Random Sunday Stuff

While I wait for Drew to wake up so we can eat breakfast and go see the Bodies exhibit…

First, what does everyone think about the Brangelina baby? I believe there may be a special place in hell cordoned off and waiting for those two.

Secondly, a good friend of ours has become the new love interest for a majorly famous female with access to all sorts of expensive fashion. I am SO excited to have the gossip magazines and my life intersecting, if only in a marginal kind of way (which is really as close as I’d want it anyway). I am secretly hoping that they hang out long enough for me to become her new bff and get some castoff high end handbags and shoes. Is that wrong? Okay, yes it is, it’s incredibly shallow and greedy but I never claimed to be a saint.

Remember that idiot upstairs that flooded my apt? Well she did it again this week, only worse. This time it wasn’t completely her fault as she didn’t plug the toilet, it was some kind of pipe leak. I woke up to the sound of major water pouring into my apt and the guy downstairs knocking and shouting, “There’s a flood!” We ran upstairs but she wouldn’t answer the door as we pounded and pounded and screamed at her door, every minute being crucial as it was a huge amount of water. By the time the super got the key to her place there was a nice hole in my ceiling and my bathroom wall was wrecked. Then we turned the key and walked in and she said, “Hello?” from her bedroom like it was all perfectly casual. She had been there the whole fucking time.

Suffice to say that I went off in a way that only I can, for those of you who know me. She claims that she didn’t hear anything because she sleeps with earplugs, I know she was comfy in her bedroom and is a spoiled, lazy, selfish little brat who just didn’t want to deal, because that’s what she did when she flooded my place the last time. I have never wanted to slap someone more in my life. She just stood there in her NYU sweatpants and Patty Pussy haircut whining, “It’s not my faaaaault.” while I raged in my black robe, hair all crazy, eyes wild with frustration, my dog yapping on the landing below. Of course it’s not your fault, honey. I know from the super that your parents paid a year’s rent in advance without looking at the apt to put you in this neighborhood. And they always take care of icky things like being decent to your neighbors!

I was really nice the first time and she couldn’t be bothered to apologize then, either, so I hope I scared the crap out of her and I intend to make her extremely uncomfortable whenever I see her in the halls. My apt smells like mildewy ass now, so I have plenty of fuel to keep the rage going for a while. I really miss living around junkies and drug dealers, they were so much more respectful than the repulsive crop of mama’s boys and girls that have taken over NYC.

So that whole thing really bummed me out, and added to the angst that I am having this week about what I’m doing with my life. I am afraid that when I die and my life flashes in front of me, 9/10ths of it will be of me walking to work, working, washing dishes, vacuuming, working, cleaning up dog shit, doing the laundry, working, walking home from work, etc. I have two days a week to get all of my errands done, exercise, hang out with my friends, give my boyfriend a little attention, walk the dog, and maybe, maybe if I’m lucky get some writing done. The rest of the week is filled up with making a living. I like my job, but I am finding it hard to have a life outside of it, and I make a comfortable living, but not enough to catapault me out of this old school, five floor walkup, leaky ceilinged East Village lifestyle.

I regularly marvel at how many incredibly talented people I know. People that by all rights should be rich and famous for what they do, people that are complete stars. And yet most of us are suffering in obscurity and working these bullshit jobs to be able to do what we want in our free time. I am luckier than most that I have managed to find something better than bartending or sitting in a cubicle, but I don’t want to get old and die without leaving something interesting and creative behind. I also would love to have a lifestyle where I am not obligated to be in the same place 40 hours a week.

But if I was given more time, would I use it productively? Or would I noodle around on myspace and watch talk shows all day long? Because that’s generally what I do when I get the odd extra day off. I don’t know how truly ambitious I am. I want to be ambitious, I want to leave something interesting and meaningful behind, but I seem to be stuck at the moment. Maybe I’m procrastinating? Is anyone else struggling with this? I need to know.

So those are my thoughts for the day. To sum up: Brangelina, I will whore my friendship out for expensive designer goods, my neighbor is the worst person on the planet, Lord, please don’t let me die without getting something creative done first.

*sigh* Give me your thoughts, people. I’m going to go raid the fridge now.

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