well i partied like a fat baby

it's a beautiful day in new york today!

i got back from a quick trip down home and worried as the plane started it's landing turn that i'd sink into some pretty massive Seasonal Affected Disorder [my favorite disorder to suffer from because it's a fairly self-explanatory affliction. namely "this gloomy weather makes me feel sad. because i have SAD."] but today's super sunny clear skies and crisp weather makes me happy i moved above the mason dixon line.

ok granted the entire time i was home and on the beach [and i did some surfing even though the water was pretty chilly] i kept saying to my friends who were smart enough to settle for life in small town florida in order to keep surfing, "man, you guys did it right!" and i meant it. for those of us who aren't necessarily big city kids, it's a tough fence to straddle; do i want to stay here for this goal i'm not sure i want? will moving back to small beach town florida [aka giving up] make me happier or is it just different yet comforting?

ech. enough esoteric self-indulgent babbling on only one coffee!

last night we saw a fabulous band play and you should check them out. folks receiving these postcards, i'd like to introduce you to lt marscapone



they're fun, they're rockin' and they're all cute, which is, we all know, very important. as my mother kindly pointed out at one point "we all thought mick jagger was hot, you know. i mean super hot. i didn't care that he made out with david bowie. david bowie's hot, too. who wants to watch ugly people?"

thank you, mom. words of wisdom, right there.

so yeah, in the bottom floor of fat baby, we rocked out while these guys sang their hearts out [and, um, good use of tambourine and pianica, there!] check them out at their next show. we got pins! we signed up for the mailing list! we screamed like teenagers at a matchbox 20 show.

i promise you won't be disappointed.

and lest you think i've forgotten your forbidden love for bret michaels:


VH1.com Blog

you're welcome.

found objects

this'll be quick since i'm in the midst of crazy meetings and everyone here is getting married and having a wedding shower [seriously. the amount of time and money i've spent on people i'm not that fond of for events that have nothing to do with me will depress me to the point of needing anti-depressants should i add it all up]...

but.

yesterday, steps of the q/r/n/w train at 57th street and 7th avenue, there was a pair of panties [looked like bikini and black] bunched up in the dirt.

ladies: why in all of god's green earth would you:
1. lose your panties going either up or down to the subway
2. leave them there


also. could you explain how that happened? because, while not the clutziest person i know, there is no way i could walk either up or down stairs while my under-drawers were falling down. did you penguin-step? how did you step out of them? why am i so concerned?

because i must distract myself. while procrastinating at work i discovered that mr. x is in love. is in a wonderful marvelous relationship with some woman. who is not me. while logically, we would assume that he is also making her miserable the same way he made me miserable, the glorious human mind does not work this way and instead i am remembering all the ways darling mr. x was darling, and thus keeping up the cycle of perpetual macabre self loathing that i've been dealing with for too many months.

how do bruce willis and demi moore and ashton kutcher do it? does wealth and perfect skin really make your life easier?

do let me know. please. kutch: punk me into understanding.