Home Again

I survived Christmas with my family. I delivered Christmas presents. I socialized with my cousins. I reaped the benefits of finding cool presents for the children in my extended family on my travels. I exchanged the fussy sweater I received for a cooler one that pleased my mother. I took my mom for a walk and I did excercises with my parents.

Thank god its over.

Twas the night before the night before

The first day home for Christmas went off fine. I bought a Christmas tree with my Dad, installed virus software on his computer for him (talk about the blind leading the blind!) ate indian food, nachos, triple cream, cashews, egg nog, wine, home made caesar salad, and quiche. I am off to a swimming start in the healthy eating department.

Updated to add: I'm no sure what's up with this spacing, I'm doing this on my Dad's laptop. Take it as a sign of the wide amount of figurative space surrounding neworquina as she enters day two in close quarters with her parents.

Fucking Cabdrivers

I suffered my first casualty of the transit strike this evening. Leaving the office, I was rushing to get out of the office to the dry cleaners before it closed, so I could have these particular pants that I wear so often when I go out of town tomorrow, and I made the great error of hailing a yellow cab. When I noted that he wasn't going to use the meter, he immediately bridled and asked me if I had a problem with that. (There is some sort of system of zones in place during the strike, which was a terrible plan because it led to mad scams because everyone had a different idea about where the zones were.) I guess this man had had one too many negotiations gone bad because he threatened to stop and let me out of the car and when I persisted in asking how many zones my destination was, he got more and more pissed. He actually said, "Well I was going to charge you ten dollars [one zone according to NY1] but now I don't know... I was done for the evening and going home to eat my dinner, but I stopped for you and know there is all this business about zones." Then I lost my temper in a big way and ended up totally yelling back at him about how he raised his voice to me first, no one made him stop for me, and its perfectly reasonable to want to know how much the ride is going to be. Then I announced he wasn't getting a fare from me and jumped out of the cab. Truly, I think I won this particular run-in with a cranky New Yorker, because I got eight blocks closer to my destination and I made it to the dry cleaner on time.

I supposed its payback for the guy who charged me for $ 5 toll coming from Kennedy and going to the Lower East Side when there is certainly no toll if you take the Manhattan Bridge.

More about sex in the city

So last week I had holiday blues and was cranky and melancholy and wanted to whole thing to be over. I went and saw Brokeback Mountain and Breakfast on Pluto, both of which are very sad movies. Neither one made me shed a tear.

Maybe its the transit strike and the fact that I am prevented from entering into the holiday fray, or maybe its the fact that I did a decent amount of physical activity over the weekend, but this week, the holiday gloom has lifted and I have founded myself to be moderately chipper . I'm facing the holidays with bemused resignation instead of dread.

All that notwithstanding, last night found me at home weeping, (weeping!) while watching Sex and the City reruns. It was the one where Aidan and Carrie break up, for the final time. Maybe it bore a passing resemblance to my last break up (now almost a year ago) or maybe they just made the process of walking out of the apartment of someone you love appear very real and believable. In any case, there I was on the couch, with spiked apple cider, wiping the hot tears from my face, and thanking god that no one was actually sitting there next to me to see my foolishness.

Stuck

Still no progress on the transit front it looks like. Plans, haircuts, last minute Christmas shopping will all have to happen after the holiday. Still have to figure out how to get to the airport on Friday.

No one here but me

Everyone else got to work from home because of the transit strike, but I hate to work at home, and can walk to work, so here I am. It's just me in the office. Just me and a carrot cake, homemade chocolate cookies, and some sort of homemade toffee candy. It's a dangerous proposition all around. I did partake, but had a salad, steamed broccoli and whole wheat pita bread for lunch, so I should have some leeway, I guess. I also went to dance classes or events, three days in a row over the weekend, wait, it was four if you count the party I was at on Friday, so that counts for something as well.

When its just you in the office you can blast Doris Day really loud without making anyone angry. Except yourself. That Doris. She troubles me.

New York Minute

I'm up watching NY1 and waiting to see if there is going to be a transit strike. Really, it's fascinating. It's not looking good for news anytime soon. I'm in the enviable position of only having one airport trip to worry about and that is not until Friday.

Another one bites the dust

Emily came over to the dark side a few weeks back with I'm So Pretty I'm not jealous at all that she has way more readers than I do. It doesn't bother me the tiniest little bit that there are at least 2 comments under every post, including one from Andrew Lloyd Weber Raschke who was my friend first!

These slights notwithstanding I usher I'm So Pretty into the blogroll.

Cupfuls of Christmas Cheer

I wrapped Christmas presents last night, but had Sex in the City reruns on in the background and not Christmas music. And that was reasonably distracting. As long as I don't break out the Everything But the Girl Acoustic album then everything is OK.

Procrastinating

Let's see, did anyone email my yahoo account?

No. Well, OK .

It's the most wonderful time of the year

Along with the clouds and cold, the Christmas sadness came to town yesterday. I fear its here to stay for the duration. Even when I'm eager and excited about some festivity, it's always waiting to flood back into the empty spaces that open up, like the cold air when you open window of a warm room. I have a memory of two years ago, of me trucking to the subway with a big piece of luggage and a bag full of presents on my way to the airport. I remember the afternoon, but don't remember exactly how I felt, except that I got into an argument with a man on the bus about a seat. My boyfriend at the time was with me, and later in the year he recalled the afternoon to me, commenting unfavorably on my posture and my demeanor under the press of the holiday. He really couldn't understand what beat me down so. What can I do, though, if a general sense of angst and sadness sweeps down along with all of the holiday madness?

I know of course that I have less than nothing to be sad about. But there it is. It's sad all the same, and it manifests itself in little thoughts such as: What am I going to do about my future career plans? If I am so eager to leave my job, why haven't I figured out the next step? Why am I not in a relationship? Why is my default condition so solitary? Not an original set of complaints, I admit. And I don't think really that its about complaints, or anything in particular that is wrong about my life. I think its the setting and the visual and olfactory reminders. Christmas lights twinkle and cue sadness, and then my intellect casts around for the reasons for how I feel.

Movie Madness

I tried to go see Brokeback Mountain last night. To no avail of course, because everyone in New York got there several hours before me. I went and saw Breakfast on Pluto instead, which Cillian Murphey made almost as good. And probably somewhat less hearbreaking.

Maybe I will try to go tonight. Not that it's not going to play for the next four months.

RIP

It is very sad news that Richard Pryor has passed away. He figured largely in my childhood. I went to see his screwball comedies with Gene Wilder and vividly remember watching the trailer for "Jo Jo Dancer Your Life Is Calling" in the movie theatre. There was also a brief Saturday morning television program for children called Pryor's Place, which I was just a little too old to enjoy. These are, of course, the more minor accomplishments. As an adult, I have come to know his standup for what it is: unprecedented, uniquely funny and merciless social commentary.

Rat on a wheel

I have only been back from my vacation for four days, and already I am back to my rat on a wheel mode. It's all self imposed of course, but still somewhat jarring. There's work and english class and then a long list of self-improvement activities and phone calls to return.

But I blogged today! So there.

The Prodigal Blogger

(Blowing off the dust)

Oh sad, neglected blog. Lonely, forlorn, bedraggled blog. I am a terrible, terrible blogger and I don't deserve you. Please let me come back. I'll never leave you for so long again. I promise. At least not without a very good reason, like being kidnapped or enlisting or something really, really unlikely.

In my absence, I have yet another new fellow blogger in my circle of friends. Having friends who are bloggers is a good thing because they, um, actually write in their blogs and and therefore more likely to drop in on yours.

Check out Blog for God by Andrew Lloyd Weber. Not really Andrew Lloyd Weber of course. Just someone pretending to be him. Actually pretending that his dog, Andrew, is him. Or that he is his dog. I'm fuzzy on the details, but he is funny.