First Day of Work

Addendum to self-pitying

Just to make things clear. I wasn't disappointed by the birthday party. I think I feel disappointed because I felt/feel like my life has the unique potential to be flipping awesome. But today, as some artificial turning point, I just don't feel flipping awesome yet.

To be continued.

Birthday Fizzles and Cherries Popped

Today is my birthday and while birthdays were never a big deal to me, I would usually wake up with a giddy-happy feeling. Today I could barely muster the motivation to get out of bed to make those four steps to my bathroom. I suppose I would characterize the feeling as sadness but with a hint of disappointment.

Last night I went out to The Porch on 7th and Ave C. It was a joint birthday venture between me and my friend Stephanie. Too loud, too crowded, too much of a Saturday Night crowd.

Then I ran into a friend who, for some reason, decided to tell me that my ex-boyfriend was dating some high school girl. I quickly plugged up my ears. La La La La. I don't want to hear about it. Leave my romantic nostalgia intact please. But now I can't get the idea of Jon turning into some gross older man who is on the prowl for unpopped cherries. It makes me really sad.

I'm going to see Spamalot today. My mother bought be $100 tickets that are only "partial view". What kind of bull-crap is that? For $100 bucks I want to be on stage having Hank Azaria and David Hyde Pierce giving me lap dances while I eat from a can of processed meat.

Then it's off to dinner, which will no doubt be disappointing and awkward as only family meals can be.

I'm sad for today, but I think it'll pass. Please tell me it will pass.

Who's With Me?

Putting a bandana around your dog's neck is as bad as putting them in Ugg Boots. Don't Do It.

The Piss-bag's Dirty Secret

I awoke this morning to my brother's angry cry: "INEZ!" I got out of bed, turned into the living room when I realized that I had just stepped into the most massive puddle of dog pee this side of the Mississippi. I leaped about two feet into the living room to get out of the puddle, only to step into another ocean of piss on my hardwood floors.

Apparently, Pissy McPissalot also let 'er rip on my brother's bathroom mat. The mystery is: why didn't she cry if she had to go to the bathroom so badly. Usually around 7.30, Inez will wake up and start doing her morning march around the apartment. Her motto (loosely translated) is: "I have to pee! Look at me. I have to pee" or maybe if she is feeling more creative: "Hey Hey. Ho Ho. This urine in me's got to go!"

But there was no warning this morning. She just peed out about 20% of her water weight in the span of 20 minutes. And the last two puddles she did right in front of my brother. Maybe she's trying to prove something to us. Is she testing her boundaries? But I thought that she got over that toddler stage about a year ago.

To continue, I took her outside thinking that pee's evil companion is poo and she would probably have to do some of that too. But once we got outside, she just peed three more times.

Did Inez take a diuretic in her struggle to get down to her Bikini-weight? I guess I'll never know. But if I walk in to my apartment tonight and find another puddle...bitch gonna loose another eye!

Will You Complete Me?

A troubled "L" from Tetris is desperate to find his niche in life.



click on the image to view this short video.

*Snip Snip* *Sizzle Sizzle*

I got a haircut yesterday at one of my favorite salons in the city. But when I got to the salon, a wave of heat like nothing I had ever even felt before smacked me in the face. Their air conditioner had been broken for three days. They are located in the basement of a building so the option of opening windows was nonexistent. And those scissor-wielding punk-asses only bothered to invest in about 4 cheap standing fans. Now add to that 15 blow dryers and you got yourself a tar-melting inferno.

Everyone’s hair was drenched and it wasn’t because of the shampooing. After my stylist apologized for the heat, she ushered me to her workstation. There, I was faced with the sad reality that her chair was made of black leather.

An hour later, my hair was completely matted against my head from all the sweat. All the cut hair had stuck to my skin and by the end of the appointment my chest looked like Burt Reynolds.

Anyway, it wasn’t till I got home and took a cold shower that I realized…my haircut sucks!

Won't you come in?

      Eventually I will get my act together and send out a hilarious email inviting you all (well, not you all, as in the collective blogger viewership) to a housewarming party. Until then these few pictures will have to do.


This is my dining area (looks very much like a Vermeer painting, don't it?)


This is the kitchen as seen from the living room. It's a pretty rocking kitchen because there is a large pantry to store all my sundries. Wow, this is the first time I've had space for sundries.


This is the living room/area. As you can see, there is a lot of crap IKEA furniture (sofa, red chair, stools) that I'm trying desperately to move away from. But ikea is like marijuana. It's cheap. And it seems like a good idea at the time. But it comes back to bite you on the ass when your boss asks for a urine sample.


And this is my brother's huge room. I call it his Fortress of Dorkitude. Oh and don't worry, I convinced my brother not to walk into the light.

      I hope that will do for now. Of course, I'm missing the crucial element, my room. Well, my room is something like Las Vegas. What happens in June's room, stays in June's room.
      Or, it could be because I forgot to take a picture of my room. I'll get right on that, boss!

Hope to see you all (well, not you all) at my crib.

Barf + Poop Machine Hot Summer Sale!!!!

This is an ad my friend Nate put on craigslist regarding his 8-month old poo-bag that is starting to look more like human poo-bag every day.

Why I'll never Be a Rock Star

I actually had a pretty good time in high school.

Help me! I can breathe!

There is a lot of air in Brooklyn. I had never noticed all this air until a few nights ago. I usually walk my dog down Fifth Avenue, a small two way street but a main thoroughfare for pedestrian Park Slopers. I decided to walk in the opposite direction, which would be North Brooklyn on a map. But with streets crisscrossing at varied angles, it was very easy to get disoriented. I crossed Flatbush Avenue, a street that runs through all of Brooklyn. As soon as I dodged a few cars, I walked along a small residential street, St. Mark’s Pl.

When I saw how much openness was in the world, I started to well up with tears. I don’t know if it was the cinematic lighting of the sky (if there were a soundtrack to my life, “Pale Blue Eyes” by the Velvet Underground would have been playing), or if it was hormones (I’ve been having weird quasi-menopausal hot flashes), or if it was really because I was so unused to…well, to air.

The streets were completely empty. I couldn’t even see the flickering of tv sets through windows. I have been in the country before, but that’s a whole different kind of outside experience. You go to the country expecting to be able to hear yourself think. But when you’re a block away from Flatbush Ave, which is basically a highway, silence sneaks up from behind you and hits you in the back of the head with a black sock full of pennies.

Prospect Heights is a short neighborhood, rarely ever reaching over four stories tall. And if you look east, towards the rest of King’s County, the rest of the borough is made of short row houses. So there was nothing to obstruct my view of the sky. More space than I had every really experiences was just above an expanse of white scalloped aluminum middle class roofs.

Staying Hipper Than Your Friends Just Got Easier

This is a good mailing list for indie rock fans. It is a comprehensive listing of all non-Coldplay type shows in the city.

Rusty the Narcoleptic Dachsund

Here is a quickie that you can share with your whole family.

The U.N. better hold its cheeks together, cause Bolton is ready to give it to them up the Bee-Hind

I'm not a follower of politics. But I enjoyed this clip of Bolton's take on the "reality" of the United Nations as a puppet of the United States. Wait, wait..he also says that that's the way it SHOULD be. Yikes!

While he isn't doing The Cruise, he does do a lot of angry pointing at the table.

Behind Every Good Deep Throat is a Good Woman

Update: I thought that was his hottie-patottie wife behind him. But then I realized it was his daughter. So now the title is a bit icky. But still funny, right?