Today is Hiko’s 26th birthday! Check out his blog! Here
What is up with Friendster these days? Not only am I pissed about the photo quota fuck-up but now they’re putting advertising in THE MIDDLE OF my blog. Not in side-bars or banner style across the top but in THE VERY MIDDLE of our blogs between posts. I am going to have to move my blog elsewhere. Hmmm…
Ugh. Where is everything??
I was going to rip up the carpets and refinish the hardwood below them before Brad moves in. I had all the furniture in the bedroom moved to the kitchen/dining room/living room after the old couches were removed and carted away. The moving of all this furniture was a big job seeing as how a lot of it is bookcases from which all the books must be removed before you can move it anywhere. And I have A LOT of books. Luckily, Mirella and her sister Lety were available to come help me (as my broken butt made it difficult to bend over.)
So everything has been moved around a zillion times and all the furniture has been rearranged and nothing is where it used to be. I am constantly walking back and forth looking for something. My downstairs neighbors probably wonder what’s up as it’s normally so quiet up here.
I will go into the bedroom to vacuum and realize that the vacuum isn’t in there so I’ll set my drink on a coaster and walk out to the living room to get the vacuum when I see a half full bag of papers. It’s then that I remember that I was going through all the old rolodexes from past jobs and throwing them out. So I go grab the bag and continue with that when I realize that the shelves next to them need to be taken apart but where is the screwdriver? So I walk around looking for the screwdriver when I realize I’m thirsty but where is my drink and now the phone is ringing but where is the phone? Now what was I in the middle of doing? And it goes on and on.
When I ripped up the carpets in my bedroom I realized that instead of properly replacing bad floorboards, the previous tenants/owners just put down plywood haphazardly throughout the room. So I tried to see if I could get new carpets but the whole process would take too long. I put the carpets back and decided to paint instead.
I painted the bedroom the palest color of blue and the living room a "Creamed Butter" yellow. It looked great on the swatch but disgusting on the walls - like old, faded 70s yellow all over my living room. I couldn’t stand it. I went back to the Home Depot to get ONE gallon of paint in a different color, but had to wait behind a lady getting 25 gallons of different color paint. This took an hour. Needless to say, I was slightly annoyed.
The living room is now a very bright "24 carat gold" color that doesn’t resemble its name at all - it’s more of a saffron color in my opinion. Josheepoo, loveliest of the gays, brought back Chinoiserie prints from Shanghai that he donated to me. I got them framed and they are now hanging against the golden backdrop in the living room.
Brad doesn’t know about any of this and I can’t wait to show him. He’ll love this color. It’s so him.
Tonight I worked an event on Rodeo for Frank Gehry’s new jewelry collection at Tiffany & Co. The celebrities came in flocks as I’m sure they expected to receive Tiffany’s gifts and whatnot (and they did get jeweled up for free by Tiffany’s.) They included: John Legend, Mira Sorvino w/child & husband, Ellen & Portia, Christina Ricci, Patti LaBelle, Frank Gehry & family, Felicity Huffman & William H. Macy, Lawrence Fishburn, Angelica Houston, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Owen Wilson, Andrea Bowen, Samaire Armstrong, Tate Donovan, Doug Savant, Laura Leighton, etc.
I’d post pictures but Friendster has fucked up my account and not responded to my emails with requests to fix the problem. I am hating Friendster right now.
Last night, Brad was snoring like crazy when I came to bed. Because my feet were pretty cold, I think he woke up when he felt them on his legs. He got up and went to the bathroom. On his way back, I asked him if he could please put on a nose-strip. He said sure, but dove head-first right back into bed.
I argued with him and begged and pleaded and he kept saying "Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it." Meanwhile he wasn’t moving a muscle, except for the one that makes the snoring louder!
I begged him to at least just blow his nose. Again, "Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it." But nothing. I started to get really pissed off. I violently reached across him to yank a tissue out of the box on his bedside table and shoved it into his hand. He whined and complained.
Then nothing.
"Brad! Wake the fuck up, blow your nose and SHUT UP for the love of God!!"
Nothing.
So the gentle shaking that became a more forceful nudge then turned into a hard point!point!point! with my finger into his deltoid. Then he started to get really pissed off. Keep in mind that he was asleep for this entire tortured hour of my life and didn’t remember anything this morning.
"Kathleen! I’m trying to sleep!"
"SO AM I YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" I yelled back. But, he still didn’t wake up. I was fuming at this point.
So I stole all the covers and let him freeze to death alone in the bed. I went and slept on my old love seat in the kitchen. It was incredibly uncomfortable and I could barely sleep as I was so angry at this point and I could still hear him snoring in the other room in addition to the old man snoring downstairs!
At 4am, he awoke shivering. A-Ha! My plan worked! He got out of bed and went to the bathroom and curiously walked around in the apartment wondering where I could have gone. He was a little shocked to see me in the kitchen on a tiny love-seat with all the covers, blankets and sheets from the bed. He woke me up, "Baby what are you doing sleeping in the kitchen?"
"I am not going to sleep on the new white leather so this was my only option to get away from you and your stupid snoring, sweating and slobbering!"
He put me to bed and went and slept in the living room (so as not to bother me) ON THE BRAND NEW WHITE LEATHER COUCH!
I can’t win.
When I go into a public restroom, I try to use the stall which is furthest from the restroom entrance. In my logic, most people are lazy and dart into the nearest stall which would leave the furthest stalls less visited and thereby cleaner. Most of the time, the very last stall is handicapped, which I like because it’s so spacious. And as Ixel can tell you, sometimes I hang out in a stall like it’s my own private party behind a velvet rope and only people on my exclusive guest list can join me. (One night, I may have been a little tipsy and Ixel came looking for me in the bathroom. When she found me, I pulled her inside the teensy weensy non-handicapped stall and we each stood on either side of the toilet and I proceeded to have a long and detailed conversation with her. No one was peeing. There really wasn’t any reason to squeeze into such a small space but I guess I just wanted to hang out in there. Luckily there was no one waiting or we would have had some seriously pissed girls - no pun intended.)
Don’t get me wrong, I would never park in a handicapped parking space but I don’t really think peeing in the handicapped stall is the same thing. In fact, in my entire life, I have never once been in the restrooms at the same time as a handicapped person. So it’s not like I’ve ever inconvenienced anyone. Although, this one time at the Chicago airport, there was a really grumpy old lady in the restroom and she was pissed at me when she saw me leave the handicapped stall. Apparently she was waiting for it and how dare I?! I looked her straight in the eye and said, "Calm down, Lady. Life’s too short. Besides, you’re no more handicapped than I am so there’s really no point in continuing this conversation." Kathleen Newlove, coming through!
Last night at Dan Wilson’s birthday party, I went into the restroom at The Spaghetti Factory. I was blown away for some reason by the fact that the first stall in this bathroom was the handicapped stall. I’m so used to the spacious handicapped stalls that I didn’t know where to go! Should I continue walking to the end and pee in a teensy weensy stall that is most likely the cleanest in the room or should I take a chance on this spacious but probably dirty handicapped stall?
Conundrum.
In preparation for the Great Move-In, I’m getting rid of a lot of old crap that’s been lying around and I came across a box of old notes from high school in which I read the most beautiful poem from an ex-boyfriend, Andrew Kostraba. As he doesn’t read my blog (and as far as I can tell, doesn’t use the internet at all - or a computer for that matter) I will not publish it until I get his permission. I know, I know, since when do I wait to get permission from anyone, right?! But for once, I’m going to do the right thing.
Also, I finally found someone to take my old furniture off my hands. My apartment, as of tomorrow, will no longer look like a crammed movie theatre with seating for over a dozen, due to the plethora of couches that are currently littering my living room.
And thank you Emily Sable for letting me know that I should contact your sister with any blue-tooth related questions. Now if only I had her current email address! I called her when I was in New York but maybe I have an old number?? Email me at k_newlove@yahoo.com with her current info and I will try to hunt her down.
I have no idea how Brad and I are possibly together still after everything he has had to endure in our relationship. For example, shortly after we first started dating, Ixel moved into my one-bedroom apartment in LA with me and we were inseparable (Ixel & I, not Brad & I.) We used to tease him mercilessly… about anything and everything. Thank you, Brad, for putting up with us.
Ixel and I would fly into a panic whenever we knew he was coming over. “Quick! Hide the vodka! Hide the cheese! Hide the ice cream!” Whenever Brad had been over, you could always tell by looking into the fridge and seeing the absence of these items. So, we did what any normal person would do, we shoved everything into the back of the freezer and camouflaged it with bags of frozen peas and the like. (Now that he’s moving in, I have to resign myself to the fact that I will never again open up the fridge to enjoy the cheese I saved for a rainy day because it will have vanished.)
We It got so bad that we would always taunt Brad about his favorite meal – an ice-cream sundae with cheese chunks sprinkled on top and vodka in place of the hot fudge. Brad would just look at us in defeat, shake his head and sigh, “You’re right, girls. That’s my favorite. A vodka and cheese ice-cream sundae.”
One time, Ixel forgot to hide the vodka and didn’t realize it until Brad walked in the door. So in fear of the angry lesbian domestic abuse she would get from me later behind closed doors, she tossed Little Debbies as bait throughout the apartment to lead him away from the kitchen so I could bury the vodka behind a carefully stacked pile of ice packs and veggie burgers. He crawled around on all fours voraciously snatching the tasty treats with his paws and nearly eating the plastic wrap as well as the yummy goodness he was inhaling.
On one particular evening, Brad and I were on the phone when he announced that he would be coming over shortly for a visit. I looked sternly at Ixel and gave her the international sign-language for “Hide the cheese, vodka and ice-cream. Move! Move! Move!” and she promptly sprang into action.
Ixel and I were about to cook some food, macaroni & cheese in fact. (Yes, we are super gourmet.) So instead of having a bird sized portion each which is what happens when the Bradinator gets around food, I asked Brad if he had eaten or if we should make double the amount of food so he could have some. He said he’d already eaten. I said, “Are you sure you’re not going to want any?” He said that he was stuffed and we should just make enough for us, which we did.
When he showed up, we were just serving ourselves. “Hey girls. Whatcha eatin’?!” OH NO! The next thing we knew, he’d snaked his way into the kitchen, licking his chops the whole way and somehow finagled a bowl and fork and ate his way through our dinner before either of us could find any Little Debbies with which to distract him.
And of course, Ixel and I speak our own little language so whenever Brad was around, he’d looked bewildered and confused. On rare occasions he would speak up, knowing he would regret it later. “What’s a rufie?” He must’ve asked us five thousand times what a rufie is.
Rohypnol (flunitrazepam) is known as the date-rape drug. It might’ve been a good idea for us to explain it as such but we apparently gave him some far-fetched, abstract explanation so he was never sure what we were talking about and therefore couldn’t remember what it means. Thereby, every time we would mime breaking up a pill and sprinkling it in our drinks, he would go into his very frequent “deer-in-headlights WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO CRAZY GIRLS TALKING ABOUT and why do I keep coming back for more” state. Ah, the good old days.
Ooooo… I’ve got to go. Someone is out in the courtyard in the rain chanting like a monk and I’ve got to see what is going on. “In nomine patre deiiiiiiiiiiiii aaaaaaaaaaaaaamen.” This is city living at its finest.
My B.B. is invading my life! I can’t bend over. I can’t lift things. I can’t sit for long periods. Ugh! This is the worst timing ever! Brad (and his best friend The Owl) are moving in and I have to make room and move furniture and paint walls and rip out carpets and…
Ugh. Does anyone have any remedies, exercises, drugs they want to give me?
Oooo… wait. I think I have a Vicodin somewhere around here. But on second thought, that’s not going to help any. Who’s got Soma??
On a totally unrelated note, does anyone know how to work a Razr phone? How do you turn on the blue-tooth earpiece when you’re already on the phone? Why does it beep every now and then when you’re on a call? How do you create a shortcut? How do you put pictures from your computer on your phone?
I wish I had a jacuzzi.
I need another vacation. What’s that you say? I just got back?! I don’t care! I need another vacation! Where should I go to next??
I was standing outside on the balcony of my apartment a few moments ago breathing in the night air and listening to the sounds of life. I could hear different movies being watched behind a few of the doors – one Russian movie, one Italian… the dialogues penetrating the cold space around me.
It had a very calming affect, like an underwater blurriness floating through time. It wasn’t at all similar to the thunderous cacophony of over-stimulus at say an electronics store where you stand in front of the dozens of screens blaring loud commercials and bright colors with the children around the aisles near you begging to leave the store to go out and play, throwing tantrums at the feet of their parents.
Then, a guy walked out of his apartment to reach up and twist the light bulb outside his front door so it turned off and stopped blaring brightly in through his windows. At first I thought how nice it must be so tall to make that small effort just a part of his everyday life. Then I thought how inconsiderate he must be since that light is most likely very necessary for his neighbor to get her key into her lock and open her door. But I also had to remind myself that he is the guy that helps the old ladies up to their apartments with their groceries – so everyone has their faults, right?
I am reading a book, “Eleven Minutes,” given to me by one of my best friends, Ixel, who I just visited in New York and who I love very dearly. I don’t know why she insisted that she buy this book especially for me. I am hoping that I will discover the link by the time I finish reading.
Also, I have to clarify my last post in which I put a photo of Ixel and her mangled “Grandest Drunk-Fall” face. Apparently, although she is fun to laugh at with about her famed drunk-falling, this injury is the exception to the rule. She and her boyfriend went to a bar in Krakow that night completely intent on getting drunk and thereby sustaining the appropriate injuries. Upon their entry to said bar, Ixel became friendly with a stranger (as is her way) and she and Brian then had an (unwanted) new best friend for the rest of the evening who insisted on buying them drinks.
After Brian was half-way through with his (and Ixel had naturally pounded her entire drink in that time,) Brian realized that something was not quite right and that it would behoove them to go back to their hotel right away. Ixel argued a little, wanting to have a little more fun out on the town, but she was soon unable to walk and Brian had to almost carry her home.
Their new best friend followed them the entire walk back to the hotel.
(Ixel and I have always joked around about "rufying" ourselves on nights when we expect to get particularly drunk or on mornings after having gotten unsuspectingly mortifyingly drunk. We never knew that either of us would ever actually get "rufied.")
Brian and Ixel made it into their room unaccompanied and the next morning they awoke to the sight of Ixel’s bloody face stuck to her pillow. Neither of them remember what happened after they got home but they assumed that she had gotten up in the middle of the night and slipped in the room somewhere and hit her head on the corner of the marble table. She and I think her injuries look like she jumped in front of a moving bus or at the very least like she dragged her face across the pavement, but Brian insists she was upright for the duration of their walk home.
Knowing how crazy/careless? we can get on vacation, Ixel and I were grateful that it was not a girls’ vacation and that a man taller than six feet was accompanying her because otherwise, she might have woken up without one of her kidneys or worse.
To Rena and Andrea, who are leaving for Thailand in May, please be careful.
What a whirlwind vacation! No sleep, adorable kids, energetic New York, broken butt and violent shopping made for a memorable time.
Ixel is the famed drunk-faller, not me. I got to see first hand the damage of her greatest fall yet…
You can’t see the damage of my fall but I can still feel it and it’s a week later!!
Julie Larson came to visit today from Texas and although I wasn’t much of a host, we had a great time.
I am about to pass out so instead of boring you with nonsensical ramblings, I am going to go to bed now. Ciao!
