Mar 30, 2008

So I am having a wondrous weekend after many many days of being very stressed out, so badly that I burst into tears at work on Thursday in a garboesque manner, from the various traumas of getting my book in, going to Pennsylvania for Easter, spending all this week packing up my apartment and also working lonnngggg hours to finish this big project for work that was very late due to said book finishing. On Friday my dad came with a Uhaul and now all my stuff is in Pennsylvania and I am at my sister's and I BE DONE. With all big stuff before my move, anyway. I have two weeks left of work and three left in NYC, and then I'm writing writing writing every day with birds a twittering all about and big green trees shimmying outside my window. I also will be biking to the Penn State library every afternoon to do research and have even bought my first BACK PACK, a very beauteous one from this brand, for this event. Unfortunately, yesterday my sister and Massie suggested I looked like a surfer carrying it, but that is because they are very jealous and petty people.

I did suffer one new trauma yesterday when I went for a massage in the East Village and for the first time in a long time had a male masseuse. He was very very good but I started to get suspicious when my 60 minute massage turned into a 90 minute one NOT THAT I WAS COMPLAINING and I started to realize his massage was maybe a bit more… worshipful… than I might be accustomed to. But I figured he had a spiritual bent and reassured myself, perhaps naively and misguidedly, that a masseuse is akin to a doctor or gynecologist, which is what I have always thought. But when he was done he bowed to me and complimented my beautay, then gave me his card and said he was off on Thursday. In general I feel much more comfortable being hit on whilst dressed and standing rightside up, so I was slightly discombobulated by this event. Traumatized, yet secretly contemplating the benefits of dating a masseuse, I then rushed off to meet my sister for a very good brunch at a place Massie maturely refers to as PUKE and Joi maturely refers to as FUCK,, and afterwards proceeded to buy many many pieces of jewelry at a private sale for this designer that Massie works for. If anything can soothe the many traumas a girl can endure in this city, I believe it is noodles with fake chicken and rings shaped like seahorses.

In other news, my friend Mark sent me a link to his friend Fred’s new website, and I am madly in love with his paintings, especially this one.

And in other other news, I am also madly in love with the Defenders, a VERY AWESOME little league team in Red Hook that my coworker and friend Brett heroically coaches and writes about here. I think this is the sweetest loveliest blog and I have an especial love for a girl after my own heart, Tytee, who kicks ass whilst flaunting elaborate hairdos and lovingly manicured fingers.

Also, here is my dad, sister and me coolly sitting on a porch swing in Wegmann's last week, as all the most glamorous families do.

The end.