Gobble Gobble

I’m here at Hydra on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving watching the clock click down to our early dismissal; eating a cupcake and listening to Effie belt out her heart… oh Effie that man done did you wrong. My first call of the day today was from a drone asking me if tonight was Thanksgiving? He was on his way to work and realized that he may have forgotten to pick up food. I talked him down off the ledge and informed him that since today was ONLY Wednesday it certainly was NOT Thanksgiving. He was relieved. However being a Jew I also reminded him that unlike Jewish holidays there is no Erev Thanksgiving so I understood how he could have made the mistake.

In a few hours I will be making my 3 hour bus journey out East to Mom’s house to celebrate the feast. I do not have high hopes for the next 4 days for if the past is any predictor for the future my Thanksgiving will be filled with disappointment, uncomfortable silences, and hours of “alone time”. Scooter has assured me that an open invitation exists at his abode so if I need to make a speedy escape he will welcome me into his hearth and home… thanks Scooter.

Whether or not this Thanksgiving tanks I am certain however that my family will once again participate in their favorite tradition entitled – “No G, YOUR favorite pie is LEMON!” This tradition began many years ago while I was away at college and has really never lost its charm….for others. Every Thanksgiving, prior to my arrival back at the homestead, my Mother would ask my brother what pies she should buy. My brother being the golden child would request his favorite pie – lemon- but not for himself (of course) but because as he would tell my mother it was MY favorite pie. My mother never one to question my brother or remember my likes (or dislikes) would consistently purchase one Lemon Pie and one Mince (her pie of choice) then report at dinner “Ohh Gee save room for dessert I bought something VERY special JUST for you!” Ohhhh wow fantastic… because not only was it Thanksgiving it was also my Birthday so it must be something really terrific….like APPLE PIE!!!! But every year, like the year before the woman spurned me when a huge Lemon Pie would be presented on the table with the words, “Look G, your favorite…. Lemon Pie”. The tradition would then continue with me answering, “No that is your SON’S favorite pie. Mine, as always, is apple.” My brother would then chime in with “Why do you have to make everything so difficult? Why do you have to ruin every nice thing Mom does for you? Just eat the Lemon Pie, ughhhhhhh!!!”

So the tradition was born and we reenact it to this day with additions like, “There weren’t any apple pies at the store”, “If it is so important why not bring your own pie”, “You know I have to remember so many other things. Can’t you just give me a break on the apple pie”….etc…. Other years have brought major surprises like the homemade pie that was delivered special just for me by a well meaning family friend. Too bad it wasn’t really pie (it was missing a crust) and it was filled with many fruits none of which even resembled an apple. However to my surprise it was chock a block with strawberries which sent me to the ER room on Thanksgiving night as my brain swelled and pressed against my scull (side note I am deathly allergic to strawberries).

So kids have a great Thanksgiving and if you get served Apple Pie consider yourself lucky.

I Love Being Manhandled

The city is a buzz with excitement over Thanksgiving and it’s kinda fun to be smack dab in the middle of all the hub bub. Well I am sure this holly jolly feeling will ebb with the onslaught of tourists gawking at the glistening Yule erected just yards from my office, but for now I am alight with the spirit.

Yesterday on my walk to Dr. Pico…ahhhh Dr. Pico…. I was overwhelmed by the several hundred “All American Cheerleaders “who were moving en mass down the avenue. These perky HS’ers decked out in their Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade red and yellow jackets looked like pig tailed mini Ronald Macdonalds swarming through the crowded streets. They were all a twitter with squeals as they passed such iconic sites as Radio City Music Hall, Rockefeller Center, and every SINGLE hot dog vender along my 10 block trek. I tried to escape them but they were everywhere, both sides of street, all walking towards me. They, like so many out of towners, could not fathom moving to the RIGHT so about every 10 feet I was toe to toe with a doe eyed 16 year old frozen in place as I tried to syche her out with my amazing zig zagging NYC sidewalk skills.

Once at Dr. Pico’s oasis of joy I happily handed over my $27 for 5 minutes of complete and utter jello inducing adjustments. My favorite juxtaposition is when I lay on my side and the Dr. instructs me to, “Go to your happy place and let me do the rest”…..yes ….yes I will. Then as I reach complete relaxation ccCCCRRRUUNCCCCHHHHhhhhh – YIKES! It’s like frightening and relaxing all at the same time.

The day continued as a G love fest (well that’s what I like to think) when I shelled out more cash for relative strangers to service me at my hair salon. Yes a REAL hair salon with professionals. My washer chick really worked for her $3 tip (hey it’s Queens) as she massaged my head with minty fresh shampoo. She manipulated my noggin so well that I became almost comatose as I felt my jaw drop open and I experienced what I thought was the sensation of my grey matter drooling out over my lower lip. Unfortunately I was abruptly jolted from my moment of bliss by the vision of a local thug donned in a black hoodie and saggy pants being slammed up against the salon window and swiftly cuffed behind the back. What once was moments ago a bad ass purse stealing juvenile delinquent was now a squishy faced perp who was being silently admonished by a salon full of coiffed ladies and gays slowing shaking their heads in disapproval. He looked rather relieved when the undercover officers finally peeled his face off the glass leaving only a greasy stain and some slobber behind.

Monkeys and Cookies

My actual Birthday was last Saturday however I always feel that a birthday should be celebrated over several weeks, like a seasonal occasion. Especially since the Birthday falls so close (or sometimes on) Thanksgiving. That being said the festivities began Friday night with drinks and dinner at Nolita House. Unfortunately many of the celebrants were not in attendance because of illness or very fancy work commitments that could not be rescheduled. The peeps who did attend the celebration however really bumped it up and were fantastic revelers and bearers of very thoughtful, personal gifts. Some of the highlights of the evening included (but were not limited to) elbow length patent leather gloves, a HUGE chocolate chip cookie, a card festooned with monkeys, and mac & cheese spring rolls. I repeat MAC & CHEESE spring rolls…whomever the chef is at the Nolita house is a freekin’ culinary master.

After dinner Galleta, Scooter, Jesus, and I braved the bitter cold and settled into a local bar for some drinks and light after dinner conversation. And by light after dinner conversation I mean juicy war stories detailing our intimate exploits. Unfortunately some of us know how to tell a story while others do not…too many details were missing from one of our attendee’s report and it was like pulling teeth to get him to “give it up”…..ughhhh how tedious.

The evening ended early when at 10:30pm Scooter, Jesus and I were yawning and fantasizing about our cozy apartments….I guess that is what happens when you are of a certain age. We bailed out leaving Galleta in SoHo to meet up with his posse…ahhh youth.

You asked for it, You got it

I’ve been receiving so much positive feedback about my blog that it makes me absolutely BEAM with delight. However one reader has voiced his concern that I do not post enough… well isn’t that sweet. So I will be bumpin’ it up a notch and instead of posting once a week I will now post THREE times a week. I will try to stay focused and humorous and hopefully by posting more often I will not lower the level of excellence that you all have become accustomed to.

37 is not 38, and 38 sounds so old

I’m in the final stretch of my 38th year, just a few more days to go until I turn the corner officially and I don the yoke of “eight-dom”. Spoke to Mom today and after I bemoaned my ever encroaching fate of numerical age I told her, “Well at least I’m cute?” There was an unexpected pregnant pause on the other end of the line as if she was searching for the correct words to respond to my statement wrapped in the form of a question, then the response came, “Yeah maybe you should focus more on clever and smart… cute not so much.” I tried to combat her insolence with the facts that my guy friends think I am adorable and even sexy (sometimes when my hair looks unnaturally great and after the veil of a few cocktails has lowered) but Mom retorted explaining that they are just friends and their opinion was hardly accountable next to that of one’s mother. Thanks Mom…. Thanks. At the end of the call Mom did reconsider her earlier judgment conceding to the fact that she has not seen me since Labor Day (photos do not count – so she says) so she rescinded her non-cute label temporarily until I arrive for a full inspection on Thanksgiving.

Ahh the inter-web is a vast and mysterious place and Facebook is a wonderful conduit to my past. I have recently been connecting to the ghosts of my youth and it’s kinda wonky and fun all at the same time. Peeps from my Elementary School days have discovered me and it is so strangely foreign that they have kids in JR. HS, own homes and businesses, and are basically living very adult lives. I on the other hand hang out in a 4th floor walk up with no real roots or responsibilities (oh except for the ever daunting Grad School loan). I can’t even imagine the life that these old classmates’ of mine have – I mean I know it is very normal… obviously more normal than my lifestyle but yet it is so mysterious to me. It’s like I’m wired in a totally opposite way. Oh well don’t wanna dwell too much on that. Another sect of people that have been climbing out of the woodwork are those from my EARLY days in the theater. It’s such a mind fuck because I am like 10 years OLDER than they were when I met them – does that make any sense? I mean I was a kid in the eighties and these people were adults prancing around my backyard in togas and lingerie, binge drinking and “hooking up” – ahhhh what a way to grow up.

In a final note I would like to proclaim in print that tequila is NOT my friend. I tend to forget this every few years so hopefully by announcing it here for all to see I will remember this fact and avoid any reconciliation that may be suggested by well meaning partiers.

Open the pod bay doors HAL – DAMN IT!!!

I consider myself a sort of technology chick. Professionals in the field have gone as far as to award me the honorary title of “Tier One Support” yet this week technology has reversed my fortune (literally) and severed my communications. I HATE TECHNOLOGY (currently).


My first bone to pick is with my amazing new Bold (gracia Galleta, ma gusta). It wrapped me around its little finger with its full color display, fancy pants WiFi, and all kinda of bells and whistles I could have never imagined. Not only that, it’s kinda hot to have the NEW Blackberry, guys are dripping all over this thing. But after Bold had me firmly in his grips for a mere week he crashed… freaking crashed!!! Galleta of course forever my savior with all things electronic (and other things of course) swooped in to save my poor Bold. Side note – thank you St. Cajetan, Patron Saint of Job Seekers, for placing me in an office located across the street from Galleta. He promptly stripped it and returned it to me so fresh and so clean… for like 23 hours. Yep last night after an engaging round of Saduko on the 7 train Bold bit it. Once home in the “mouse den” Bold was gleaming up at me with his blank white face and the dreadful ‘app 523 Error”. After a feverish email exchange with my personal tech support manager, 3 hours scouring the BB support groups and postings, innumerable battery pulls, and an unfruitful IM session with AT&T I decided that I was breaking up with Bold. It was a tough decision but with a sigh and a heavy head I unpacked Bold’s box from my closet, filled it with all his belongings (charger, manuals, software, etc…). Like Beyonce said, “To the Left, to the left. Everything you own in the box to the left” – then I closed the lid and said goodnight to a past love for tomorrow held a trip to the AT&T store. But the play is not over, oh no not quite, for life never ends in the moonlit night. And despite what pretty poets say, the night is only half the day…..


This morning I arrived at Hydra to find an email from Galleta offering to give Bold one last opportunity to redeem himself. Oh that Galleta always the optimist, such is youth. By 9:15 am Galleta was in possession of the source of my heart ache and I was in possession of an egg and cheese sandwich…. now I wait.

At this point all appeared well, Bold was on his way to get bitch slapped for poor behavior and I was on my way to the ATM to grab some cash for the weekend. But the story is not ended and the play is never done until we’ve all of us been burned a bit and burnished by….. Insufficient Funds!!!! WTF!? How could this be? Just days ago I deposited a husky paycheck, and now I am at a deficit of a few hundred dollars?! Back at my computer I reviewed my account and discovered to my dismay that my check had been REJECTED. How does a paycheck get rejected? Well after a quick phone call to Chase I found out…. end of story I’m an idiot. You know those fancy new ATMs that no longer use envelops or deposit slips? You just pop your check in, the robot monkey inside reads all the info then all you do is press “Correct” and your money is deposited… you know that thing? Yeah well once again I was fucked by technology because it lulled me into its warm womb of submission and since I no longer needed to fill out any paper work I FORGOT to sign the back of my check. Yep I’ve been banking since the age of twelve, I’ve been a box office manager, I know how these things work….. and now because of new technology that was invented because idiots were bamboozled by the complexities of a 3 part deposit slip (do I keep the yellow or the pink?) I have to wait 5 – 7 business days for my paycheck to be returned to me. For the next few days I am, as they say, cash poor. I did schedule a transfer of funds from my savings but that takes 2 business days so with the weekend that gives me a full 4 days to rely on the kindness of strangers.

The Poop About the 7 Train

I was stuck on the 7 train yesterday because of “signal problems” and as we plodded our way under the East River at a snail’s pace I was awarded the opportunity to share my uber packed rush hour train with Clark. Clark is three and 5 months and had an undying love for poop… or at least the word poop. For about 25 min. an entire train car was Clark’s captive audience as he proceeded to conjugate the verb “poop”, pooping, pooped, poopie, etc…. the charm of his little squeaky voiced waned suddenly as our train came to an unexpected halt mid tunnel and Clark’s vocal volume increased severely. Poor Momma Clark tried to entertain the Pooper but she quickly realized that if her son didn’t cut the shit he was gonna be the target of mass mob hysteria. She tried to ‘connect’ to the crowd, flashing us small smiles, raising her eyebrows, shrugging her shoulders.… but really nobody had much love for her. In the end Momma Clark did the right thing – astonishing. As we eased our way into the first stop in Queens – a stop that after 11 years riding the train I have NEVER once seen anybody utilize – Momma clamped down on Clark’s hand and dragged him off the train explaining to him, “When you can calm down we will get back on a train!”. Wholly CRAP, she did it… she actually took the kid off the train… Momma Clark I applaud you wherever you are.

I’m not telling anybody anything new, but getting and keeping a job in NYC is insane! So many peeps are being laid off and my office lobby looks like an over packed ER waiting room but with really pretty people in business suits…. oh and no blood. My mood regarding my present employment has really changed… it’s not that bad all of a sudden. I love shredding documents and wiping down counters. I look forward to Xerox paper jams and on Monday I was overjoyed to walk the used toner cartridges 10 blocks to the recycling center! I guess there’s nothing like other people’s misfortune to refocus one’s outlook.