why we're all idiots when it comes to love.

i blame hollywood.

easy to say, right? but i've been watching terrible romantic comedies [the next person who calls it a romcom gets hit with a sock filled with pennies] all night on tbs, and quite frankly, hollywood is to blame. take serendipity starring john cusack and kate beckinsale. at what point is this movie at all believable? so far for me, and granted i've eaten nearly an entire box of cereal without milk this evening, the best parts of this dreck have been jeremy piven being his usually malignant delightful self and my pre-teen obsession with john cusack - a man who makes wearing eyeliner an everyday occurrence.

i'm rambling, i know. but i'm in a bit of a kerfuffle on this: of COURSE we're all morons and unrealistic in our relationships! of course people sleep together at the first sign of attraction and then wake up 3 weeks later and realize 'my god. what is in bed next to me? this person offends me on 17 different levels. i've made a terrible mistake.' movies like serendipity teach us, essentially, that all you need to do is be in the right place at the right time and BAM! you'll be matched up cosmically with your soul mate. and if you're not, if you happen to be in a relationship with a perfectly nice person, well when your soul mate DOES pop up [and you know they will and you know you'll know it because you just will. plus, mood music] you'll be able to extricate yourself from the current relationship with little to no fuss. because while there might be tears, there will be no guilt on your part. and your significant other will just fade away. it's picture perfect, really.

i'm being redundant, but it's unrealistic.

the manager at the bookstore i worked at during high school was unrealistic. she'd been married to her husband for 15 years and complained to me that the relationship was over because the passion and spark were gone. granted, that sucks, but she couldn't recognize that relationships grow and evolve into things that don't involve getting slammed into stacks of books in the store room during inventory by the 19 year old delivery van driver. which she wanted. and she did. during breaks. not just inventory.

which ended my ever going into the store room again.

my point is: hollywood has been training us to be unrealistic. so that we continue searching for that soul mate, that perfect person that only exists on the silver screen. my theory is that john cusack does NOT say the perfect thing all the time. he doesn't stutter adorably when he's nervous. he does not always wear a soft t-shirt and blazer and look amazingly natural in his eye liner. i think he can often be found in sweatpants and smelling faintly of gin. i bet he farts and picks at his feet while watching man vs. nature. and he's the john cusack i'm interested in. no need for a boombox.

comment. let's open a dialogue on what love really is all about - because i certainly haven't a clue and i think i'm supremely bad at it. i'd hate to think that what the father character in the wedding date is true, that every woman has the love life she truly wants. that would blow. on so many levels. [i can not believe i'm posting paraphrases from the bloody wedding date.]

but listen, i may not respond right away. i'm throwing in the towel and watching reruns of soap operas on soapnet. at least they're honest in their sham.

a must have for the disaffected cowgirl youth

i never imagined that my doc martens and cowboy boots would mate while i had them tossed in the closet. but man, that baby sure is pretty.

i kinda want a pair. it's a steal at $99.99, yes?

when there just isn't enough coffee

well it's monday, right? and though we all know that this happens - every week, mind you - we still show up cranky and crabby and bitter that it's happening. you know when i didn't hate mondays? when i was a bartender. in college. over the summers.

but i digress.

i'm writing this while i wait for a conference call to start. because everyone is in such a bad mood, it was decided that we'd all conference from our desks [no lie] while we talk to these folks in minneapolis. my guess, actually, is that someone's assistant forgot to schedule the conference room, but i'm NOT back-seat assisting. believe me, i'm not.

so before this becomes the most boring blog-entry ever, i will converse with myself about where i've been for the past few months.

so where in the world have you been, bex butler?
i got the death flu in late june. and -

i'm sorry to interrupt, but the death flu? really?
yes, the death flu. i couldn't get out of bed. i had a fever. i couldn't keep any food down, or around, me. i lived on flat gingerale and saltines for 3 weeks. i think i lost some weight.

you have been looking svelte lately.
thank you. you've been looking pretty cute yourself, you know.

thanks.
sure.

so...
right, so, i was just getting over the death flu and was feeling really pretty good and i was in the shower and was listening to the radio and the umbrella song came on -

which you hate.
well...i say that i hate it but secretly it's a damn catchy song. have you listened to it?

i try not to. i can't believe you admit that you like it.
ANYWAY. i was boogying in the shower - because i felt so much better [have you lived on saltines and flat gingerale for more than an hour? it's terrible. seriously.] and the song came on and i was sorta shaking it and i slipped and, um, fell and well...

you hurt yourself, didn't you?
i broke my wrist.

you're an idiot.
that's what my doctor said.

and i don't have an m.d.
you don't even have an m.a.

true. though i didn't fall in the bathtub and break my wrist.
so once i broke my wrist i couldn't really type. i considered getting someone to blog for me, because honestly, i fell in my shower dancing to the umbrella song. it's funny. as soon as i stop being mortified, it's funny. i mean, i went to the emergency room in sweat pants and my pajama top soaking wet.

how IS the emergency room in new york city?
it's both better and worse than you think. there were a fair amount of people there that seemed like this was just how they went to the doctor. granted, gunshot victims probably get a separate entrance than walk-ins, but nobody seemed in any sort of dire emergency. i sat there for awhile watching cnn. in pain. trying not to cry.

admit it. you cried.
a little bit. but on the walk over. not there.

you walked to the er?
i didn't know the address and so wasn't sure what to tell the cab driver.

god, you're an idiot.
hey now.

so...
so my roommate came and brought me gatorade and pretzels and i got a little cast and went home and called work and got some great pain medication and watched high school musical on tv.

i can't take any more of this.
fine. i'm late for a meeting anyway.

with my tail between my legs

well kids, if you're still reading, i reckon it's been awhile. and you know what? you deserve an explanation. no, i think you do. because, goodness, it's been a right long time since i've posted here. and i'd like to make this explanation good [and believe me, i've gotten myself into some pretty hilarious scrapes now that it's september and i can look back on this ridonculous summer from some distance] but unfortunately, it's going to have to wait. why?

1. i'm exhausted. i drank way too much beer friday night with the wacky boys and somehow yesterday's attachment to the couch didn't completely cure me [i think my age is starting to show].

2. i've got an 8 am meeting tomorrow. i know. it IS inhumane.

3. i was at the park all day today playing frisbee with jp and friends and i'm covered in sweat, sunscreen, and park grit.

4. i'm going to ease back into this slowl.

5. i think there's a sliver of glass in my foot and i'm going to try and dig it out with my camping tweezers.

so there you go. it'll happen. i promise. I PROMISE. GOSH.

postcard #6

i'm waiting for my brother to arrive. he's late, as usual, and while it's not like i had anything on my agenda beyond reading like a maniac and maybe watching kyle xy on abc family [listen: do not bust my chops on this. he's kinda cute, he's an alien, he has no belly button it's all very fascinating. oh shut up. watch it.] i still get a bit cheesed off that wy's late. why is wy late? well, he's late because that's who he is.

he's the middle child. he's always been the rebel. it might be, psychologically speaking, a sort of middle-child-syndrome thing, i don't know. see, i'm the baby and the only girl, so of course i'm not really allowed any wiggle room on rebellion, misbehaving, etc. older brothers can really ruin things for you. everyone with older brothers knows what i'm talking about.

wyatt lives up to his cowboy-type name, i guess. i gotta tell you, my parents were pretty good about giving us each more creative names. i mean, how many girls named amy do you know? there were FIVE amys in my class. FIVE out of THIRTY. that's a high percentage, wouldn't you say? also, lots of jasons. i am by no means saying that these are bad names. they're wonderful names. i think that wy had 2 michaels on his baseball team each year. seriously. lovely names. every single one of them. but my parents, they knew what they were doing. nobody forgets wyatt. possibly because of who he is, but also, he's got a cool name. wyatt earp. that's what everyone thinks of. and i wonder: would wyatt be so...wyatty...if he weren't named wyatt. if he were named, say, ben?

was shakespeare a genius - wouldn't a rose smell as sweet if it weren't called a rose [oh my thesis professor is cringing while i butcher the bard on a blog]. but seriously, at what point do we inform our names or do our names inform us? is inform even the correct word? clearly i had too many beers last night at banjo jims with kim.

but wy's always been sort of a laid-back surfer kid about time. i'm kind of obsessive about being on time. jp makes fun of me constantly about it, and in fact i will tell her to meet me at an earlier time just to ensure she shows up closer to the original plan, but i just think that punctuality is within your sphere of control. and in a world where so much is out of our control, wouldn't you want to exert a little bit of that by being ON TIME? granted, he's driving down from boston, where he's getting his phd at harvard [yes, yes, yes i'm bragging] but he also told me he was leaving around noon. um...if he HAD, then he'd have been here three hours ago and i wouldn't be writing this like some scorned ex girlfriend on prom night.

i know. i should know better. our older brother is always telling me to chill out, that living in nyc is actually incredibly bad for my already too present neurotic behavior, but i'm a stickler about time. i am. i mean, i thought we could go for a walk, maybe catch a movie. i've got to be at work early tomorrow, so i thought it'd be fun to have a nice evening after i cleaned the apartment like a psychotic housewife all morning. HUNGOVER. I GAVE MYSELF BRAIN DAMAGE FROM THE TILEX MILDEW REMOVER WHILE HUNGOVER FOR MY BROTHER WHO IS STILL NOT HERE.

my roommate's out of town with her new boyfriend - they went to seattle where he's apparently from. i don't remember his name. i know, it's awful, but i think it's kevin or alan or something and he doesn't look like a kevin or alan. he looks like a carl. or a sam. you'd know what i'm talking about if you saw him.

so it's been nice to pretend i live alone. and to not have to beg for our television to not be playing the bridezilla marathon that is always on. dear WE television: why? WHY?

for anyone keeping track: kate made it through her write-a-thon with flying colors [which means she didn't cramp, or as she put it, put a pencil through someone's eye because she's a bit grumpy these days and i'm honestly not sure why] and she was so tired last night that she didn't come out with me and kim even though we were RIGHT DOWN THE STREET FROM HER. whatever. she's an odd little egg, that one. i think it's from writing. you know, you live with made up characters in made up places so much, maybe your interactions with actual people are a bit difficult?

ok. i'm going to grab an iced coffee from pick-me-up while i wait for wyatt. i'm nearly finished with the memory keeper's daughter which teresa lent me and i'm enjoying it, though it's making me a little sad. maybe because lately, anytime i read or see something about a woman in a relationship that makes her trapped and unhappy, i see too much of myself and good ol' mr. x. as soon as i can exorcise him from my being, i think i'll be a lot happier without the glorious aids of caffeine and jack black videos online. i love jack black. does this say something about me? like love like most girls love brad pitt.

this summer sunday was a little cold, wasn't it? it reminded me of winters on the beach - the sand cold and damp beneath your feet, and while it's too warm to wear a sweater, you still feel chilled inside your bones. but it makes you feel alive. like the captain of a ship in a storm.

distressing news

right, we all heard it early this morning dressing in our pre-approved uniforms for our day-lives. but still, who's up for moving to the canadian border where life is affordable?

from: www.gothamist.com

June 6, 2007
MTA Subway and Bus Fare Hike in 2010?

If the report released yesterday by the city's Independent Budget Office is true, it could get a lot more expensive to ride the MTA subways and buses in the future. The IBO believes that the MTA has to increase its revenues by 20% by 2010. That means subway and bus fares could go up at least 20% by 2010, making a single ride $2.40. The worst case scenario - where rates for other revenue sources are not increased - has subway and bus fares jumping to almost $3. The price of a monthly metrocard would would jump from $76 to $112. A weekly card would go from $24 to $36. The last increase in fares was in 2004.
Why the drastic increase in subway and bus fares? Years of borrowing money for improvements in the system has resulted in mounting debts. The agency faces projected deficits of $800 million in 2008, $1.4 billion in 2009, and $1.8 billion in 2010. For 2007, there is a projected surplus of $270 million. In previous years, the MTA has often projected a deficit (though you can never trust them), only to have a surplus at the end of the year because of real estate tax revenue that was more than projected. This may change in the coming years, according to the IBO's report (full .pdf report).
Gean Russianoff of the Straphangers Campaign, who asked the IBO to review the MTA's budget, said that Mayor Bloomberg's congestion pricing plan could keep the fares from rising so drastically. "We call on Gov. Eliot Spitzer for help, especially in pressing for Mayor Michael Bloomberg's congestion pricing proposal to help bring billions to the transit system."

A subway fare hike is...
Understandable - it takes money to run a system that works around the clock. Obvious when the agency is poorly managed and gets little support from the city and state. Insanity when subway service is already so mediocre.
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The MTA is to announce its budget plans next month, but Executive Director Elliot Sander has already asked departments within the agency to cut 4% from their budgets. The Post mentions some other ideas from the IBO that could generate revenue: 1/8% increase in sales tax (additional $236 million), include co-ops in the mortgage-recording tax (additional $140 million), raising state aid to the maximum level (additional $444 million).
Photograph by Triborough on Flickr

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.