I Just Generally Never Know What Is Going On

It's noon at the moment and I'm still trying to decipher whether or not someone complimented me or insulted me this morning. The comment was in Spanish and Spanish is my 2nd language so there could be a barrier there. It was said with a smile and the word could have been slang for something good or it could have been literal for something bad. I don't really care either way but I am very amused at this confusion. I'm positive there have been entire sitcom episodes/stand up routines/Shakespearean plots dedicated to a misunderstanding, miscommunication or someone being fortune's fool.

Other amusing things: last night at around 11 p.m. I was jolted out of my half sleep by the hallway fire alarm going off in the apartment building. I don't really know why but my initial reaction is to ignore beeping. It is likely Darwinism at work but I'll wait a full few minutes or so before acting on a beep coming from somewhere distant, particularly if I'm lying down. So my sister and I woke up at the same time to "investigate" and by "investigate" I mean we met in the hallway of our apartment and looked at each other before deciding to open the door. When we did, Rowan walked up at that exact moment, she had been out visiting a friend in a neighborhood bar and her standing right there was pure serendipity. When we opened the door she was there and I heard her Scottish accent saying "I don't know, I've just arrived here." there were people milling around and one woman going "I DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT SOUND IS COMING FROM" and pretty much freaking out. I remained UN-freaked and when Rowan said "Something is happening because I just saw a person exiting the building with a cat on their head" I was about to go back to bed, certain I was dreaming. I didn't know what was going on. But I started laughing anyway because Rowan was describing the "cat shawl" and my sister was imitating the annoyed neighbor from next door and also, our apartment building is full of potheads who no doubt set off whatever alarm was going off by smoking weed and being annoying and maybe I had a contact high. I don't know. I just know that I felt manic and tired and it was all hilarity. Meanwhile my stow away cats were trying to peek around the open door to "see what was happening" and unlike my neighbor, I would be unable to wear my cats like a shawl so I was trying to suavely shoo them out of the way while also see what was going on.

So it turns out everyone collectively decided to ignore the alarm since there was no smoke nor smell and it would have all ended fine if the fire department hadn't arrived minutes later. I opened the apartment door again and the firemen were walking downstairs from what was likely the apartment right above ours because frankly, those people are weirdos and if anyone was going to cause a stupid ruckus, it was them. I asked the very, very handsome fireman if we had to evacuate (because then I'd HAVE to put pants on) and he said no, someone burned their food.

Still, I now know that my neighbors wear their cats as shawls. Useful information for the Law and Order detectives when they come to question me and I'm too busy to talk to them about someone I tangentially know getting knifed.

This morning so far I've been asked a million questions at the library that I have no answer to. Things like "Why doesn't the copy machine work?" and "Why is it so expensive to ride the subway?" and "Why is your child screaming this early in the  morning?" Rereading that, I'm having a big reveal that more than likely I'm not even at the library today but rather in a padded room, talking to myself.

I just never know what is going on. At work, at home, in my love life, in my family. I think I should just adopt a drawing of a woman shrugging as my sigil and ride that lack of information like a wave.

Blame the Children

Where yesterday I was merely dipping part of my toe into the giant, sweaty vat that is head cold-ness, today I'm swimming in it...and I forgot my floaties.

I always look to place blame when I feel like a small bird scratched my throat while I slept so today, I'm setting my sights on my new workplace and the never ending stream of children that inhabit this particular library on a daily basis. I love children. They are adorable and precocious and they are the future blah blah. They are also babbling petri dishes and considering about five of my coworkers are also poorly, I feel free to blame the children. I might start a campaign along the lines of Feed the Children but instead call it Blame the Children. The campaign will do nothing except maybe collect OTC cough and cold remedies, which I will then store under my bathroom sink. Much to my chagrin last night, I scoured my drug supply to find only night time remedies so I was undrugged for my morning commute which is just as pleasant as it sounds. I'd like to take a moment to thank humanity for inventing drugs that quell the symptoms of head colds and for making them available to the general public. Thanks, humanity!

I attended a genre workshop this morning because one of best things about my new job is the access to and discussion of fiction. This genre study was focused on the differences between mysteries, thrillers and suspense novels. We were given a book to read which I did not enjoy even a little bit and it turns out it was a police procedural with some psychological thriller elements. The only police procedural I have ever enjoyed has been Law and Order, and really that is due to the acting. If I had to read one more chapter of autopsy reports or police hierarchy, I was going to sneeze all over my book and use that as an excuse as to why I didn't finish it. But I did finish it, just to make maxi extreme ultra certain that I didn't like it. I was right. It was like eating butterless toast. Ah well, it was a bestseller in France so someone likes it. The next selection seems intriguing and at some point we will be reading a true crime book which is more my speed. Still, I feel lucky to be able to participate in such a group and it really is expanding my knowledge of the genre, something that a lot of library patrons really cotton to. Side note: I want to bring back that phrase..."cotton to". Begin using at your leisure.

Since I have uninhibited, full time access to literally millions of books, I've taken to hoarding them again. Each day brings a whole stack of books I "need" to read. I'm just not going to live long enough to do it all and that's a bit depressing. But maybe they'll have a library in the next life. With heaping bowls of avocados all over the place.

So let's recap:

• My head is fully submerged in a combination of throat scratches and a vat of snot
• I blame children
• I like the drugs 
• I don't like French police procedurals
• I hoard books
• I cotton to things
• I hold out hope for both literature and food in the next life.

Man, if this entry doesn't make you happy to have spent your time reading this blog, I just don't know enough words with which to apologize and I'm really so sorry about that.

Photo Shoe-t

I was lucky enough to have the day off today from work to spend with Rowan, who is here for the week. I didn't realize this, but the British pound goes very far here so I caught a bit of Rowan's shopping fever and we went to the Ginormous Temple of Capitalism and Money or, in the common tongue: the Queens Center Mall. I've only been to that mall once before so it had slipped my mind that there are millions of stores packed into a multi-level, multi-building complex. It's all shiny and glass and well lit and large pretzel smelling. I didn't enter into the day with any set goal in mind but I did end the day by fulfilling a several month long search for Adidas shell tops in my size which is, apparently a child's 5.

I am in deeply in love with these.

We also got an assortment of other items. And now I'm getting sick with the plague that's been lurking around my social circle and all I really want to do is sleep. I feel bad b/c I have a friend from out of town, a book group to attend in the morning, plans on Wednesday night, plans on Friday night, plans on Saturday night and no time to sleep or not be doing things. I know, I know. First world problems. So that's my blog for today b/c I'm very busy watching Portlandia and then I'm going to bed to sleep for awhile. This blog was sponsored by Adidas shell tops. And I hope to come up with a decent blog post tomorrow but I make no promises. My recent history tells me not to make promises to me.

On my better days...

I had forgotten all day to blog or that I was supposed to blog so I haven't been kicking around any ideas for today. Rowan arrives in t-30 minutes from LaGuardia and I'm into my first wine of the evening. So instead of waxing on about some nonsensical crap I'll just relate my favorite anecdote about John Cusack. I know it seems random to you but if you were in my living room and were in my head or if you were my sister, the continuity would hold up. So here it is:

In the movie "Almost Famous", directed by Cameron Crowe (I used to really love Cameron Crowe and I try very hard not to hold "Aloha" against him), the character Russell Hammond, lead singer of the fictional 70s band Stillwater is asked by a fan of his band, "Are you Russell Hammond?" To which he replies, "On my better days, I am Russell Hammond."
I probably got this from the extras on the "Almost Famous" DVD, but Cameron Crowe wrote that line based on a real dialogue that happened when he was hanging out with John Cusack at a bar, shortly after "Say Anything" came out. A fan approached him and asked "Are you Lloyd Dobler?" And John Cusack said "On my better days, yes, I am Lloyd Dobler."

I find that anecdote charming because I love both John Cusack and Lloyd Dobler. Also, that's my party anecdote. So now you know what to expect from me at parties.

Fin.

Hipster

As this truly bleak Saturday draws to a close, I sit in my parent's basement, doing laundry like it's 1997 and I'm just home from college. I'm even listening to Radiohead and singing along. And shopping for green Doc Martens and I'm not even joking about that.

Today I visited my Papa in the hospital where he'll be for a few days after having surgery on his knee. He's in a bit of pain and his veins have decided to play hide and seek so he was pretty attached to his bed but there is soccer on all day so at least he has that. I was unaware that hospitals have an entire wing for hip/knee/joint replacements and their recoveries. What is it about our joints? It kept coming up that when someone is older and they break a hip, it signals the beginning of the end. I always questioned that until I started yoga. Back when I was doing it on the daily, my favorite poses were hip openers. Every time I mangled my body into a position to open my hips (my favorite was always butterfly)

I would feel a sense of release and near elation. I was told that the hips act like a bowl into which your emotions are funneled and that by opening those joints regularly, you release stress, pain, sadness and distress. I don't consider myself a yoga devotee anymore (sadly, life got in the way of my regular scheduled classes and my favorite yoga teachers always quit teaching or moved away or had babies) but so much of the philosophy behind yoga makes sense to me and resonates with me. So I think there is something to that whole "mind/body being inseparable" thing. And if hip joints spend a lifespan "catching" all the stress and sadness and existential dread, all the while not lying, I suppose it makes sense that when one of them breaks, a person could be thrown of her axis. Also, I'm sure it just really fucking hurts.

Anyway, I chatted with Papa for a bit before they took him to take some more tests and then went to run errands with my parents. One of those errands was to find a Western Union to send some money to a relative in Honduras. Apparently this is a relative in name only that I have never heard of before today. But boy did I hear of him. My mother said we had to send money to him on behalf of Papa, who has been sending money to this person for years. I asked who he was and then was told an insane, Dickensian story of how this man was born to a prostitute who was killed when two men fought over her. The two men subsequently killed themselves, leaving the child an orphan. I sat in stunned silence because I have never been able to shake the feeling that my family buries the lead when it comes to stories about life in Honduras or even life in NYC in the 60s. It is a bit frustrating because the STORIES. 

What else? My day can actually be summed up in the most Long Island sentence ever: I ate too much at the Cheesecake Factory for dinner but walked it off at the South Shore Mall with my parents. It really is 1997 again.

What did you do today?

I Remember That

I distinctly remember wearing short sleeves and an accompanying frizzed out crown just two days ago. I'm only prone to one false memory in my life (making me the ideal protagonist to any story...writers, call me!) but as I layered up this morning and had a grudge match with my flimsy umbrella against Hurricane Joaquin's leavings, that old short sleeved feeling flew off and away from me like all of the city's summer garbage from the street under me. Today is a day for sleeping in and binge reading. Alas, I'm at work. And more alas, I just started working full time one month ago, which is too soon to be alas'ing anything, but I yam what I yam.

I don't want to speak of work today though because it is in my nature to assume things will always stay the same as they are right now (which would be a bad thing) and I'm trying to force my brain to change this automatic switch to a "go with the flow and remember that change is inevitable" frequency. Have you ever done that? Teach me how?

This weekend promises to deliver more blustery gray wind and I'm headed out east to visit my Papa who recently had knee surgery and to plow through the veritable mountains of mail I've received since I last visited home. I am anticipating The Mail of Mount Kilimanjaro since my mother has mentioned it in every phone call we've had and I know that when things collect, her nerves get jangly. I'm certain there will be coupons and voter info and credit card offers and other nonsense that was born to be shredded. Still, it makes me a bit jumpy to think I have mail I haven't checked in a month; like someone would have decided to pick September to write me a letter. Wishful thinking. As wishful as my thinking around a year or so ago when I tried to single-handedly revitalize the custom of letter writing. No one I sent letters to wrote back.

I HAVE, however, joined Snapchat, that bastion for the short attention spanned. I'm only a little obsessed with it and I have a feeling my obsession will be as short lived as a snap. Also, I think this foray into MODERN LIFE has contributed to my proclivity for false memories. It sharpens my sense memory that I've seen and done things that I never saw or did, like that time I proclaimed in this blog that I only ever had one false memory in my life. I didn't do that. Did I?

Hurricane Chauncey

Whadda month September was! I mean amirite or amirite or amiRITE, right? I mean you wouldn't know it from this blog and its recent silence but so much crap happened in my life that it was like I was swimming in a big, boiling pot of chunky stew, scaling the grooved in walls of large, square chunks of mystery meat, bearing down hard with ALL my teeth. Whoa, that was a really weird tangent. I don't even like meat.

You know it is going to be a good month when you start off with a weird tangential metaphor.

In the past month I saw my LITTLE brother get married, started a new full time job, visited umpteen new neighborhoods in NYC that I've never been to, lost about 20 pounds, saw some dear friends whom I haven't seen in years and learned that I can deposit checks through an app on my phone directly to my bank! This world is mad modern and I'm just mad! Mad, I tell you!

There is a new surge of energy in the air today, likely due to the weather. I read today that there is a hurricane in our midst and that his name is all espanish which just means conservatives will blame it for all of the country's problems. All kidding aside, I really have always loved the name Joaquin. It's one of those names that sounds adorable on a toddler and really creative and mysterious on a full grown adult. Like Harrison. Or Tristan. Or Chauncey. Hurricane Chauncey. That should happen.

Anyway, back to my energy. I walked to the bus stop this morning and saw two young men, both with scratch off tickets, both eagerly scratching away at them, both simultaneously walking and talking on their cell phones. I felt my mood lifted because if those two can multitask like that, then so much is possible. So I'm starting a bunch of new projects, some writing, some not writing and my calendar is already solidly booked for October. That's making me sound popular but I'm not. I just make plans ahead of time. Try it! You'll like it!

I'm also going to make yet another attempt at Blog Every Day October but seeing as I've failed a few times and really only succeeded blogging an entire month ONCE, I'll content myself with calling this an attempt, while giving it the college try. Ideas are swirling around my head in that autumnal way they usually do so you never know; I may have double the nonsense to share!

Do you have any nonsense to share? Please comment. I LOVE nonsense. Happy October! I'll just be over here like