Saturday, January 28, 2006

Pump Up the Jam, Pump It Up

Tonight on the 6 train, the woman next to me asked her friend, "Remember my friend who flushed her pearls down the toilet?" My interest was piqued. Please continue. As it turns out, it was an accident that involved a pearl necklace with a faulty clasp and an automatically flushing toilet. Isn't that always the case? Anyway, from what I gathered, the necklace was never recovered. The conversation then switched to Rice Krispy treats, and surprisingly, I lost interest and decided to run across the platform and jump onto the express train.

Nothing much to report there. I wonder what would happen if I began emptying the contents of my purse onto the floor. They would get sticky- that's what would happen. And there would be no one to blame but myself, the irresponsible person who spilled their Hawaiian punch, and, of course, God.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

8th Ave. between 25th and 26th

Yesterday, I had a slice of pizza at a lucky place called Luigi's Pizza. Luigi's has somehow managed to dodge all health inspections since its opening in (this is an educated guess based on the decorations and the last time it was cleaned) 1983. I believe Luigi was the man in the back room who unabashedly stared while I ordered my slice of pizza. He later watched me in the mirror while I ate, giving me a pleasant, "you're lucky we met in a lit restaurant" stare. He strolled past me once or twice in his stained white smock, and made sure to stare as I put my coat back on.

Aside from chemical imbalances, postpartum depression, and trauma, I would guess that the decor in Luigi's is the number one cause of depression in the tri-state area. I thought that sitting in a greasy, brown booth surrounded by old pizza, Peppermint Patty's and chicken rolls would raise my mood, but that was not the case. The strong smell of cleaning liquids did not help either. The filthiness of the floor and walls assured me that the overwhelming stench of ammonia was meant to mask another smell, not to give proof of a recent cleaning.

I believe the majority of the clientele was packing heat. I was, at least. You have to protect yourself this day in age. In fact, one man barged through the door and said, "good thing I didn't hit that cop in the face" and "good thing I didn't have any coke on me" in one breath. Then, while pacing, he went into an exposition on how it isn't right that cops can just walk up and slap you on the back of the head, and how he no longer comes to Manhattan because he sells pure stuff but the mother f*ckers here put baking soda in their coke. For support, he asked the man behind the counter, "is that right?" to which the cashier said, "Sprite?" I would have had a hearty laugh in any other situation, but I thought it might be a good idea to get the hell out of there.

When visiting New York, make sure you stop at this untouched gem for pizza. I highly recommend the slice with the maraschino cherry on it.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

When I Move You Move

That is Kristina outside of the Astor Place subway stop during the MTA strike. 2005 seems so long ago. I wonder what I was like back then.

I went to the post office today. Please hold your applause; it is distracting and I am trying to write here. I bought five stamps and have a surprising amount to say about them. They were not the sticker form of stamps, but rather the lick kind. I didn't even think non-sticker stamps existed anymore, let alone in New York City. I thought we were progressive here, but I obviously thought wrong. I should move. Anyway, I licked the stamps and put them on the envelopes (standard protocol), and they tasted like penicillin! Having learned the hard way that I am quite allergic to penicillin, I am going to be pissed if I once again get hives for a year (thanks again, Dr. Joy.)

I would like to address the list I posted on January 13, regarding occasions and locations where it is necessary to wear a bra. I wanted to explain the necessity of wearing a bra to Home Depot. Home Depot is full of particle board and tile and men who aggressively leer. As glaring back has never worked, I highly recommend wearing high-riding pleated pants, two or three sports bras (over a standard bra), and a quilted flannel shirt. Also, as Hella pointed out, Home Depot could be physically dangerous sans bra.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Don't blame me; I just work here

Oh, dios mio. If I can stay alive for 32 more hours, I will officially be done working here at my place of employment.

I thought that you might enjoy this story about my friend, Kristina. Last week, Kristina went into the Body Shop to buy makeup, where she was helped by a man who was himself wearing makeup. After they had found everything that she was looking for, the man asked her if there was anything else that she needed. There was. Kristina had been thinking of buying a scrub/cleanser that is made out of ground up nuts, so she asked the man if they carried a nut scrub. Only after the words had left her mouth did she realize that she had in fact just asked for nut scrub. To try to make it seem more normal, she went into a lengthy explanation of what she was looking for, repeatedly using the words nut and scrub (together and separately). She then purchased her nut scrub and left the store, leaving the salesman with, most likely, the greatest story of his career.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

It's been a big week for all of us here at NBC

Last Thursday, I went with my friend Tamara to her office party. Before you attempt to picture it, I should mention that she is a production assistant on the set of Law and Order: Criminal Intent, so your mental image must include Vincent D' Onofrio. That's right- I went to the Law and Order: Criminal Intent 100th Episode Party. In case I showed up to the party unaware of what we were celebrating, there was an ice sculpture and a large cake in the shape of a police badge that both made it very clear that the show was Law and Order: Criminal Intent and the occasion was the making of the 100th episode.

What I really appreciated about this event was that if you stripped away the great location (Chelsea Piers), the celebrities, the tasty and abundant food, and the open bar, you were still at an office party. Office parties are awkward by definition. Like I have said before, coworkers have four things to talk about: 1) projects from work 2)whether or not someone from work has attended the party 3) what you did for the previous holiday or what you will do for the upcoming holiday and 4) where you are from. That is it. I respect people who try to venture beyond that, but I do not envy them. Even though these were not my coworkers, I stuck with the standard four.

By the way, I do not like baths. I feel dirtier after I take a bath than before, and I resent the fact that you, the American public, tell me that I should enjoy them.

Friday, January 13, 2006

3 hours from my 3 day weekend

Occasions/locations where it is absolutely unacceptable not to wear a bra:

1) Job interviews*
2) First meetings with future in-laws
3) Bra commercials
4) Meat lockers
5) Home Depot

*Please note that there is a distinction between an interview and an audition

Thursday, January 12, 2006

I have a project due in 27 minutes

Valuable lessons learned today (in order of when they were learned):

1) Turning off your alarm is not the same thing as hitting snooze
2) Motivation tends to lag when you only have four days left at a job
3) Checking your email compulsively does not actually create new emails in your inbox
4) Pretending that a Thursday is a Casual Friday is not okay with everyone
5) Duck sauce, no matter how much confidence you have in it, does not fix everything

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

They Say a Watched Pot Will Never Boil

To start, it needs to be said that the first line of my last entry was meant to be read sarcastically. I do not go to CBGB's every weekend. In response to the last post, my friend Carrie, the one who made sure I was not dressed like a dork for my heavy metal concert, had this to say, "...all of our mutual friends read that and thought 'who the hell is Carrie to deem someone dressed like a dork or not for a metal concert...the girl dresses like a kindergarten teacher!'...to which, I humbly accept their criticism as truth."

Yesterday, I was home sick with a fever. After barely sleeping and then violently throwing up, I thought it might be best to not go to the office. I spent all day moving from my bed to the couch and the couch to my bed, and leaving messages like, "I feel like shit" on my parent's answering machine. I woke up this morning feeling much better, and now here I am, back at work, using my time wisely.

Two nights ago, while waiting for my friends in front of a bar called Max Fish, I overheard a homeless man named John making comments to people passing by. When a woman came out of Max Fish to have a cigarette, they began a conversation that combined English, French, Spanish and drunk. I can generally translate all four, and let me tell you, they said nothing of consequence or interest. Later, John greeted a woman as she entered her apartment. When she asked him how he was doing, he said, "not as good as you're looking." That is pure gold.

At the end of April, I am going to a wedding in Colorado Springs. Carrie called me and suggested that we extend our visit to Colorado by a few days and go to a dude ranch. She gave me a few days to think it over. I give serious thought to anything that Carrie says because she not only puts up with all of my crap, she calls me on it, too. After a few hours of contemplation, the answer became obvious. "Carrie, what was I thinking?! Sign us up."

There was an immediate problem. How would Carrie make it clear to the dude ranch, in a subtle way, that she is booking the reservation for ex-college roommates/close friends and NOT lesbian lovers escaping for a romantic Western weekend getaway?

The owner of the dude ranch put her feelers out. "Would you like twin beds or a queen bed?" Obviously, she thought that Carrie's answer would solve the puzzle. Twin beds=straight. Queen bed=gay. If only it were that simple. We want the queen bed, of course; it is much warmer than twin beds. Plus, I am an indiscriminating cuddler.

Carrie played it very cool by saying, "Oh, whatever." Very breezy. I believe we were given the twin beds.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Save CBGB's

Last night, like every other Friday night, I went to CBGB's to watch a metal band called Still Life Decay. I got a call from my friend, Carrie, on the cab ride over. When I told her what I was doing, she laughed and asked what I was wearing. She was trying to save me the embarrassment of, in her words, looking like a dork. I appreciated the thought. We all know that was a possibility.

The frontman of Still Life Decay is a man named Fade, who is the sound tech at CBGB's, a talented musician, and quite possibly the nicest person you have ever met. He has been helping us out with the sound at church, which is great since the equipment, as I have mentioned before, is not the greatest. Anyway, Katrina and I show up at the show, and we move towards the front. There is a white sheet hanging behind the band, with films of kids and spiders and other black and white images being projected onto it depending on the song. All four members are heavily tattooed, dressed in all black, and have dreadlocks down to their lower back. Fade's are blonde.

The music begins. Fade is screaming. I am grinning.

I am trying to get everything to fit together in my head: A few hours ago, I was counting how many articles had been written about peripheral arterial disease and trying to figure out the circulation of each outlet. Now I am watching a metal band. I am wearing the same outfit. Fade is softspoken, kind, demure and helpful, and now he is crouched on the ground hissing lyrics into a microphone as the strobe light mirrors the base line.

I decided to figure out different things I would yell if I was the lead singer of a metal band:

I WANT TIVO [repeat]

All in all, really fun night. Sage and Hella were there, and I can't think of a situation with them that wouldn't be fun. Maybe some kind of surgery?


Thursday, January 05, 2006

Thems got ears let them hear; thems got eyes let them see

[Trumpet intro] I just tendered my resignation, as tenderly as possible. Oh wow. I quit my job.

I couldn't sleep last night. It was as if my body had a better idea of the magnitude of the situation than my mind did.

So, for those of you that I have not told yet, I quit my job because I am about to quit New York City as well. I came here with the intention of staying for a year, and as it has now been a year and three months, it is high time to go do something new. I am moving to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where I hope to hang out, drive a truck, get a dog, stock shelves to make money, and most importantly, start collaborating on some writing with my sister. Also, I will two states away from the rest of my family instead of 11 states away. I love that Davis clan and can never stay away for long, unless they are all being sensitive and moody, in which case I can happily stay away forever. Just kidding; stop crying.

That is my huge news. I move February 1. Anyone want to buy my bed?

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

It's a family affair

My mom once said that if you don't have a nap, you don't have anything. I guess I don't have anything. That's not true. I have new gray Converse and you cannot make me take them off!

I accompanied my roommate last night when she went to look at an apartment in Williamsburg. I spent the 25 minutes we were there trying to figure out if the current tenant was wearing a wig. Since she did have functioning eyes, she probably caught me staring. The hair was a little high on her head to be real hair, but it was sort of messy and had an uneven part.

When we left the apartment, before I could even voice my question, Katrina said, "No, that was not her real hair." She had seen other wigs on her dresser.

Awesome. Speaking of awesome, is there anything better than Billy Bragg and Wilco singing a Woody Guthrie song (or a lot of them)? No, there is not.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

That's Right

Hi, my name is Leighton and I just got into the office an hour early to clean out my inbox before the week begins. It helped that I was in and out of sleep all night and therefore felt restless this morning and sort of eager to get into the shower, but I made up my mind to come in early even before I had a terrible night of sleep. I think my night of bad sleep was due to the fact that I slept until 1:30pm yesterday, but it also could have been something in my egg sandwich, or my pre-bed dance party (which neither of my roommates joined, but rather sat there and said things like, "You are going to make things on the shelves fall over.")

Anyway, I digress. I am here at the office, and I just deleted/skimmed 108 emails, one quarter of the amount that I was expecting to find this morning. We are off to a good start.

Before I get fully entrenched with work, I have one more thought about vacation. IKEA is hands down the greatest place for a friend date. When you are thinking, "where can I go to catch up with an old friend, try out couches, buy Swedish meatballs for my family and eat a hot dog?" IKEA. That is the answer. I will sit on this corduroy couch and tell you about my life, and then we will eat hot dogs and you can tell me about yours. Near perfect.

On the way out of IKEA, there was a little boy in the cart in front of me. He said," I am four. I used to be three, but now I am four and then I will be five and then six and then seven." What made it even cuter was his inability to pronounce the letter R. I wanted to hang out with him but I am not four and he already had a stuffed tiger to keep him company, so I just purchased my Swedish meatballs and went on my way.