My Blog cries in the corner throwing crumpled up post-its at me inbetween sobs.
I scream "not today, you big baby, I've got much too much work to do."
For a description of my notable weekend activities please see the Bears Will Attack link on the right hand side of the screen; follow the link to the Monday, September 27, 2004 entry; read until you recognize my name.
I promise to write tomorrow after the smoke clears from this dreadfully long pursuit in paper pushing and big man boss town appeasing.
My Blog hushes and smiles a little.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Thursday, September 23, 2004
I'm in Love with Sun
I was enraptured by the way the sun painted me on the sidewalk, tall and thin like a supermodel. I swung my arms admiring the graceful beauty in the movement of such delicate limbs. I turned the corner. The tall buildings extinguished my magical light and I was stuck between talk on cell phone business suit and coffee drinking newspaper reader for the duration of my commute to the subway. They both took turns bumping into me, as it was impossible for either to walk a straight line. They never looked up.
Tonight the Debutantes play Matchless in Brooklyn. It should be an easy, laid back, super fun show in a new small venue. I’m looking forward to it and will celebrate properly by wearing tall, improper red, high-heeled boots.
Tonight the Debutantes play Matchless in Brooklyn. It should be an easy, laid back, super fun show in a new small venue. I’m looking forward to it and will celebrate properly by wearing tall, improper red, high-heeled boots.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
The Healing Powers of a Pork Quesadilla
Today is the fall Equinox.
"On the Equinox this is the motion of the Sun through the sky for everyone on earth. Every place on earth experiences a 12 hours day twice a year on the Spring and Fall Equinox." (the stick figure represents "Everyone" on Earth. You look good in sticks.)
It is rumored that during the exact minute of the equinox an egg can literally stand straight up without assistance from a human hand. The equinox was today at 12:30pm and me without a raw egg. I tried to balance paper clips, scissors, m&m’s and other assorted office props with complete failure. The egg stipulation seems to be iron clad. With the other objects falling miserably in embarrassed defeat, and never actually seeing this experiment succeed (not even on Mr. Wizard) I confirmed it a myth. As I was mentally jotting down the free standing egg as urban legend I receive a call from my mother. She spoke with hurried excitement. She proudly declared that “Science is Marvelous!” She performed the experiment with her co-workers like children in science period and it did in fact work. The egg stood motionless for a whole minute while the Earth enjoyed the equinox. She quickly dismissed me from the call to call everyone she knew. (The Fallons, in general, tend to over react; we are a dramatic people.)
I can't wait until autumn brings me hot apple cider, pumpkin & apple picking, rust color leaf kicking, haunted hayrides and wooly sweaters. I will wait right here until they come.
XO
J.F.
"On the Equinox this is the motion of the Sun through the sky for everyone on earth. Every place on earth experiences a 12 hours day twice a year on the Spring and Fall Equinox." (the stick figure represents "Everyone" on Earth. You look good in sticks.)
It is rumored that during the exact minute of the equinox an egg can literally stand straight up without assistance from a human hand. The equinox was today at 12:30pm and me without a raw egg. I tried to balance paper clips, scissors, m&m’s and other assorted office props with complete failure. The egg stipulation seems to be iron clad. With the other objects falling miserably in embarrassed defeat, and never actually seeing this experiment succeed (not even on Mr. Wizard) I confirmed it a myth. As I was mentally jotting down the free standing egg as urban legend I receive a call from my mother. She spoke with hurried excitement. She proudly declared that “Science is Marvelous!” She performed the experiment with her co-workers like children in science period and it did in fact work. The egg stood motionless for a whole minute while the Earth enjoyed the equinox. She quickly dismissed me from the call to call everyone she knew. (The Fallons, in general, tend to over react; we are a dramatic people.)
I can't wait until autumn brings me hot apple cider, pumpkin & apple picking, rust color leaf kicking, haunted hayrides and wooly sweaters. I will wait right here until they come.
XO
J.F.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
The Weekend in like a Lion, out like a lamb
Friday:
Knee deep in renovation packages, the stapler jammed and photo copier quit in protest of scanning such boring and tedious material, over and over and over again. I finally completed the work given to me at a tardy hour when my boss proposed a redevelopment with the renovation package rendering the pile of collated, labeled stacks obsolete. It was 6:30 when I finally left the office to head home to the left over pasta I made the night before. I toiled over a homemade tomato sauce, laden with basil and lots and lots of garlic, and was looking forward revisiting it sooner than later. I must admit it was a success and if I could bathe all my food in it for the rest of my life I would be a happier person for it.
A neighbor kindly let me into my apartment building after an awkward time passed between us as I chanted “if got it, I’ve got it” fumbling for my keys. She gave the best of chances and then finally her desire to get into the building over powered her wanting the small victory for me; I didn’t blame her. My small bag’s interior grew as I thrusted my hand inside into each corner pulling out lip gloss, cell phone, bobby pins, wallet, book, weird magnet from Cancun I took home from work a week ago, but no keys. I threw the bag on the floor, got on my knees and ripped it open dumping the contents on the hallway floor. All the while, my starving cat screamed at me from behind the door. Panic stuck, no Keys!
Like a rational, calm person I imagined never being able to get back into the apartment, living life like a vagabond getting by on wink and smile, my cat dying from neglect and loneliness, worrying about the plans I had later that evening and not wanting to wear my work clothes to them, imaging the phone call to the ex-boyfriend who still had a set of keys he was remiss to return, seeing the look on my mother’s face with her daughter’s continued irresponsible behavior as the apartment burned down from the inside as I stood trapped outside the door. I remained on my knees, praying I missed them and if I only reached slowly back in the bag the keys would appear. No keys!
I left the bulk of my packages at the door and set out into the rest of the building for clues, signs of life. I remembered an inspection certificate in the vestibule that included the landlord’s number. Ah ha…the landlord has another set of keys. Brilliant! I placed my foot inside the apartment door and reached my body around to get a look at the Certificate. I didn’t want to get trapped out of the building completely, in case I had to spend the cold night on the hallway floor (these were not rational times.) I got the number and called Joe the landlord who promised to be at the building in a half an hour to rescue me from certain death alone on the streets, vulnerable to wild, rabid dog attacks and muggers.
I had thirty minutes to kill. I called a couple of friends to share with them the “typical Jaime” story. No one was surprised with 1.me locking my keys in the apartment, 2. my gross over reaction. I dreamed of my couch and television as I wandered the streets in pursuit of 20 minutes worth of killing time activities. I ordered Chinese food, waited, bought it, took it back to my stoop to keep me company with my book while I waited for Joe the Landlord who arrived when promised. He had kind, non-judgmental eyes and delivered a set of keys directly into my hand, as if guided by angels.
I was in! The cat was fed! We were happy! What ever happened to that kind landlord during the course of the evening I do not know; I ate Chinese food, sat in front of the television, dressed up in fishnet tights and went out dancing with Dana, Abby and the two Andys. I found I had a greater appreciation for life’s treasures, friends, dancing, music, fishnets having been homeless for a whole 30 minutes.
Knee deep in renovation packages, the stapler jammed and photo copier quit in protest of scanning such boring and tedious material, over and over and over again. I finally completed the work given to me at a tardy hour when my boss proposed a redevelopment with the renovation package rendering the pile of collated, labeled stacks obsolete. It was 6:30 when I finally left the office to head home to the left over pasta I made the night before. I toiled over a homemade tomato sauce, laden with basil and lots and lots of garlic, and was looking forward revisiting it sooner than later. I must admit it was a success and if I could bathe all my food in it for the rest of my life I would be a happier person for it.
A neighbor kindly let me into my apartment building after an awkward time passed between us as I chanted “if got it, I’ve got it” fumbling for my keys. She gave the best of chances and then finally her desire to get into the building over powered her wanting the small victory for me; I didn’t blame her. My small bag’s interior grew as I thrusted my hand inside into each corner pulling out lip gloss, cell phone, bobby pins, wallet, book, weird magnet from Cancun I took home from work a week ago, but no keys. I threw the bag on the floor, got on my knees and ripped it open dumping the contents on the hallway floor. All the while, my starving cat screamed at me from behind the door. Panic stuck, no Keys!
Like a rational, calm person I imagined never being able to get back into the apartment, living life like a vagabond getting by on wink and smile, my cat dying from neglect and loneliness, worrying about the plans I had later that evening and not wanting to wear my work clothes to them, imaging the phone call to the ex-boyfriend who still had a set of keys he was remiss to return, seeing the look on my mother’s face with her daughter’s continued irresponsible behavior as the apartment burned down from the inside as I stood trapped outside the door. I remained on my knees, praying I missed them and if I only reached slowly back in the bag the keys would appear. No keys!
I left the bulk of my packages at the door and set out into the rest of the building for clues, signs of life. I remembered an inspection certificate in the vestibule that included the landlord’s number. Ah ha…the landlord has another set of keys. Brilliant! I placed my foot inside the apartment door and reached my body around to get a look at the Certificate. I didn’t want to get trapped out of the building completely, in case I had to spend the cold night on the hallway floor (these were not rational times.) I got the number and called Joe the landlord who promised to be at the building in a half an hour to rescue me from certain death alone on the streets, vulnerable to wild, rabid dog attacks and muggers.
I had thirty minutes to kill. I called a couple of friends to share with them the “typical Jaime” story. No one was surprised with 1.me locking my keys in the apartment, 2. my gross over reaction. I dreamed of my couch and television as I wandered the streets in pursuit of 20 minutes worth of killing time activities. I ordered Chinese food, waited, bought it, took it back to my stoop to keep me company with my book while I waited for Joe the Landlord who arrived when promised. He had kind, non-judgmental eyes and delivered a set of keys directly into my hand, as if guided by angels.
I was in! The cat was fed! We were happy! What ever happened to that kind landlord during the course of the evening I do not know; I ate Chinese food, sat in front of the television, dressed up in fishnet tights and went out dancing with Dana, Abby and the two Andys. I found I had a greater appreciation for life’s treasures, friends, dancing, music, fishnets having been homeless for a whole 30 minutes.
Friday, September 17, 2004
The Battle of 332
This is the story of the struggle between Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch. The prize to the victor was the throne of Apartment 332.
The year was 2004
An event so significant, it completely changed the course of 332 history. To speak of this battle without recourse to the events that came before, would be an injustice to the broom resting perilously in the corner. What makes this event so important to the Broom is the immutable fact that it was the last time any foreign power was to conquer her.
Dust Bunny of Undercouch’s men had been arriving all day in small groups. These men had fought many battles, were haggard, and leaving bits of their dusty bodies about the apartment. Despite the hardships, the troop’s morale must have been quite high. A victory over the broom boosted their confidence, but not their numbers. How many veterans of Undercouch were at the kitchen exchange? It was clear that they would have to reunite in the pass toward greasy sink to wage battle over Dirty Dishes’s men for Apartment supremacy. Dust Bunny of Undercouch knew verbal negotiations would be futile; battle was inevitable
Dust Bunny of Undercouch made the decision to fight Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink before he could consolidate. Dirty Dishes’s numbers were growing and strategically placed about the apartment. Soda glass of the Freewith Pump was stationed high on night stand hill, while soiled plate of bread crumbs crouched over coffee table plains. The location of the battle was chosen with care by Dust Bunny. Floor mat ally in the pass to the kitchen was chosen for a number of reasons:
1. It was well known in the area. 2.
2. It gave a natural advantage because of its natural visibility and it’s easy to cling to carpet surfaces. Dust Bunny’s men could hide easily in the folds.
Why Dust Bunny chose to fight Dirty Dish the next day has always been something of a mystery. If he had waited another day for his full force to arrive, including the rolling hair ball of cat, the outcome may have been totally different. He was impatient and thirsty for the oily residue of death. If he waited he would have been informed of third party troops marching North in from the outside, led by the extraordinary Duke Swift of Black & Decker “The Dust Buster.” On that very day Swift’s armies converged with the already allied General soft Soap and Earl Sponge of Four Pack Package. These three formidably forces were commissioned by the ailing Queen Broom of 332. Together they took down both Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch with surgical justice. There remains were not seen for days to follow until small brigades left standing collaborated and united to rise again.
If Dust Bunny of Undercouch was nothing else he was his father’s son, a patriot through and through. His father defied the queen when he refused to punish the people of Undercouch when they were abused by Dirt Dish the second of Sink or “The dust Buster”, and paid the consequences.
The year was 2004
An event so significant, it completely changed the course of 332 history. To speak of this battle without recourse to the events that came before, would be an injustice to the broom resting perilously in the corner. What makes this event so important to the Broom is the immutable fact that it was the last time any foreign power was to conquer her.
Dust Bunny of Undercouch’s men had been arriving all day in small groups. These men had fought many battles, were haggard, and leaving bits of their dusty bodies about the apartment. Despite the hardships, the troop’s morale must have been quite high. A victory over the broom boosted their confidence, but not their numbers. How many veterans of Undercouch were at the kitchen exchange? It was clear that they would have to reunite in the pass toward greasy sink to wage battle over Dirty Dishes’s men for Apartment supremacy. Dust Bunny of Undercouch knew verbal negotiations would be futile; battle was inevitable
Dust Bunny of Undercouch made the decision to fight Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink before he could consolidate. Dirty Dishes’s numbers were growing and strategically placed about the apartment. Soda glass of the Freewith Pump was stationed high on night stand hill, while soiled plate of bread crumbs crouched over coffee table plains. The location of the battle was chosen with care by Dust Bunny. Floor mat ally in the pass to the kitchen was chosen for a number of reasons:
1. It was well known in the area. 2.
2. It gave a natural advantage because of its natural visibility and it’s easy to cling to carpet surfaces. Dust Bunny’s men could hide easily in the folds.
Why Dust Bunny chose to fight Dirty Dish the next day has always been something of a mystery. If he had waited another day for his full force to arrive, including the rolling hair ball of cat, the outcome may have been totally different. He was impatient and thirsty for the oily residue of death. If he waited he would have been informed of third party troops marching North in from the outside, led by the extraordinary Duke Swift of Black & Decker “The Dust Buster.” On that very day Swift’s armies converged with the already allied General soft Soap and Earl Sponge of Four Pack Package. These three formidably forces were commissioned by the ailing Queen Broom of 332. Together they took down both Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch with surgical justice. There remains were not seen for days to follow until small brigades left standing collaborated and united to rise again.
If Dust Bunny of Undercouch was nothing else he was his father’s son, a patriot through and through. His father defied the queen when he refused to punish the people of Undercouch when they were abused by Dirt Dish the second of Sink or “The dust Buster”, and paid the consequences.
Fate Smiles
After a number of cheap, happy hour, frozen Margaritas at Harry's Burritos, Dana, Brian and I wandered into a shoe story. I bought boots. That's right the "fat calved Dummy" fit into a stylish pair of low boots. I was so excited! I bought them on the spot. The adrenaline made me do it! (maybe the tequilla)
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Booze and Shoes
In a world of women’s competitive shoe shopping, I am a fat calved dummy.
Katie and I walked into a small room pulsing with affluent young women hoped up on champagne and mushroom tartlets, devouring eyefuls of shoes. The walls were striped in satin; at any moment I would not have been surprised if some greater power peeled the lid from the elegant shoebox we found ourselves in.
We grabbed our complimentary glass of champagne, hugging the corners of the room, scared to swim with the sharks until the bubbles did their trick. With our glasses half empty, we skimmed past the walls admiring pairs as they glittered, shined, laced, pointed and pulled at us, begging to be held, to be worn. We passed quickly commenting in hushed whispers and found the least intimidating sales man in a pink polo to grab the most intimidating pair of shoes/boots in the room. I tried on a pair of high heeled boots that would have made me feel delightfully wicked if they were able to slip past my unusually shaped calves. My calf muscle sit low on my leg, like my father's, making nearly impossible to feel delicate in boots or fit into delicate boots. I thought our kind-eyed sales man was going to cry as he rambled through a myriad of reasons the boots didn’t fit except the obvious one. I appreciated his efforts and made some self-deprecating jokes and moved on to a shorter boot, with the same devastating results.
The salesman responded: “oooooooooh, so sad.”
To which I replied: “It’s ok. I know my place.”
Truth be told, I was pleased they didn’t fit; I had a sound reason for not making a purchase that would have sent my finances in a downward spiral for a very, very long time.
Katie tried on a pair of pink satin low heeled shoes with a wide black ribbon crossed in the front. They increased the net worth of her feet like heaven wrapped packages. We wisely put the shoes back and devised our escape plan.
We looked once again around the room as the frenzy mounted boxes upon boxes. Women peeled off fancy shoes, throwing on new ones, seeing how they feel in conversation. As we looked at these women lounging in $300 dollar shoes, our pretend “fancy” was wearing thin quick. We exited and walked cross town into a two for one happy hour, where we belonged.
What would it be like to have so much money you could command a fancy shoe store?
I will never know.
Katie and I walked into a small room pulsing with affluent young women hoped up on champagne and mushroom tartlets, devouring eyefuls of shoes. The walls were striped in satin; at any moment I would not have been surprised if some greater power peeled the lid from the elegant shoebox we found ourselves in.
We grabbed our complimentary glass of champagne, hugging the corners of the room, scared to swim with the sharks until the bubbles did their trick. With our glasses half empty, we skimmed past the walls admiring pairs as they glittered, shined, laced, pointed and pulled at us, begging to be held, to be worn. We passed quickly commenting in hushed whispers and found the least intimidating sales man in a pink polo to grab the most intimidating pair of shoes/boots in the room. I tried on a pair of high heeled boots that would have made me feel delightfully wicked if they were able to slip past my unusually shaped calves. My calf muscle sit low on my leg, like my father's, making nearly impossible to feel delicate in boots or fit into delicate boots. I thought our kind-eyed sales man was going to cry as he rambled through a myriad of reasons the boots didn’t fit except the obvious one. I appreciated his efforts and made some self-deprecating jokes and moved on to a shorter boot, with the same devastating results.
The salesman responded: “oooooooooh, so sad.”
To which I replied: “It’s ok. I know my place.”
Truth be told, I was pleased they didn’t fit; I had a sound reason for not making a purchase that would have sent my finances in a downward spiral for a very, very long time.
Katie tried on a pair of pink satin low heeled shoes with a wide black ribbon crossed in the front. They increased the net worth of her feet like heaven wrapped packages. We wisely put the shoes back and devised our escape plan.
We looked once again around the room as the frenzy mounted boxes upon boxes. Women peeled off fancy shoes, throwing on new ones, seeing how they feel in conversation. As we looked at these women lounging in $300 dollar shoes, our pretend “fancy” was wearing thin quick. We exited and walked cross town into a two for one happy hour, where we belonged.
What would it be like to have so much money you could command a fancy shoe store?
I will never know.
Monday, September 13, 2004
RECAP
The Republican Conventions:
Stepping off an over priced, extremely long DC train ride into a inexpensive luxurious hotel room, slipping into an enormous king size bed and leaping out into the finest terry cloth robe I never bought, running into the Smithsonian, face to face with giant pre-historic sloths, sitting in stadium seating, watching the lamest T-rex 3D movie ever created, meeting new people listening to Shakespearean actors, visiting friends, driving through hurricane force rain into 5 hours of stalled traffic and a drowning Richmond of Virginia, through the outer banks of North Carolina onto the beach into two bottles of wine on to the Island of Ocrakoke and back home to a lonely cat in New York City.
The Week following the Conventions:
A display of Debutantes, a room full of celebrities, crowded and not-so crowded dance floors, Franz Ferdinand, Britpop, forcing UK Musicians to rub elbows with the like of we three: Abby, Dana and I, wedding anniversaries filled with faces from numerous stories told to me during a course of five months and Jarvis Cocker and no Jarvis Cocker, drunken affirmations, and “rude and nasty” behavior.
Yesterday:
The season finale of a Sunday night tradition with shocking and horrific discoveries and the beginning of a new school year for all of us.
I’ve resigned to abandon my laziness generally associated with my simple life tasks: debt reconciliation, laundry, cleaning the house, leaving the house. With the renewal of the school year/ television season marks the end of summer. I am pressed to make a new year’s resolution early. I’ve found that prior resolutions and desire to accomplish small goals fall quickly as cool autumn breezes chase the leaves from the trees. Adopting a semi-annual resolution program would help bolster my plans. Or…maybe I will just watch television, eat artificial cheese from a can from the couch all winter and call it a wash until the warm weather returns next year.
Currently:
It's back to the old caffeine dispenser for another shot of liquid awake.
Tomorrow:
Booze and Shoes
Stepping off an over priced, extremely long DC train ride into a inexpensive luxurious hotel room, slipping into an enormous king size bed and leaping out into the finest terry cloth robe I never bought, running into the Smithsonian, face to face with giant pre-historic sloths, sitting in stadium seating, watching the lamest T-rex 3D movie ever created, meeting new people listening to Shakespearean actors, visiting friends, driving through hurricane force rain into 5 hours of stalled traffic and a drowning Richmond of Virginia, through the outer banks of North Carolina onto the beach into two bottles of wine on to the Island of Ocrakoke and back home to a lonely cat in New York City.
The Week following the Conventions:
A display of Debutantes, a room full of celebrities, crowded and not-so crowded dance floors, Franz Ferdinand, Britpop, forcing UK Musicians to rub elbows with the like of we three: Abby, Dana and I, wedding anniversaries filled with faces from numerous stories told to me during a course of five months and Jarvis Cocker and no Jarvis Cocker, drunken affirmations, and “rude and nasty” behavior.
Yesterday:
The season finale of a Sunday night tradition with shocking and horrific discoveries and the beginning of a new school year for all of us.
I’ve resigned to abandon my laziness generally associated with my simple life tasks: debt reconciliation, laundry, cleaning the house, leaving the house. With the renewal of the school year/ television season marks the end of summer. I am pressed to make a new year’s resolution early. I’ve found that prior resolutions and desire to accomplish small goals fall quickly as cool autumn breezes chase the leaves from the trees. Adopting a semi-annual resolution program would help bolster my plans. Or…maybe I will just watch television, eat artificial cheese from a can from the couch all winter and call it a wash until the warm weather returns next year.
Currently:
It's back to the old caffeine dispenser for another shot of liquid awake.
Tomorrow:
Booze and Shoes
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