Worst Night of my Life

I'll start with the current weather in Manhattan per weather.com:
*33 degrees (feels like 26)
*Rain/ snow
*High winds

Next, the distance from my office on 43rd Street to my home (per mapquest):
3.6 miles

And finally, a reminder of the age of my dog:
4 months
(a puppy!)

So my dog and I just made that trip together. Did I mention that the streets are covered in slush and snow? Did I mention that I was wearing high heeled boots? Did I mention that my dog is a puppy and can't walk straight?

You're probably saying hey lady, why didn't you just get a taxi? Well, I'm glad you asked. I flagged down many a cab and as each one slowed when it saw my hand in the air, each one sped off very quickly when it saw the dog on the end of the leash in my other hand. I can't say that I would want to pick up a soaking wet dog and an angry looking lady either so I get it. I even offered one guy 40 bucks when he stopped to let someone out next to me. He was like fuck no. 40 dollars for a 5 minute ride? Let me repeat myself, he said, fuck. no.

Some of the highlights of our two hour journey:

MY UMBRELLA FLIPPING INSIDE OUT!
REMEMBERING THAT MY BOOTS COST $695 AS I STEPPED IN THE 14TH PUDDLE IN A ROW!
ZELDA JUMPING UP ON ME A THOUSAND TIMES BECAUSE SHE WAS SO WET AND COLD!
GETTING MY COMPUTER WET! IT COST MORE THAN MY BOOTS!
PULLING MY BACK OUT!
GETTING MAD AT THE DOG!
AND THEN FEELING BAD BECAUSE SHE'S ONLY A PUPPY AND SHE DOESN'T KNOW THAT RUNNING AND STOPPING EVERY TWO FEET HURTS MOMMA'S NECK REALLY BAD!
WANTING TO KILL MY HUSBAND FOR LEAVING ME IN THIS SITUATION WHILE HE'S OFF SKIING IN VAIL!
COMPLETELY MISSING THE PLAY THAT I HAD TICKETS TO!
CRYING UNDER THE AWNINGS AT BLOOMINGDALE'S AS RICH LADIES STEPPED OVER ZELDA AND HAILED TAXIS SO EFFORTLESSLY!

Singing What a Wonderful World on repeat in my head and then singing it out loud once I was broken. I truly started talking out loud to myself like a psychotic bag lady and finally felt like I understood why they do that. It's quite cathartic. I hope you never get to that point, but if you do, try it out. It worked for me.

Tess McGill

In my frazzled rush to the gym for a two hour workout this morning - I had to burn at least 800 calories after this piggish weekend but that's another story - I forgot my nice boots and didn't realize that factor until I got out of the shower and started unpacking my work clothes. So now I am wearing white and blue sneakers (mostly white unfortunately) with black tights and a black skirt. I look like a fucking 80's era working girl rushing around the streets of NYC. I should have done my bangs in an upsweep.
What I didn't realize until this very morning, much to my frustration and embarrassment, is that that (can you say that that? I don't know how else to say it) particular look is one hundred per cent obsolete. Not one working woman out on the streets in 2010 wears sneakers with her work clothes on her way to the office. That look is so obsolete that I actually got snickers and sneers in the two short blocks from Grand Central to my office. People were downright angry! They were truly offended by my absolute lack of style. Ironically enough, it's Fashion Week and I work about a block from Bryant Park. I was thinking of walking by the tents in my get up to see if anyone would think my look is SO bad that it comes full circle and maybe I'd be on the cover of WWD tomorrow. The reality is that I will probably hide in my office until lunch and buy a pair of crappy heels at Daffy's during lunch. That is such a waste of money though. Am I really that insecure? Do I care that much what all the well coiffed gay boys at the office think about me? Hmm. I think I'm just going to say screw it, and stand proud. I look like a tool. So fucking what? I am awesome because I don't care.

Finding myself. At 33

After an alcohol induced fight last night in which I was convinced my husband was flirting with his brother's trophy wife, at his brother's birthday party no less, I drank a vodka and club soda which pushed me over the top and sank into a deep dark place. A fuzzy world clouded by insecurity (and alcohol) and the horrifying fear of being forced to reinvent myself and find my way in the world all over again. Didn't I already go through this when I was 25? It sucked then. It sucks a lot more now. And waking up to this depressing-ass article didn't help: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/21/business/economy/21unemployed.html?hp

Maybe I also need to turn to God?

The Steel Delivery

The steel for Phase One is arriving on Friday. Man, am I excited. It looks like one of those Richard Serra sculptures, I don't know how else to describe it for you city-elite types

Trapped up in this shit, going insane

I'm saying that on repeat in my head in that classic 90s era Cypress Hill voice...

I might kill myself or someone else if it doesn't stop snowing. My apartment feels like the fucking SHINING

Footnote on Choc-Obama, The Sequel

I just ate his shoulder. Apparently, chocolate does not spoil very fast.

Footnote on Choc-Obama

A black person gave it to us, which I think makes it okay.

Another Wistful Night

Here I sit at home. Alone. Yes, it's true that I am married to a wonderful man. Yes, it's true that I have a little puppy to love. But are they ever home? Certainly not. And while yes, it's true, I could be putting my laundry away or mopping the floorasdfghjkl;;'nnbm,anm,mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Sorry. Just got a good laugh out of that one.

I think you might be starting to understand why I started writing a blog. I'm sittin here, drinking my wine, dressed up in fancy clothes and with a fresh blowout, my dreams of going anywhere now just a vague 5:00 memory. I even shaved that dangerous grooved part of the ankle that always gets cut. The worst part is this wine sucks. I bought it to take to a friend's party that was cancelled (have brought WAY too many bottles of nice wine to parties that the hostess never even tastes and some numbnuts corks and pours into plastic cups when the beer runs out). I'm also very hungry. But need to starve myself for obvious reasons if you've seen me lately.

No, we didn't go to the farm tonight. I was actually looking forward to getting the fuck out of the dirty ass city for the long weekend but my man has some installation that didn't go as planned and is stuck at the shop. Oh well. Here I am. Alone with my thoughts. And! My good friend hunger. I am so hungry and our refrigerator so empty that I came really close to eating our Choc-Obama. Yes, it's from the election. Do the math. That hungry.

I'm not sure there is anyone in the world who wakes up more depressed than me

I have come to actually dread going to sleep because I hate waking up in the mornings. The phrase "I hate my life" is usually the first thing that springs into my head each day. That is really sad. I don't really have anything to hate that much and yet, that is the phrase that continually rapes my mind daily. Perhaps it is because my Gabourey Sabide-ious husband has been forcing me to get up before it is light out and I honestly can't function before 6:36 am, 6:46 being ideal. I don't know. I think I need to get Dr. Phil on myself and start forcing myself to think something even slightly more positive like "I have the gift of being alive". Ok, that might be a bit much but what about "if Sarah Palin can run for Vice President, I can do anything". That's optimistic and yet still tinged with the cruel recognition that many, many people are unbelievably fucking stupid. That's it! At least I am not one of them! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.

I have a Milkbone in my pocket

As I was packing up my clothes for work this morning, I mistakenly started to take inventory of all the damage Zelda von Kingwood has done to my wardrobe. There is a huge hole in my Anlo jeans, a giant rip in my brand new Portolano leather, cashmere lined gloves (that one REALLY pissed me off), and countless holes in the sweatshirts and gym pants that I put on the second I get home just in case she's in one of her nipping and biting moods (which is pretty much always). She almost got my Marc Jacobs bag yesterday but I caught her in the nick of time...she's lucky.

Jim has two giant holes in his puffer jacket which is almost funny because feathers keep flying out of it. I say "almost" because it's his nice winter jacket and the Guy Who Doesn't Care About Clothing even got mad about that one. I would complain about the cut on my lip from when she attacked my face yesterday morning when I was picking up one of her toys, but I look at Jim's bloody hands and I can't feel bad for myself because Holy Shit, his hands are fucked up. I am not exaggerating when I say there is more skin that is bloody than not bloody. I actually get really nauseous every time I look at them and there doesn't seem to be any end in sight. I'm actually getting really nauseous right now while thinking about it and ughh, just vomited in my mouth a little. The thing that scares me the most, (warning: TMI), is that Jim walks around naked at night and I keep having visions of Zelda jumping up and biting his unit off. I know that is a horrible thought, but she bites everything else. Why not attack that fleshy dangling thing? It probably looks like a deliciously tempting piece of meat sandwiched between some very rare, fattier meat. I just wish he would put it away as we've only been married 2 years and are thus far blessed with a healthy sex life. It would also throw a real wrench in our eventual babymaking plans.

After I packed up and was waiting for the bus, I stuck my hands in my pockets (because my aforementioned gloves are being repaired) and I found a Milkbone. I was tempted to throw it out because who wants Milkbone hands, but then I remembered that I would inevitably be walking her in my nice coat some day and would need to reward her for taking a crap. So I stuffed that thing back in there, curled my hand into a tight fist, and put on a happy face. When a little yippy dog started barking and jumping on me, rather than admit I carry loose dog treats in my pocket, I just blew it off with "oh, he must smell my marijuana".

the brutality of city living

When we took Zelda for her Family Walk on Saturday morning, it was freezing cold. York Ave is the equivalent of Old Cold Beav, our affectionate term for the PSU East Halls parking lot that was swept by wind tunnels that made the Arctic tundra seem mild. So as we were fighting similar winds on York and 87th, wondering why we choose to torture ourselves with brutal city living, Tim drew a picture that will forever stay in my mind....waking up on Saturday mornings, letting the dog outside to run across those 23 acres carefree and wild, while we watch from inside, by the fire, reading the paper with our steaming mugs of coffee that we didn't pay $5 for at Starbucks. The dream suddenly made sense to me. I might officially, finally, really want out. Holy shit, then I am paralyzed by fear. The fear of turning into a suburban fatty who thinks Target is high fashion. (Yes, I own a Target dress but you're allowed to buy from Target when you live in the city in a snobby, ironic way. It's like a Fuck You to Barney's.) Will I live to discover new recipes for chicken? Will I buy a minivan because it's just so much easier to lug all the kid's uniforms and musical instruments in? Will I start making Rice Krispy Treats for the bake sale and know the crossing guard's name? Will I think I'm still "tapped in" by taking classes at the local yoga studio and telling them that I studied at Om in Union Square for years? Will I be sporting the same chic haircut in 10 years when it's no longer chic like those women on Real Housewives? Oh my God, will I start tanning?

Jesus...

Which is worse, trying really hard in suburban mediocrity or the daily torture of city life?

Life of Leisure

I sort of want to hurt my husband right now. Sunday morning. I get up and walk the dog at 7. Then I go back to bed for a little bit because come on, it's Sunday. We had plans for me to take the dog all day but at the last minute, my man just decides to take her to work with him for the day. I didn't put up much of a fight because I had a ton of work to do and it would be a hell of a lot easier to do it without a dog jumping on me and biting my hands all day. Don't get me wrong, I love the dog, but they had one foot out the door already so I didn't put up much of a fight, if any. Cut to later that day, Mr. Crankyass calls me grumbling and then basically hangs up on me. It was rude. I called him back and no answer for two hours. When he finally decided to call me back, I was naturally a little annoyed by his rude behavior and we got into a little tiff and he told me that it must be nice to lead a life of leisure. A life of leisure? come on, dude. You are insane. I could understand if I were unemployed and spent my days taking tennis lessons and getting facials that he pays for but really? Sure I indulge in life's finer things from time to time, but I PAY FOR THEM. And... I do it after putting in a 70 hour work week. Jerk! P.s. we did not go to the farm this weekend and somebody gets really grumpy when he has to spend the weekend in the city....

A serious wrench in life's plans

Friday night was unspeakably awful. During the day, we learned that our company is going through some major changes in management and are going through a temporary "transitional period". While the bosses did nothing but imply that we would all be fine, I am not a moron and became paralyzed by fear. I called some of my colleagues in the LA office who I regard as more than just co-workers and we had some off the record chats about the state of things. They are all actively looking for other jobs which then made me realize I better get my ass in gear and do the same. The worse news is that my industry is shrinking, not expanding, and there are no jobs. Thus I was confronted with the very real possibility that I might be out of work. Indefinitely. Unless of course I choose to do something entirely different like go back to school or teach. ("Those who can't, teach" keeps running through my mind and making me feel like a huge failure for even considering that option, even though I don't really agree with that saying). The point of all this being, when I got home from work, I was in a foul mood and I think justifiably so. All I wanted to do was relax, have a glass of wine, and eat some dinner. So when Jim forced me to go out in the 2 degree weather to meet him a some crap (dry!) restaurant, I was in a terrible, horrible mood. I literally sat there and cried while he ate dinner, nursing a glass of water. That's right, water. That fucking place didn't even serve beer. Tears were rolling down my face the entire time and he had the nerve to get mad at me. I can't afford dinner because I'm about to be unemployed and I have to watch him eat. I was fucking livid. He also showed zero sympathy to my plight. It's true that he has never been the sympathetic type, but really? All he did was yell at me that I was a baby and I finally put my foot down and said, I do not want to go to the farm tonight after your stupid carb-loaded dinner. I want to stay in the city and deal with shit. I need to figure my life out. I have become one of those people who is defined by her job and I'm not ashamed, but that means I am going through a major identity crisis as a result so fuck you and your farm. I cannot fathom standing out there in the bitter cold watching you drive the backhoe around when my life is in utter shambles. That is my dream life, this is my real life and my real life is shit.

I honestly think I might start seeing a psychiatrist. I need some meds. No wait, I can't afford them without the health insurance that I am about to lose any day now. Life sucks.