Peace: It's What's for Dinner

I like to think of myself as a good person. Deep down I know how horrible I really am, actually I think most of my friends do too, but for some reason they keep calling me back. So any time I have the chance to do something nice for someone I care about, I try to do it.

This being said, I've been letting my cousin crash on my couch for the past couple of weeks. I had no idea how difficult this would be for me. Ever since he came I've been finding a lot of excuses for staying away from home. I'm plagued by visions of him leaving lights and other electronics on unnecessarily. I've run home during my work day twice already just to close the toilet. I know: I have problems .

My uber dreamy boyfriend has been letting me stay a couple of nights with him to try to get a little peace. I can't tell you how much it has taken out of me to be frustrated and annoyed all day at work and then frustrated and annoyed all night at home. I'm like a bird that can't land.

The other night I was on the bus going to the boyf's and feeling sorry for myself at the fact that I don't want to go home anymore. I was trying to gather my thoughts together, which I haven't felt able to do as a result of my house guest. Suddenly someone on the bus tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. Some stupid boy was smiling at me. I figured he touched me by mistake when he sat down so I ignored him.

I returned to my lamenting, feeding my sadness and getting very emotional about the whole thing until tears began to silently roll down my face. This went on for some fifteen minutes when in the middle of my moment, Tappy McBothersome got up to debus and to aggravate me anew. He touched my shoulder and I turned my crying face to his direction and surprise.

"Are you ok," he asked.
"I'm fine," I replied seething at his audacity.
"Are you sure you're ok," he persisted.
"I'm FINE, bye!" I insisted firmly.
"Don't cry," he said.
"BYE!" I practically shouted.

Couldn't even get a moment's peace on a fucking bus, which should be safely anonymous. I'll be happy when I can hide in my sanctuary again. Anyone that knows of an apartment for my cousin is welcome to tap me on the shoulder at any time of day or night. Until I am happily restored in my humble but PRIVATE abode, I'd advise against it.

$@bs

Child abuse: NOT funny

This weekend I hung out with my little sister; though not my actual little sister, who is still not speaking with me because she's somehow convinced herself that I attempted to sabotage the financing of back surgery she's recently had (this is a very long and stupid story which still pisses me off when I think about it so I'm not going to).

This would be my little sister as part of the Big Sister/Little Sister program. We spend about 8 hours a month together. The program has been enjoyable for the most part, except naturally there have been a couple of challenges.

In my opinion, the mother is the main problem in this scenario. I was supposed to take my little sister to a Yankees game last week. I waited there for a half an hour before I decided to leave. I just don't wait a half an hour for anyone. I mean it's no wonder that some of these families are in such bad shape when you see what they are like to deal with. Here I am, volunteering my time to take your kid out, feed her, entertain her, and you can't even fucking show up on time? What gives?

But that's not the worst of it. Yesterday when I dropped off my little sister, she was desperate to use the bathroom when I dropped her off at home. She asked if I would wait until she was done to say goodbye. which I did. Her mother was in the living room, which was curtained off by a sheet to keep cool air contained in the room which the air conditioning was manufacturing. Her mother didn't see me behind the sheet as I heard her speak to her other daughter; a five year old.

"If you touch this remote again I'm going to beat the shit out of you. I told you get dressed three hours ago and you're still fucking buck ass neked!"

If I could have slithered into the cracks in the floor I would have. I prayed she wouldn't realize I was there. I was completely horrified. My father wasn't actually much different in the way he spoke to us. Maybe if I had children I would feel differently, but right now I think that speaking to a five year old this way is verbal abuse. I'm kind of ambivalent about whether or not to report this to the social worker involved in their case.

$@bs

Stinking is the Pits

I think i might be one of the hairier, smellier girls around. When I was in college I neither wore deodorant nor shaved, AND I had a boyfriend it you can believe it! Not shaving was my way of not "playing the game".

Anytime some white baseball capped frat boy dude-bro even looked my way all I had to do was merely raise an arm and all I'd see in his place was a puff of smoke. I would smile wryly. It's been years since I went back to shaving.

One of my friend's mothers actually approached me after I decided to shave and said, "I just want you to know how happy I am that you're shaving again." I guess some people were really bothered: all the more reason to have continued the rebellion.

The reason for the no deodorant factor was just the Alzheimer's myth. It's only been about a year that I've been back on the deo. I finally broke down when my good friend said, "Sabs, you know I love you, but sometimes you stink."

The message was pretty clear: the hippie oils weren't cutting it anymore. At least my good chum was kind enough to let me know.

Yet, even after I made the switch back to deo, I tell ya, the shit still doesn't work - half way through the day I still ripen like a sweet piece of fruit; then I fall off the vine.

Incidentally, I keep deo in my desk drawer for the mid-day stank. I also keep toothpaste, shampoo, dental floss, nail polish remover, eye liner, nail files, tampons, baby powder, and lotion.

Hey you never know. The one thing that should be in there is a razor. I start getting a 5:00 shadow under my arms at 3:00 (not just smelly, but hairy too - WOW)! God, I'm so hot.

Times Squarea: Ho's No Mo

I think I mentioned that I work in Times Square right now. I spend most of my lunch hour just trying to get down the street and dodge the annoying tourists who habitually walk in a zig zag much slower than you'd think a person was able to walk unless old or physically challenged.

I remember the good old days when Times Square was nothing but crack heads, hookers and peep shows. Is nothing sacred? Now it's like Disney World, only instead of standing in lines, everyone's on the sidewalk in front of me...not moving.

Hair Don't

I just got my hair cut this week. I hate getting it trimmed since I've been trying to grow it out for years. Basically, after I moved to Amherst for one intolerable semester at UMASS, I finally decided to cut my hair extremely short, which I had always wanted to do but never had the balls to disobey my father's wish of Lady Godiva length locks. I've been trying to grow it back ever since (talk about Karma).

I really didn't want to cut off much at all, just a trim for the ends is all I hoped for. My hairdresser asks me what I want to do, and then blatantly disregards my requests. Does anyone else feel intimidated by a service provider whom the see regularly?

My hairdresser is a very good looking Russian guy and I don't have the where-with-all to fight back, mostly because I spend the entire time in the chair being preoccupied with whether he is focusing on my bald spot, a rather large dent in the back of my head, a small lump at the top of my crown, or a case of psoriasis I have never quite been able to kick.

Usually by the time my insecurities reach their peak potency, the length of my hair is a non-issue. Not like it matters since my hair is so curly it looks the same no matter what is done with it.

Damn Brick Breaker and Its Evil Entertaining Ways

Like an asshole I missed my stop on the train tonight because I was too distracted by a game of brick breaker on the new crackberry my company bought me. I was also supposed to go to the gym and flaked on myself.

Why is it I'm so good at keeping my word to other people, but so disappointing when it comes to keeping my word to myself? I should stop making promises to myself or I'm going to stop being friends with me.

Everybody Else is Doing it, Why Can't I?

I watch the world flocking to original content written by a bunch of half-wit perfect f'ing nobodys: suddenly everbody's an expert.

Then there's me with my genius brain (of which I'm still only using half). I figured I better start getting in on the action and what might be a veritable goldmine of intellectual property.

I've been thinking about what makes for interesting blogging that will draw advertisers so I can quit my day job. I'm on at least 5 different industry blogs, none of which are all that engaging, but none of them are about food, sex or alcohol, so maybe that's why.

Being that those items mentioned above are the three tracks that occupy my brain, I'll add media to the mix and serve. We'll start with food:

I work in mid-town, a mecca of tourists and business people alike. I like to buy my lunch, but I don't like spending a lot for this particular meal (who does?). I once had an idea to make a $5 Faves list of all the places around my office you could get a good lunch for $5. There were two places that made the list.

Without spending $20 a day, I find myself constantly exposed to the same lunch options day in and day out. Let's review:

Salad bars - 10 dollars for 5 ingredients I can buy at home (but don't) or the open buffet, onto which someone once sprayed a bottle of urine and feces. It was on the news.

Paninis - I can only eat so many hormone stuffed chickens a week

Chipotle - so I can stand in a line for 40 of my 60 minutes

Street Meat- Not to be trusted

Pizza - I wish I could quit you

Here's a million dollar idea for anyone that can follow through with it: Have you noticed that there are NO Mongolian BBQ restaurants in the city? I just did a Google map based search for one from my office. The closest one is in Saddle Brook, NJ! WTF? I mean I love the stuff, but not enough to leave the island for it (and I'm not one of those people that have Gilligan's Syndrome and think that dating someone from Brooklyn is a long distance relationship).

Needless to say, I've been desperately trying to bring my lunch.