things realized while staring at the backs of my eyelids

1) yep, a large cup of coffee consumed more than 12 hours prior (& made me shaky all day) can keep me from falling asleep & yes, it takes more than 1 mg of melatonin to combat it,
2) the music from "West Side Story," which was on public radio when I finally decided to get back out of the bed, sounds magical in a dark room, but is not sleep-inducing,
3) men never stop farting. Ever.
4) And, there really is nothing on TV worth staying up for these days, especially with all the writers on strike -- "We want residuals that are fair & when we get 'em, we'll go back on the air!"

So I think what this means is I'm gonna have to start the incredibly painful process of weening myself off caffeine, which is just a gateway weening for carbonated drinks altogether -- just in time for holidays that I'll face sober for only the 2nd time in my post-pubescent years. Hopefully by doing so, though, I can avoid all kinds of delightful caffeine-induced-faux-and-not-so-faux-infarctions in the next couple of decades, unlike my people before me.

Congratulations, my friends, you're all in store for the best me ever. COMPLETELY drug-free, damn it.

cat-naming contest!

When my friend Stiffany texted me the other night to ask my opinion on names for her brand new rescues, I felt it was my duty to help. So I'm taking it upon myself to open up the floor & hold a naming contest, pitting you all head-to-head in the process. Keep in mind, there are 2 kittens, so we need 2 names -- preferably 2 that go together hilariously. Also, Stiffany's own nickname is "Hambone" or "Hammy," so if the kitten names go with that theme, even better.

Some of the names Stiffany & I've already tossed around are

lieutenant ham & his filipino lover raul
spspspsp & ttttttt
undercover lover & president pervert
sea bass
the professor
jamon

The floor is now open -- let the competition begin!

how dry i am

At the gym a little earlier, I experienced something that's never happened to me before. I'd spent 30 minutes on the arc trainer & decided to get a little treadmill action in as well. Around the 15th minute, I had a dryness epiphany. While I was still working my ass off, going 3.8 mph at a medium incline, I'd almost completely quit sweating.

Now, any of you who've seen me in the gym, walking outside on an NYC summer day or sleeping, for that matter, you know that sweating profusely is one of my great talents. So, what happened? Did I racewalk through some kind of tear in the perspiration-space continuum? Did I find my sweat nirvana?

All I know is, I was so incredulous about the lack of liquid pouring off my face, I started laughing out loud, which prompted every eye in the joint to turn on me. But what'd I care? I was barely glistening, for chrissake.


Sidebar: Last week at Punk Rope, I discovered that I put on my bra like a 6 year-old -- hooking it in front, then swinging the cups around & pulling up the shoulder straps. My other 2 test subjects both go shoulder straps first, then clasp in the back. What gives? Am I the only one who still uses the training bra method?

some local not really news: of course it happened on long island

There are so many reasons not to go to Long Island (sorry, Dewey Decimal Mistress, but we all know it's true). There's the long-ass commute from the city by car or train, the accents, the "Long Island-ness" &, of course, malls. But now, good people, the malls are getting worse, in a very laughable way.

According to NYC's ABC affiliate, "Police are issuing a warning to holiday shoppers after two women were nearly robbed and then were shot with a BB gun at a Long Island mall."

Seriously. Shot with a BB gun. At the mall. Green Acres, no less. Isn't that, according to Eddie Albert & the kind people of Hooterville, "the place to be"?

Now, if you go to the link above & check out the still of the video, you'll notice a few things.
1) the young ladies chose to hide their facial identities, but not their nail identities -- in this day & age, that's like posting a Google Earth closeup of you in your front window on your MySpace page. The danger is palpable. As we speak, Al Queda & Microsoft are developing technology to either bomb or market directly to you based on your nail salon choices.
2) the time stamp on the clip is 5:05, which means this was one of the top stories during last night's newscast. Now, I'm not a professional journalist, but I do question if this story is first-five-minute-newsworthy.
3) t-mobile finally got the free advertising it so deserved

It only gets better when you read the report.

"That's when he had pulled out a gun," she said. "He didn't point it at my face, around my waste (sic), my chest, and was like, 'Just give me your phone.' And I still put up a fight."

The most delightful cynical lady working next door to the mall said about the sound of gunfire, "God forbid it was the real thing."


But the saddest thing of all? It took 3 guys to not pull this off.

So who's up for a little shopping trip?

it's official

This morning, I had an interview at a tiny little agency where I quickly realized I wouldn't want to work. It was a short meeting. He looked at my book, we asked each other several questions, then we shook hands & I headed to the elevator.

It's one of those buildings where the elevator opens right into the office, so I stood directly in front of the receptionist, trying to fight the urge to whip out my phone & call the recruiter who sent me there & ask her to let the guy I'd just met with down gently.

When the elevator doors opened, a guy got off & I got on. I guess he realized that wasn't the floor he wanted, so he hopped back on. I'd already pressed the 1st floor button & looked at him to press or request. That was when I saw the look -- the one that tells me he'd like me to hit the stop button so we can have some quality time to get to know each other -- so I turned back to look at the door.


Of course, he took that as his cue to strike up the conversation, "Wow. Well, it is official." Which, damn my neck, elicited a turn of my head. So he continued. "Your hair color is o-ficial!" Now it was time to respond defensively, "Excuse me?" "It's official! Your hair color is official -- that's a good thing, believe me!" "Oh, great, well as long as you approve." ('Cause that's my new response to that line of back-handed compliment.)

Then just before the doors opened, in what I can only imagine is his "bedroom voice," he said, "I bet Monday, it'll be back to all blonde, right." So I gave him a look of disgust & said, "Yeah, this is not a Halloween costume. It's always like this." and walked out of the elevator.

And the father of 5 of my future babies was gone -- just like that.