lornagrl:::

We are back to smoke signals....

So I am sitting in my local, after a very hard day at work a few weeks ago and in walks Bart*.  I met Bart a few months ago at party.  Bart seems nice, intelligent, funny, and not a serial killer so when I ask him for my phone number I give it to him.  A few days later he calls, and asks me out on a date.  I call him back, I get his voice mail, I leave a message telling him "sure, I would love to go out to dinner"

and I never hear from him again. Until....

a few weeks ago.  We talk for a bit and he says "you know I did call you, you never called me back."
"yes,I did."
"no, you didn't."
"I swear to G*d I did."
"Don't bring G*d into this."

So we again exchange phone numbers and I promise to call him the next day.  Now most of the time when I call somebody, and get their voice mail, I leave a message.  But other people don't seem to do that anymore in the world of cell phones  with caller ID.  People simply dial cell phone numbers, let the phone ring a few times and hang up, no message. With all this technology, we are now back to smoke signals...

So I know Bart has called because, I see the number on my caller ID and I ALWAYS return his phone calls, and leave a message.  Finally we make person to person contact on Sunday night.  He asks me what I am doing on Memorial Day, I tell him I have plans and suggest we get together sometime this week.  Then he says, "are your plans, taking you all day?" So we agree that I will call him around 6pm and then we will go out.  And I call him.  Twice.  By 8pm when he hasn't called me back. 

What happened to just asking somebody out?  Do we have to do a cell phone dance now? 

*names have been changed to avoid a lawsuit.

My life just isn't working right now.

And no-it's not depression....it's just malfunction.

I get up every day, I go to work, I don't work very hard.  I would welcome an opportunity to do more work, to learn more skills but I have bosses who seem to want to keep me under a very heavy thumb, keeping me out of the loop, and not allowing me to grow, learn and enhance my skills.  If I'm not careful, I most certainly will be dooced.

I took a part time job to help pay some of my bills but that's over now.  I have a lot of ideas cooking in my head and I must find a way to turn those ideas into dollars.  (I have been playing a lot on flickr so please take a gander. ) There is a guy who has been calling but I was so busy with this other job I did not have time to even go on one date with and now I think he's gone.  I may try to give him another call.  What do you think? 

Break In...

I came home last night about 10pm and I knew something was wrong the second I opened the door.  I saw a box that I knew belonged in closet on the floor.  I looked a little further and I noticed a shopping bag as well.  At first I thought there had been a leak and the super came into fix it, but then I noticed a jewelry box scattered on my bed and ran downstairs to tell the doorman.

I didn't think it was a robbery at first because my TV, DVD Player, and computers were still here. But after the police arrived and I got a better look at everything all that was missing was my new powerbook, the one I just bought a month ago and have barely paid for yet. Nothing else was taken including my ipod that was left in plain view on my desk and jar of quarters.

Life just sucks right now.  More later.

Fiction (sort of)

Insomniac in New York

I don't sleep.  I just don't.  I have always wished I could retire at 10 pm, change into nightclothes, splash cleanser on my face and climb under my pale blue sheets for a slumber.  What a luxury to take the day and turn the volume down to mute.  Hear nothing but the beat of my heart and the steady rhythm of my breath into peaceful oblivion.

But this rarely happens.  Instead I slip into bed and stare at the ceiling fan.  My thoughts spin faster then the whirls of the fan. Thoughts of my father, Paul, Alex, rent is due. They are going to cut my cable off. Are my pants going to be too tight in the morning? Why did that mother fucker Bush get elected? I need to call Pilar in the morning. I should really get to sleep though. Just a few hours left. But the dishwasher needs loading. So I get up and load the dishwasher and I start to get sleepy. I have that moment of hope, when reality tilts a little to the side and I crawl back between the blue sheets. I look at the clock. One more hour so I close my eyes but the heaviness does not come. Oh I want the heaviness to come, but it doesn't and now a purple hue is coming through the window and I know this means that my alarm clock will go off soon and it will be time to put on a costume and go to the cubicle farm.  I think of ways to get out going to the cubicle farm, headache, toothache, diarrhea, menstrual cramps, toilet exploded and I have to wait for the plumber to come, I have locked myself out of the apartment, or I have locked myself in my apartment and I have to wait for a locksmith.  All of this so I can get one more hour, maybe two of sleep.  But then what?  Watch Judging Amy or ER reruns on TNT?  Oh I will sit in front of my laptop and try to type a story (this one here) but I will feel like a bum and wonder what fires are brewing at the office.  Are they hiring my replacement while I'm out??  Do I really care?

So I crawl out of the bed and scrape the clothes that are on the floor, give them a shake (I showered the night before and my hair is twisted and styled) I throw on the most comfortable shoes possible and stumble out my front door like one stumbles out of a porta-potty and head toward the subway.  All the way there I wonder if I left the stove or the oven on even though I haven't cooked since Thanksgiving 1999 when Clinton was in the White House and the world was a better place.  Sure it was the end of the world as we know it but I felt fine .... now 2005 and I worry if the stove is still on.  So much so that I contemplate getting off of the subway at Atlantic Avenue to go home and check it.  Okay, I did do this once but I am happy to report that not only was the stove not on but the gas had not even been hooked up yet. 

I stop in the ladies room to take a look at my face and notice the harried look and the dark circles that are under my eyes.  This can't be good.  There is another lady in my office that suffers from the same plight.  Her eyes are dark and like me she moves in slow motion through the office, like a plane taking off at La Guardia, ready for take off but fifteenth in line.  Oh sure we get our work done, probably with more efficiency because our eyes are too fried to look at anything else but the work.  We have to look at these words extra extra hard.

I go to the gym because that is what New Yorkers do and when I go there I can feel every muscle in my body as it moves. This is because when I tell my body to move it wants sleep, sleep.  So I do my thirty minutes on the bicycle because I fried my ankles running years ago. I take my shower and sweat the day out in the steam room. I stuff sneakers, workout clothes that are now soaking wet into a plastic bag so the sweat of my clothes does not damage my digital camera, my ipod, my palm pilot.  I run to the subway for my ride home but I have to walk three blocks to get there and then three blocks to walk home and I wonder what the hell is the point of doing thirty minutes on the bicycle if I have to workout just to get to the bloody gym?  I stumble in the door juggling mail, gym bag, and purse.  My cell phone is ringing I don't answer because it's him again when I really want it to be him but it's not him it never is.  Why?  Because I'm too self conscious to tell him I'm interested. I can only give him flirty eyes that are crowded with sleep dust and dark circles.  He probably thinks I'm a methadone addict. 

I empty out the gym bag, flop in front of the TV and try to unwind from the day but I know I'm going to do it all over again in the morning, which I will see coming in from my bedroom window rethinking this diatribe all over again. 

Just some general thoughts..

The other day I met this guy and he asked me how old I was. ..

How old do you think I am??

This is I will admit a manipulative question. But one I think is fair in these scenarios..

His answer...

Get ready....

25

Now please note, recently a drunk guy told me..

you are attractive for an older woman

Which quite frankly is a little more accurate. I am 37 and while some have guessed me at being younger than that I am very aware that this is just a stay of execution. One day I am going to wake up to crows feet, varicose veins and just the other day I had my eyes checked and my eye doctor made the ominous prediction of tri-focals in my future travels.

Now, I have been ( and once in a while on pure habit, I assure you, still am) an actress and believe you me they stick to youth like Tom Cruise sticks to his heterosexuality. Now I for one don't dwell on getting older. I mean, when you really think about it what choice do I have? It's either get older or die. But I do find there are some ominous signs besides the tri-focals prediction.

• When I don't drink enough water I look dusty..
• I need to lather myself with moisturizer..
• I have to rest my aching back once in a while..
• I listen to 80's music...
• Sweat Pants..
• I am enjoying the cold weather..
• I want to pat 25 year olds on the head and say you are soooo cute!!!
• I am listening to MOBY.
• I am paying very close attention to my skin care.. not stepping out of the house without sunscreen, I don't care if there is moonlight outside.

ps...

I wrote this with a facial mask and I am off to apply wrinkle cream.

The winds of Isabel...

So what do you do when a tropical storm is heading your way?  After a hectic day at the office, you take the subway home but get out at the stop before yours to meet J*** at the local pub.  He is late.  The lines of communications have been twisted.  You thought 6pm at one pub he was at another..thank God for cell phones.  The wind is picking up as you find a parking space in front of your house, plastic garbage cans bounce down the street, you light candles and drag the futon mattress into the living room, open the seven foot windows wide and let the breeze flow over you.  The breeze becomes so intoxicating that you decide to go to the beach.   So you give up your parking space and drive, collect flash light, take off shoes and run through the wind beaten sand and straight to the surf, laughing, and jumping up and down.   Only a few others are as crazy as the two of you, you can see their shadows in the distance.  You run into the surf and feel the pull of the ocean and know that in just a few steps further, the force will pull you out to sea.  Water is hard to see in the dark, only white caps are visible so you shine the flashlight.  You look down and see that J*** has not taken off his shoes.  When you go home you get sand all over the apartment....