Monthly Archives: January 2011

Long-Lost Videos of 2010: Part 2

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, creepy boyfriend obsession, jobby jobby job job, living in new york is neat, travels
Tagged as , , ,

I know that people hate to/are unable to watch videos, but these are mostly for me.


Our poor, sweet German intern finds himself a Lucky Cheng’s drag show participant (“Ms. Tess Tickles”) during our company’s monthly dinner club. It’s long, but you guys, he dances.


Even when we’re on vacation, Kamran pays absolutely no attention to me. (This one couldn’t fit my “creepy boyfriend obsession” tag any better.)


My friend Sylvan tries to scare me my first time eating jellyfish.


Aaron visits from Australia and boldly sings Backstreet Boys at karaoke. When I ask if I can use the video on my blog, he says he sounds “like a really creepy old country/western singer” and then adds, “Of course you can use it.”

Get Back on the Slow Bus and Quit Your Bellyaching

Filed under funner times on the bus, living in new york sucks so hard
Tagged as ,

I love New York, but I think of most of the other people who live here as miserable narcissists who put razorblades in their Halloween apples and board up their chimneys come December. So it wasn’t surprising to me when on the bus yesterday morning, an otherwise polite woman next to me started going off on the M15 Select Bus Service.

Read the rest here.

Long-Lost Videos of 2010: Part 1

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, living in new york is neat, travels
Tagged as , ,


Kamran teases me with seafood at the Bally’s Wild West Casino buffet in Atlantic City.


Horseshoe crabs get it on in the Hamptons this summer, and Chantee provides colorful commentary.


A friend who shall remain nameless tells a racist story, and I make a hilarious joke. Math! Ahahahahaha.

This City Life

Filed under administrative
Tagged as

I’ve somehow managed to make for myself a life that entirely overwhelms me, and all I want to do is make it worse by starting more blogs, making more friends, doing more things, taking more photos.

And it’s like the more that goes on, the more overwhelmed I get by it. If a blog post of mine gets more than about 4 comments, I greedily read through them, licking my lips lecherously, and then just mark the WordPress e-mails as unread until I have a chance to respond to them. Or, like, if I get an e-mail with more than two sentences in it, I lustily consume it, congratulate myself for having such awesome friends, and then don’t reply to it for weeks. Which is how I end up with an inbox that looks like this:

But hey, at least I’m keeping up with my spam folder!

The worst part is that I totally, totally crave constant contact. (I imagine this is a product of leaving all of my friends and family behind three states away and having this ludicrous fear of ending up on the streets because I don’t know enough people here to convince someone to take me in when I inevitably lose my job/apartment/boyfriend through total fault of my own, because homeless people must get that way somehow.) But if I don’t reply to people’s comments/e-mails/texts/phone calls, they’ll stop bothering, so it’s all a big catch-22.

And that’s just my way of explaining that despite a month-long lapse, I updated Lost and Lonely Leftovers finally. So go look at it, subscribe to it, and understand that I am actually going to update it regularly this time, I swear. As long as you send me pictures, I mean, because I only have, like, twenty-five of them in my backlog.

A Tale of Two Crazy People

Filed under funner times on the bus, living in new york sucks so hard
Tagged as ,

Crazy people exist in such abundance here that I usually forget about them moments after our encounter, but here are two from last week I happen to remember:

1) I was on the bus Friday morning, reading A Short History of Nearly Everything on my Kindle, when I realized someone was singing. It was soft enough that I thought it was coming from the back of the bus, and I figured maybe he was just so excited to be getting off and going to work that he felt like humming a little ditty.

But when most of the people left the bus at Wall Street, he moved to a seat quite near me and began singing loudly and reeeeeally awfully, all high-pitched but not on-pitch nor even close. He was a 50-something black guy, faceskin pock-marked to beat the band, navy blue suit, brown loafers, thick white gym socks pushed down, and one of the nicest Jheri curls I’ve seen since A.C. Slater. He was singing some song that went something like, “Girl, I’m going to get you,” which freaked me out a little at first, but then I realized it was actually much better than the time the guy behind me in the train sang into my ear, “L-l-l-l-lick me like a lollipop.”

2) On Thursday night, I went down to the lobby of Kamran’s building to pick up our dinner from the delivery guy, because for some reason, food delivery guys are allowed to come upstairs at lunchtime, and wine delivery guys are allowed to come up at all hours of the day, but at night, you have to go downstairs to meet the guy.

Like, the other day, I was in the lobby, and the doorman called up to someone’s apartment and asked her to come down to pick up her delivery, and she said all annoyingly, “It’s WINE!”, and he said all apologetically, “Oh, so sorry; I’ll send him right up.” Meanwhile, I’m there in my flannel pants and Christmas slippers with the fringe that Kamran says makes it look like my feet have mustaches picking up my food.

Anyway, on Thursday night, I was coming up the elevator after grabbing our dinner from the delivery guy, and this old lady was their with me, but neither of us even acknowledged the other, which is fine with me. But then, seriously out of nowhere, she looks at me and says, “I did my laundry earlier today and then went to D’Agostino, and when I came back, someone had stolen my jeans out of the dryer. They were nice jeans! At least five pairs of Ralph Laurens.” I’m too nice, and she had a pretty great Irish accent, so I pretended like I cared and said, “Oh, that’s terrible. Maybe someone just took them out of the dryer and put them somewhere else.” The door opened to her floor, and she stepped out. “Oh, no,” she said, “I looked everywhere down there.” I said, “Oh, I’m really sorry. It’s awful to think that could happen in this building.” The door began to close, and she said, “Goodnight, honey.”

And I thought, “Why did she just tell me that? Was there no one else she could tell?” And that is why everyone needs a blog.