June 2005 Archives

I have been complaining of a sour stomach for the last 4 hours. Now, it is 3am in the morning and I can’t sleep because I am really sick. I threw up twice and definitely have a fever. My skin feels sensitive and really hot to the touch. Every muscle in my body is hurting and I can’t figure out if I am hot or cold. I guess that the downpour and subway AC did their job on Monday night. This sucks.

Continuation:

I managed a few hours of sleep but I don't feel rested because I kept waking up to either use the bathroom or throw up. I haven't been able to hold any food down. If I puke or have to sit on the porcelain throne one more time I am just going to jump of the balcony and take me out of my misery but, then again, I feel as if I got hit by a Mac truck, so getting over the railing is not going to happen either. ARGH!!! I hate being sick, I get bien come mierda. I become a big whinny baby and would rather not really do shit. I made my self do more today because I know its back to work tomorrow and life doesn’t wait. I deposited funds in the bank, got the princess some caned food for the week, cleaned up a bit and a bunch of other stuff in between sprints to the bathroom. YUCK! I hope that this shit is over and done with soon because I can’t afford any sick days. On the bright side I ate a hearty rice and veggie soup about two hours and the coast seems clear.

Has anyone seen War of the Worlds yet? Any good?

It has been about five months since my layoff and bills are becoming increasingly difficult to pay. No one wants to hire me. I’m really trying to break away from the public health non-profit sector but my resume has an accumulated 10 years worth of that kind of experience. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have a college education. College is also something I really want to do but I have always had to negotiate between a roof over my head and a framed document on my wall. It has been ruff but little by little I know I’ll get there. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I also think that the conservative corporate world is not too wild about my last ten years of service provision and would rather not see the words AIDS, sexual minority, health, people of color, or CDC on my resume. And I thought that a public health job focusing on preventing the spread of infectious diseases and drug use was important. Guess Not. I’m stuck in a non-profit bubble and it’s definitely not my calling. I’m putting out about 3-4 resume (plus cover letters) a week during my new 32 hour shit-money work week aint easy. Then again, going from an administrative salary position in the mid 50’s to layoff aint either. Someone really needs to reevaluate the unemployment insurance program because it is not even close to enough.

I headed out to Central Park today with a friend and his ten year old niece. I was really looking forward to taking a lot of pictures. I put three lenses in my bag and headed out. The day was beautiful and sunny but the moment we came above ground from the subway everything went black, thunder began to clap and the wind went crazy. Ten minutes later we were running from the rain.

So much for that idea.

Duvet: Frosted glass, a handmade bar,
Giant beds with pristine white linen,
a galss wine celler/bathroom and
always a hot crowd.


Last night, I was invited by to attend Puff Daddy’s Party. I got there and told the doorman that I was on the list and he told me to go to the back of a long ass line. Who the fuck did this Men’s Warehouse drabbed, punk with a prima donna attitude think he was? I wanted to reach in and slap him. It was bad enough that after I got all dressed up, I realized that management forgot to tell me that it was a white and pastel themed party. Meanwhile, all my Easter colors are sitting in my drawers at home. Anyway, after a cigarette-break long wait, the club Manager, who put me on the guest list, came out and walked us to the ropes and past the clipboard, list wielding, feel-fab punk who had just sent me to the back. He was about to say something when Brian said, "no he's with me." I walked past him, smiled and with the shrug of a shoulder said, “Guess not.” A snap shot of his face would have been an ideal keepsake reminder of the start to a very fun night.

The Music was off the hook. It was Hip Hop heaven and the DJ had heads bobbing all night. Ninety percent of all attendees were beautiful. Everyone looked as if they had a magazine picture matt airbrushed finish. I experienced countless WOW moments. There was millions of dollars worth of nice cars. The highest-end European makes of Rolls Royce, Mercedes, Jaguar, BMW and Range Rovers dominated the block. There were cameras and video cameras everywhere and everyone was ready to smile and pose. The photographers weren’t allowed to keep an image unless the subject approved of the picture, so there were countless retakes and endless poses. Lol My friend and I had a great fucking time. Best of all was the fact that I had an open tab and a bartender that was told to give me what ever I wanted. So my friend and I drank to our heart’s content. Sour apple martinis were my choice drink for this night and I had quite a few. I had a whole lot of fun.

I then went to Grays Papaya for a quick fixe anti-munchinizer and after participated in some light bar hoping.

Brunch, Cafe Bar/ 34th ave, Astoria

On Thursday night (Friday morning) at 3am, it came to my attention that the new front door key to my building did not work. What does one do at 3am when your landlord is inaccessible? You ring a neighbor’s door and apologetically excuse yourself and explain the situation, right? Well, that’s what I did. Then on Friday afternoon, I asked one of the individuals that kindly opened the door to please not lock it because I would be unable to get a hold of a key until today and I would be arriving at A.M. hours from work. So what do you think happened last night after a long and shitty day at purgatory? I arrived home to a locked front door knob with useless key to match. So what would you do in this situation? Well let me tell you what I did. After, several failed attempts to make sure that the key was in fact not working. I spied the lit windows of neighbors before deciding which buzzer of 3 possible units to ring. Hmm, the lady with the baby living in the basement apartment was not a good idea, neither was the dark apartment of the new Japanese tenant across from me. My best option was the second floor apartment with all of its lights on, the very same one I buzzed the night before. What happened next?

The Korean-Marlboro bitch girl answers the telecom system, in an un-neighborly what-the-fuck manner. She resorts to an almost three minuet long spiel about my resorting to inconvenience them and keeping their gazillion watt lit apartment from sleep. She then shared her epiphany on my need to contact the landlord regarding the situation. Ingenious! This bitch must have been a Head Engineer for Samsung. Unfreaking believable! I explained to her in a reserved I-m –about-to-give-you-a-piece-of-my-mind tone that there were only 4 units in the building and that anyone of us could have received the faulty key and that the only logical thing to do after failing to reach our landlord was to resort to the generosity of neighbors. Miss. Smoke-a-lot has definitely never ever seen an episode of Sesame Street or Mr. Rodger’s Neighborhood. She then puffed an annoyed sigh through the speaker, buzzed the door open for a thousandth of a second and made me wait about another minuet before buzzing me in. I was fuming as I passed her 2nd floor tobacco smoke shielded front door. It was a reasonable and unpreventable situation and she totally lacked tolerance and understanding, given the situation. But her time will come. Incidentally, she sleeps right below me and I will no longer strive for light-footedness or tip-toe acrobatics for her sake. I been practicing this art ever since her first move-in day, when she had my landlord call me at 9:45pm on a Friday night because the “rolling of my desk chair was bothering her.” I hope for her sake that she’s a late sleeper or knows a good realtor. And heaven forbid that she ever gets locked out or in need of non-life-threatening assistance. While laughing over the situation with my Japanese neighbor this morning, he explained to me that she must still be attached to her cultural don’t-bother-me-for-a-cup-of-sugar attitude. I’m not too familiar with anything Korean except for kim-chi, which I have little love for but I as I explained to him, “Koko wa Korea ja arimasen.” (This is not Korea)

Get ready for American rental rights honey and forget North Korea but because I’m above you now.

(Insert menacing Kim Jong II-laugh here)

*image croped and edited from...

'And he flew right by me, down the steep hill,
almost decapitating a few pedestrians, and right
into a bush. Ouch.

"Is my camera O.K.?"