my emotions are running the gamut on this one:
Man, son, neighbor swallowed by cesspoolHUNTINGTON, NY (AP) -- A 71-year-old man who went outside in the rain to pick up the Sunday newspaper plunged into a cesspool in his front yard, and his son and neighbor were sucked in when they tried to rescue him. Firefighters said they helped pull out the victims -- covered in raw sewage but not badly hurt.
Andrew Palladino said the soggy ground, which had been soaked by two days of rain, gave way outside his Long Island home.
"I walked across the lawn, and all of a sudden I disappeared," he told cable television station News 12 Long Island.
He yelled for his wife, Louise, to help him, and she threw a rope and called their son, Dan, who lives with them.
"Oh, my God," the wife said. "A little more, he's sinking. He's a goner!"
The son said the scene "was like a horror picture."
A neighbor who heard the commotion ran over to help -- but the ground gave way again, swallowing him and the son. The neighbor crawled out while passers-by tried to hold onto the others until the Huntington Fire Department showed up. Firefighters secured the ground, lassoed Palladino and his son and dragged them out.
It's not the first time a cesspool -- a pit that collects waste from toilets and sinks -- has swallowed someone in the area.In 2001, a Huntington man practicing archery in the backyard with his two children died when his cesspool caved in and consumed him.
And in 1998, a Huntington Station man was rescued after he fell 65 feet into one.
Posted by Bree at 07:55 AM | Comments (0)
April 23, 2006
Sunday PSA
When meeting someone from New York City, try to refrain from bringing up September 11th in casual "how was it for you" parlance. Though vaguely understandable, I suppose, it couldn't be less appropriate. You have no idea how it was for me, or for anyone else. And it does nothing but make you look like an asshat.
And I don't talk to asshats.
Well.
Not since breakfast, anyway.
Posted by Bree at 03:30 PM | Comments (0)
April 19, 2006
Just Browsin'
I would like to take this moment to reaffirm my commitment to using Firefox instead of Safari as my browser.
There.
Silly me! As my computer has been agonizingly slow for the last several months (something about 2,000 songs and 2,000 pictures...wha?), I was minutes from dropping bank on an external drive. Nothing new here. Fear drives most of my retail activity and my 'puter luck rates up there with my car tire luck - sometimes, with a small sigh of resignation, they just eat it. Ask the folks at Tekserve.
"I'm sorry, but we're just going to have to erase your entire hard drive. There's no other option. That'll be $500. Can you step aside, please?
Ma'am...?
Can you hear me?
You're kind of freaking out..."
But Firefox - oh Firefox - you've opened my eyes! Man's alive, it wasn't the G5! It was SAFARI. Or at least the Tandy computer version I was running. Firefox is - hands down - the best thing that's happened to me since breakfast. Considering I had a Balance Bar for breakfast, that's pretty high praise. And though I really try hard not to hold grudges, fingers crossed someone is mauled by a stampeding gang of bloodthirsty meerkat sometime on its next trip to the wilds of Afrique. And by someone, I mean Safari. Clearly.
And speaking of all things incredibly Foxy...
I've been trying to track down Superman to see if he wouldn't mind flying around the world in reverse so that I'm back living on Willow Place, two blocks from Montero's - home of the SEVEN HOUR "happy day" - hangin' with the homeslices in celebration of the Fantastic Mr. this weekend.
But it's been surprisingly difficult trying to figure out the Daily Planet's e-mail extension.
This is made all the more bitter by the fact that my PARENTS might be going to the party. Oh woe.
Posted by Bree at 08:26 AM | Comments (0)
April 07, 2006
Moving Chapter One, Verse 12: Brooklyn
After a brief hailstorm, a trip into deepest Brooklyn to pick up the 22-foot Penske truck, and a bit of a navigation "issue" on Flatbush Ave., the first leg of the move was embarked upon with no delay. And, when viewed through a glucose haze of two dozen donuts, a couple gallons of mimosas and about sixty bagels, the relatively daunting task of moving an enormous amount of boxes, furniture and wood...yes, wood...was suddenly transformed into a pleasant Sunday morning diversion. Or so I kept shouting.
Indeed, the fine victuals also worked to mitigate some of the hangovers and lack of sleep resulting from the ill-timed Arctic Monkeys show the previous evening. But, ah, Bree...clever, clever Bree...made the call time for 10:30 a.m. BUT PLANNED ON ELEVEN, knowing - just knowing - that some of the moving staff might be the slightest bit tardy. Eight years of dealing with these clowns (and 30 years of dealing with myself) has taught me a thing or two about being "laissez faire" on a Sunday morning. (I won't get into what's its taught me about being Renaissance Faire...not yet; not here.)
But everyone rallied, everyone giggled, and all of my insanely voluminous collection of fragile goods got moved into the Penske in record time.
Brooklyn Represent.
Holla brosephs.
Click through for pictures of our hilarious - yet invigorating - times...
What we were dealing with...(nb: under that blue comforter? A slab of marble. I kid no.)
Rolling a fatty...
Two of the...er...more social movers...
Sweet lumber. Sweet, sweet lumber. How you lean so precariously over my Aeron chair.
The man who puts the .org in .organization.
Notice in these two pictures how Mike and Marcus are moving, working, accomplishing...yet Matt and Elliott seem almost...what's the word?
Immobile?
Stationary?
Still?
How curious.
NSV: No Sale Value.
Posted by Bree at 10:44 AM | Comments (1)
April 05, 2006
March. Mmm, Good.
Er Gad, I found my camera. Fittingly, it was hidden beneath an open copy of 5280 - Denver's answer to New York Magazine. I'll see your meta and raise you...some more betta' meta! And though I'm really, really psyched to have 150 pictures documenting just a little bit of the craziness - and every last bit of the beef patties - that my March held, it also is rather daunting to cull, edit and come up with pithy commentary for all...or even some. More's the pithy!
But alas. I will forever endeavor.
Click through for some random shots.
The entry documenting the entire Brooklyn to Denver Penskapade? Well. That's coming. Maybe after a few glasses of absinthe.
Flying back home.
My mod nephew shows us how the cool kids do what the cool kids do...Note: it involves suits and something about "living strong."
Apparently, I like to tilt towards - and onto - my immediate family. Especially when we're at dignified, somber functions. To which I insist on wearing pink.
Back to NYC - and questioning how I could ever leave when there's still so much scratchitti I have left to give.
Oh Brooklyn. I hardly knew ye.
Oh hot dog painting. You're totally gonna fit in in Denver.
Mine's not.
Perhaps it's best that this is the first and last picture I took during my birthday bacchanalia.
Thinking if the wine bar doesn't pan out...
Thinking if the store doesn't pan out...my next corporate job BEST be giving me three computers, unlimited soda pop and Bruce Springsteen sightings like Tan's do.
Note: Springsteen wears bracelets.
Lots and lots of bracelets.
After a day spent giggling over our MySpace profiles, eating Ukranian delicacies with the likes of Paul Giamatti, and visiting jewelry stores along 14th Street, Mike and I met up with Natasha at the aptly named "Wine Bar." The best part about this picture? The guy next to us apologized that his lacrosse stick was in the shot.
Obviously, he didn't know that Mike also was in the shot.
The second best part?
My bra.
The hairdo may say business, but the bosoms? They're ready to get down.
"And when there were no crawdad - we ate patater."
All the gaiety led us to this: the best picture ever.
Note: bra still evident. With the cross, it's all very Madonna circa 1992, no?
No?
And then trouble came a-knockin'....
Followed in short order by Elaine the elder, who served up a plate of mad stylez with a side of totally smokin'. Fishwife wisely knew to keep her trap shut about the double-parked Tacoma.
On my last day, I helped Carl and his friend move a $5,000 computer on a city bus. Among the many pleasures of the six-block trip was an engaging and delightful exchange about the Statue of Liberty with a toothless crossing guard.
Apparently it's closed to the public!
Huh!
Hard to understand why Carl wanted to leave the neighborhood. But you know what they say about gay guys and poon: "No estan amigos."
That is what they say, right?
To celebrate Carl's liberation from deepest Chinatown, we decided to pose as a couple - with a dog - and green thumbs.
18 pictures later, the mutual dissatisfaction with our life of lies was evident.
In my final bid to die a reckless death in New York, or at least get morbidly ill on the Upper West Side, I tucked into the most foul peanut butter ever at Kirsten's apartment. After spitting out my toast on her pillow, I shouted, "What the hell is wrong with this weird, metallic, greasy Skippy?" Then I realized that peanut butter has an expiration date.
And that it means something.
Mom, Dad: please listen. Please learn. I know you don't believe me about expiration dates (*hence the RED parmesan cheese) but, for God's sake, look sharp. Your cabinet may indeed hold similar horrors.
Maybe your Daddy should get into the nut spread industry. Lord knows it needs help. And my Daddy's busy napping.
Posted by Bree at 05:35 PM | Comments (0)
March 17, 2006
The Broken, Bloody Truth
I know, I know. I promised you a funny and utterly Breelicious version of single v. not single today (kind of like spy v. spy exceptin', of course, for the "funny" part), but I've been busy over here luxuriating in having a computer, a TV and unlimited coffee. The living's good, and made even better by the fact that as I slowly read through and ponder all the trials to be found in my e-mail account, I realize more and more how lucky I am to be leaving in one piece.
This one in particular caught my fancy:
rest of the weekend was ok -- except i fell out of bed friday night and gave myself a bit of a black eye and then fell running for a cab saturday night -- fell on my ass yet got an insanely skinned knee. how that worked -- no one knows. just call me mrs. bendy. sober for the first bodily trauma, drunk for the second. oh the times, the times.
Followed about a month later by:
i fell on the way to work today!
like, for real.
OW
on my knee - same one i ate it on in the east village in the beginnning of the summer. i'm hobbling around like an old man with a 2-foot beard and a loose, dirty diaper. Almost took down an innocent commuter to boot. move over -- i am the new peg leg.
Aside from the fact that - in just two months - Denver has already claimed a finger and a cocyx bone, here's hoping I won't be quite so accident-prone in Mountain Time. Or at least that it's more socially appropriate to wear a full suit of armor. My armor brings all the boys to the yard...and they're like, 'It's better than yours.'
Damn right.
It's better than yours.
Sigh.
Posted by Bree at 09:28 AM | Comments (0)
March 15, 2006
The Bigger the Apple, the Sweeter the Fruit
Ah yes. New York City. A hell of a town. Broadway's up, Century 21's down...or something along those lines.
It's been quite a ride being back here, I'll tell you that for free. My days have been spent dodging Fishwife, distributing half-used tins of Crisco, nearly expired prescription drugs and all the illustrious contents of the illustrious gift closet to various associates, and trying to entertain myself without television (bearable) or the Internet (unbearable).
Oh and I did watch Empire Falls.
All of it.
In other news, the packing is going...well, less expeditiously than one might hope. As in, though I will occasionally stare at an old pair of boots and ruminate for about an hour on the possible - nay, probable - return of the square toe, that's about as far as I've gotten. Now wait. That's not true. I've also been on a daunting mission to use up all of my toiletries (you're all invited to come over and floss a deux) and rid myself of stuff that, somewhat mystifyingly, made the move from Manhattan just one short year ago... Must say, it is rather humbling to put a (formerly) precious thing out on the stoop free for the taking and then have to watch it sit there like a flat-chested, halitosis-stricken mathalete at the Snowball Dance. We've all got to let our little ones grow up someday. Just ask my mom. To her unmitigated delight, I am hauling several loads of useless crap back to her cellar tomorrow, where it will sit - unmolested - until that dark day comes when I need my Con Ed bill from West 92nd Street.
Packing. There's a reason why you can hire people to do it for you.
Ah, but the real deal of it all is this: my time here has confirmed what I already knew. My friends are aces. Every last one of 'em. Being back among many of the people who've brought such luminosity to my life, and having the opportunity to recognize the value and impact each of them has had on me - and the loyalty and care with which each of them has treated me - has reconfirmed what I think I already knew: I'm on the right path. There's simply no other explanation for this kind of luck, and for these kind of blessings.
Oh and yes, before I go any further in this vale of tears for fears, I must pause to address a sin of omission perpetrated by me on one of the aforementioned. When I wrote that two separate boys in my life had lived in two separate vans, I apparently forgot to mention that Mike McNamara also lived in a vehicle.
That vehicle?
The Ebola: his beat-up white Camry with the "taxi-driver preferred" beaded seats and the stench of a thousand dead lobsters.
Which was parked in the LIRR parking lot in Huntington.
And filled with half-eaten meatball subs. And mice.
And now has found even more ignominious glory as part of an artificial reef deep in the Atlantic.
But that's neither here nor there.
Mike lived in his car.
And he wants you to know about it.
He also wants to eat Wilson's head.
I don't know which is more alarming.
Now, in a bid to accomplish #7 on my list of NYC "must do's," I "must do" the former co-worker dodge during lunch in Times Square. In the past few days, I've already seen - and avoided - two Edel-alum. Oh dear. Why did I leave my cloak of invisibility in Denver?! What was I thinking?!
Maybe Wilson will let me borrow his hat.
Posted by Bree at 09:08 AM | Comments (0)
March 05, 2006
NYC Must-dos
I'm so excited to return to New York this week, it's hard to begin to figure out what I want to do first. One thing's for sure - there's going to be some serious Whore-Hang* action going on in Green Point. [*Whore-Hang. When I sleep over at Heather and Tan's in full going-out dud-up and then have to brave brunch with the two of them looking fresh and well-apppointed, and me like the drunk slut they picked up the night before for a tawdry, boundary-bustin' menage...and now can't seem to shake. Whore-Hang.]
Other than that, I can only speculate that the next few weeks will see me doing the things I love the most, such as...
1. Guzzling birthday margaritas in fine preparation for all the vodka-fueled naughtiness to ensue
2. Buying more stuff at Future Perfect, Catbird, Rare Device, et al...
3. Eating malteasers, reading British tabloids and watching reality TV at Chez Fox
4. Piling all of the clothes, cosmetics, cds, shoes, perfume, bags, pictures and jewelry I've been lamenting for in Denver onto my floor and jumping in it like the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese
5. Wrestling with Jenny for the last vegetarian spicy "turkey" sandwich from Perelandra (winner gets her choice of homeless goggle-boy twin...and the sandwich. Naturally.)
6. Wrestling with Mo, Papi or any of my other favorite Jordanians for a ham, egg and cheese on a bagel, large regular iced coffee and Sunday NY Post following an Upper West Side Whore-Hang (Kirsten, Patrick, Jeff - this is your future.)
7. Lunching at "the healthy place" with Sherri and getting the low-down on all the dirty, dirty Edel-dirty dirt
8. Hitting Century 21, The Flatiron District, the Bridle Path, Zabar's, ABC Carpet, Robin Des Bois, and way too many others to count
9. Feeling pleasantly melancholic twinges at all of the old places that remind me of all of the old boys
9. Dancing to Jenny Lewis at Irving Plaza
10. Walking. And knowing there's somebody I want to see at the end of that walk.
Posted by Bree at 02:54 PM | Comments (2)
March 02, 2006
CrackNamara's Corner
And now, word from our man on the street, Mike McNamara:
I was wandering through midtown yesterday and went into the public atrium that joins with Trump tower or plaza or whatever. Anyhow, there was an INCREDIBLY motley crew of weirdos sitting around one of the tables arguing vociferously about something. I actually spotted two motorized wheelchairs. The crowd was classic: two 30-something dudes who looked like they had just busted out of Forbidden Planet after a 72-hour Magic: The Gathering binge, and a bunch of cantankerous weird middle-aged men with hair growing out of their ears and strangely patterned sweaters that seemed to have been stolen from some middle school teachers lounge. And when I walked by, I saw the UN Delegation-like sign on the center of the table: The New York City Ayn Rand Group.
Positively intriguing! Then I googled them and found the web site.
Posted by Bree at 10:01 AM | Comments (0)
February 20, 2006
Update
Fishwife just called me. On my phone. And in a conversation about gutters, managed to bridge the notion that my brother was having sex in my bed.
The real reason behind this 2,000-mile move has now been illuminated.
Carry on.
Posted by Bree at 08:28 PM | Comments (1)
February 14, 2006
Snow? Did Somebody Say Snow?
Just checking.
Posted by Bree at 07:40 AM | Comments (0)
February 06, 2006
STD (the good kind)
It looks like Denver's got its hooks in me. I think I'm staying, at least for a time.
So what?
So let's dance!
That said, my return to NYC on March 10 will bring us all a prime opportunity to have one final blow-out at the N*ely's favorite vodka hall, The Russian Samovar. Call it a 30th birthday party, call it a going-away party, call it a chance to pretend you're 24 again - whatever you call it, be sure to save the night of March 11th for some. serious. serious. fun.
Serious.
Just ask Nicole Kidman:
Ooooh, I'm already atwitter!!! Get your party pants READY people!
Posted by Bree at 10:13 AM | Comments (0)
January 14, 2006
Adjusting
Today, a woman from Fairfield, CT told me it would take me ten years to adjust to the pace of life here. And that the guys in NY were better looking. Not sure about the first part but must take exception to the second. Simply put, ladies: the guys here are smoking hot.
Haven't seen an anorexic emo-rocker yet.
But I can't find a bottle of seltzer to save my life.
So that's a draw.
Makes me wonder how long it will be before I stop saying I'm from New York; how long it will be before I stop rooting for the Pats over the Broncos; how long it will be before I stop feeling proud when I see pictures like this:
But then again, this afternoon we drove around and listened to Baby Dayliner and looked at houses and neighborhoods and man, the world seemed open with possibility. That is until I almost clipped a car.
This is a strange time, indeed.
As one often does in times of uncertainty, I'm going to look to that bearded oracle Willie Nelson to set the tone: "I gotta get drunk, I just can't stay sober, there's a lot of good people in town."
Amen, Willie.
And on that note, GO PATS!
Posted by Bree at 04:18 PM | Comments (0)
December 31, 2005
And on That Note...
City of Orgies
CITY of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you—not your shifting tableaux, your spectacles, repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your houses—nor the ships at the wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows, with goods in them;
Nor to converse with learn’d persons, or bear my share in the soiree or feast;
Not those—but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering
me
love,
Offering response to my own—these repay me;
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.
-Walt Whitman
Happy 2006, New York!
Posted by Bree at 12:52 PM | Comments (0)
December 29, 2005
Leaving Blows
No seriously.
When you spend the evening with a guy 
Besides, I mean, spending that same evening drinking champagne and watching Blue effing Crush.
Jeff...cheers to you.
Thanks for the times, thanks for the thyme, thanks for the forking toime down to the nuiiii...
Posted by Bree at 11:57 PM | Comments (0)