Monthly Archives: May 2008

Beirut @ The Grand Regency Ballroom

If you don’t know Beirut, go do the requisite business on the interwebs to rectify that. All kinds of right now. It is such a neat-o neat-o band.
The main singer is a really young guy from Arizona who plays the trumpet (fantastically) and the ukulele. Then he’s got an ensemble of people playing an accordion, a mandolin, guitar, violin, other horns, or whatever else might suit him. The sound is eclectic and a bit rough… kind of reminds me of the Triplets of Bellville. The rhythms are amazing and weird, like samples from gypsy music of Russia.

The scene at the show was fascinating. Nerdy hipster. There were twirling girls. Lots of hats. Dudes totally rocking out.

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Filed under Concerts

Tea with jam, jam and bread

What am I? I am fine mostly. Angry sometimes. Feeling vindictive, others. To be entirely honest, I have sent some text messages along the lines of “I am so sad and I miss you so much” not because I was overcome with emotion. But because I knew it would hurt pretty bad to get that message. And I think about how hurtful he was sometimes. That if I ever complained that I didn’t get enough, he would say “but it is better than nothing, isn’t it?” Leaving me trapped by a veiled threat that I should just swallow the spoonful I was granted or I could get nothing.
Sigh.
So I’m just chugging along. Trying to keep busy. Waiting for the suck to be over.

I vaguely wish to write of the lunacy that was Friday night’s birthday outing dinner for R: the uber-butchy German waitress who danced on the table. The piece of fried shnitzel that I attempted to eat, but failed to as it was about a square footage of food. The extreme loudness, exacerbating by the Euro-Techno-Pop rendition of doo-wah-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-doo.

I could also write about the date I had on Saturday, which included a viewing of Zombie Strippers at the Parkway. It truly was about strippers that were zombies. They stripped and then ate people. And as time went on, they sort of decayed, but continued to strip. Mmm hmm.

Or I could write about going to the Albany Bulb with Tom, which was a super neat place to learn about. And it was really good to see my Tomas. It did my heart some good.

And then there was Jua, who is HUGE again, and still has 6 more weeks to ferment. And Aaron, who’s just about 2 and talking a lot, but I can’t understand a damn thing he says, so I have to look to Jua to translate.

I could even talk about the profound amount of junk that I ate this weekend. Or that I went to swim laps for the first time in ages, because I got a new speedo, which has cut-outs on the sides that are rather sassy.

And yet.

I’d rather not…

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Filed under Planet Suck, these are the days of my lives

My Train Wreck

16 hours later.
Am still ranting and raving in my head.
Believe there is nothing I can do to change his mind. He will always be a coward.
I hope it hurts like hell.

A pint of vodka and half a dozen cigarettes last night did not help (but thanks, Shayne!)
After sobbing retarded for 2 hours, a dose of the Ruby Room only served to heighten my looking like ass this morning.

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Filed under Planet Suck

Gravity

Sara Bareilles has got this song called Gravity. It’s the whole reason that Planet Suck is a planet.
An excerpt of lyrics:
Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long.
No matter what I say or do I’ll still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone.

You hold me without touch.
You keep me without chains.
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your reign.

I think what she’s saying is an awful lot like what I’m going through… that I can’t stop myself from going back into this relationship again and again. And it’s not something that he is actively doing; it’s like a completely crazy addiction that is beyond my control. As much as I have moments that I desperately want out, it also hurts like crazy just to think about not being in this love. No one could ever be as good. No one will ever think I’m as good. No one else is him, and that’s all that I want.

I figure that if I can’t get myself off of this orbital path, that I need to get hit by a stray meteor. And to stop making an astronomical metaphor, I need to meet someone else. Very logical.
But there’s not a store where I can just put a new boyfriend on my credit card. And thus, I haven’t actually gotten one yet. I’ve been viciously attacking my body at the gym in the hope that if I got prettier, I’d just *get* a boyfriend. But they’re still not chasing me down on the streets or anything. And granted, my 6 am gym habit is really getting in the way of going out and socializing at all. And it’s trickier now that I’m at this age when people aren’t having big parties, and my girlfriends are going out. The last time I went to a party, let alone met someone at a party? I dunno… 2003 or something?

It gets even better now. Since I’ve failed to execute the plan, I decided to take new measures and I posted a personal ad on Craigslist. The shame is such that I can barely rest my mind on it to think on this and holy hell, now I’m writing it down. When people have suggested internet dating to me in the past, my argument was that I didn’t want to meet someone with the preconception that there was supposed to be an assessment of interest. I want to meet someone and just be interested or not and I don’t want there to be this artificial set-up for judgment, good or bad. (By the way, I HATE that judgment has no e in it. Gets me ever time.)
But since I had failed to be meeting anyone through any sort of regular methods, I just did it. I’ve kept my expectations low and am trying to remember that I’m not necessarily going to get a boyfriend out of this, but it should serve the intended purpose of distraction. And maybe enough distraction that I can extricate myself. Which I guess means that I’m sort of using these guys. And I’m not sure how I feel about that. Except that I feel weird.
I went on two dates last week. They were fine. I wish there were more to say, but I’m just not really jazzed about it. I could go out with either of them again, but only if they ask really and who knows if that will happen.
And that’s all I have to say about that, I guess. I made an effort. I am trying.

As an aside, I would like to mention that some joker stole my ad. He changed anything gender specific, but otherwise re-posted it word for word in the men seeking women section. I can not decide if I am flattered or freaked out. It definitely starts with an F though, whatever I am.

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Filed under Planet Suck

This little piggy went to Market aka The Alley

I love The Alley, my weird little neighborhood dive bar. It’s dark and decorated to look like an alley in between buildings. The furnishings are ramshackle (RAMSHACKLE! Why don’t I use this word more often?) testaments to instability. The walls are papered with business cards. So there are no walls. Just business cards.
And then there’s the piano, sing-along aspect of The Alley. Rod Dibble plays the piano and people sit around it and sing. But Rod only does songs from the 30’s to 50’s type era. He can not do Billy Joel’s Piano Man, for example. Instead, it’s a parade of vintage: Fever, I’ve Got the World on a String, Someone to Watch Over Me, The Girl from Ipanema…
Most people go there to belt their shit out. Although there is some supreme badness going on, most singers are giving it there 110% and they mostly sing solo. Old dusty men, middle aged ladies who still think acid wash jeans are ok, girls dolled up with fake eyelashes.
Not only is The Alley weird and fascinating, it’s about .15 miles away from my front door, so I am generally pro-The Alley. So when I had plans to hang out with an old friend from high school last night, this is where I decided to go. I should also mention that this friend is a singing fanatic. He was one of the “show choir people” in my highschool. They went to parties, and instead of talking to other people, they stood around in a circle and they sang. This means that not only was I dork because the cool kids would have naught to do with me, it also means that even the dorks who *would* hang out with me were too busy singing to ever talk to me. Sigh. High school is so weird.
Right.
The whole point of this post was that I needed to confess what I ate last night. And I am doing a very bad job.
I love The Alley Special dinner. It is so grandma kitch. But I did consume with relish (not pickles, but with gusto rather) some absurd number of calories for which I now feel remorseful.
The Alley Special dinner:
An iceberg lettuce “salad” – iceberg lettuce, one half cherry tomato on top, with oceans of blue cheese salad dressing. Comes in an old school wooden salad bowl
Medium-rare steak. Not the size of a deck of cards. Possibly the size of my head.
Baked potato. With a pat of butter and a generous blob of sour cream.
Vegetable medly: broccoli, carrots, zucchini. Prepared god only knows how.
Garlic bread. Overly crunchy. Made garlic flavored with some rank garlic.

Ok, that’s it.
I did go to spinning class this morning, but I’m not sure I counteracted even just the evil, evil so wonderful sour cream.

Goodbye now.

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Filed under Chubby girl, Up to Stuff

Psycho Shopper. Quest que cest.

I have fallen prey to the worst sort of madness.

Namely, I am poor and I have no money. Pitiful, as I am a grown-up. But there it is.

But being poor is not the madness. Amy, Meg, Beth, Jo and Marmie were poor, but all cheery about it. Except when Beth dies, then they are less than cheery. Although still poor.

So unlike Little Women, I am poor and spending money like an insane person. Seriously. I should be locked up in a place for people who have psychotic breaks.

I can’t even list the offenses. It’s too wretched. But Etsy must take some responsibility. And if I’m being truthful, I should also confess to some entirely frivolous spending at The Foxy Lady. Go ahead. Judge me. I know.

Meanwhile, I’d really like to get some new sneakers. And a yoga mat bag. And there are some birthday plan things for next week that I’ll have to fork over some cash for. Right. And then I’ve to pay for cello lessons tonight, those little bastard experiences of my week for which I am forever plagued with guilt, as I do not practice. I do, in fact, pay $40 a lesson for the privilege of that guilt.

How about if I just close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears and just start singing La la la’s? That would help, right?

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Filed under these are the days of my lives

Drat

After being rather indulgent at last night’s super decadent dinner *and* eating a bit wantonly at Maker Faire, today was supposed to be paragon of perfection day. Instead, I’ve just had some rather abysmal noshing. Damn. Being tired will get me every time.

Phbbbbt.

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Filed under Chubby girl