The Book

I have several things. First of all, and don't lie to yourself cause we both know it's true - don't you hate it when those songs come on that make you literally mentally jump from wherever you are to wherever you were when you first got attached to that music? I know I do.

The way music can transform your life is something I used to yearn for. The way that just one song, one guitar lick or lyric can make you revisit emotions and memories now faded with time is a double edged sword to say the least.

This brings me to my next thought. I hate how in order to block someone on Facebook (the book) it automatically takes it upon itself (you know its an entity unto its own) to de-friend that person.

Last fall I blocked someone I wasn't sure I had the willpower to not check up on and to my dismay I realized that in blocking said non-boyfriend [and his friends] that the book had taken it upon itself to de-friend all of them. This made for a rather awkward healing process of re-friending them all.

I mean what does that say about me? "Hey, I was upset because you're a dick but now all is forgiven so will you re-accept my friend request?" If that doesn't get 'em, I don't know what will.

The book and I have a long standing love hate relationship, but this put me over the edge. I now am a rare book user, not anywhere close to the addict I once called myself. Facebook is a strange and wonderful new technology that has been introduced to the world, but with the website comes the knowledge that people who weren't there last night know exactly what you were up to and who with and for how long and what you looked like and omgg SHE DID NOT. Give me a break, if I wanted you to know the inner-workings of my social life [or lack there of] then I would pick up the phone and call, text or email you. But I didn't.

You know you're boring when...

your night consists of impatiently waiting for the new GG episode. Life doesn't get much more pathetic than my pathetic attempts at redeeming a mute weekend by vicariously living through the fabulous lives of television characters.

Last night Lisa (the roommate) and I were disappointed to say the least. After a rain-soaked run to get our pumpkin ice cream fix and an hour of half assed attempted studying, we sat down to watch our favorite show which fell painfully short this week.

I think that's what happens when all your eggs are in the I-wish-my-life-was-apart-of-Gossip-Girl basket.

I think its safe to safe I'm not the only one.

I did get one good thing out of last night. My being let down by a CW television show got me thinking about why I so desperately want to get out of Connecticut and get in to New York.

Despite the fact that I was born and raised in the great state of I <3 NY, the city itself holds an allure that is hard to describe... or not. It's the fact that when you get off the S shuttle at 42nd St there's a guy who I swear is Jimmy Hendrix reincarnated playing his greatest hits. It's that Dan Humphrey look-a-like I saw on the 4 train last Monday. Maybe it's because I can pop into the Apple Store to pick up new headphones one minute, feeling completely overwhelmed by the amount of people there, and the next be strolling around Central Park with a cone full of sugary toasted almonds. It doesn't hurt that if you wander around long enough you're bound to find a Starbucks or other suitable coffee shop.

Don't get me wrong, there are other great places to live. In fact, there are plenty of other places I'd give just about anything to live in, but for now the city and all of its' eccentricities is enough to keep me coming back for more. I'm just afraid that once I get there I'll find out that I still am obsessed with GG and Chuck Bass, wish I was living Serena VDdubs fabulous life and that low and behold, I have to choose between living out my Top Gun dream in southern California or the impossible GG dream I've now attached myself to.

You thought your life was boring?

Apartment Blues

I'm pretty positive that we had elephants move in to the apartment above us. Either that or these people are actively trying to ruin our lives by stomping as loud as humanly possible back and forth through their apartment while slapping their child around and getting the dog excited enough to run back and forth in circles. They are trying to ruin my concentration (or lack of).

This is not the newest discovery in a rather strange turn of events when it comes to who's who of building 680. Just last night I witnessed a rather awkward confrontation between a guy not much older than myself, gripping the leash of his dog while screaming at his girlfriend, who was holding [their?] baby. I am shameless. I think they caught me peering through my blinds at them, which serves me right for thinking they wouldn't notice me through my second story window. But, let's be honest here; what did they think was going to happen while having a very public fight right outside half the buildings' windows? I blame the area around here. Why a 22-year-old would be living with his on-again off-again girlfriend their baby and dog is beyond me, especially if when he's pushed to his limit it illicits shrieks out of him such as "I WILL LEAVE RIGHT NOW WITH THE DOG!" Awk-ward.

Saturday night when all I wanted was some peace and quiet so I could relax with a disc of Gilmore Girls and fall into a melatonin induced haze, the people who just moved in below us decided to host the BET awards. I wouldn't have even considered filing a noise complaint if I didn't already know that these people are not college students and they have small children living in their apartment. My night ultimately consisted of banging the ceiling with my plunger and stomping as hard as possible around my bedroom.

Good Lord, I need to get out of Connecticut.

A Fresh Start

I haven't visited my blog since my official last semester of college ended. After spending the last 36 hours reading other peoples blogs and having found all this new free time on my hands, I decided I could use a creative outlet of my own. Alas, this will (hopefully) be more of a rant page than anything else. I'm keeping my fingers crossed it will be one people will find humorous, bet we'll see.

My most recent exploits have been those involving my roommate and I watching indulgent amounts of Gossip Girl, traipsing my rather unstylish ass in and out of The City and finding that free time is the bane of my existence. That's not counting last weekend when one of my oldest friends (OF's?) Niky came to visit and managed to embarrass herself at the local college bar by attempting to jump over the bar stools only to crash into the wall successfully eating plaster and making all the jappy bimbos laugh. And let's forget about when I inappropriately hit on a friend of mine who I wouldn't want ever at the bar because... well, I've been bored.

I went in to the city early Friday morning for my interview and managed to work my way south throughout the day. By the evening we were back in midtown for dinner at this Mexican place Cancun (clever I know) and needless to say the night went on as another (OF) friend of mine Jon had to go home while his girlfriend shrieked at him on the phone leaving me with his two roommates Tom and Ali and Tom's boyfriend Joe whose birthday it was. So I ended up attending a cabaret show at this place called The Gentleman's Club but not before drinking 5 dollar drinks called "Hurricane's" at a place called The Bourbon Street something-or-other which promised to "bring back Katrina" I kid you not. From the cabaret place we rode in the craziest black suv version of the Knight Bus from Harry Potter to get down to West Village and this bar called Marie's Crisis which really is a gay dive bar where gay men of all shapes and sizes drink and crowd around a piano man while belting out show tunes to their hearts content. The night ended a few blocks away at Caliente because Joe was dancing at Marie's Crisis and when he was warned once to stop he asked if he could at least bop to which the bartender replied, "No, we only have a cabaret license." Needless to say we got back to Queens at 3:40am and despite my feeling of abandonment by Jon and frustration from having spent too much money on a friend of a friends' boyfriend who I don't know, it makes for a great story.

I came to two conclusions this weekend. One, you'll never find a man if the only bars you go to are gay bars. You might find a best gay, but you definitely won't find a sugar daddy. Two, I'd rather live in New York than most anywhere else, because at least there I can pretend to live out my Gossip Girl dream.